. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. "I'm sorry," she said. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold.
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