p；　in　smooth　places；　a　mirror　to　the　heaven　and　　the　shores。　　The　washerwomen　hailed　us　laughingly；　and　the　noise　of　　trees　and　water　made　an　accompaniment　to　our　dozing　thoughts；　as　we　　fleeted　down　the　stream。
  The　great　volume；　the　indefatigable　purpose　of　the　river；　held　the　　mind　in　chain。　　It　seemed　now　so　sure　of　its　end；　so　strong　and　　easy　in　its　gait；　like　a　grown　man　full　of　determination。　　The　surf　　was　roaring　for　it　on　the　sands　of　Havre。
  For　my　own　part；　slipping　along　this　moving　thoroughfare　in　my　　fiddle…case　of　a　canoe；　I　also　was　beginning　to　grow　aweary　for　my　　ocean。　　To　the　civilised　man；　there　must　come；　sooner　or　later；　a　　desire　for　civilisation。　　I　was　weary　of　dipping　the　paddle；　I　was　　weary　of　living　on　the　skirts　of　life；　I　wished　to　be　in　the　thick　　of　it　once　more；　I　wished　to　get　to　work；　I　wished　to　meet　people　　who　understood　my　own　speech；　and　could　meet　with　me　on　equal　　terms；　as　a　man；　and　no　longer　as　a　curiosity。
  And　so　a　letter　at　Pontoise　decided　us；　and　we　drew　up　our　keels　　for　the　last　time　out　of　that　river　of　Oise　that　had　faithfully　　piloted　them；　through　rain　and　sunshine；　for　so　long。　　For　so　many　　miles　had　this　fleet　and　footless　beast　of　burthen　charioted　our　　fortunes；　that　we　turned　our　back　upon　it　with　a　sense　of　　separation。　　We　had　made　a　long　detour　out　of　the　world；　but　now　we　　were　back　in　the　familiar　places；　where　life　itself　makes　all　the　　running；　and　we　are　carried　to　meet　adventure　without　a　stroke　of　　the　paddle。　　Now　we　were　to　return；　like　the　voyager　in　the　play；　　and　see　what　rearrangements　fortune　had　perfected　the　while　in　our　　surroundings；　what　surprises　stood　ready　made　for　us　at　home；　and　　whither　and　how　far　the　world　had　voyaged　in　our　absence。　　You　may　　paddle　all　day　long；　but　it　is　when　you　come　back　at　nightfall；　and　　look　in　at　the　familiar　room；　that　you　find　Love　or　Death　awaiting　　you　beside　the　stove；　and　the　most　beautiful　adventures　are　not　　those　we　go　to　seek。
  End