Youth! youth!  Erect in the beautiful frail skiff, he dares the tide, gazing with glorious brow upon the palace in the cloud, which hovers overhead, a fairy spectacle of dreamland—­real still to him!  Beautiful youth!  As he stands thus with his outstretched arms, the light upon his noble face, and the young lips illumined by their tender smile, who can help loving him, and feeling that more of the light of Heaven lingers on his countenance, than on the man’s?  Youth! youth! beautiful youth!—­who, at times, does not look back to it with joyful wonder, long for it with passionate regret—­for its inexperience and weakness!—­its illusions and romance!—­its fond trust, and April smiles and tears!  Who does not long to laugh again, and, leaning over the bark’s side, play with the foaming waves again, as in the old days!  Beautiful youth! sailing for Beulah, the land of flowers, and landing there in dreams—­how can we look upon your radiant brow and eyes, without such regret as nothing taking root in this world can console us for completely!  Ah! after all, there is no philosophy like ignorance—­there is no joy like youth and innocence!

The shouts and laughter ringing through the merry fields, on the fine autumn morning, may have led us into this discourse upon youth:  the very air was full of laughter, and when Fanny let the kite string go by accident, the rapture grew intense.

Verty and Redbud sitting quietly, at the distance of some paces, under the oaks, looked on, laughing and talking.

“How bright Fanny is,” said Redbud, laughing—­“Look!  I think she is lovely; and then she is as good as she can be.”

“I like her,” said Verty, tenderly, “because she likes you, Redbud.  I like Ralph, too—­don’t you?”

“Oh, yes—­I think he is very pleasant and agreeable; he has just come from college, and Fanny says, has greatly improved—­though,” whispered Redbud, bending toward Verty, and smiling, “she says, when he is present, that he has not improved; just the opposite.”

Verty sighed.

The delicate little face of Redbud was turned toward him inquiringly.

“Verty, you sighed,” she said.

“Did I?” said Verty.

“Yes.”

Verty sighed again.

“Tell me what troubles you,” said Redbud, softly.

“Nothing—­nothing,” replied Verty; “I was only thinking about college, you know.”

“About college?”

“Yes.”

And Verty repeated the sigh.

“Tell me your thoughts,” said Redbud, earnestly.

“I was only thinking,” returned her companion, “that there was no chance of my ever going to college, and I should like to know how I am to be a learned man without having an education.”

Redbud sighed too.

“But perhaps,” she said, “you might make yourself learned without going to college.”

Verty shook his head.

“You are not so ignorant as you think,” Redbud said, softly.  “I know many persons as old as you are, who—­who—­are not half as—­intelligent.”