We were not thoroughly awake and interested in the adventure we were about to undertake, until we found ourselves with guide books and lunch box on the back seat of a springless carriage, the front seat of which was occupied by a fat negro, with a good-natured grin, who answered to the name of “Moses.” We had a three-mile drive before us to the entrance of the Swamp, where we were to meet our guide and take the boat. The first stage of our journey lay through the main street of a sleepy little Virginia town. The sun had not yet dried the dewdrops, and the old white, pillared houses on either side of the highway, where the great elms overlapped their branches, were still wrapped in the quiet of the early morning. Farther along the street, when we reached the shops, there were more signs of life. Men, who looked like planters of antebellum days, were taking possession of the chairs which occupied the sidewalk and the porch of a small hotel. Negroes and mules and great bunches of bananas were seen on every hand. But we soon left all these behind and were out in the open country. Level, green fields lay on either side of us. It was a lonely road, in spite of the greenness and the sunshine round about us. Occasionally we passed a weather-beaten negro cabin, and once we saw, looming in the distance, a white plantation mansion, stately still, in spite of years of neglect. It seemed to us that this monotonous road might run on indefinitely, when, suddenly, Moses halted his horses, without apparent cause. “He’ah we is, I reckon, missus,” said he. “It can’t be,” returned my traveling companion. “I see nothing like a swamp.” And then we both of us looked closely at the only object in the landscape—a clump of willow bushes, seeming to cover the beginning of a brook that led nowhere in particular. “Yes’m, he’ah we be su’ah,” reiterated Moses. “An’ he’ah’s Massa Alphonso now,” and he pointed to a light-haired, lank Virginian, who, at that moment, appeared from behind the bushes, and stood leaning on an oar. The man combined the stateliness of a courtier with the roughness of a hunter, and the grace of his attitude and his blonde beauty led the Spinster to christen him “The Lohengrin of the Swamp.” The object of this unspoken christening now came forward and introduced himself as our guide. “An’ now, I reckon we might as well be a-startin’, ladies,” said he. “Wait, ma’am, I’ll help you down the bank. It’s mighty steep right here, but there wasn’t no other place nigh so good for hitchin’ the boat. You, Mose, you be back to-night at six o’clock sharp for the ladies. D’ye understand?” “Yes, sah’, yes, sah’, su’ah,” and Moses clattered away.