Now when I had mastered the language of this water, and had come to know every trifling features that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something too. I had lost something which could never be（1）to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the majestic river! I still keep in（2）a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steam-boating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold,（3）which a solitary log came floating black and conspicuous, in one place a long, slanting mark lay sparking upon the water; in（4）the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling rings, that were as many-tinted as an opal;（5）the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so delicately traced; the shore（6）our left was densely wooded and the somber shadow that（7）from this forest was broken in one place by a long, ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high（8）the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, reflected images, soft distances; and over the whole scene,（9）and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily enriching（10）every passing moment with new marvels of coloring.
