ter-lilies, and I must hasten to see them unfold their snowy hearts to
the morning sun, after sleeping all night upon the lake.

"Will I go? Surely one of those lotus flowers never thrilled a more
grateful response to the wave that sways it, than my heart gives back to
his wish--will I go? Those sleeping buds will not answer the sunbeams
that kiss them into another day of bloom, more gladly than I take the
happiness he offers. I have been restless and sad all night, and my
heart leaps to this new prospect of pleasure, as a bird flutters forth
from the shadowy leaves where it has spent the dark hours.

"The lotus pond was like a fairy lake, when we reached it; the banks
were festooned and garlanded with wild vines, prairie roses, and yellow
jessamines, overrunning whole hedgerows of swamp magnolias, whose
blended odor floated like a mist over the waters. Here and there an oak,
with long, hoary moss bearding its limbs, lifted whole masses of this
entangled foliage into the air, and flung it back again in a thousand
garlands and blooming streamers, that rippled dreamily in the waters of
the lake. As we came up, an oriole had lighted on one of these pendant
branches, and poured a flood of song over us as we passed down to the
boat, which lay in a pretty cove ready to receive us.

"An old negro sat in the boat, lazily waiting our approach, with his
face bowed upon his brawny bosom, and the sun striking through the
branches upon a head that seemed covered with crisp frost, age had so
completely whitened his hair. A word from the young master roused the
slumbering old man; and, with a broad grin of delight, he proceeded to
arrange the crimson cushions, and trim his sails, making haste to put
forth on our cruise along the shore, which was starred with opening
lotus blossoms, and green with their broad-floating leaves.

"It made my heart thrill with a sort of pain, as our boat ploughed
through this exquisite sheet of blossoms--for, as I have said before, it
has always seemed to me like uprooting a tender thought when a flower is
torn from its stem. I said something like this, as Harrington laid a
handful of the open flowers in my lap. He looked at me steadily for a
moment--muttered that it was a strange fancy--but plucked no more
water-lilies that day. After a time, when the old man, thinking to
please us, commenced to tear them up by the roots, Harrington rebuked
him for his roughness, and bade him trim the boat for a sail ac