Chapter 2

"Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain,
Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain:
As painfully to pore upon a book
To seek the light of truth, while truth, the while,
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look."
-SHAKESPEARE.

On one of the afternoons which afforded to the students a relaxation from
their usual labors, Ellen was attended by her cavalier in a little
excursion over the rough bridle-roads that led from her new residence. She
was an experienced equestrian,--a necessary accomplishment at that period,
when vehicles of every kind were rare. It was now the latter end of
spring; but the season had hitherto been backward, with only a few warm
and pleasant days. The present afternoon, however, was a delicious
mingling of spring and summer, forming in their union an atmosphere so
mild and pure, that to breathe was almost a positive happiness. There was
a little alternation of cloud across the brow of heaven, but only so much
as to render the sunshine more delightful.

The path of the young travellers lay sometimes among tall and thick
standing trees, and sometimes over naked and desolate hills, whence man
had taken the natural vegetation, and then left the soil to its
barrenness. Indeed, there is little inducement to a cultivator to labor
among the huge stones which there peep forth from the earth, seeming to
form a continued ledge for several miles. A singular contrast to this
unfavored tract of country is seen in the narrow but luxuriant, though
sometimes swampy, strip of interval, on both sides of the stream, that, as
has been noticed, flows down the valley. The light and buoyant spirits of
Edward Walcott and Ellen rose higher as they rode on; and their way was
enlivened, wherever its roughness did not forbid, by their conversation
and pleasant laughter. But at length Ellen drew her bridle, as they
emerged from a thick portion of the forest, just at the foot of a steep
hill.

"We must have ridden far," she observed,--"farther than I thought. It will
be near sunset before we can reach home."

"There are still several hours of daylight," replied Edward Walcott; "and
we will not turn back without ascending this hill. The prospect from the
summit is beautiful, and will be particularly so now, in this rich
sunlight. Come, Ellen,--one light touch of the whip,--your pony is as
fresh as when we started."

On reaching the summit of the hill, and looking back in the direction in
which they had come, they could see the little stream, peeping forth many
times to the daylight, and then shrinking back into the shade. Farther on,
it became broad and deep, though rendered incapable of navigation, in this
part of its