hands, the way the boat had on her sent us gently through the screen
of scarlet flowers and glossy green leaves into such a lovely fairy
cove! Before us was a little white beach of fine sparkling sand,
against which the water broke in tiny wavelets, and all around a
perfect bower of every variety of fern and moss, kept green by
streams no thicker than a silver thread trickling down here and
there with a subdued tinkling sound. We all sat quite silent, the
boat kept back just inside the entrance by the steersman holding on
to a branch. It was a sudden contrast from the sparkling sunshine
and brightness outside, all life and colour and warmth, to the
tender, green, profound shade and quiet in this "Mossy Hum," as the
people about here call it. Do not fancy anything damp or chilly.
No; it was like a natural temple--perfect repose and refreshment to
the eyes dazzled with the brilliant outside colouring. Centuries
ago there must have been a great landslip here, for the side of the
mountain is quite hollowed out, and Nature has gradually covered the
ugly brown rent with the thickest tapestry of her most delicate
handiwork. I noticed two varieties of the maiden-hair, its slender
black stem making the most exquisite tracery among the vivid greens.
There was no tint of colour except green when once we passed the
red-fringed curtain of rata-branches, only the white and shining
fairy beach and the gleaming threads of water. As we sat there,
perfectly still, and entranced, a sort of delicious mesmeric feeling
stole over me; I thought of the lotus-eater's chant, "There is no
joy but calm," with, for, the first time in my life, a dim
perception of what they meant, perhaps; but it was over all too
quickly: prosaic words of direction to back water called us from
shade to light, and in a moment more we were in front of the
rata-trees, admiring their splendid colouring, and our little boat
was dancing away over the bright waves, with her white wings set and