tended our excursion, early in the afternoon, to the distant wood, ostensibly in search of whortleberries, but usually returning with baskets better stocked with wild flowers than fruit. Redolent was that romantic region of Flora's gifts. From the early-wakened arbutus, vainly striving to keep the secret of its sweetness, a regular succession was kept up—the columbine, dancing on its wiry stem; the wild honeysuckle, commonly called the swamp-apple, which we plunged through morasses to secure; the fringed gentian and grass violet, blue as the skies that fostered them; the laurel, luring us to the cliffs; the white lotus sleeping upon the waters, and the magnificent lobelia cardinalis, towering in queenly beauty.
It may possibly be thought, from this rather minute enumeration of domestic employments and social pleasures, that those of the intellect were overlooked. No such thing. There were always space and heart for them. Indeed, I had never so much leisure when waited on by many servants, as at this period of my life, when we had none at all. Time was systematized, work simplified, and no waste of feeling incurred by watchfulness over doubtful fidelity. The mind found its true level, and did not forget its natural aliment. Instincts are prone to take care of themselves. Among them, it seems to me, should be ranked the love of knowledge.
At the time of our removal I was engaged in
