A SUMMER AFTERNOON 133 
does the same beneath. For the time, as our 
motions seem the same, so with our motives, 
—my enjoyment certainly not less, with the 
conveniences of humanity thrown in. 
But the sun is declining low. The club- 
boats are out, and from island to island in the 
distance these shafts of youthful life shoot 
swiftly across. There races some swift Ata- 
lanta, with no apple to fall in her path, but 
some soft and spotted oak-apple from an over- 
hanging tree ; there the Phantom, with a crew 
white and ghost-like in the distance, glimmers 
in and out behind the headlands, while yonder 
wherry glides lonely across the smooth expanse. 
The voices of all these oarsmen are dim and 
almost inaudible, being so far away; but one 
would scarcely wish that distance should anni- 
hilate the ringing laughter of these joyous girls, 
who come gliding, in a safe and heavy boat, 
they and some blue dragon-flies together, 
around yonder wooded point. 
Many a summer afternoon have I rowed joy- 
ously with these same maidens beneath these 
steep and garlanded shores; many a time have 
they pulled the heavy four-oar, with me as cox- 
swain at the helm,—the said patient steers- 
man being ofttimes insulted by classical allu- 
sions from rival boats, satirically comparing 
him to an indolent Venus drawn by doves, 
