200 WILD SPOKTS IN THE SOUTH 



rudder. By the wake in the water, we may tell his 

 course, long after his round head is lost to view, and his 

 child is following him close behind. They are bound for 

 the low reeds on the other shore. There the calamus 

 lifts its waving wands and spicy buds, while beyond the 

 waterpad's broad leaf floats on the surface, and their white 

 and yellow lilies stud the waters, and from the sandy 

 edge of the channel the osier's round tapering wand, 

 the bayonet flags and the sedge grass, appear above the 

 tide and point the way the current flows. This is the 

 playground of our friend. You may see him here when 

 the moon is full, pulling the roots of the lilies, or the 

 long eel-grass that is groAving beneath. You can hear 

 his quick splash and dive, and by the rattle of the cat- 

 tails and the shaking out of their floss you know he is 

 chasing off the wild duck's brood that intrude on his 

 gardens. On the shore his paths are running hither and 

 thither, wherever a better grass can be found, or the 

 seeds of grains that have come down with the freshets 

 have taken root, and on these grounds, which he is often 

 compelled to cross, a deep hole is dug down to the water, 

 and connects with the brook, in which he will take 

 refuge if disturbed. At length, when the morning star 

 shines dead, and the cock's loud clarion comes from the 

 farm, the provident botanist bears away for his home, 

 with his arms full of grass and roots to lay up for a day 

 of need. 



It often occurs that my friend has selected for his resi- 

 dence, being allured by the wild beauty of the scene, 



