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us, the river was growing dark, and the trees on shore deepening in hue.
"Ah!" said L. E. L., "this is just like life. We leave our youth behind us, like yonder crimson and glowing light; as we advance, all things assume a colder and gloomier aspect. Well! we are going home." Then, in a livelier tone, she quoted, as perfectly descriptive of the scene,—
"The moon is up, and yet it is not night;
Sunset divides the sky with her.**
*****
A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven."**
Gradually the soothing influence of the hour and scene filled the heart, while over sky, earth and wave silence folded its brooding wings, undisturbed, save by the measured plashing of the oars, and the faint echo of some far-off sound; and night came gently on. Darker and darker grew the sky; deeper and deeper gathered the shadows over bank and stream; till numberless stars shone forth on the heavens, and light after light glimmered out on the distant shore. We talked of the singular effects of light and shade. How strangely the river looked, as if it were of immense width, and parted into long avenues, which might perchance be regions of beauty; and how like was this illusion to the prospects of Hope, which seem in the distance to spread far and wide, but when we approach, we find them restricted to the narrow current of life, and bounded by circumstance and necessity.
Solemnly, as a spirit's voice, came over the waters the toll of the bell from Westminster Abbey, reminding us that hope would be indeed limited, if this life were all; but that time is only the shore, whence we may gain prospects of the future, commensurate with our high and eternal destinies.
As we approached the bridge, it seemed literally coming down upon us. "I do believe," said L. E. L., as we landed, "that what we fancy difficulties are only such
