“THE BOUQUET” OF WATERWORKS. 125 
c This very morn I’ve felt the sweet surprise 
Of unexpected lips on sealed eyes” 
by which he poetically intimated the pleasing ceremony 
which had awaked him to the duties of the day. I think 
it needless to subjoin that the Doctor’s cold did not 
get better as long as we remained in the neighbourhood, 
and that had it not been for the daily increasing fire 
of his looks, I should have begun to be alarmed at so 
protracted an indisposition. 
We had now been keeping watch for three days 
over the Geysir in languid expectation of the eruption 
which was to set us free. All the morning of the fourth 
day I had been playing chess with Sigurdr; Fitzgerald 
was photographing, Wilson was in the act of announcing 
luncheon, when a cry from the guides made us start to 
our feet, and with one common impulse rush towards 
the basin. The usual subterranean thunders had already 
commenced. A violent agitation was disturbing the 
centre of the pool. Suddenly a dome of water lifted 
itself up to the height of eight or ten feet,—then burst, 
and fell; immediately after which a shining liquid 
column, or rather a sheaf of columns wreathed in 
robes of vapour, sprung into the air, and in a succession 
