those who were below him
on the rug about the past, and of more fortunate times, and of cities
that were fair and far. Nothing was easier for us then than to believe
fair reports. Good dreams must be true, for they are good. Some day, he
said, he would take us to Torhaven; but he did not, for his luck was not
like that.

Nothing like that; so instead we used to look westward to where Torhaven
would be, whenever the sunset appeared the right splendour for the sky
that was over what was delectable and elsewhere. We made that do for
years. Torhaven existed, there was no doubt, for once we made a journey
to Paddington Station--a long walk--and saw the very name on a railway
carriage. It was a surprising and a happy thought that that carriage
would go into such a town that very day. What is more confident than the
innocence of youth? Where, if not with youth, could be found such willing
and generous reliance in noble legend?

And how enduring is its faith! Long after, but not too long after, for
fine appearances to us still meant fine prospects, we arrived one morning
bodily in the haven of good report. Its genius was as bright as we
expected. It had a shining face. It was the equal of the morning. Its
folk could not be the same as those who lived within dark walls under a
heaven that was usually but murk. It lost nothing because we could
examine its streets. We went from it with a memory even warmer and more
comforting. What would happen to us if youth did not more than merely
believe the pleasant tales that are told, if it did not loyally desire to
believe that things are what they are said to be?

This country town is of the Southern kind which, with satisfaction, we
show to strangers as something peculiarly of our country. It is ancient
and luminous in an amphitheatre of hills, and schooners and barques come
right among its gables. It is wealthy, but it is not of the common sort,
for it never shows haste. It knows, of course, that wealth is cheap,
until it has matured and has attained that dignity which only leisure and
the indifference of usage can confer. The country around has a long
history of well-sounding family names as native as its hills--they
arrived together, or thereabouts--and the lodge gates on its highways,
with their weathered and mossy heraldic devices, have a way of
acquainting you with the measure of your inconsequence as you pass them
when walking. Torhaven has no poverty. It tolerates some clean an