"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep;"
and the great magnolia-trees may spring and flower for them.
The fishing luck still continues; and the prospects for a breakfast
to-morrow morning are bright. One great fellow, however, makes off with
hook, spoon, and all; and we see him floundering among the lily-pads
with it in his mouth, vastly dissatisfied with his acquisition. Like
many a poor fellow in the world's fishing, he has snapped at a fine
bait, and got a sharp hook for his pains.
Now we come back to the yachts, and the fishing is over. The sun is just
going down as we raise our white sails and away for the broad shining
expanse of the St. John's. In a moment the singers of our party break
forth into song and glee; and catches roll over the water from one yacht
to the other as we race along neck and neck.
The evening wind rises fresh and fair, and we sweep down the beautiful
coast. Great bars of opal and rose-color lie across the western sky:
the blue waves turn rosy, and ripple and sparkle with the evening light,
as we fly along. On the distant wharf we see all the stay-at-homes
watching for us as we come to land after the most successful picnic that
heart could conceive. Each fisherwoman has her fish to exhibit, and her
exploits to recount; and there is a plentiful fish-breakfast in each of
the houses.
So goes the 29th of February on the St. John's.
[Illustration]