echismal dogmas and the
ultimate "anathema maran-atha."

So it was with a profound sigh that the father bade his son adieu after
this city visit.

"Good bye, father! Love to them all in Ashfield."

So like Rachel's voice! So like Rachel's! And the heart of the old man
yearned toward him and ached bitterly for him. _"O my son Absalom! my
son! my son Absalom!"_

XXXV.

Maverick hurried his departure from the city; and Adele, writing to Rose
to announce the programme of her journey, says only this much of
Reuben:--"We have of course seen R----, who was very attentive and kind.
He has grown tall,--taller, I should think, than Phil; and he is quite
well-looking and gentlemanly. I think he has a very good opinion of
himself."

The summer's travel offered a season of rare enjoyment to Adele. The
lively sentiment of girlhood was not yet wholly gone, and the
thoughtfulness of womanhood was just beginning to tone, without
controlling, her sensibilities. The delicate attentions of Maverick were
more like those of a lover than of a father. Through his ever watchful
eyes, Adele looked upon the beauties of Nature with a new halo on them.
How the water sparkled to her vision! How the days came and went like
golden dreams!

Ah, happy youth-time! The Hudson, Lake George, Saratoga, the Mountains,
the Beach,--to us old stagers, who have breasted the tide of so many
years, and flung off long ago all the iridescent sparkles of our
sentiment, these are only names of summer thronging-places. Upon the
river we watch the growth of the crops, or ask our neighbors about the
cost of our friend Faro's new country-seat; we lounge upon the piazzas
of the hotels, reading price-lists, or (if not too old) an editorial; we
complain of the windy currents upon the lake, and find our chiefest
pleasure in a trout boiled plain, with a dressing of Champagne sauce; we
linger at Fabian's on a sunny porch, talking politics with a rheumatic
old gentleman in his overcoat, while the youngsters go ambling through
the fir woods and up the mountains with shouts and laughter. Yet it was
not always thus. There were times in the lives of us old travellers--let
us say from sixteen to twenty--when the great river was a glorious
legend trailing its storied length through the Highlands; when in every
opening valley there lay purple shadows whereon we painted castles; when
the corridors and shaded walks of the "United States" were like a fairy
land, with flitting s