To take up this fluid earthly being of ours as a sponge sucks up water,—­to be steeped and soaked in its realities as a hide fills its pores lying seven years in a tan-pit,—­to have winnowed every wave of it as a mill-wheel works up the stream that runs through the flume upon its float-boards,—­to have curled up in the keenest spasms and flattened out in the laxest languors of this breathing-sickness, which keeps certain parcels of matter uneasy for three or four score years,—­to have fought all the devils and clasped all the angels of its delirium,—­and then, just at the point when the white-hot passions have cooled down to cherry-red, plunge our experience into the ice-cold stream of some human language or other, one might think would end in a rhapsody with something of spring and temper in it.  All this I thought my power and province.

The schoolmistress had tried life, too.  Once in a while one meets with a single soul greater than all the living pageant that passes before it.  As the pale astronomer sits in his study with sunken eyes and thin fingers, and weighs Uranus or Neptune as in a balance, so there are meek, slight women who have weighed all that this planetary life can offer, and hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender hands.  This was one of them.  Fortune had left her, sorrow had baptized her; the routine of labor and the loneliness of almost friendless city-life were before her.  Yet, as I looked upon her tranquil face, gradually regaining a cheerfulness that was often sprightly, as she became interested in the various matters we talked about and places we visited, I saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament were made for love,—­unconscious of their sweet office as yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the natural graces which were meant for the reward of nothing less than the Great Passion.

——­I never spoke one word of love to the schoolmistress in the course of these pleasant walks.  It seemed to me that we talked of everything but love on that particular morning.  There was, perhaps, a little more timidity and hesitancy on my part than I have commonly shown among our people at the boarding-house.  In fact, I considered myself the master at the breakfast-table; but, somehow, I could not command myself just then so well as usual.  The truth is, I had secured a passage to Liverpool in the steamer which was to leave at noon,—­with the condition, however, of being released in case circumstances occurred to detain me.  The schoolmistress knew nothing about all this, of course, as yet.

It was on the Common that we were walking.  The mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches leading from it in different directions.  One of these runs downward from opposite Joy Street southward across the whole length of the Common to Boylston Street.  We called it the long path, and were fond of it.