WATER-LILIES 87 
above our heads gave one liquid trill, so-inex- 
pressibly sudden and delicious that it seemed 
to set to music every atom of freshness and 
fragrance that nature held; then the spell was 
broken, and the whole shore and lake were 
vocal with song. Joining in this jubilee of 
morning, we were early in motion ; bathing and 
breakfast, though they seemed indisputably in 
accordance with the instincts of the universe, 
yet did not detain us long, and we were promptly 
on our way to Lily Pond. Will the reader join 
us? 
It is one of those summer days when a veil 
of mist gradually burns away before the intense 
sunshine, and the sultry morning only plays 
at coolness, and that with its earliest visitors 
alone. But we are before the sunlight, though 
not before the sunrise, and can watch the pretty 
game of alternating mist and shine. Stray 
gleams of glory lend their trailing magnificence 
to the tops of chestnut-trees, floating vapors 
raise the outlines of the hills and make mystery 
of the wooded islands, and as we glide through 
the placid water we can sing, with the Chorus 
in the “Ion” of Euripides, “O immense and 
brilliant air, resound with our cries of joy!” 
Almost every town has its Lily Pond, dear to 
boys and maidens, and partially equalizing, by 
its annual delights, the presence or absence of 
