Note 52 — III FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS

A lady who made such a night voyage with Thoreau, years before, says: "How wise he was to ask the elderly lady with a younger one for a row on the Concord River one moonlit night! The river that night was as deep as the heavens above; serene stars shone from its depths, as far off as the stars above. Deep answered unto deep in our souls, as the boat glided swiftly along, past low-lying fields, under overhanging trees. A neighbor's cow waded into the cool water,—she became at once a Behemoth, a river-horse, hippopotamus, or river-god. A dog barked,—he was Diana's hound, he waked Endymion. Suddenly we were landed on a little isle; our boatman, our boat glided far off in the flood. We were left alone, in the power of the river-god; like two white birds we stood on this bit of ground, the river flowing about us; only the eternal powers of nature around us. Time for a prayer, perchance,—and back came the boat and oarsman; we were ferried to our homes,—no question asked or answered. We had drank of the cup of the night,—had left the silence and the stars."