ON THE BANKS OF THE DELAWARE 13 
engulfing of eternity. But the river has its 
haunting as of the eternities also. It goes nor 
rests nor cares but only maketh music in the 
darkness or the day, careless also whether any 
hear or no, or whether any listen or no. A river 
is a pilgrim of eternity. Where the last wave- 
wash before the tireless silence shall lave the 
shore it neither cares nor thinks on. Outward, 
outward, the river must minister unto its master, 
the sea. 
But mine host brings his nag and chariot— 
or maybe the wording is amiss, for whether 
they ever in the ancient days of chariots hitched 
a single steed to a chariot I wot not. But it 
matters little. The meagerest buggy to which 
meagerest modern nag is harnessed is more 
palatable to be drawn in than the most gaudy 
chariot of forgotten days. The chariots stood 
flat against the axle: the buggy has a spring. 
That signifies the difference between our to-day 
and their yesterday. We have caught the spring 
of the swaying bough on which only the bird 
used to ride. We are become birdlike in our 
voyages and comfort. A buggy instead of a 
chariot, what say you moderns? All who favor 
say “Aye.” The ayes have it. We will climb to 
our seat in the modern chariot and proceed. 
“Whither go you, my friend, the charioteer?” 
“To Washington’s Crossing.” 
Our friend has memory. That is clear. This 
is the same place he mentioned at the start. 
