s that now o'erflow with tears,
And weary hours of woe and pain,
Are earnests of serener years."

"Well," said he, as he finished his song, "this may be a desert island,
but I will defy any one to gainsay that the morning is delicious, and
the scene a right lovely one."

"I am glad you begin to wake up to it," said Morton, "it looks very much
as it has at this hour for ten days past."

"No, no," protested Browne, "this bright, clear atmosphere makes a very
great difference in the appearance of things: we have had no such
mornings as this."

"I wish you could manage to enjoy it," said Max, "without missing every
other stroke, and digging me so unmercifully in the back with your
oar-handle; if you can't, I must ask you to change seats with me, and
let me take the bow-oar."

"How natural and refreshing that sounds!" cried Morton, laughing; "it is
a sure token that prospects are brightening, and serious dangers are
over, when we find ourselves again in a condition to scold about
trifles."

"It isn't such a trifle, to be thumped and mauled with the butt of an
oar, as I have been all the while Browne was singing, and rhapsodising,
and going into ecstasies about the beauty of the morning; which is just
such another as we have had ever since we have been here; all the
difference being in his feelings, which happen to be a shade or two less
doleful than usual, and so cause things to look brighter."

"Perhaps you would have me believe," answered Browne, "that the sun will
invariably shine when I chance to be in good spirits, and that a
thunder-storm would be the natural consequence of my having a fit of the
blues?"

"I should be sorry if that were the case," replied Max, "as we should
then be sure to have a large average of bad weather."

"This excursion reminds me of our school-days," said Arthur; "it almost
seems as though we were once more starting off together, on one of our
Saturday rambles, as we have so often done on fine summer and autumn
mornings at home."

"I think I shall never forget those forays through the woods," said
Morton, "over hill and hollow, in search of nuts, or berries, or
wild-grapes, or meadow-plums--the fishing and swimming in summer, the
snow-balling, and sledding, and skating, in winter! an innocent and
happy set of urchins we were then!"

"Really," said Max, laughing, "to hear you one would suppose that we
were now a conclave of venerable, grey-haired sages, scarcely able to
remem