never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. they were full of hope and fruition. spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.