out into
the stream.

I wish I could describe the day, for it was sweeter than honey and the
honeycomb; and I should like to pour out of my stored sweetness for
others. But I can hardly say what happened. It was all just like the
tale of Shalott, with this difference, that there was no shadow of doom
overhanging me; I felt more like a fairy prince with some pretty
adventure awaiting me as soon as the town, with gardens and balconies,
should begin to fringe the stream; perhaps a hand would be waved from
the lawn, embowered in lilacs, of some sequestered house by the
water-side. There was no singing aloud of mournful carols either, but
my heart made a quiet and wistful music of its own.

I thought that I should have liked a more grave and ancient mode of
conveyance; but how silly to desire that! The Lady of Shalott's boat
was no doubt of the latest and neatest trim, fully up to her drowsy
date; and as for quaintness, no doubt a couple of hundred years hence,
when our river-craft may be cigar-shaped torpedoes of aluminium for all
I know, a picture of myself in my homely motor-boat, with antiquated
hat and odd grey suit, will appear quaint and old-timed enough. And,
anyhow, the ripple gurgled under the prow, the motor ticked tranquilly,
and the bubbles danced in the wake. We went on swiftly enough, and
every time that I turned the great towers had grown fainter in the
haze; we slid by the green flood-banks, with here and there a bunch of
kingcups blazing in glory, the elbows of the bank full of white
cow-parsley, comfrey, and water-dock. I heard the sedge-warbler whistle
drily in the willow-patch, and a nightingale sang with infinite
sweetness in a close of thorn-bushes now bursting into bloom; blue sky
above, a sapphire streak of waterway ahead, green banks on either side;
a little enough matter to fill a heart with joy. Once I had a thrill
when a pair of sandpipers flicked out of a tiny cove and flew, glancing
white, with pointed wings ahead of us. Again we started them, and
again, till they wearied of the chase and flew back, with a wide
circuit, to their first haunt. A cuckoo in a great poplar fluted
solemnly and richly as we murmured past; the world was mostly hidden
from us, but now and then a church tower looked gravely over the bank,
and ran beside us for a time, or the lowing of cattle came softly from
a pasture, or I heard the laughter of unseen children from a cottage
garth. Once or twice we passed an inn, with