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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-17 07:40:59 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-17 07:40:59 -0700 |
| commit | b80b096727c12607d11bcc3b79a3779dd6027fa5 (patch) | |
| tree | 2e3a53a4d790bd23d68f9d98667837509fb4df1a /78885-h | |
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diff --git a/78885-h/78885-h.htm b/78885-h/78885-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b138d9e --- /dev/null +++ b/78885-h/78885-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4927 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + An island garden | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2.0em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1.0em;} +.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0.0em;} +.poetry .indent14 {text-indent: 4.0em;} +.poetry .indent22 {text-indent: 8.0em;} + + +.illowp95 {width: 95%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp95 {width: 100%;} +.illowp80 {width: 80%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp80 {width: 80%;} +.illowp3 {width: 3%;} + + +img.drop-cap +{ + float: left; + margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -0.9em; +} + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img.drop-cap + { + display: none; + } + +.x-ebookmaker img.drop-cap + { + display: none; + } + +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter + { + color: inherit; + visibility: visible; + margin-left: 0; + } + + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78885 ***</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i002" style="max-width: 142.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i002.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>In the Garden</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i004_title" style="max-width: 140.4375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i004_title.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> +<br> + +<h1> +AN ISLAND GARDEN +</h1> + +<p class="center"> + BY CELIA THAXTER<br> + WITH PICTURES AND<br> + ILLUMINATIONS BY<br> + CHILDE HASSAM<br> + <br> + BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & CO.<br> + <br> + The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br> + <br> + MDCCCXCV +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> + Copyright, 1894,<br> + <span class="smcap">By</span> HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br> + <br> + <i>All rights reserved.</i><br> + <br> + <br> + <i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i><br> + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pgs iii-iv]</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center"> + TO<br> + <br> + MRS. MARY HEMENWAY<br> + <br> + “WHOSE LARGENESS OF HEART IS EVEN AS THE<br> + SAND ON THE SEASHORE”<br> + <br> + THIS VOLUME<br> + IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED +</p> +<br> +<br> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp3" id="i006_colophon" style="max-width: 2em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i006_colophon.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[Pg v]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i008_headpiece" style="max-width: 151.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i008_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i008_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">At</span> the +Isles of Shoals, among the +ledges of the largest island, Appledore, +lies the small garden which in +the following pages I have endeavored +to describe. Ever since I could remember +anything, flowers have been like dear friends to +me, comforters, inspirers, powers to uplift and to +cheer. A lonely child, living on the lighthouse +island ten miles away from the mainland, every +blade of grass that sprang out of the ground, +every humblest weed, was precious in my sight, +and I began a little garden when not more than +five years old. From this, year after year, the +larger one, which has given so much pleasure to +so many people, has grown. The first small bed +at the lighthouse island contained only Marigolds, +pot Marigolds, fire-colored blossoms which were +the joy of my heart and the delight of my eyes. +This scrap of garden, literally not more than a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</span>yard square, with its barbaric splendors of color, +I worshiped like any Parsee. When I planted +the dry, brown seeds I noticed how they were +shaped, like crescents, with a fine line of ornamental +dots, a “beading” along the whole length +of the centre,—from this crescent sprang the +Marigold plant, each of whose flowers was like</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent22">“a mimic sun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With ray-like florets round a disk-like face.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>In my childish mind I pondered much on this +fact of the crescent growing into the full-rayed +orb. Many thoughts had I of all the flowers I +knew; very dear were they, so that after I had +gathered them I felt sorry, and I had a safe place +between the rocks to which I carried them when +they were withered, and hid them away from all +eyes, they were so precious even then.</p> + +<p>The dear flowers! Summer after summer they +return to me, always young and fresh and beautiful; +but so many of the friends who have watched +them and loved them with me are gone, and they +return no more. I think of the lament of Moschus +for Bion:—</p> + +<p>“Ah me, when the Mallows wither in the garden, +and the green Parsley, and the curled tendrils +of the Anise, on a later day they spring, in +another year; but we men, we, the great and +mighty, or wise, when once we have died, in hollow +earth we sleep, gone down into silence.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> + +<p>Into silence! How deep, how unbroken is that +silence! But because of tender memories of loving +eyes that see them no more, my flowers are +yet more beloved and tenderly cherished.</p> + +<p>Year after year the island garden has grown +in beauty and charm, so that in response to the +many entreaties of strangers as well as friends +who have said to me, summer after summer, +“Tell us how you do it! Write a book about it +and tell us how it is done, that we may go also +and do likewise,” I have written this book at last. +Truly it contains the fruit of much sweet and +bitter experience. Of what I speak I know, and +of what I know I have freely given. I trust it +may help the patient gardener to a reasonable +measure of success, and to that end I have spared +no smallest detail that seemed to me necessary, no +suggestion that might prove helpful.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent14">DUST.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Here is a problem, a wonder for all to see.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Look at this marvelous thing I hold in my hand!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This is a magic surprising, a mystery</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Strange as a miracle, harder to understand.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What is it? Only a handful of earth: to your touch</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A dry rough powder you trample beneath your feet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dark and lifeless; but think for a moment, how much</div> + <div class="verse indent2">It hides and holds that is beautiful, bitter, or sweet.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Think of the glory of color! The red of the rose,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Green of the myriad leaves and the fields of grass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yellow as bright as the sun where the daffodil blows,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Purple where violets nod as the breezes pass.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Think of the manifold form, of the oak and the vine,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nut, and fruit, and cluster, and ears of corn;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the anchored water-lily, a thing divine,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Unfolding its dazzling snow to the kiss of morn.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Think of the delicate perfumes borne on the gale,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of the golden willow catkin’s odor of spring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the breath of the rich narcissus waxen-pale,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of the sweet pea’s flight of flowers, of the nettle’s sting.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Strange that this lifeless thing gives vine, flower, tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Color and shape and character, fragrance too;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That the timber that builds the house, the ship for the sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Out of this powder its strength and its toughness drew!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">That the cocoa among the palms should suck its milk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From this dry dust, while dates from the self-same soil</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Summon their sweet rich fruit: that our shining silk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The mulberry leaves should yield to the worm’s slow toil.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How should the poppy steal sleep from the very source</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That grants to the grapevine juice that can madden or cheer?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How does the weed find food for its fabric coarse</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where the lilies proud their blossoms pure uprear?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Who shall compass or fathom God’s thought profound?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">We can but praise, for we may not understand;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But there’s no more beautiful riddle the whole world round</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Than is hid in this heap of dust I hold in my hand.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i012_list" style="max-width: 130.125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i012_list.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> +<br> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LIST_OF_PICTURES_FOR_AN"> + THE LIST OF PICTURES FOR AN + ISLAND GARDEN + </h2> +</div> + + + +<div style="overflow-x:auto;"> +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i002">In the Garden</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i004_title">Title—Poppy Petals</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">i</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i008_headpiece">Headpiece to Preface—Margaret Pinks</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">v</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i012_list">Headpiece to List of Pictures—Pansies and Rose Campions</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">ix</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i014">Half-Title—Nasturtiums</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i016_headpiece">Headpiece—Poppy Tops</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">3</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i018">From the Doorway</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">10</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i041">A Shady Seat</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">18</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i045_headpiece">Headpiece—Hugelia Cœrulea</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">24</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i059">The Garden in its Glory</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">38</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i071_headpiece">Headpiece—Song-Sparrows</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">46</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i080">Larkspurs and Lilies</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i089">Hollyhocks in Late Summer</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">60</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i102_headpiece">Headpiece—Sweet Peas</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">69</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i109">The Bride</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">74</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i124">Poppy Bank in the Early Morning</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">80</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i130_headpiece">Headpiece—Tea Roses</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">87</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i146">The Altar and Shrine</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">94</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i152">A Favorite Corner</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">100</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i156_headpiece">Headpiece—Poppies going to Seed</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">105</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i163">Home of the Humming-bird</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">112</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class=smcap><a href="#i185">Sunset and the Pinafore</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">124</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[Pg 1]</span></p> + + <br> + <figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i014" style="max-width: 92.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i014.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + <br> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[Pg 2]</span></p> + +<p class="center"> + AN ISLAND GARDEN<br> + BY CELIA THAXTER<br> + <br> + WITH PAINTINGS BY<br> + CHILDE HASSAM +</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span></p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i016_headpiece" style="max-width: 138.6875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i016_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> +<br> + + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i016_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Of</span> all +the wonderful things in the wonderful +universe of God, nothing seems +to me more surprising than the planting +of a seed in the blank earth and +the result thereof. Take a Poppy seed, for instance: +it lies in your palm, the merest atom of +matter, hardly visible, a speck, a pin’s point in +bulk, but within it is imprisoned a spirit of beauty +ineffable, which will break its bonds and emerge +from the dark ground and blossom in a splendor +so dazzling as to baffle all powers of description.</p> + +<p>The Genie in the Arabian tale is not half so +astonishing. In this tiny casket lie folded roots, +stalks, leaves, buds, flowers, seed-vessels,—surpassing +color and beautiful form, all that goes to +make up a plant which is as gigantic in proportion +to the bounds that confine it as the Oak is +to the acorn. You may watch this marvel from +beginning to end in a few weeks’ time, and if you +realize how great a marvel it is, you can but be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>lost in “wonder, love, and praise.” All seeds are +most interesting, whether winged like the Dandelion +and Thistle, to fly on every breeze afar; or +barbed to catch in the wool of cattle or the garments +of men, to be borne away and spread in all +directions over the land; or feathered like the +little polished silvery shuttlecocks of the Cornflower, +to whirl in the wind abroad and settle +presently, point downward, into the hospitable +ground; or oared like the Maple, to row out +upon the viewless tides of the air. But if I were +to pause on the threshold of the year to consider +the miracles of seeds alone, I should never, I fear, +reach my garden plot at all!</p> + +<p>He who is born with a silver spoon in his +mouth is generally considered a fortunate person, +but his good fortune is small compared to that of +the happy mortal who enters this world with a +passion for flowers in his soul. I use the word +advisedly, though it seems a weighty one for the +subject, for I do not mean a light or shallow affection, +or even an æsthetic admiration; no butterfly +interest, but a real love which is worthy of the +name, which is capable of the dignity of sacrifice, +great enough to bear discomfort of body and disappointment +of spirit, strong enough to fight a +thousand enemies for the thing beloved, with +power, with judgment, with endless patience, and +to give with everything else a subtler stimulus +which is more delicate and perhaps more necessary +than all the rest.</p> + +<p>Often I hear people say, “How do you make +your plants flourish like this?” as they admire +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>the little flower patch I cultivate in summer, or +the window gardens that bloom for me in the +winter; “I can never make my plants blossom +like this! What is your secret?” And I answer +with one word, “Love.” For that includes all,—the +patience that endures continual trial, the constancy +that makes perseverance possible, the +power of foregoing ease of mind and body to +minister to the necessities of the thing beloved, +and the subtle bond of sympathy which is as important, +if not more so, than all the rest. For +though I cannot go so far as a witty friend of +mine, who says that when he goes out to sit in +the shade on his piazza, his Wistaria vine leans +toward him and lays her head on his shoulder, I +am fully and intensely aware that plants are conscious +of love and respond to it as they do to +nothing else. You may give them all they need +of food and drink and make the conditions of +their existence as favorable as possible, and they +may grow and bloom, but there is a certain ineffable +something that will be missing if you do +not love them, a delicate glory too spiritual to be +caught and put into words. The Norwegians +have a pretty and significant word, “Opelske,” +which they use in speaking of the care of flowers. +It means literally “loving up,” or cherishing them +into health and vigor.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i018" style="max-width: 144.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i018.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>From the Doorway</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>Like the musician, the painter, the poet, and +the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not +made. And he is born to happiness in this vale +of tears, to a certain amount of the purest joy that +earth can give her children, joy that is tranquil, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>innocent, uplifting, unfailing. Given a little patch +of ground, with time to take care of it, with tools +to work it and seeds to plant in it, he has all he +needs, and Nature with her dews and suns and +showers and sweet airs gives him her aid. But +he soon learns that it is not only liberty of which +eternal vigilance is the price; the saying applies +quite as truly to the culture of flowers, for the +name of their enemies is legion, and they must +be fought early and late, day and night, without +cessation. The cutworm, the wire-worm, the +pansy-worm, the thrip, the rose-beetle, the aphis, +the mildew, and many more, but worst of all the +loathsome slug, a slimy, shapeless creature that +devours every fair and exquisite thing in the garden,—the +flower lover must seek all these with +unflagging energy, and if possible exterminate +the whole. So only may he and his precious +flowers purchase peace. Manifold are the means +of destruction to be employed, for almost every +pest requires a different poison. On a closet +shelf which I keep especially for them are rows +of tin pepper-boxes, each containing a deadly +powder, all carefully labeled. For the thrip that +eats out the leaves of the Rosebush till they are +nothing but fibrous skeletons of woody lace, there +is hellebore, to be shaken on the under side of all +the leaves,—mark you, the <i>under</i> side, and think of +the difficulties involved in the process of so treating +hundreds of leaves! For the blue or gray +mildew and the orange mildew another box holds +powdered sulphur,—this is more easily applied, +shaken over the tops of the bushes, but all the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>leaves must be reached, none neglected at your +peril! Still another box contains yellow snuff +for the green aphis, but he is almost impossible +to manage,—let once his legions get a foothold, +good-by to any hope for you! Lime, salt, paris +green, cayenne pepper, kerosene emulsion, whale-oil +soap, the list of weapons is long indeed, with +which one must fight the garden’s foes! And it +must be done with such judgment, persistence, +patience, accuracy, and watchful care! It seems +to me the worst of all the plagues is the slug, +the snail without a shell. He is beyond description +repulsive, a mass of sooty, shapeless slime, +and he devours everything. He seems to thrive +on all the poisons known; salt and lime are the +only things that have power upon him, at least +the only things I have been able to find so far. +But salt and lime must be used very carefully, or +they destroy the plant as effectually as the slug +would do. Every night, while the season is yet +young, and the precious growths just beginning +to make their way upward, feeling their strength, +I go at sunset and heap along the edge of the +flower beds air-slaked lime, or round certain most +valuable plants a ring of the same,—the slug +cannot cross this while it is fresh, but should it +be left a day or two it loses its strength, it has no +more power to burn, and the enemy may slide +over it unharmed, leaving his track of slime. On +many a solemn midnight have I stolen from my +bed to visit my cherished treasures by the pale +glimpses of the moon, that I might be quite sure +the protecting rings were still strong enough to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>save them, for the slug eats by night, he is invisible +by day unless it rains or the sky be overcast. +He hides under every damp board or in any nook +of shade, because the sun is death to him. I use +salt for his destruction in the same way as the +lime, but it is so dangerous for the plants, I am +always afraid of it. Neither of these things must +be left about them when they are watered lest the +lime or salt sink into the earth in such quantities +as to injure the tender roots. I have little cages +of fine wire netting which I adjust over some +plants, carefully heaping the earth about them to +leave no loophole through which the enemy may +crawl, and round some of the beds, which are +inclosed in strips of wood, boxed, to hold the +earth in place, long shallow troughs of wood are +nailed and filled with salt to keep off the pests. +Nothing that human ingenuity can suggest do I +leave untried to save my beloved flowers! Every +evening at sunset I pile lime and salt about my +pets, and every morning remove it before I +sprinkle them at sunrise. The salt dissolves of +itself in the humid sea air and in the dew, so +around those for whose safety I am most solicitous +I lay rings of pasteboard on which to heap +it, to be certain of doing the plants no harm. +Judge, reader, whether all this requires strength, +patience, perseverance, hope! It is hard work +beyond a doubt, but I do not grudge it, for great +is my reward. Before I knew what to do to +save my garden from the slugs, I have stood at +evening rejoicing over rows of fresh emerald +leaves just springing in rich lines along the beds, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>and woke in the morning to find the whole space +stripped of any sign of green, as blank as a board +over which a carpenter’s plane has passed.</p> + +<p>In the thickest of my fight with the slugs some +one said to me, “Everything living has its enemy; +the enemy of the slug is the toad. Why don’t +you import toads?”</p> + +<p>I snatched at the hope held out to me, and immediately +wrote to a friend on the continent, “In +the name of the Prophet, Toads!” At once a +force of only too willing boys was set about the +work of catching every toad within reach, and +one day in June a boat brought a box to me from +the far-off express office. A piece of wire netting +was nailed across the top, and upon the +earth with which it was half filled, reposing +among some dry and dusty green leaves, sat three +dry and dusty toads, wearily gazing at nothing. +Is this all, I thought, only three! Hardly worth +sending so far. Poor creatures, they looked so +arid and wilted, I took up the hose and turned +upon them a gentle shower of fresh cool water, +flooding the box. I was not prepared for the +result! The dry, baked earth heaved tumultuously; +up came dusky heads and shoulders and +bright eyes by the dozen. A sudden concert of +liquid sweet notes was poured out on the air from +the whole rejoicing company. It was really beautiful +to hear that musical ripple of delight. I +surveyed them with eager interest as they sat +singing and blinking together. “You are not +handsome,” I said, as I took a hammer and +wrenched off the wire cover that shut them in, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>“but you will be lovely in my sight if you will +help me to destroy mine enemy;” and with that I +turned the box on its side and out they skipped +into a perfect paradise of food and shade. All +summer I came upon them in different parts of +the garden, waxing fatter and fatter till they were +as round as apples. In the autumn baby toads +no larger than my thumb nail were found hopping +merrily over the whole island. There were +sixty in that first importation; next summer I +received ninety more. But alas! small dogs discover +them in the grass and delight to tear and +worry them to death, and the rats prey upon them +so that many perish in that way; yet I hope to keep +enough to preserve my garden in spite of fate.</p> + +<p>In France the sale of toads for the protection +of gardens is universal, and I find under the head +of “A Garden Friend,” in a current newspaper, +the following item:—</p> + +<p>“One is amused, in walking through the great +Covent Garden Market, London, to find toads +among the commodities offered for sale. In such +favor do these familiar reptiles stand with English +market gardeners that they readily command a +shilling apiece.... The toad has indeed no +superior as a destroyer of noxious insects, and as +he possesses no bad habits and is entirely inoffensive +himself, every owner of a garden should +treat him with the utmost hospitality. It is quite +worth the while not only to offer any simple inducements +which suggest themselves for rendering +the premises attractive to him, but should he +show a tendency to wander away from them, to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>go so far as to exercise a gentle force in bringing +him back to the regions where his services may +be of the greatest utility.”</p> + +<p>One of the most universal pests is the cutworm, +a fat, naked worm of varying lengths. I +have seen them two inches and a half long and as +large round as my little finger. This unpleasant +creature lives in the ground about the roots of +plants. I have known one to go through a whole +row of Sweet Peas and cut them off smoothly +above the roots just as a sickle would do; there +lay the dead stalks in melancholy line. It makes +no difference what the plant may be, they will +level all without distinction. The only remedy +for this plague is to scratch all about in the earth +round the roots of the plants where their ravages +begin, dig the worms out, and kill them. I have +found sometimes whole nests of them with twenty +young ones at once. Lime dug into the soil is +recommended to destroy them, but there is no +remedy so sure as seeking a personal interview +and slaying them on the spot. They are not by +any means always to be discovered, but the gardener +must again exercise that endless patience +upon which the success of the garden depends, +and be never weary of seeking them till they are +found.</p> + +<p>Another enemy to my flowers, and a truly formidable +one, is my little friend the song-sparrow. +Literally he gives the plot of ground no peace if +I venture to put seeds into it. He obliges me to +start almost all my seeds in boxes, to be transplanted +into the beds when the plants are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>sufficiently tough to have lost their delicacy for his +palate and are no longer adapted to his ideal of +a salad. All the Sweet Peas, many hundreds of +the delicate plants, are every one grown in this +way. When they are a foot high with roots a +foot long they are all transplanted separately. +Even then the little robber attacks them, and, +though he cannot uproot, he will “yank” and +twist the stems till he has murdered them in the +vain hope of pulling up the remnant of a pea +which he judges to be somewhere beneath the +surface. Then must sticks and supports be +draped with yards of old fishing nets to protect +the unfortunates, and over the Mignonette, and +even the Poppy beds and others, I must lay a +cover of closely woven wire to keep out the +marauder. But I love him still, though sadly he +torments me. I have adored his fresh music ever +since I was a child, and I only laugh as he sits +on the fence watching me with his bright black +eyes; there is something quaintly comical and +delightful about him, and he sings like a friendly +angel. From him I can protect myself, but I +cannot save my garden so easily from the hideous +slug, for which I have no sentiment save only a +fury of extermination.</p> + +<p>If possible, it is much the best way to begin in +the autumn to work for the garden of the next +spring, and the first necessity is the preparation +of the soil. If the gardener is as fortunate as I +am at the Isles of Shoals, there will be no trouble +in doing this, for there the barn manure is heaped +in certain waste places, out of the way, and left +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>till every change of wind and weather, of temperature +and climate, have so wrought upon it that +it becomes a fine, odorless, velvet-brown earth, +rich in all needful sustenance for almost all +plants,—“well-rotted manure,” the “Old Farmer’s +Almanac” calls it. But if there is no mine +of wealth such as this from which to draw, there +are many fertilizers, sold by all seed and plant +merchants, which will answer the purpose very +well. I have, however, never found anything to +equal barn manure as food for flowers, and if not +possible to obtain this in a state fit for immediate +use, it is best to have several cart-loads taken +from the barn in autumn and piled in a heap near +the garden plot, there to remain all winter, till +rains and snows and cold and heat, all the powers +of the elements, have worked their will upon it, +and rendered it fit for use in the coming spring. +Many people make a compost heap,—it is an +excellent thing to do,—piling turf and dead +leaves and refuse together, and leaving it to slow +decay till it becomes a fine, rich, mellow earth. +In my case the barn manure has been more easily +obtained, and so I have used it always and with +complete success, but I have a compost heap also, +to use for plants which do not like barn manure.</p> + +<p>As late as possible, before the ground freezes, +I dig up the single Dahlia tubers (there are no +double ones in my garden), and put them in +boxes filled with clean, dry sand, to keep in a +frost-free cellar till spring. I find Gladiolus bulbs, +Tulips, Lilies, and so forth, will keep perfectly well +in the ground through the winter at the Shoals. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>Over the Foxgloves, Iceland Poppies, Wallflowers, +Mullein Pinks, Picotees, and other perennials, I +scatter the fine barn manure lightly, over the +Hollyhocks more heavily, and about the Rosebushes +I heap it up high, quite two thirds of their +whole height,—you cannot give them too much, +only be careful that enough of their length, that +is to say, one third of the highest sprays, are left +out in the air, that they may breathe. In the +spring this manure must all be carefully dug into +the ground round their roots. About Honeysuckles, +Clematis, Grapevine, and so forth, I pile it +plentifully, mixed with wood ashes, which is especially +good for Grapevine and Rosebushes. But +the white Lilies, and indeed Lilies generally, do +not like to come in contact with the barn manure, +so they are protected by leaves and boughs, and +the earth near them enriched in the spring, carefully +avoiding the contact which they dislike. +When putting the garden in order in the autumn, +all the dry Sweet Pea vines, and dead stalks of all +kinds, which are pulled up to clear the ground, I +heap for shelter over the perennials, being careful +to lay small bayberry branches over first, so that +I may in no way interfere with a free circulation +of air about them. In open spaces where no +perennials are growing I scatter the manure +thickly, that the ground may be slowly and surely +enriched all through the winter and be ready to +furnish bountiful nourishment for every green +growing thing through the summer. When the +little plot is spaded in April, all this is dug in and +mixed thoroughly with the soil.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + +<p>When the snow is still blowing against the +window-pane in January and February, and the +wild winds are howling without, what pleasure it +is to plan for summer that is to be! Small shallow +wooden boxes are ready, filled with mellow +earth (of which I am always careful to lay in a +supply before the ground freezes in the autumn), +sifted and made damp; into it the precious seeds +are dropped with a loving hand. The Pansy +seeds lie like grains of gold on the dark soil. I +think as I look at them of the splendors of imperial +purples folded within them, of their gold and +blue and bronze, of all the myriad combinations +of superb color in their rich velvets. Each one of +these small golden grains means such a wealth +of beauty and delight! Then the thin flake-like +brown seeds of the annual Stocks or Gillyflowers; +one little square of paper holds the white Princess +Alice variety, so many thick double spikes of +fragrant snow lie hidden in each thin dry flake! +Another paper holds the pale rose-color, another +the delicate lilacs, or deep purples, or shrimp +pinks, or vivid crimsons,—all are dropped on the +earth, lightly covered, gently pressed down; then +sprinkled and set in a warm place, they are left to +germinate. Next I come to the single Dahlia +seeds, rough, dry, misshapen husks, that, being +planted thus early, will blossom by the last of +June, unfolding their large rich stars in great +abundance till frost. They blossom in every +variety of color except blue; all shades of red +from faint rose to black maroon, and all are gold-centred. +They are every shade of yellow from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>sulphur to flame,—king’s flowers, I call them, +stately and splendid.</p> + +<p>All these and many more are planted. For +those that do not bear transplanting I prepare +other quarters, half filling shallow boxes with +sand, into which I set rows of egg-shells close +together, each shell cut off at one end, with a +hole for drainage at the bottom. These are filled +with earth, and in them the seeds of the lovely +yellow, white, and orange Iceland Poppies are +sowed. By and by, when comes the happy time +for setting them out in the garden beds, the shell +can be broken away from the oval ball of earth that +holds their roots without disturbing them, and +they are transplanted almost without knowing it. +It is curious how differently certain plants feel +about this matter of transplanting. The more +you move a Pansy about the better it seems to +like it, and many annuals grow all the better for +one transplanting; but to a Poppy it means death, +unless it is done in some such careful way as I +have described.</p> + +<p>The boxes of seeds are put in a warm, dark +place, for they only require heat and moisture till +they germinate. Then when the first precious +green leaves begin to appear, what a pleasure it +is to wait and tend on the young growths, which +are moved carefully to some cool, sunny chamber +window in a room where no fire is kept, for heat +becomes the worst enemy at this stage, and they +spindle and dwindle if not protected from it. +When they are large enough, having attained to +their second leaves, each must be put into a little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>pot or egg-shell by itself (all except the Poppies +and their companions, already in egg-shells), so that +by the time the weather is warm enough they +will be ready to be set out, stout and strong, for +early blooming.</p> + +<p>This pleasant business goes on during the winter +in the picturesque old town of Portsmouth, +New Hampshire, whither I repair in the autumn +from the Isles of Shoals, remaining through the +cold weather and returning to the islands on the +first of April. My upper windows all winter are +filled with young Wallflowers, Stocks, single +Dahlias, Hollyhocks, Poppies, and many other +garden plants, which are watched and tended with +the most faithful care till the time comes for +transporting them over the seas to Appledore. +A small steam tug, the Pinafore, carries me and +my household belongings over to the islands, and +a pretty sight is the little vessel when she starts +out from the old brown wharves and steams away +down the beautiful Piscataqua River, with her hurricane +deck awave with green leaves and flowers, +for all the world like a May Day procession. My +blossoming house plants go also, and there are +Palms and Ferns and many other lovely things +that make the small boat gay indeed. All the +boxes of sprouted seedlings are carefully packed +in wide square baskets to keep them steady, and +the stout young plants hold up their strong stems +and healthy green leaves, and take the wind and +sun bravely as the vessel goes tossing over the +salt waves out to sea.</p> + +<p>By the first of April it is time to plant Sweet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>Peas. From this time till the second week in +May, when one may venture to transplant into +the garden, the boxes containing the myriads of +seedlings must be carefully watched and tended, +put out of doors on piazza roofs and balcony +through the days and taken in again at night, +solicitously protected from too hot suns and too +rough winds, too heavy rains or too low a temperature,—they +require continual care. But it is +joy to give them all they need, and pleasure indeed +to watch their vigorous growth. Meanwhile +there is much delightful work to be done in making +the small garden plot ready. This little island +garden of mine is so small that the amount of +pure delight it gives in the course of a summer +is something hardly to be credited. It lies along +the edge of a piazza forty or fifty feet long, sloping +to the south, not more than fifteen feet wide, +sheltered from the north winds and open to the +sun. The whole piazza is thickly draped with +vines, Hops, Honeysuckles, blue and white Clematis, +Cinnamon Vine, <i>Mina Lobata</i>, Wistaria, +Nasturtiums, Morning-glories, Japanese Hops, +Woodbine, and the beautiful, and picturesque +Wild Cucumber (<i>Echinocystus Lobata</i>), which in +July nearly smothers everything else and clothes +itself in a veil of filmy white flowers in loose clusters, +fragrant, but never too sweet, always refreshing +and exquisite. The vines make a grateful +green shade, doubly delightful for that there are +no trees on my island, and the shade is most welcome +in the wide brilliancy of sea and sky.</p> + +<p>In the first week of April the ground is spaded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>for me: after that no hands touch it save my own +throughout the whole season. Day after day it +is so pleasant working in the bright cool spring +air, for as yet the New England spring is alert +and brisk in temperature and shows very little +softening in its moods. But by the seventh day +of the month, as I stand pruning the Rosebushes, +there is a flutter of glad wings, and lo! the first +house martins! Beautiful creatures, with their +white breasts and steel-blue wings, wheeling, +chattering, and scolding at me, for they think I +stand too near their little brown house on the +corner of the piazza eaves, and they let me know +their opinion by coming as near as they dare and +snapping their beaks at me with a low guttural +sound of displeasure. But after a few days, when +they have found they cannot scare me and that I +do not interfere with them, they conclude that I +am a harmless kind of creature and endure me +with tranquillity. Straightway they take possession +of their summer quarters and begin to build +their cosy nest within. Oh, then the weeks of +joyful work, the love-making, the cooing, chattering, +calling, in tones of the purest delight and +content, the tilting against the wind on burnished +wings, the wheeling, fluttering, coquetting, and +caressing, the while they bring feathers and straw +and shreds and down for their nest-weaving,—all +this goes on till after the eggs are laid, when +they settle down into comparative quiet. Then +often the father bird sits and meditates happily +in the sun upon his tiny brown chimney-top, +while the mother bird broods below. Or they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>go out and take a dip in the air together, or sit +conversing in pretty cadences a little space, till +mother bird must hie indoors to the eggs she +dare not leave longer lest they grow chill. And +this sweet little drama is repeated all about the +island, on sunny roofs and corners and tall posts, +wherever a bird house has been built for their +convenience. All through April and May I +watch them as I go to and fro about my business, +while they attend to theirs; we do not interfere +with each other; they have made up their minds +to endure me, but I adore them! Flattered indeed +am I if, while I am at work upon the flower +beds below, father martin comes and sits close to +me on the fence rail and chatters musically, unmindful +of my quiet movements, quite fearless +and at home.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i041" style="max-width: 146.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i041.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>A Shady Seat</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>While I am busy with pleasant preparation +and larger hope, I rejoice in the beauty of the +pure white Snowdrops I found blossoming in their +sunny corner when I arrived on the first of April, +fragile winged things with their delicate sea-green +markings and fresh, grass-like leaves. Ever since +the first of March have they been blossoming, +and the Crocus flowers begin, as if blown out of +the earth, like long, lovely bubbles of gold and +purple, or white, pure or streaked with lilac, to +break, under the noon sun, into beautiful petals, +showing the orange anthers like flame within. +And the little Scilla Siberica hangs its enchanting +bells out to the breeze, blue, oh, blue as the +deep sea water at its bluest under cloudless skies. +And later, yellow Daffodils and Jonquils, “Tulips +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>dashed with fiery dew,” the exquisite, mystic +poet’s Narcissus, and one crimson Peony,—my +little garden has not room for more than one of +these large plants, so early blossoming and at +their end so soon.</p> + +<p>In the first week of May every year punctually +arrive the barn swallows and the sandpipers at +the Isles of Shoals. This seems a very commonplace +statement of a very simple fact, but would +it were possible to convey in words the sense of +delight with which they are welcomed on this +sea-surrounded rock!</p> + +<p>Some morning in the first of May I sit in the +sunshine and soft air, transplanting my young +Pansies and Gillyflowers into the garden beds,—father +and mother martin on the fence watching +me and talking to each other in a charming language, +the import of which is clear enough, +though my senses are not sufficiently delicate to +comprehend the words. The song-sparrows pour +out their simple, friendly lays from bush and wall +and fence and gable peak all about me. Down +in a hollow I hear the brimming note of the white-throated +sparrow,—brimming is the only word +that expresses it,—like “a beaker full of the warm +South,”—such joy, such overflowing measure of +bliss! There is a challenge from a robin, perhaps, +or a bobolink sends down his “brook o’ +laughter through the air,” or high and far a curlew +calls; there is a gentle lapping of waves from the +full tide, for the sea is only a stone’s-throw from +my garden fence. I hear the voices of the children +prattling not far away; there are no other +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>sounds. Suddenly from the shore comes a clear +cry thrice repeated, “Sweet, sweet, sweet!” And +I call to my neighbor, my brother, working also in +his garden plot, “The sandpiper! Do you hear +him?” and the glad news goes from mouth to +mouth, “The sandpiper has come!” Oh, the +lovely note again and again repeated, “Sweet, +sweet, sweet!” echoing softly in the stillness of the +tide-brimmed coves, where the quiet water seems +to hush itself to listen. Never so tender a cry +is uttered by any bird I know; it is the most +exquisitely beautiful, caressing tone, heard in the +dewy silence of morning and evening. He has +many and varied notes and calls, some colloquial, +some business-like, some meditative, and +his cry of fear breaks my heart to hear when +any evil threatens his beloved nest; but this tender +call, “Sweet, sweet,” is the most enchanting +sound, happy with a fullness of joy that never +fails to bring a thrill to the heart that listens. It +is like the voice of Love itself.</p> + +<p>Then out of the high heaven above, at once +one hears the happy chorus of the barn swallows; +they come rejoicing, their swift wings cleave the +blue, they fill the air with woven melody of grace +and music. Till late August they remain. Like +the martins’, their note is pure joy; there is no +coloring of sadness in any sound they make. +The sandpiper’s note is pensive with all its sweetness; +there is a quality of thoughtfulness, as it +were, in the voice of the song-sparrow; the robin +has many sad cadences; in the fairy bugling of +the oriole there is a triumphant richness, but not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>such pure delight; the blackbird’s call is keen +and sweet, but not so glad; and the bobolink, +when he shakes those brilliant jewels of sound +from his bright throat, is always the prince of +jokers, full of fun, but not so happy as comical. +The swallows’ twittering seems an expression of +unalloyed rapture,—I should select it from the +songs of all the birds I know as the voice of unshadowed +gladness.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i045_headpiece" style="max-width: 159.6875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i045_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i045_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">“God</span> Almightie +first planted a Garden,” +says Lord Bacon. “And indeed it is +the Purest of Humane Pleasures, it is +the Greatest Refreshment to the Spirits of Man.” +Never were truer words spoken.</p> + +<p>So deeply is the gardener’s instinct implanted +in my soul, I really love the tools with which I +work,—the iron fork, the spade, the hoe, the +rake, the trowel, and the watering-pot are pleasant +objects in my eyes. The ingenuity of modern +times has invented many variations of these primitive +instruments of toil, and many of them are +most useful and helpful, as, for instance, a short, +five-pronged hand-fork, a delightful tool to use in +breaking up the earth about the roots of weeds. +Some of the weeds are so wide-spreading and +tenacious, like clover and mallow, that they seem +to have fastened themselves around the nether +millstone, it is so difficult to disengage their hold. +Once loosened, however, by the friendly little +fork, they must come up, whether they will or no.</p> + +<p>I like to take the hoe in my hands and break +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>to pieces the clods of earth left by the overturning +spade, to work into the soil the dark, velvet-smooth, +scentless barn manure which is to furnish +the best of food for my flowers; it is a pleasure +to handle the light rake, drawing it evenly through +the soil and combing out every stick and stone +and straw and lump, till the ground is as smooth +and fine as meal. This done carefully and thoroughly, +the beds laid out neatly, with their surface +level as a floor, and not heaped high enough +to let the rains run off,—then is the ground +ready for the sowing of the seeds.</p> + +<p>The very act of planting a seed in the earth +has in it to me something beautiful. I always do +it with a joy that is largely mixed with awe. I +watch my garden beds after they are sown, and +think how one of God’s exquisite miracles is +going on beneath the dark earth out of sight. I +never forget my planted seeds. Often I wake in +the night and think how the rains and the dews +have reached to the dry shell and softened it; how +the spirit of life begins to stir within, and the individuality +of the plant to assert itself; how it is +thrusting two hands forth from the imprisoning +husk, one, the root, to grasp the earth, to hold +itself firm and absorb its food, the other stretching +above to find the light, that it may drink in +the breeze and sunshine and so climb to its full +perfection of beauty. It is curious that the leaf +should so love the light and the root so hate it. +In his “Proserpina” John Ruskin discourses on +this subject in his own inimitable way. All he +says of this is most interesting and suggestive: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>“The first instinct of the stem, ... the instinct +of seeking the light, as of the root to seek darkness—what +words can speak the wonder of it?” +If “the seed falls in the ground with the springing +germ of it downwards, with heavenly cunning +the taught stem curls round and seeks the never +seen light.” The “taught” stem! Who taught +it? What he says of the leaves and stems is very +beautiful; every one should read it. I really do +not know which is most wonderful of these descriptions +of his, but nothing could be more striking +than this definition: “A root is a group of +growing fibres which taste and suck what is good +for the plant out of the ground, and by their +united strength hold it in its place.... The thick +limbs of roots do not feed, but only the fine ends +of them, which are something between tongues +and sponges, and while they absorb moisture +readily, are yet as particular about getting what +they think nice to eat as any dainty little boy or +girl; looking for it everywhere, and turning +angry and sulky if they don’t get it.”</p> + +<p>There could not be a better description than +this, and if any seedsman would like to make his +fortune without delay, he has only to have printed +on every packet of seed he offers for sale the +kind of soil, the food, required by each plant. +For instance, why not say of Mignonette, It flourishes +best in a poor and sandy soil; so treated it +is much more fragrant than in a rich earth, which +causes it to run to leaves and makes its flowers +fewer and less sweet. Or of Poppies, Plant them +in a rich sandy loam, all except the Californias +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>(<i>Eschscholtzia</i>), which do best in a poor soil. Or +of Pansies, Give them the richest earth you can +find, no end of water, and partial shade. Or, Don’t +worry over drought for your Nasturtiums; they +come from Chile and will live and thrive with less +water than almost anything else that grows; +don’t trouble yourself to enrich the ground for +them; that makes them profuse and coarse of +leaves and sparing of flowers; leave them to shift +for themselves, once having cleared them of +weeds. No flower bears neglect so well. Or, +Give your Zinnias a heavy soil; they like clay. Or, +Keep Sweet Peas as wet as you can and make the +ground for them as rich as possible. Or, Keep +barn manure away from your Lilies for your life! +they will not brook contact with it, but a rich +soil they also like, only it must be made so by +anything rather than stable manure, and they, +too, like clay; they blossom best when it is given +them. But transport to your garden a portion of +the very barnyard itself in which to set Roses, +Sunflowers and Hollyhocks, Honeysuckles and +Dahlias. Hints of this kind would be to the unaccustomed +tiller of the soil simply invaluable. How +much they would lessen failures and discouragements! +And to learn these things by one’s self +takes half a lifetime of sad experience.</p> + +<p>To return to our planting. Yes, the sowing of +a seed seems a very simple matter, but I always +feel as if it were a sacred thing among the mysteries +of God. Standing by that space of blank +and motionless ground, I think of all it holds for +me of beauty and delight, and I am filled with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>joy at the thought that I may be the magician to +whom power is given to summon so sweet a pageant +from the silent and passive soil. I bring a +mat from the house and kneel by the smooth bed +of mellow brown earth, lay a narrow strip of board +across it a few inches from one end, draw a furrow +firmly and evenly in the ground along the +edge of the board, repeating this until the whole +bed is grooved at equal distances across its entire +length. Into these straight furrows the living +seeds are dropped, the earth replaced over them +(with a depth of about twice their diameter), and +the board laid flat with gentle pressure over all +the surface till it is perfectly smooth again. Then +must the whole be lightly and carefully watered. +With almost all the seeds sown in this bird-blest +and persecuted little garden, I am obliged +to lay newspapers or some protection over the +planted beds, and over these again sheets of wire +netting, to keep off the singing sparrows till the +seeds are safely sprouted. Last year, one morning +early in May, I put a border of Mignonette +seeds round every flower bed. When I came to +the garden again in the afternoon, it was alive +with flirting wings and tails and saucy beaks and +bright eyes, and stout little legs and claws scratching +like mad; all white-throats and song-sparrows, +and hardly a seed had these merry little +marauders left in the ground. Around the edge +of each bed a groove ran, nicely hollowed by their +industrious feet, and empty as my hopes. I replaced +the seed from my store, and this time took +great pains to lay two laths side by side over the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>lines I had sowed, for safety. Next morning I +found the birds again at it; they had burrowed +under, kicked over, scratched away the light +sticks, and again the seeds were all devoured. +Patiently I planted once more, and this time +dragged from a pile of lumber heavy square +beams of different lengths, which I laid along the +borders. The birds eyed the barricades, strove +to burrow under, but were forced to give it up, +and so at last I conquered. In the course of a +week I turned over the protecting beams and +found the little Mignonette plants white as potato +shoots that have sprouted in a cellar, but safe, for +which I was devoutly thankful! A day or two +of sun and air made them green and strong, and +all summer long I valued every fragrant spike of +flowers they gave me, doubly, because of all the +trouble I had gone through to save them. I +mention this little episode merely to illustrate the +fact that the would-be gardener requires more +patience than most mortals!</p> + +<p>The state of the weather, the temperature of +the air, the amount of rain which falls, make all +the difference in the world in the time it takes +for the first green leaves to appear. Some seeds +take longer than others to germinate: for instance, +Hollyhocks, Marigolds, ten weeks Stocks +or Gillyflowers, Rose of Heaven, Zinnias, and many +others come up in from three to five days if all +circumstances are favorable, that is, if it is warm, +moist, and sunny enough; Asters, single Dahlias, +Sunflowers, Cornflowers, Mignonette, Coreopsis, +Morning-glory, Picotee Pinks, Wallflowers, Sweet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>Williams, and by far the greater number of annuals +appear in from five to seven days; Balsams, +Pansies, Begonias, Drummond’s Phlox, Poppies, +Verbenas, Thunbergia, and many others, in from +eight to ten days; Columbines, Flax, Artemisia, +Feverfew, Campanula, and so forth, in from ten to +twelve days; Maurandia, Forget-me-not, Petunia, +Lantana, Nicotiana (an exquisite flower, by the +way), in from twelve to fifteen days; Cobœa, +Gloxinia, Primroses, Geraniums, and others, in +from fifteen to twenty days; Perennial Phlox, +Clematis, Perennial Larkspurs (which are +heavenly!), and various others, take from twenty +to thirty-five days to germinate; and as for Lupines +and Lilies and Ampelopsis, and the like, +they take a whole year! But common gardeners +don’t try to raise these from seed, fortunately.</p> + +<p>With the first faint green lines that are visible +along the flower beds come the weeds, yea, and +even before them; a wild, vigorous, straggling +army, full of health, of strength, and a most marvelous +power of growth. These must be dealt +with at once and without mercy; they must be +pulled up root and branch, without a moment’s +delay. There is clover that appears with a little +circular leaf and has a root that seems to reach +all round in the under world; it goes everywhere +and holds on to the earth with a grip which is +unequaled by anything that grows. Not an atom +of its roots must be left in the ground, for every +thread of it will send up new shoots, and if not +watched fill all the space in a few weeks. Another +difficult weed to manage is the chickweed, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>is so delicate that it breaks at the slightest touch. +It is a most all-pervading weed; it fills every +space between the flowers, overruns them like a +green mist, and will surely strangle them if left +unmolested. Alphonse Karr, who so greatly enjoyed +his garden, and wrote of it with so much +pleasure, says: “The chickweed is endowed with +a fecundity that no other plant possesses.... +Seven or eight generations of chickweed cover +the earth every year.... It occupies the fields +naturally, and invades our gardens; it is almost +impossible to destroy it.”</p> + +<p>There is a long procession of weeds to be +fought: pigweed, ragweed, smartweed, shepherd’s +purse, mallow, mustard, sorrel, and many more, +which make the first crop. The second consists +largely of quitch-grass, the very worst of all, and +purslain or pusley, which Charles Dudley Warner +has immortalized in his charming book, “My +Summer in a Garden.” The roots of quitch-grass +are as strong as steel and run rapidly in +all directions underneath the surface, sending +up tender shoots that break too easily when you +touch them. The root must be found, grasped +firmly, and followed its whole length to utter extermination, +or the grass will come up like a giant, +and later cannot be dealt with except by pulling +up also the flowers among which it inextricably +entangles itself. The flat, olive-green leaves and +red fleshy stems of the pusley, running over the +ground in a mat, next appear; this is easily disposed +of, only it continues to come up,—fresh +plants in endless succession rise from the soil all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>summer, and must be watched and faithfully destroyed.</p> + +<p>There is one weed, or wild plant, dodder by +name, which has given my island garden the +greatest possible trouble. It is often wrongly +called gold-thread, because it looks like a tangled +mass of amber thread, but the true gold-thread is +quite different. The whole plant consists of nothing +but these seemingly endless brittle reddish +yellow stalks with bunches of small, dull, whitish +flowers without stems, borne at intervals, with no +leaves at all. It has no root in the earth, it is a +parasite, and not at all particular as to what it +fastens itself upon; anything that comes in its +way will answer its purpose. It is very pretty in +its place, growing among the goldenrod and blue +skullcap at the top of the rocky little coves that +slope down to the water about the island, throwing +itself from plant to plant, and making a mass +of translucent amber color. But alas! when it +gets into a civilized garden, woe, woe unto that +garden! A handful of it in bloom was brought +to my piazza twenty years ago, and some of it +was accidentally thrown into the flower beds; I +have been fighting it ever since. I have never +yet been able to get rid of it! Next year I found +my Nasturtiums, Cornflowers, Marigolds, and all +the rest tangled together in this yellow web, a +mass of inextricable confusion. Year after year +I waged war against it, but even yet it is not entirely +exterminated. I never allow a plant of it +in the garden, no seeds of it ripen there, and none +of it grows near the place outside; not a single +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>atom of it in my small domain could possibly escape +my eye, and yet its seeds come up more or +less every year; I am sure to find one or two +plants of it in the garden somewhere. They +emerge from the ground, each like a fine yellow +hair, till they are an inch and a half or two inches +long; they reach with might and main toward +the nearest legitimate growing plant, and when +they touch it cling to it like a limpet; then they +draw their other end up out of the ground and +set up housekeeping for the rest of their lives. +They adhere to the unhappy individual upon +which they have fixed themselves with a grip that +grows more and more horrible; they suck all its +juices, drink all its health and strength and +beauty, and fling out trailers to the next and the +next and the next, till the whole garden is a mass +of ruin and despair.</p> + +<p>For many springs after the first year it appeared +I used to take a glass tumbler and go all +over the beds soon after they were laid out, pulling +up these tiny yellow hairs, and in an hour or +two I have pulled up five or six tumblers full. I +gathered them in glasses so that I might be quite +sure of all I plucked, and because they could not +easily blow away out of such a receptacle. For +wherever they might fall, if they touched a green +growing thing they would in an astonishingly +short space of time make themselves fast for +good, or rather for ill! Every year I watch for it +with the most eager vigilance as I weed carefully +over the whole surface of the little pleasance, +but sometimes it steals up after all the weeding +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>is done, and, before I know it, I find it has begun +to tie the flowers together. Then I pull up all +the plants it has touched, lay them in a basket, +carry them down, and cast the whole into the sea. +It is the only way to be rid of it. I have known +it wind its inexorable way tightly up the large +smooth stem of a tall Sunflower, where I had not +thought of looking for it, till there was not an +atom of the skin of the stalk visible, only amber-colored +dodder and its white, dull flowers from +the great head of the blossoming Sunflower tree +to its root. Into the sea the whole thing went, at +once, without a moment of delay!</p> + +<p>These are only a few of the weeds with which +one must battle, though dodder, I fancy, seldom +troubles any one on the planet as it does me. It +takes an island garden to produce so remarkable +a growth! Most of them soon become familiar, +too familiar, indeed, and at last one learns how to +manage them. The great mistake which the +inexperienced gardener makes is in leaving a +morsel of the root of a weed in the ground. Only +by combing the earth through and through between +the rows of plants with the small hand-fork +(after all the intruders have been removed as +carefully as possible with the hand), can you be +sure that they are gone. Other seeds of weeds +will be overturned and brought to the surface in +the process, and these will sprout in their turn, +but by this time the flowers will have made so +much headway that they will crowd out the new +crop of weeds enough to insure their own safety, +except in some few instances. Apple of Peru +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>(Stramonium) is one of the most powerful and +persistent among the enemies; a poisonous thing +with a loathsome odor, it must be watched for +and routed, which fortunately is easily done. In +its perfected growth this is the most uncanny +plant,—a strong, low bush with bat-like leaves +of dark green, and long, pale lavender, lily-like +flowers, followed by a round spiked seed-vessel. +Says Hawthorne: “What hidden virtue is in +these things that it is granted to sow themselves +with the wind and to grapple the earth with this +immitigable stubbornness, and to flourish in spite +of obstacles, and never to suffer blight beneath +any sun or shade, but always to mock their enemies +with the same wicked luxuriance?” Mrs. +Gatty (the mother of that beautiful woman, +Juliana Horatia Ewing, who has so discoursed on +the subject of flowers and many other things as +to make all time her debtor) answers the question, +“What is a weed?” by this statement, “A +weed is a plant out of place.” A keen and close +observer of nature says: “A better definition +would be, ‘A plant which has an innate disposition +to <i>get</i> into the wrong place;’” and goes on +to say: “This is the very essence of weed character—in +plants as in men. If you glance through +your botanical books you will see often added to +certain names, ‘a troublesome weed.’ It is not +its being venomous or ugly, but its being impertinent—thrusting +itself where it has no business +and hinders other people’s business—that makes +a weed of it.... Who ever saw a wood anemone +or a heath blossom out of place?... What is it, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>then, this temper in some plants—malicious as +it seems, intrusive, at all events, or erring—which +brings them out of their places, thrusts +them where they thwart us and offend?” This +seems to me the best definition of what constitutes +a weed that I have seen.</p> + +<p>And their strength is mighty, and their name +is legion. If there were no other enemies which +the gardener must fight, this one of weeds alone +is quite enough to tax all his powers and patience.</p> + +<p>Then the plants kill each other if they are left +to grow as thickly together as the seeds were +sown; they must be “thinned out” as soon as +they have attained to their second leaf, leaving +two, three, four, or five inches between each two +plants side by side. I always leave two plants +where one would be enough, because something +is so likely to happen to destroy them, and if +there are two the hard fates may perhaps leave +one. Some things require much more space +than others. Pinks that spire up so thin and tall +can be set closer together than Poppies, which +spread widely in all directions. This pulling up +and throwing away of the superfluous plants is a +very difficult thing for me to do. I cannot bear +to destroy one of the precious young seedlings +that I have watched and tended with such love +and care, but it must be done. It is a matter of +the very greatest importance. The welfare of the +garden depends on it. I comfort myself as best +I may by saving all that will bear transplanting, +and then giving them away to the flower plots of +my fellow-gardeners on neighboring islands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> + +<p>Soon the whole plot mantles over all its surface +with the rich, warm green of vigorous leafage. +The new growth rejoices. That is the +right word for it. The gladness of green growing +things is apparent to any seeing eye. They rejoice +with a radiant joy in sun and rain and air +and dew, in all care and kindness. They know +and respond to everything that is done for them. +The low-growing Drummond’s Phlox is one of +the most satisfactory flowers for a beginner in the +art of gardening. There is no such word as fail +in its bright lexicon; and it blossoms continually +from the last of June till frost. Looking carefully +every day, by the last half of June I find the +pale clustered flower buds showing; then it is +not long to wait before the whole bed is a blaze +of varied color, a delicate woven carpet of myriad +vivid hues. In the lovely buds the petals are +folded one over the other in beautiful succession. +The flowers are five-petaled, with a faint, sweet +perfume; they are borne in flat clusters of an +exquisite, velvety texture, with a clearly marked +eye in the centre encircling the few pearl-white +stamens; this eye varies with the hue of each +different flower. There will be delicious pinks +among these Phloxes, from the palest rose to the +deepest cherry; all shades of red from bright, +light scarlet, clear and pure, to a rich black red,—the +Black Warrior. There will be all heavenly +purples, pale lilacs, deep red purple and blue +purple, perfect snow white: the eye in this last is +soft green, like the touches on a Snowdrop bell. +The scarlet flowers have a ring of black-red about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>the centre, delicately gorgeous. There are almost +endless varieties and mixtures of color; they are +full of surprises. The Star of Quedlinburg is +such a pretty, quaint change rung upon this +pleasant theme of Phloxes. The centre of the +outer line of each petal is drawn out at the edge +like the tails on the under wings of the Luna +moth. These long tails in which each petal terminates +give the flower the aspect of a star with +rays. “Ask of Nature why the star form she +repeats,” says Emerson. It is forever repeated +among the flowers.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i059" style="max-width: 145.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i059.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>The Garden in its Glory</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>At bird-peep, as the country folk have a charming +way of calling the break of day, I am in my +dear garden,—planting and transplanting, hoeing, +raking, weeding, watering, tying up and training +those plants that need it, and always fighting for +their precious lives against their legions of enemies. +There is a time of great danger upon the +island from the birds when they are migrating +northward. They come suddenly down from the +sky in myriads, on their way to the continent, +and I have known them to strip the little plot of +every green shoot in a single day, utterly bare. +Nothing but fishing nets draped over the whole +space will save the garden when these hungry +hordes descend. But I do not lose patience with +the birds, however sorely they try me. I love +them too well. How should they know that the +garden was not planted for them? Those belonging +to the thrush tribe are the most mischievous; +the others do not disturb the flower +beds so much. The friendly robin, though a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>thrush, only comes for worms, to which he is +more than welcome. Most of the other birds—bobolinks, +kingbirds, orioles, purple finches, and +many other beautiful creatures less familiar—stay +with us for a short time only, on their passage +north or south every year; but a single pair +of kingbirds build every summer in the one tall +elm-tree on the island, where also builds a cosy +nuthatch and raises a numerous family, and one +pair of most interesting kingfishers haunts the +upper cove till late in the season. A Maryland +yellow-throat began building here last summer. +For several years one pair of cuckoos lingered +through the summer, but at last ceased to come. +A few blackbirds build, the white-throats stay +late, but several varieties of swallows, the song-sparrows, +and sandpipers remain and rear their +broods. How we wish the robins would stay too, +and the orioles and all the sweet company! But +there are no trees to shelter them. Their coming +and going, however, is a matter of the greatest +interest to the little family on the island, and we +are thrown into a state of the deepest excitement +by the apparition of a scarlet tanager, or a rose-breasted +grosbeak, or any of those unfamiliar +beauties. Once a ferruginous thrush came and +stayed a week with us in early June. Every day +when he perched on a ridge-pole or chimney-top +and sang, the whole family turned out in a body +to listen, making a business of it, attending to nothing +else while that thrilling melody was poured +out on the silent air. That was a gift of the gods +which we could, none of us, afford to neglect!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>Says the wise Lord Bacon again: “And because +the Breath of Flowers is far sweeter in the +Aire (when it comes and goes, like the Warbling +of Music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is +more fit for that delight than to know what be +the Flowers and Plants that doe best perfume the +Aire.”</p> + +<p>The most exquisite perfume known to my garden +is that of the Wallflowers; there is nothing +equal to it. They blossom early, and generally +before June has passed they are gone, and have +left me mourning their too swift departure. I +wonder they are not more generally cultivated, +but I fancy the fact that they do not blossom till +the second year has much to do with their rarity. +It requires so much more faith and patience to +wait a whole year, and meanwhile carefully watch +and tend the plants, excepting during the time +when winter covers them with a blanket of snow; +but when at last spring comes and the tardy +flowers appear, then one is a thousand times repaid +for all the tedious months of waiting. They +return such wealth of bloom and fragrance for +the care and thought bestowed on them! Their +thick spikes of velvet blossoms are in all shades +of rich red, from scarlet to the darkest brown, +from light gold to orange; some are purple; and +their odor,—who shall describe it! Violets, +Roses, Lilies, Sweet Peas, Mignonette, and Heliotrope, +with a dash of Honeysuckle, all mingled +in a heavenly whole. There is no perfume which +I know that can equal it. And they are so lavish +of their scent; it is borne off the garden and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>wafted everywhere, into the house and here and +there in all directions, in viewless clouds on the +gentle air. To make a perfect success of Wallflowers +they must be given lime in some form +about the roots. They thrive marvelously if fed +with a mixture of old plastering in the soil, or +bone meal, or, if that is not at hand, the meat +bones from the kitchen, calcined in the oven and +pounded into bits, stirred in around the roots is +fine for them. This treatment makes all the difference +in the world in their strength and beauty. +After the Wallflowers, Roses and Lilies, Mignonette, +Pinks, Gillyflowers, Sweet Peas, and the +Honeysuckles for fragrance, and of these last, the +monthly Honeysuckle is the most divine. Such +vigor of growth I have never seen in any other +plant, and it is hardy even without the least protection +in our northern climate. It climbs the +trellis on my piazza and spreads its superb clusters +of flowers from time to time all summer. +Each cluster is a triumph of beauty, flat in the +centre and curving out to the blossoming edge in +joyous lines of loveliness, most like a wreath of +heavenly trumpets breathing melodies of perfume +to the air. Each trumpet of lustrous white +deepens to a yellower tint in the centre where the +small ends meet; each blossom where it opens at +the lip is tipped with fresh pink; each sends out +a group of long stamens from its slender throat +like rays of light: and the whole circle of radiant +flowers has an effect of gladness and glory indescribable: +the very sight of it lifts and refreshes +the human heart. And for its odor, it is like the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>spirit of romance, sweet as youth’s tender dreams. +It is summer’s very soul.</p> + +<p>This beautiful vine will grow anywhere, for anybody, +only give it half a chance, such is its matchless +vigor. I wonder why it is not found in every +garden; nothing so well repays the slightest care.</p> + +<p>Next in power come the Sweet Peas, blossoming +the livelong summer in all lovely tints save only +yellow, and even that the kind called Primrose +approaches, with its faint gold suffusion of both +inner and outer petals. I plant them by myriads +in my tiny garden—all it will hold. Transplant, +I should say, because of my friends the birds, who +never leave me one if I dare plant them out of +doors. But this transplanting is most delightful. +I thoroughly enjoy digging with the hoe a long +trench six inches deep for the strong young seedlings, +lifting them from the boxes, carefully disentangling +their long white roots each from the other +as I take them out, and placing them in a close +row the whole length of the deep furrow, letting +the roots drop their whole length, with no curling +or crowding, then half filling the hollow with +water, drawing the earth about the roots and +firming the whole with strong and gentle touch. +They do not droop a single leaf so transplanted; +they go on growing as if nothing had happened, +if only they are given all the water they need. +Already they stretch out their delicate tendrils to +climb, and I love to give them for support the +sticks with which the farmers supply their pea +vines for the market; but on my island are no +woods, so I am thankful for humble bayberry and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>elder branches for the purpose. It is another +pleasure to go afar among the rocks for these and +wheel them to the flower beds in a light wheelbarrow, +which is one of the most useful things +one can possess for work about the garden. At +once the vines lay hold of the slender sticks and +climb to the very top, fain are they to go much +farther. But I cut the tops so that they may +branch from the sides and keep within bounds, +and they soon make a solid hedge of healthy +green. Oh, when the blossoms break from these +green hedges like heavenly winged angels, and +their pure, cool perfume fills the air, what joy is +mine!</p> + +<p>I find Sweet Peas can hardly have too rich a +soil, provided always that they are kept sufficiently +wet. They <i>must</i> have moisture, their roots must +be kept cool and damp,—a mulch of leaves or +straw is a very good thing to keep the roots from +drying,—and they must always be planted as deep +as possible. Wood ashes give them a stronger +growth. Their colors, the great variety of them, +and their vivid delicacy are wonderful; they are +most beautiful against the background of the sea; +they are a continual source of delight, and never +cease to bloom, with me, if gathered every day and +watered abundantly, the whole summer long, even +through the autumn till November. But they +must never be suffered to go to seed; that would +check their blossoming at once. I revel in their +beauty week after week, bringing them into the +house and arranging them in masses every other +day. Clear glass vases are most effective for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>them, and they look loveliest, I think, when each +color is kept by itself. For the Princess Beatrice, +which is a divine pale pink, a shade of rose refined +and exquisite, there are glasses of clear pink +that repeat the hues of the flowers with magical +gradations and reflections. For the white kinds +there are white vases, the most effective of ground +glass, the opaque surface of which matches the +tone of the flowers.</p> + +<p>Of the named kinds of Sweet Peas the most +beautiful shades of pink that I know are the +divinely delicate Princess Beatrice, the palest +rose-color; Adonis, a deeper pink, very clear +and rich; the Orange Prince, a most ineffably +splendid color of bright yellow-rose; these together +make a combination of color that satisfies the inmost +soul. Carmine Invincible is the most +splendid red; the Butterfly is white edged with +mauve, and combined with the delicate rose +Princess Beatrice makes a delicious harmony. +Blanche Ferry is also a lovely rose. Queen Victoria +is the best white I have known; but every +year new varieties are found which seem more and +more beautiful, and it is only by trying them that +one finds which to depend on.</p> + +<p>Of the worth of these I have mentioned I am +sure; they are the strongest growers, the freest +bloomers, and the most beautiful of their kind. +They never disappoint you if you give them the +right care. The list of flowers in my island garden +is by no means long, but I could discourse of +them forever! They are mostly the old-fashioned +flowers our grandmothers loved. Beginning with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Snowdrops, Crocuses, Daffodils, Narcissus, a few +Hyacinths, Scillas, an English Primrose or two, +Tulips, and several other early blooming plants, +one big red Peony, Columbine, Ragged Robin, +Cornflowers, Roses and Lilies, Larkspurs, Pinks +and Gillyflowers, Sweet Williams, Wallflowers, +Forget-me-nots, single Dahlias, Sunflowers of +every kind, and Hollyhocks of all colors, Poppies +in almost endless variety, Nasturtiums of all hues, +pot Marigolds, summer Chrysanthemums in great +variety, Rose Campion, or Rose of Heaven, Pansies, +Phlox, Sweet Peas, and Mignonette, Crimson +Flax and the tall blue Perennial Flax (a wonderful +blue!), many kinds of Coreopsis,—all most +valuable and decorative,—Asters, Honeysuckle +and Clematis, Morning-glories, Lavender and Foxgloves, +Candytuft, Verbenas, Thunbergia, Penstemon, +the heaven-blue Ipomea, white Petunias,—because +they are so beautiful by moonlight,—a +few Four-o’clocks, and so forth. These are +enough for a most happy little garden. A few +more modern plants are added, a golden and a +rosy Lily from Japan, a lustrous white gold-hearted +Anemone from the same country, for autumn +blooming, one or two tuberous-rooted Begonias, +some Gaillardias and Zinnias, the fragrant +little Asperula (Woodruff), and some others. +Among the new plants one of the most interesting +is the Hugelia Cœrulea, which grows a foot +and a half high, with a many-branched woolly +leaf, and flowers in flat clusters of the most delicious +light blue. This is a flower with an atmosphere; +it has a quality of beauty quite indescribable.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i071_headpiece" style="max-width: 134.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i071_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i071_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">I</span> copy +the notes of a few days’ work +in the garden in May, just to give an idea of their +character and of the variety of occupation in this +small space of ground.</p> + +<p>May 11. This morning at four o’clock the +sky was one rich red blush in the east, over a sea +as calm as a mirror. How could I wait for the +sun to lift its scarlet rim above the dim sea-line +(though it rose punctually at forty-seven minutes +past four), when my precious flower beds were +waiting for me! It was not possible, and I was +up and dressed before he had flooded the earth +with glory. “Straight was a path of gold for +him,” I said, as I gazed out at the long line of +liquid splendor along the ocean. All the boxes +and baskets of the more delicate seedlings were +to be put out from my chamber window on flat +house-top and balcony, they and the forest of +Sweet Peas to be thoroughly watered, and the +Pansies half shaded with paper lest the sun +should work them woe. At five the household +was stirring, there was time to write a letter or +two, then came breakfast before six, and by half +past six I was out of doors at work in the vast +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>circle of motionless silence, for the sea was too +calm for me to hear even its breathing. It was +so beautiful,—the dewy quiet, the freshness, the +long, still shadows, the matchless, delicate, sweet +charm of the newly wakened world. Such a +color as the grass had taken on during the last +few warm days; and where the early shadows lay +long across it, such indescribable richness of +tone! There was so much for me to do, I hardly +knew where to begin. At the east of the house +the bed of Pansies set out yesterday was bright +with promise, every little plant holding itself +gladly erect. I began with the trellis each side of +the steps leading down into the garden, and first +set out a Cobœa Scandens, one to the right and +one to the left,—strong, sturdy plants which I +had been keeping weeks in the house till it should +be warm enough to trust them out of doors. +They were a foot high and stretching their sensitive +tendrils in all directions, seeking something +for support. They grasped the trellis at once +and seemed to spread out every leaf to the warm +sun, while I poured cool water and liquid manure +about their roots, and congratulated them on their +escape into the open ground. Near them, against +the same trellis, I put down two Tropæolum Lobbianum +Lucifers, a new scarlet variety of these +delicate Nasturtiums, that they might climb together +over the broad arch. Some time ago I had +planted there also some Mexican Morning-glories +sent me by an unknown friend, and if they come +up, and Cobœa, Nasturtiums, and Morning-glories +all climb together and clasp hands with Honeysuckle, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>Wistaria, and Wild Cucumber, my porch +will, indeed, be a bower of beauty! Then against +wall and fence I set out the stout bushes of single +Dahlias which have been growing ever since last +January. A new variety called Star of Lyons interests +me. I am anxious to know what it is like, +what its color, what its shape. It is such a pleasure +always to be finding new varieties and combinations, +fresh surprises in unfamiliar flowers. +Seeking the smallest posy bed I own, into this I +transplanted another stranger, Papaver Alpinum +Roseum, a rose-colored Iceland Poppy. How I +shall watch it grow, and how eagerly wait for it +to blossom! Eight egg-shells full of it were set +down and carefully watered. Next, a row of +baby Wallflowers were established in a long line +near the tall ones that are thick with buds. I +am going to try to have a succession of bloom +from these, if it can be accomplished, all summer. +In another bed I began to set out a few of the +choicest Sweet Peas, the new kinds; these were +already a foot long from tip to root ends. I have +no words to tell what pleasant work this is! +After the Sweet Peas were comfortably settled, I +covered the whole bed with a length of light +mosquito net, pegging it at the corners, laying +sticks and stones along the edges to hold it down, +so that the saucy sparrows should find no loophole +by which to wriggle inside; they having +watched the whole process with interested eyes +from their perch on the fence-rail. How beautiful +it was to be sitting there in the sweet weather, +working in the wholesome brown earth! Just +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>beyond the Sweet Peas I could see my strong white +Lilies springing up, a foot high already, with the +splendid hardy Larkspurs behind them, promising +a wealth of white and gold and azure by +and by. From time to time through the calm +morning, as I labored thus peacefully, I heard the +loons laughing loud and clear in the stillness, +and by lifting my head could see them off the +end of the wharf at the landing swimming to and +fro with their bright reflections, catching no end +of fish and having the most delightful time,—every +now and then half raising themselves from +the water and flapping their wings, showing the +dazzling white with which the strong pinions +were lined, and laughing again and again with a +wild and eerie sound. This means that a storm +is coming, I know. But I love to hear them, and +how devoutly thankful I am that there is not a +creature with a gun on this blessed island! The +loons know it well, or they never would venture +in so near, while they shout to the morning their +wild cries.</p> + +<p>Near me, where I had made the earth so very +wet, suddenly fluttered down a ruddy-breasted +barn swallow, the beauty! for on such heavenly +terms are we that he did not mind me in the +least as he gathered a tiny load of mud for his +nest against the rafters in the barn, and flew away +with it low on the wind. The barn swallows do +not visit my small inclosure as often as do my +nearer neighbors, the white-breasted martins.</p> + +<p>All this time the lovely day was slowly changing +its early delicate colors and freshness for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>whiter light of noon. By twelve o’clock the wind +had “hauled” from west to south, going round +through the east, and sending millions of light +ripples across the glassy water, deepening its +color to sparkling sapphire, and at last the sun +overhead seemed to pelt quicksilver in floods +upon it, and then it was dinner-time. After an +hour of rest again I took up my work. All +about, here and there and everywhere, I dug up +the scattered Echinocystus vines and set them +against the house, so that they could run up the +trellises on all sides to make grateful shade by +and by. A few straying Primroses waited to be +moved outside the fence,—they take up so much +room within, and room is so precious inside the +garden. Young plants of the charming, old-fashioned +Sweet Rocket had to be collected from the +nooks where they had sown themselves far and +near, and set in clumps in corners. Then there +was a box of white Forget-me-nots some one had +sent me, to be established in their places, and I +finished the afternoon by planting Shirley Poppies +all up and down the large bank at the southwest +of the garden, outside. I am always planting +Shirley Poppies somewhere! One never can +have enough of them, and by putting them into +the ground at intervals of a week, later and later, +one can secure a succession of bloom and keep +them for a much longer time,—keep, indeed, their +heavenly beauty to enjoy the livelong summer,—whereas, +if they are all planted at once you would +see them for a blissful moment, a week or ten +days at most, and then they are gone. I have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>planted and am going to continue planting till +the middle of June, in this year of grace 1893, no +less than two whole ounces of Shirley Poppies in +all, and when one reflects that the seeds are so +small as to be hardly more than visible to the +naked eye, one realizes this to be a great many.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i080" style="max-width: 145.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i080.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>Larkspurs and Lilies</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>May 12th. Again a radiant day. I watched +the thin white half ring of the waning moon as it +stole up the east through the May haze at dawn. +This kind of haze belongs especially to this +month; it is such an exquisite color, like ashes +of roses, till the sun suffuses it with a burning +blush before he leaps alive from the ocean’s rim. +Again in the garden at a little after six, to find +the sparrows busy tunneling up and down the +bank, devouring the Poppies that I planted yesterday. +How they can see the seeds at all, or +why they should care to feast on anything so +small, or why they do not all perish, as poor +Pillicoddy proposed doing, from the effects of +such doses of opium, passes my understanding. +There was nothing to be done but to plant them +all over and then trail through the dewy grass +long boards to lay up and down, covering the +bank, for protection.</p> + +<p>First, there were the small Tea Rosebushes to +be set out in their sunny bed, made rich with +finely sifted manure and soot and a sprinkling +of wood ashes. And here let me say that all +through the spring, beginning when the hardy +Damask and Jacqueminots, etc., are just unfolding +their leaf buds, it is a most excellent plan to +sift wood ashes quite thickly over all the Rosebushes, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>either just after a shower or after you +have been sprinkling them; let it remain on +them for several hours,—if the sun is not shining +I leave it half a day,—but then it must all be +carefully washed off, every trace of it, or it will +spoil the leaves. This kills or discourages all +sorts of insect pests, and the effect of the ashes +on the soil about their roots is most beneficial to +the Roses.</p> + +<p>As I sat in measureless content by the little +flower bed, carefully slipping my pretty Bon +Silenes and Catherine Mermets and yellow Sunsets +and the rest out of their pots, and gently +firming them in the ground, with plenty of water +for refreshment, a cloud of the most delicious +perfume brooded about me from a bed of white +violets at the left, the hardiest, faithfulest, friendliest +little flowers in the world. I found two +small Polyantha Roses had lived all winter in this +sheltered bed; that was indeed a charming find! +At the back of it grows a tall Jacqueminot, a +black Tuscany Rose, and the strong white Rosa +Rugosa, a Japanese variety which bears very +large single flowers in the greatest profusion. +This Rose is extremely valuable, easily obtained, +so hardy as to be almost indestructible, and absolutely +untroubled by any disease or insect plague +whatever. Its foliage is always fresh and handsome, +and its seed vessels are huge scarlet balls +as large as an average Crab-Apple, most ornamental +after the flowers are gone. But the old, old +black Tuscany Rose is the most precious of all. +Mine came from an ancient garden that vanished +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>long ago, but which used to be a glory to the +town in which it grew. It is a hardy Rose also, +in color so darkly red as to be almost black,—a +warm red, less crimson than scarlet, glowing with +a kind of smouldering splendor, with only two +rows of petals round a centre of richest gold. +At the end of this bed is a Water Hyacinth floating +in its tub, and near it, in another tub, a large +pink Water Lily, kept over from last summer in +a frost-proof cellar, is sending up the loveliest +leaves, touched with so sweet a crimson as to be +almost as delightful as the blossoms themselves. +All the rest of this day was spent in transplanting +Asters from boxes into the beds all over the garden, +edging nearly every bed with them, so that +when the fleeting glory of Poppies and other earlier +annuals is gone there will still be beautiful +color to gladden our eyes late in the summer, +quite into the autumn days.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon I had all the many boxes of +Sweet Peas brought to the piazza to be ready for +transplanting, but remembering the sparrows, I +covered each box carefully with mosquito netting +before leaving them for the night.</p> + +<p>14th. Sunday. A storm of wild wind and +flooding rain, the storm the loons predicted! At +breakfast my gardening brother said, “Well, my +sweet peas are all gone!” “Oh,” I cried in +the greatest sympathy, “what has happened to +them?” for he had planted six pounds or more, +and they had come up finely. “Sparrows,” was +his laconic reply. I flew to my boxes on the +piazza: they were safe, only through a tiny crack +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>in the net over one a bird had wriggled its little +body, and pulled up and flung the plants to right +and left all over the steps. But my brother’s long +rows, so green last night, were bare except for +broken stems and withering leaves. Alas, it is so +much trouble to cover such a large area with netting, +he thought this time he would trust to luck, +or Providence, or whatever one chooses to call it, +but it is a fatal thing to do. Now he has to +plant all over again, even though I shall share my +boxes with him, and it will make his garden very +late indeed. This time he will not fail to put +nets over all! I sat on the piazza sheltered from +the rain and watched the birds. Unmindful of +the tempest, they skipped gayly round the garden, +over and round the steps, examined all the tucked +up boxes of Sweet Peas, wished they could get in, +but finding it out of the question gave it up and +resigned themselves to the inevitable. To and +fro, here and there they went, peering into every +nook and corner, behind every leaf and stick and +board and stalk, busily pecking away and devouring +something with the greatest industry. I +drew nearer to discover what it could be, and to +my great joy found it was the slugs which the +rain had called forth from their hiding-places; +the birds were working the most comprehensive +slaughter among them. At that pleasing sight +I forgave them on the spot all their trespasses +against me.</p> + +<p>15th. A thick fog wrapped the world in dimness +early this morning; at eight o’clock it was +rolling off and piling itself in glorious headlands +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>over the coast, gleaming snow white in the sun, +but here and there thin silver strips lay across +distant sails and islands, lingering as if loath to +leave the earth for the sky. I took the baskets +of plants I had found necessary to dig up to give +the rest room, and paddled across to the next +island in a little lapstreaked dory, to give them +to my neighbors for their flower plots. Great is +the pleasure in the giving and the taking. It was +such a heavenly morning, so blue and calm after +the tumult of yesterday! Along the far-off coast +the joyous hills seemed laughing in the sunshine, +and the great sea rippled all over with smiles.</p> + +<p>From the low shores of the islands came the +singing of the birds over the still water, with an +indescribably quiet and peaceful effect, and as I +rowed into the cove of my destination, passing +the coasts of the little island called Malaga, I saw +outlined against the sky the lovely grasses already +blossoming among the rocks. A kingbird +sat on a bowlder and meditated; there was no tree, +so he was fain to be content with a rock to sit on. +I passed him almost near enough to touch him +with my oar, but he did not stir, not he! My +errand done and the plants distributed, I hastened +back to my own dear little plot again, and up and +down all the paths I went, digging out every +unwelcome root of grass, plantain, mallow, catnip, +clover, and the rest, once more raking them +clear and clean. Outside, in a bed by itself, I +sunk four pots of repotted Chrysanthemums, to +be ready for the windows in early winter. All +along the piazza are the house plants waiting to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>be attended to, cut back, repotted, and the soil +enriched for winter blooming. Every day I attend +to them, a few at a time. I cannot spare +much time from my planting, weeding, watering, +transplanting, and so forth, in the garden, but +soon they will be all done. Began to transplant a +few of the hundreds of the main body of Sweet +Pea plants into the ground, carefully covering each +bed as I finished with breadths of light mosquito +netting to make them sparrow-proof. As I was +working busily I heard the sweet calling of curlews, +and looking up saw six of them wheeling +overhead. Such sociable birds! They replied to +my challenge as if I had been one of themselves, +and as long as their calls were answered, lingered +near, but being forgotten presently drifted off on +the wind, their clear whistle sounding fainter and +fainter as they were lost in the distance. All the +rest of this day was spent in setting out Sweet +Peas, and it will take more than a whole day more +to finish, for I put them all round against the +fence outside, and into every space I can spare +for them within. After tea I hunted slugs as +usual, and scattered ashes and lime, but I really +feel that my friends the toads have done me the +inestimable favor of reducing their hideous numbers, +for certainly there are less than last year so +far. Early in April, as I was vigorously hoeing +in a corner, I unearthed a huge toad, to my perfect +delight and satisfaction; he had lived all +winter, he had doubtless fed on slugs all the +autumn. I could have kissed him on the spot! +Very carefully I placed him in the middle of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>large green clump of tender Columbine. He +really wasn’t more than half awake, after his long +winter nap, but he was alive and well, and when +later I went to look after him, lo! he had crept +off, perhaps to snuggle into the earth once more +for another nap, till the sun should have a little +more power.</p> + +<p>To our great joy the frogs that we imported +last year are also alive. We heard the soft rippling +of their voices with the utmost pleasure; it is a +lovely liquid-sweet sound. They have not lived +over a winter here before. We feared that the +vicinity of so much salt water might be injurious +to them, but this year they have survived, and +perhaps they may be established for good.</p> + +<p>May 20th. All the past days have been filled +with transplanting and the most vigorous weeding. +In these five days the Sweet Peas have +grown so tall I was obliged to go after sticks for +them to-day, wheeling my light wheelbarrow up +over the hill and across the island toward the +south, where among the old ruined walls of cellars +and houses, and little, almost erased garden +plots, the thick growth of Bayberry and Elder +offered me all the sticks I needed. Such a charming +business was this! So beautiful the narrow +road all the way, bordered by the lovely Shadbush +in bridal white, the delicate red Cherry with +flowers so like Hawthorn as to be frequently mistaken +for it, the pink Chokecherry, the common +Wild Cherry (which seems to attract to itself most +of the caterpillars in the land), all blossoming for +dear life, and among thickets of Blackberry, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>Raspberry, Gooseberry, Wild Currant, Winterberry, +Spirea, and I know not what, such crowds of flowers! +The last of the gay golden Erythroniums, the +Dogtooth Violets, dancing in the breeze; the large, +softly colored Anemones, now nearing their end; +the banks of pearly Eyebrights; the white Violets, +lowly and fragrant; the straw-colored Uvularia; +the ivory spikes of Solomon’s Seal, just breaking +into bloom, with its companion, the starry Trientalis; +the tufts of Fern in cool clefts of rocks,—of +these I gathered several clumps for my fernery in +the shade of the piazza. It would take too long +to tell of all the flowers I saw, but one more I +must mention. At the upper edge of a little cove +at the southwest, where the old settlement of more +than a hundred years ago was thickest, the earth +was blue with the pretty Gill-go-over-the-ground, +its charming blossoms covering the green turf and +cropping out among the loose stones,—a dear, +quaint little flower in two shades of blue marked +with rich red-purple. It was too early for the +Pimpernel to be in bloom, but the pink Herb +Robert was out, the smallest of all the Geranium +family, and I saw ranks of Goldenrod more than a +foot high getting ready for autumn. To tell all I +saw and all I loved and rejoiced in would take a +whole day. Oh, the green and brown and golden +mosses, the lovely, lowly growths along the way, +and oh, the birds that sang and the waves that +leaped and murmured along the shore! The +sweet sky and the soft clouds, the far sails, the +full joy of the summer morning, who shall tell +it? I was so happy trundling home my barrow +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>load of sticks piled to toppling, and finally tipping +it up at the garden gate! It took the whole +afternoon to stick the Peas, and I enjoyed every +moment of it. Before putting the dry brittle +branches in the ground, with a small, light hoe I +went all over and through the earth about the +Sweet Peas, uprooting chickweed and clover, pigweed +and dogfennel, till there was not a weed to +be seen near them. When night fell I had only +just finished this pleasant work.</p> + +<p>21st. Weeding all day in the hot sun; hard +work, but pleasant. I find it the best way to lay +two boards down near the plot I have to weed, +and on them spread a waterproof, or piece of carpet, +and kneeling or half reclining on this, get my +face as close to my work as possible. Sitting flat +on these boards, I weed all within my reach, then +roll up a bit of carpet not bigger than a flat-iron +holder, put it at the edge of the space I have +cleared, and lean my elbow on it; that gives me +another arm’s-length that I can reach over, and +so I go on till all is done. I move the rest for my +elbow here and there as needed among the flowers. +It takes me longer to weed than most people, +because I will do it so thoroughly. It is +such a pleasure and satisfaction to clear the beautiful +brown earth, smooth and soft, from these +rough growths, leaving the beautiful green Poppies +and Larkspurs and Pinks and Asters, and +the rest, in undisturbed possession! Now come +the potent heats that preface summer, and everything +grows and expands so fast, the process of +thinning the crowded plants must begin forthwith. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>Oh, for days twice as long! Yet these +approach the longest days of the year.</p> + +<p>22d. Another glorious day of heat; the sun +fairly drove me into the shade to work among the +house plants on the piazza. Hot, hot, and bright, +and outside the garden growing things begin to +pine for showers. When the sun declined toward +the west in the afternoon, I sat in the shade and +from the veranda turned the hose with its fine +sprinkler all over the garden. Oh, the joy of it! +The delicious scents from earth and leaves, the +glitter of drops on the young green, the gratitude +of all the plants at the refreshing bath and +draught of water! The rich red Wallflowers sent +up fresh clouds of incense, the brilliant and delicate +Iceland Poppies bowed their lovely heads and +swayed with pleasure at the bright shower. But +rain is greatly needed, searching rain which shall +drench the ground and reach the roots, and give +new life to everything.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i089" style="max-width: 139.4375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i089.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>Hollyhocks in Late Summer</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>23d. Again hot, still, and splendid. Spent all +the morning hammering stakes down into the +beds near Hollyhocks, Sunflowers, Larkspurs, +Lilies, Roses, single Dahlias, and all the tall growing +things. Many were tall enough to fasten to +the stakes,—all will be, presently. One enormous +red Hollyhock grew thirteen feet high by actual +measurement before it stopped last year, in a +corner near the piazza. Oh, but he was superb! +At night the lights from one window streamed +through a leafy arch of clambering vine, and illumined +him as he swayed to and fro in the wind, a +stately column of beauty and grace. A black-red +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>comrade leaned against him and mingled its rich +blossoms with his brighter color, and near him +were rose, pink, and cherry, and white spikes of +bloom, lovely to behold.</p> + +<p>All the afternoon weeding and thinning out +the plants. The large bank sloping to the southwest +outside the garden is a perfect mass of flowers +to be,—no weeds, for I have conquered them; +but it is next to impossible to pull up plants +enough to give all room. Again and again I +have thinned them; now I think I must leave +them to their fate and let it be a case of survival +of the fittest.</p> + +<p>24th. Last night, after having given myself the +pleasure of watering the garden, I could not sleep +for anxiety about the slugs. I seldom water the +flowers at night because the moisture calls them +out, and they have an orgy feasting on my most +precious children all night long. Before going +to bed I went all over the inclosure and, alas, I +found them swarming on the Sweet Peas; baby +slugs, tiny creatures covering the tender leaves +and the dry pea-sticks even, thick as grains of +sand. I was in despair, and though I knew they +did not mind ashes, I took the fine sifter and +covered Peas, sticks, slugs, and all with a thick, +smothering cloud of wood ashes. Then I left +them with many misgivings and went to bed, but +not to sleep, for thinking of them. At twelve +o’clock I said to myself, You know the slugs don’t +care a rap for all the ashes in the world, but the +friendly toads may be kept away by them, and +who knows if such a smother of them may not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>kill the precious Peas themselves? I could not +bear it any longer, rose up and donned my dressing +gown, and out into the dark and dew I bore +the hose, over my shoulders coiled, to the very +farthest corners of the garden, and washed off +every atom of ashes in the black midnight, and +came back and slept in peace.</p> + +<p>These are most anxious times on account of +the slugs. Now, every morning when I rise I +go at once into the garden at four o’clock and +make a business of slaughtering them till half +past five, when I stop for breakfast. If the +day is pleasant they are all hidden by that time, +for they dread so the touch of the sun. But in +the hoary morning dew they delight. This is the +hardest part of my gardening, and I rejoice that +not one person in a thousand has this plague of +slugs to fight. It is so difficult to destroy them; +to see their countless legions and feel so helpless +before their numbers, to find one’s most precious +favorites nibbled and ragged, and everything +threatened with destruction is a trial indeed. I +carry a large pepper-box filled with air-slaked lime +and shake it over them everywhere. They are so +small this year that it destroys them; they turn +milky and miserably perish, but the next morning +there are just as many more to take their +places. Still I patiently persevere, carefully +washing off the lime, so anxious lest it should +harm the plants, and killing by hand all the larger +monsters.</p> + +<p>In that most charming old book, Gilbert +White’s “Natural History of Selborne,” I find he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>speaks of these arch enemies of mine as “unnoticed +myriads of small shell-less snails called +slugs, which silently and imperceptibly make +amazing havoc in field and garden;” adding in a +note, “Farmer Young of Norton Farm says that +this spring (1777) about four acres of his wheat +in one field were entirely destroyed by the slugs, +which swarmed on the blades of corn and devoured +it as fast as it sprung.”</p> + +<p>Poor Farmer Young! I deeply sympathize +with him and his long buried trouble!</p> + +<p>Again White says: “The shell-less snails called +slugs are in motion all winter in mild weather and +commit great depredations on garden plants, and +much injure the green wheat.”</p> + +<p>There was a happy time when such a thing as +a slug was unknown on my island, and I well remember +the first that were brought here among +some Moonflowers that were imported from a distant +green-house. I saw them adhering to the +outside of the flower-pots and did not kill them, +never dreaming what powers of evil they would +become!</p> + +<p>25th. Every day the garden grows more interesting, +more fascinating. Buds full of promise +show themselves on the single Dahlias whose +seeds were only planted in February; on the Rose +Campions, the perennial kind, on the tall white +Lilies. The Hollyhocks are thick with buds, and +rich spikes head all the boughs of the Larkspurs, +and as for the Roses, they are simply wonderful. +The Tea Roses are loaded with buds; on one of +the Polyanthas that lived all winter in the ground +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>I counted fifty-two, and it is a tiny bush not more +than a foot high. The dear old Sweet Rocket is +blossoming in every corner, sending up its grateful +perfume. Now come days of great anxiety +about the Margaret Carnations that I have so +loved and watched and tended since the first of +March. They were splendid plants, full of health +and strength and all ready to bloom. Alas, I saw, a +day or two ago, the leaves turning yellow. I knew +too well what that meant. There was but one +thing to do. Down on my knees I went this morning, +and bringing my face close to the ground, +began pulling apart the central shoot in each plant, +where the sickly color hung its flag of distress for +a signal. Down, down a cruel length, into the +very heart and core of each precious stem I tore +my reluctant way to find that abomination of +which I was in search, namely, a short fat lively +white worm; for him I probed and brought him +up on the point of a pin, and having a small +quantity of alcohol at hand for the purpose, +dropped him into it forthwith, for instant and complete +destruction. Over forty of these beasts did +I destroy, and left the tattered Pinks to rest and +recover, if they could, poor things, after such a +terrible experience! These worms seem made +for all fragrant Pinks; as far as my experience +goes they never attack anything else. How in the +world, I wonder, do they know where the Carnations +are planted and when to come for them? +Such a scene of devastation as is my pretty bed +of Pinks of which I was so proud, dwarfed and +yellow, with their gnawed-off leaves strewn about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>all over the ground! But they will put out side +shoots and patiently strive to fulfill heaven’s intent +for them, of which they are conscious from +the least root-tip to the end of every battered leaf. +There is something pathetic as well as wonderful +in the way in which these growing things of almost +all kinds meet disaster and discouragement. +Should they suffer misfortune like this,—the lopping +of a limb, or the losing of buds, or any sapping +of their vitality,—if the cause is removed, +they will try so hard to repair damages, send out +new shoots, make strenuous efforts to recover the +lost ground, and still perfect blossom and fruit as +nature meant they should. There is a lesson to +be learned of them on which I have often pondered.</p> + +<p>June 3d. This has been an exciting day, for the +Water Lilies I sent for a week ago came in a mysterious +damp box across the ocean foam! I had +made their tubs all ready for them, putting in the +bottom of each the “well-rotted manure,” and over +this rich earth and sand mixed in proper proportions. +These tubs, or rather large, tall butter firkins, +stood ready in their places along the sunniest and +most sheltered bed in the garden. Oh, the pleasure +of opening that box and finding each unfamiliar +treasure packed so carefully in wet moss, +each folded in oiled paper to keep it moist, and +each labeled with its fascinating name! The great +pink Lotus of Egypt, the purple Lily of Zanzibar, +and the red one of the same sort, the golden +Chromatella, the pure white African variety and +the smaller native white one, the yellow Water +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>Poppy and the little exquisite plant called Parrot’s +Feather, that creeps all about over the water and +has the wonderful living, metallic green of the +plumage of the handsome green parrots. These, +with the flourishing Water Hyacinth I already +had growing in its tub on the steps, and the bright +pink Cape Cod Lily, make ten tubs of water plants,—a +most breathlessly interesting family! And +I must not forget another tub of seedling Water-Lilies +that I am watching with the most intense +interest also. It took most of the long, happy +day to plant all these in the rich wet mud and +settle them in their comfortable quarters. I laid +some horseshoes I had picked up at different +times, and saved, round the roots to hold them +down temporarily, while I gently flooded the tubs +with water and rejoiced to see the lovely leaves +float out on the surface fresh as if they were at +home. Then I sifted clean beach sand over the +earth about them, to the depth of an inch or more, +to hold the soil down and keep the water clear, +and all was done. What delight to look forward +to the watching and tending of these new friends! +I find myself wondering what enemy will attack +these, for surely something has been made for +their destruction, which I must fight! There is +not a growing thing in the garden that has not its +enemies and destroyers, fortunate if it has only +one. Just at this time there is a rampant little +snuff-colored spider which comes in from the +grass and fastens upon tender growths in the borders +about the house, covering the succulent +leaves and stems of Wild Cucumbers and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>Morning-glories, and even Nasturtiums and Cornflowers, +so thickly that the plant is not to be seen at +all for them; they are like a brown glove over +every leaf, and they suck every drop of sap out of +the plant, leaving it perfectly white. They are +fatal on the Sweet Peas, of which they are especially +fond. No poison known to me has the +slightest effect on them; nothing but water turned +on with the hose in floods disturbs them. This +washes them away for the time being. It has to +be repeated, however, many times a day, for they +recover from their drenching and return to their +work of devastation with renewed vigor. Fortunately +these do not, like the slugs, last forever; +they are gone in less than six weeks; but they +keep me busy indeed while they stay.</p> + +<p>I am obliged to spend a good deal of time just +now hunting and destroying different bugs and +worms and so forth. The blue-green aphis appears +on certain precious Honeysuckle buds, and +must be vigorously syringed with fir-tree oil before +he gets a foothold and spreads his hideous legions +everywhere. Also the lively worm that ties the +Rose leaves together and gobbles them up and +hides in a web within them, that I may find and +crush him; and the white thrip which calls for +hellebore, on the under side of them, and many +more, must be attended to before they wax strong +and bold in their villainy and defy me. A curious +plague, if I may call it so, has come upon the little +garden, in the shape of the delicious edible mushrooms, +Coprinus Comatus, which come up all over +the place and with slow strength heave the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>ground and my flowers into heaps, thrusting +handsome long ivory-white, umbrella-shaped heads +on stems a foot long, up high above and over +most things in the beds. But these are eaten as +soon as they appear, and are not such a very +great trial, though I would rather they left my +dear flowers undisturbed.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i102_headpiece" style="max-width: 159.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i102_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i102_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Much</span> thought +should be given to +the garden’s arrangement with regard +to economy of room, where one has +but a small space to devote to it. And where +one is unfamiliar with the habits of growth of the +various plants that are to people it, a difficulty +arises in making them effective and so disposing +them that they shall not interfere with each +other. For instance, in most cases tall plants +should be put back against walls and fences and +so forth, with the lower-growing varieties in the +foreground. If one were to plant Verbenas and +Venidium among Sunflowers and Hollyhocks, or +even among Carnation Poppies and Cornflowers, +Verbenas and Venidium would not be visible, for +their habit is to creep close to the ground, and +the tall growths would completely hide and most +likely exterminate them, by shutting from them +the sun and air without which they cannot live. +These low, creeping plants are, however, very +useful when one is planning for a succession of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>flowers. I plant Pansies, Verbenas, Drummond’s +Phlox, and so forth, among my Pinks and Wallflowers +and others of like compact habit, so that, +when the higher slender plants have done blossoming, +the others, which seldom cease flowering +till frost, may still clothe the ground with color +and beauty. Of course it goes without saying +that climbing Vines should not be set where there +is nothing upon which they may climb. Indeed +that would be simple cruelty—nothing more nor +less. Everything that needs it should be given +a support without fail—all the myriad lovely +Vines that one may have with so little trouble, and +which seem to have been made to wreathe the +dwellings of men with freshness and beauty and +grace. The long list of varieties of flowering Clematis, +so many shapes and colors, the numerous +Honeysuckles, the Wistaria, Passion-flowers, +Morning-glories, Hops, the Dutchman’s Pipe, the +Cobœas, Woodbine, and many others, not counting +Sweet Peas and Nasturtiums,—these last +among the most beautiful and decorative of all,—every +one is twice as valuable if given the support +it demands. In the case of Nasturtiums, however, +which seem with endless good-nature ready +to adapt themselves to any conditions of existence, +except, perhaps, being expected to live in a +swamp, it is not so important that they should +have something upon which to climb. A very +good way is to put them near a rock one wishes to +have covered, or to let them run down a bank upon +which nothing else cares to grow. They will +clothe such places with wild and beautiful luxuriance +of green leaves and glowing flowers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>It seems strange to write a book about a little +garden only fifty feet long by fifteen wide! But +then, as a friend pleasantly remarked to me, “it +extends upward,” and what it lacks in area is more +than compensated by the large joy that grows out +of it and its uplifting and refreshment of “the +Spirit of Man.”</p> + +<p>I have made a plan of this minute domain to +show how it may be possible to accomplish much +within such narrow compass, and also to give an +idea of an advantageous method of grouping in +a space so confined. I have not room to experiment +with rockworks and ribbon-borders and the +like, nor should I do it even if I had all the room +in the world. For mine is just a little old-fashioned +garden where the flowers come together to +praise the Lord and teach all who look upon them +to do likewise.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i106_gardenplan" style="max-width: 159.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i106_gardenplan.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p>PLAN OF GARDEN WITH LIST OF FLOWERS</p> + <p>(Piazza)</p> + <p> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">1 Akebia Quinata</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">2 Asa Gray Nasturtiums</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">3 Asters</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">4 Asters and Lavatera</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">5 Bachelors’ Buttons</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">6 Bride Poppies</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">7 Clematis, white</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">8 Clematis, blue</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">9 Cleome Pungens</span><br> + 10 Columbine<br> + 11 Coreopsis Coronata and Cornflowers<br> + 12 Coreopsis Lanceolata<br> + 13 Crimson Phlox<br> + 14 Damask Rose<br> + 15 Echinocystus Lobata<br> + 16 Foxgloves<br> + 17 Golden Banner Coreopsis<br> + 18 Helianthus<br> + 19 Hollyhocks<br> + 20 Honeysuckles<br> + 21 Hop<br> + 22 Hugelia<br> + 23 Iceland Poppies<br> + 24 Jacqueminot, Damask, and La France Roses<br> + 25 Japan Honeysuckles<br> + 36 Japan Hop<br> + 27 Larkspur<br> + 28 Lavender<br> + 29 Lilies<br> + 30 Love-in-a-Mist<br> + 31 Margaret Pinks<br> + 32 Marigolds<br> + 33 Mignonette<br> + 34 Oriental Poppy<br> + 35 Peonies<br> + 36 Picotee Pinks<br> + 37 Poppies<br> + 38 Rose-colored Iceland Poppies<br> + 39 Rose Campion<br> + 40 Scotch Roses<br> + 41 Shirley Poppies<br> + 42 Single Dahlias<br> + 43 Snowdrops, etc.<br> + 44 Sweet Peas<br> + 45 Sweet Rocket<br> + 46 Sweet William<br> + 47 Sunflowers<br> + 48 Tall Phlox<br> + 49 Tea Roses<br> + 50 Travelers’ Joy<br> + 51 Verbenas<br> + 52 Vines<br> + 53 Violets<br> + 54 Wallflowers<br> + 55 Water Lilies<br> + 56 White Lilies<br> + 57 Wistaria</p> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Note.</span>—The garden is 50 ft. long by 15 ft. wide, and is + surrounded by a border of all sorts of mixed flowers. A bank of flowers + at the southwest corner slopes from the garden fence.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>All through the months of April and May, +when the weather is not simply impossible, I am +at work in it, and also through most of June. It +is wonderful how much work one can find to do +in so tiny a plot of ground. But in the latter +weeks of June there comes a time when I can +begin to take breath and rest a little from these +difficult yet pleasant labors; an interval when I +may take time to consider, a morning when I may +seek the hammock in the shady piazza, and, looking +across my happy flower beds, let the sweet +day sink deep into my heart. From the flower +beds I look over the island slopes to the sea, and +realize it all,—the rapture of growth, the delicious +shades of green that clothe the ground, Wild +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>Rose, Bayberry, Spirea, Shadbush, Elder, and +many more. How beautiful they are, these grassy, +rocky slopes shelving gradually to the sea, with +here and there a mass of tall, blossoming grass +softly swaying in the warm wind against the +peaceful, pale blue water! Among the grass a few +ghostly dandelion tops yet linger, with now and +then a belated golden flower. How lovely is the +delicacy of the white bleached rocks, the little +spaces of shallow soil exquisite with vivid crimson +Sorrel, or pearly with the brave Eyebright, all +against the soft color of the sea. What harmony +of movement in all these radiant growths just +stirred by the gentle air! Here and there a stout +little bough of Chokecherry, with clustered white +blossoms tipped with pink, springing from a cleft +in the rock, lights up in sunshine, its pink more +glowing for the turquoise background of the +ocean. How hot the sun blazes! The Blue-eyed +Grass is quite faint and drooping in the rich turf, +but the yellow Crowfoot shines strong and steady; +no sunshine is too bright for it. In the garden +the tall Jacqueminot Rosebushes gather power +from the great warmth and light, and hold out +their thick buds to absorb it and fold its splendor +in their inmost hearts. One or two of the heaviest +buds begin to loosen their crimson velvet petals +and shed their delicious perfume on the air. +The Oriental Poppy glories in the heat. Among +its buds, thrust upward like solid green apples, one +has burst into burning flame, each of its broad +fiery petals as large as the whole inside of my +hand. In the Iceland Poppy bed the ardent light +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +has wooed a graceful company of drooping buds +to blow, and their cups of delicate fire, orange and +yellow, sway lightly on stems as slender as grass. +In sheltered corners the Forget-me-not spreads its +cool, heaven-blue clusters; by the fence “the Larkspurs +listen” while they wait; the large purple +Pansies shrink and turn from the too brilliant gaze +of the sun. Rose Campions, Tea Roses, Mignonette, +Marigolds, Coreopsis, the rows of Sweet Peas, +the broad-leaved Hollyhocks and the rest, rejoice +and grow visibly with every moment of the glorious +day. Clematis and Honeysuckle almost seem +to hurry, Nasturtiums reach their shield-like leaves +and wind the stems thereof round any and every +stick and string they can touch by which to lift +themselves, here and there showing their first +glowing flowers, and climbing eagerly. The long +large buds of the white Clematis, the earliest of +all, are swelling visibly before my eyes, and the +buds of the early June Honeysuckle are reddening +at the end of every spray. In one corner a tall +purple Columbine hangs its myriad clustered +bells; each flower has six shell-like whorls set in a +circle, colored like rich amethysts and lined with +lustrous silver, white as frost. Cornflowers like +living sparks of exquisite color, rose and azure, +white and purple, twinkle all over the place, and +the heavenly procession begins in good earnest. +The Grapevine smooths out its young leaves,—they +are woolly and crimson; the wind blows and +shows me their grayish-white under surfaces. I +think of Browning’s tender song, the verse,—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The leaf buds on the vine are woolly,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">I noticed that to-day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One day more bursts them open fully,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">You know the red turns gray.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The Echinocystus plants that have sprung in +thick ranks along the edge of the beds against +the piazza are fairly storming up the trellis, having +sown themselves in the autumn; they have +just really begun to take firm hold, and are climbing +hand over hand, as sailors do, with their strong +green tendrils stretching out like arms and hands +to right and left, laying hold of every available +thing by which to cling and spring upward to the +very eaves. There in August they form a closely +woven curtain of lush, light green, overhung with +large, loose clusters of starry white flowers having +a pure, delicious fragrance like honey and the +wax of the comb.</p> + +<p>Now come the most perfect days of the year, +blue days, hot on the continent, but heavenly here, +where the cool breeze breathes round the islands +from the great expanse of whispering water. Delightful +it is to lie here and rest and realize all +this beauty and rejoice in all its joy! The distant +coast-line is dim in soft mirage.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Half lost in the liquid azure bloom of a crescent of sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The silent, sapphire-spangled, marriage-ring of the land.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i109" style="max-width: 145.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i109.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>The Bride</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>It lies so lovely, far away! At its edge the +water is glassy calm, the houses and large, glimmering +piles of buildings along its whole length +show white in the hot haze; in the offing the far-off +sails are half lost in this shimmering veil; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>farther out there is a soft wind blowing; little +fishing-boats with their sails furled lie at anchor +between us and the land, faintly outlined against +the delicate tone of the water. All is so still! I +hear a bee go blundering into the Bachelor’s Buttons +that hold up their flowers to the sun like +small, compact yellow Roses. Suddenly comes a +gush of the song-sparrow’s music, but father martin +sits at his door very quiet; it is too hot on the +red roof of his little house, so he sits at its portal +and meditates while his small wife broods within, +only now and then from his pretty throat pours a +low ripple of sound, melodiously content. I am +conscious of the sandpiper calling and the full tide +murmuring, and I, too, am content.</p> + +<p>Outside the garden fence it is as if the flowers +had broken their bounds and were rushing down +the sloping bank in a torrent of yellow, where the +early Artemisias and Eschscholtzias are hastening +into bloom, overflowing in a flood of gold that, +lightly stirred by every breeze, sends a satin shimmer +to the sun. Eschscholtzia—it is an ugly name +for a most lovely flower. California Poppy is +much better. Down into the sweet plot I go and +gather a few of these, bringing them to my little +table and sitting down before them the better to +admire and adore their beauty. In the slender +green glass in which I put them they stand +clothed in their delicate splendor. One blossom +I take in a loving hand the more closely to examine +it, and it breathes a glory of color into sense and +spirit which is enough to kindle the dullest imagination. +The stems and fine thread-like leaves are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>smooth and cool gray-green, as if to temper the +fire of the blossoms, which are smooth also, unlike +almost all other Poppies, that are crumpled +past endurance in their close green buds, and +make one feel as if they could not wait to break +out of the calyx and loosen their petals to the +sun, to be soothed into even tranquillity of beauty +by the touches of the air. Every cool gray-green +leaf is tipped with a tiny line of red, every flower-bud +wears a little pale-green pointed cap like an +elf, and in the early morning, when the bud is +ready to blow, it pushes off the pretty cap and unfolds +all its loveliness to the sun. Nothing could +be more picturesque than this fairy cap, and nothing +more charming than to watch the blossom +push it off and spread its yellow petals, slowly +rounding to the perfect cup. As I hold the flower +in my hand and think of trying to describe it, I +realize how poor a creature I am, how impotent +are words in the presence of such perfection. It +is held upright upon a straight and polished +stem, its petals curving upward and outward into +the cup of light, pure gold with a lustrous satin +sheen; a rich orange is painted on the gold, drawn +in infinitely fine lines to a point in the centre of +the edge of each petal, so that the effect is that +of a diamond of flame in a cup of gold. It is not +enough that the powdery anthers are orange bordered +with gold; they are whirled about the very +heart of the flower like a revolving Catherine-wheel +of fire. In the centre of the anthers is a +shining point of warm sea-green, a last, consummate +touch which makes the beauty of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>blossom supreme. Another has the orange suffused +through the gold evenly, almost to the outer +edges of the petals, which are left in bright, light +yellow with a dazzling effect. Turning the flower +and looking at it from the outside, it has no calyx, +but the petals spring from a simple pale-green +disk, which must needs be edged with sea-shell +pink for the glory of God! The fresh splendor +of this flower no tongue nor pen nor brush of +mortal man can fitly represent.</p> + +<p>Who indeed shall adequately describe any one, +the simplest even, of these radiant beings? Day +after day, as I watch them appear, one variety +after another, in such endless changes of delicate +beauty, I can but marvel ever more and more at +the exhaustless power of the great Inventor. +Must He not enjoy the work of His hands, the +manifold perfection of these His matchless creations? +Who can behold the unfolding of each +new spring and all its blossoms without feeling +the renewal of “God’s ancient rapture,” of which +Browning speaks in “Paracelsus”? In that immortal +rapture, I, another of his creatures, less +obedient in fulfilling His laws of beauty than are +these lovely beings, do humbly share, reflecting it +with all the powers of my spirit and rejoicing in +His work with an exceeding joy.</p> + +<p>As the days go on toward July, the earth becomes +dry and all the flowers begin to thirst for +moisture. Then from the hillside, some warm, +still evening, the sweet rain-song of the robin +echoes clear, and next day we wake to a dim +morning; soft flecks of cloud bar the sun’s way, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>fleecy vapors steal across the sky, the southwest +wind blows lightly, rippling the water into little +waves that murmur melodiously as they kiss the +shore. In this warm gray, brooding light I am +reminded of Tennyson’s subtle description of +such a daybreak:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">“When the first low matin chirp hath grown</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Full quire, and morning driven her plough of pearl</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far furrowing into light the mounded rack,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beyond the fair green field and eastern sea.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Through the early hours of the day the mottled, +pearly clouds keep their shape, with delicious +open spaces of tempered blue between; by and +by the sky’s tender fleece is half shadowed, toward +noon it melts into loose mists. Color everywhere +tells against these pellucid grays,—the +gold of Lemon Lilies, the flame of Iceland Poppies, +all the sweet tints of every blossom. Presently +the happy rain begins to fall, so soft, so warm, so +peaceful, the very sound of it is a pleasure; every +leaf in the patient garden, which has waited for +the shower so long, spreads itself wide to catch +each crystal drop and treasure its deep refreshment. +All day it rains; at night the melody lulls us to +sleep as it patters on the roof. In the night the +wind changes, and next day brings a northeast +storm again with a wild wind, but from this the +little flower plot is well protected, and I rejoice in +the thorough watering deep down among their +roots which is doing all the plants unmeasured +good. Two, perhaps three days, it lasts, the gale +blowing till there is such contention of winds and +waves about the little isle as to make a ceaseless +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>roaring of wild breakers round its shores. When +at last the tempest wears itself out, what delight +there is in the great tranquillity that follows it, +what music in the soft, far murmurs of ceasing +strife in air and ocean, spent wrath that seems to +breathe yet in an undertone, half sullen, half relenting, +while the broad yellow light that lies over +sea and rocks in stillness, like a quiet smile, +promises a heavenly day on the morrow.</p> + +<p>Then, with what fresh wealth of color and perfume +the garden will meet the resplendent sunrise! +Every moment it grows more and more +beautiful. I think for wondrous variety, for certain +picturesque qualities, for color and form +and a subtle mystery of character, Poppies seem, +on the whole, the most satisfactory flowers among +the annuals. There is absolutely no limit to their +variety of color. They are the tenderest lilac, the +deepest crimson, richest scarlet, white with softest +suffusion of rose; all shades of rose, clear light +pink with sea-green centre, the anthers in a golden +halo about it; black and fire-color; red that is +deepened to black, with gray reflections; cherry-color, +with a cross of creamy white at the bottom +of the cup, and round its central altar of ineffable +golden green again the halo of yellow anthers; +purple, with rich splashes of a deeper shade of the +same color, with grayish white rays about the +centre; all shades of lavender and lilac; exquisite +smoke-color, in some cases delicately touched +and freaked with red; some pure light gray, +some of these gray ones edged with crimson or +scarlet; there are all tints of mauve. To tell all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>the combinations of their wonderful hues, or even +half, would be quite impossible, from the simple +transparent scarlet bell of the wild Poppy to the +marvelous pure white, the wonder of which no +tongue can tell. Oh, these white Poppies, some +with petals more delicate than the finest tissue +paper, with centres of bright gold, some of thicker +quality, large, shell-like petals, almost ribbed in +their effect, their green knob in the middle like a +boss upon a shield, rayed about with beautiful +grayish yellow stamens, as in the kind called the +Bride. Others—they call this kind the Snowdrift—have +thick double flowers, deeply cut and fringed +at the edges, the most opaque white, and full of +exquisite shadows. Then there are the Icelanders, +which Lieutenant Peary found making gay +the frosty fields of Greenland, in buttercup-yellow +and orange and white; the great Orientals, +gorgeous beyond expression; the immense single +white California variety. I could not begin to +name them all in the longest summer’s day! The +Thorn Poppy, Argemone, is a fascinating variety, +most quaint in method of growth and most decorative. +As for the Shirleys, they are children +of the dawn, and inherit all its delicate, vivid, +delicious suffusions of rose-color in every conceivable +shade. Of the Poppy one of the great +masters of English prose discourses in this wise. +Speaking of the common wild Poppy of the English +fields, which grows broadcast also over most +of Europe, he says: “The splendor of it is proud, +almost insolently so,” which immediately brings to +mind Browning’s lines in “Sordello,”—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“The Poppy’s red effrontery,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till autumn spoils its fleering quite with rain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And portionless, a dry, brown, rattling crane</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Protrudes.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i124" style="max-width: 142.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i124.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>Poppy Bank in the Early Morning</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>Papaver Rhœas is the common wild scarlet Poppy +that both these writers describe. John Ruskin +says: “I have in my hand a small red Poppy +which I gathered on Whit Sunday in the palace +of the Cæsars. It is an intensely simple, intensely +floral flower. All silk and flame, a scarlet +cup, perfect edged all round, seen among the wild +grass far away like a burning coal fallen from +Heaven’s altars. You cannot have a more complete, +a more stainless type of flower absolute; inside +and outside, all flower. No sparing of color +anywhere, no outside coarsenesses, no interior +secrecies, open as the sunshine that creates it; +fine finished on both sides, down to the extremest +point of insertion on its narrow stalk, and robed +in the purple of the Cæsars....</p> + +<p>“Literally so. That Poppy scarlet, so far as +could be painted by mortal hand, for mortal king, +stays yet, against the sun and wind and rain, on +the walls of the house of Augustus, a hundred +yards from the spot where I gathered the weed +of its desolation.... The flower in my hand is +a poverty <i>stricken</i> Poppy, I was going to write, +poverty <i>strengthened</i> Poppy, I mean. On richer +ground it would have gushed into flaunting +breadth of untenable purple; flapped its inconsistent +scarlet vaguely to the wind; dropped the +pride of its petals over my hand in an hour after I +gathered it. But this little rough-bred thing ... +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>is as bright and strong to-day as yesterday.... +What outline its petals really have is little shown +in their crumpled fluttering, but that very crumpling +arises from a fine floral character which +we do not enough value in them. We usually +think of a Poppy as a coarse flower; but it is the +most transparent and delicate of all the blossoms +of the field. The rest, nearly all of them, depend +on the texture of their surfaces for color. +But the Poppy is painted glass; it never glows +so brightly as when the sun shines through it. +Wherever it is seen, against the light or with the +light, always it is a flame, and warms the wind +like a blown ruby.... Gather a green Poppy +bud, just when it shows the scarlet line at its side, +break it open and unpack the Poppy. The whole +flower is there complete in size and color, its +stamens full grown, but all packed so closely that +the fine silk of the petals is crushed into a million +of wrinkles. When the flower opens, it seems a +relief from torture; the two imprisoning green +leaves are shaken to the ground, the aggrieved +corolla smooths itself in the sun and comforts itself +as best it can, but remains crushed and hurt +to the end of its days.”</p> + +<p>I know of no flower that has so many charming +tricks and manners, none with a method of +growth more picturesque and fascinating. The +stalks often take a curve, a twist from some current +of air or some impediment, and the fine +stems will turn and bend in all sorts of graceful +ways, but the bud is always held erect when the +time comes for it to blossom. Ruskin quotes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>Lindley’s definition of what constitutes a Poppy, +which he thinks “might stand.” This is it: “A +Poppy is a flower which has either four or six +petals, and two or more treasuries united in one, +containing a milky, stupefying fluid in its stalks +and leaves, and always throwing away its calyx +when it blossoms.”</p> + +<p>I muse over their seed-pods, those supremely +graceful urns that are wrought with such matchless +elegance of shape, and think what strange +power they hold within. Sleep is there, and +Death his brother, imprisoned in those mystic +sealed cups. There is a hint of their mystery in +their shape of sombre beauty, but never a suggestion +in the fluttering blossom; it is the gayest +flower that blows. In the more delicate varieties +the stalks are so slender, yet so strong, like fine +grass stems, when you examine them you wonder +how they hold even the light weight of the +flower so firmly and proudly erect. They are +clothed with the finest of fine hairs up and down +the stalks, and over the green calyx, especially +in the Iceland varieties, where these hairs are of +a lovely red-brown color and add much to their +beauty.</p> + +<p>It is plain to see, as one gazes over the Poppy +beds on some sweet evening at sunset, what buds +will bloom in the joy of next morning’s first +sunbeams, for these will be lifting themselves +heavenward, slowly and silently, but surely. To +stand by the beds at sunrise and see the flowers +awake is a heavenly delight. As the first long, +low rays of the sun strike the buds, you know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>they feel the signal! A light air stirs among +them; you lift your eyes, perhaps to look at a +rosy cloud or follow the flight of a caroling bird, +and when you look back again, lo! the calyx has +fallen from the largest bud and lies on the +ground, two half transparent, light green shells, +leaving the flower petals wrinkled in a thousand +folds, just released from their close pressure. A +moment more and they are unclosing before your +eyes. They flutter out on the gentle breeze like +silken banners to the sun, and such a color! +The orange of the Iceland Poppy is the most +ineffable color; it “warms the wind” indeed! I +know no tint like it; it is orange dashed with +carmine, most like the reddest coals of an intensely +burning fire. Look at this exquisite +cup: the wind has blown nearly smooth the +crinkled petals; these, where they meet in the +centre, melt into a delicate greenish yellow. In +the heart of the blossom rises a round green +altar, its sides penciled with nine black lines, +and a nine-rayed star of yellow velvet clasps the +flat, pure green top. From the base of this altar +springs the wreath of stamens and anthers; the +inner circle of these is generally white, the outer +yellow, and all held high and clear within the +cup. The radiant effect of this arrangement +against the living red cannot be told.</p> + +<p>The Californias put out their clean, polished, +pointed buds straight up to the sun from the +first, but all the others have this fashion of drooping +theirs till the evening before they blow. +There is a kind of triumph in the way they do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>this, lifting their treasured splendor yet safe +within its clasping calyx to be ready to meet the +first beams of the day.</p> + +<p>The Orientals are glorious, even in the victorious +family of Poppies. Ruskin has a chapter +on “The Rending of Leaves.” I always think of +it when I see the large, hairy, rich green leaves +of this variety, which are deeply “rent,” almost +the whole width of the leaf to the midrib. These +leaves grow somewhat after the fashion of a Dandelion, +spreading several feet in all directions +from the centre, which sends up in June immense +flower-stalks crowned with heavy apple-like buds, +that elongate as they increase in size, till some +morning the thick calyx breaks and falls, and the +great scarlet flags of the flower unfold. There +is a kind of angry brilliance about it, a sombre +and startling magnificence. Its large petals are +splashed near the base with broad, irregular spots +of black-purple, as if they had been struck with a +brush full of color. The seed-pod, rising fully an +inch high in the centre, is of a luminous, indescribable +shade of green, and folded over its top, +a third of its height, is a cap of rich lavender, +laid down in points evenly about the crown. On +the centre of this is a little knob of deep purple +velvet, from which eleven rays of the same color +curve over the top and into each point of the +lavender cap. And round this wonderful seed-pod, +with its wealth of elaborate ornament, is a +thick girdle of stamens half an inch deep, with +row upon row and circle within circle of anthers +covered with dust of splendid dusky purple, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>held each upon a slender thread of deeper purple +still. It is simply superb, and when the great +bush is ablaze with these flowers it is indeed a +conflagration of color. “The fire-engines always +turn out when my Orientals blaze up on the hillside,” +writes a flower-loving friend to me. No +garden should be without these, for they flourish +with the least care, are perfectly hardy, and never +fail to blossom generously.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i130_headpiece" style="max-width: 133.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i130_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i130_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">That</span> every +plant should select only +its own colors and forms from the +great laboratory of Nature has always seemed to +me a very wonderful thing. Each plant takes +from its surroundings just those qualities which +will produce its own especial characteristics and +no others, never hesitating and never making a +mistake. For instance, the California Poppies, if +left to themselves, will take yellow of many resplendent +shades for their color, and never vary +their cool, gray-green, red-tipped, foliage; the +Peacock Poppy will be always scarlet-crimson, +with a black spot rimmed with white in every +petal; the Corn Poppy will be always clear scarlet; +the Bride a miracle of lustrous white, and +so on. Runge, a noted chemist, says: “A plant +is a great chemist: it distinguishes and separates +substances more definitely and accurately than +man can, with all his skill, his intelligence, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>his appliances.... The little Daisy, which has +painted its ‘wee crimson-tipped flowers,’ puts the +chemist and scientific man to shame, for it has produced +its leaf and stem and flowers, and has dyed +these with their bright colors from materials which +he can never change with all his arts.”</p> + +<p>By what power do they know how to select +each its own hue and shape, when earth and air +hold all the tints and forms that the Creator has +invented? The subtle knowledge of plants, instinct +perhaps would be a better word, is astonishing. +If you dig a hole in the ground and put +into it a Rosebush, filling one side of the hole +with rich earth and the other with poor soil, +every root of that Rosebush will leave the poor +half to inhabit the rich and nourishing portion. +That is a matter of course, but the instinct of the +Rose is something to think about, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Some one has said, speaking of a tree, “What +an immense amount of vitally organized material +has been here gathered together! It is God’s +own architecture! This mass of vegetable matter +is only earth and air that have undergone +transmutation. The material alike of wandering +zephyrs and rushing storms, of gently descending +night-dews and angry thunder-showers has +been <i>here, on this spot</i>, metamorphosed.”</p> + +<p>And I should add that into this piece of architecture +God has breathed a vital spark, almost a +mind, so remarkable is the intelligent action often +manifested in many plants and trees.</p> + +<p>A famous Frenchman, Camille Flammarion, +says: “I know a maple-tree which was dying on +the ruins of an old wall, a few feet from good rich +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>earth (the soil in a ditch), and which in despair +threw out a venturesome root, reached the coveted +earth, buried itself there, and gained a solid +footing, so that by degrees, although a motionless +thing, it changed its place, let its original roots +die, and lived resuscitated upon the organ that +had set it free. I have known elms which were +going to eat up the soil of a fertile field, whose +food had been cut off from them by a wide ditch, +and who, therefore, determined to make their +uncut roots pass under the ditch. They succeeded, +and returned to their regular food, much +to the cultivator’s astonishment. I know an +heroic Jasmine which went eight times through a +board which kept the light away from it, and +which a teasing observer would put back in the +shade, hoping so to wear out the flower’s energy, +but he did not succeed.”</p> + +<p>This happened in France, but here in New +England I myself know of a great Wistaria +which grew over one side of a fine old house in +an enchanting garden, and which did something +quite as wonderful. It was a triumph of a vine! +The butt or stump, where it emerged from the +ground, was a foot in diameter, and its branches +covered one side of the house, a space of thirty +feet by thirty feet. So large a vine required a +great deal of water, so it sent its roots down eight +feet under the foundation of the house, passed +along under the brick floor of the dairy, a distance +of fifteen feet, making a solid mat of roots under +the whole floor, reached the well and went straight +through the cracks and crevices of its stone wall +to the desired moisture. An elm root in the same +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>garden went sixty feet or more under the foundation +of the house to that same well.</p> + +<p>To quote another writer who has carefully observed +these things: “Plants have to the full +extent of their necessities a power of observation, +of discrimination in the selection of their food, a +knowledge of where it is to be found, and the +power to a considerable extent to obtain it. For +instance, if some animal’s remains are buried in +the garden, say twenty feet from the grapevine, +the vine will know it, and the underground part +of the vine will at once change its course and +make a direct march for this new storehouse of +food, and upon reaching it will throw out an incredible +number of roots for its consumption.... +A weeping willow was planted in a dry, +gravelly soil on the south side of a house, a +situation in every respect unsuited to this tree, +which delights in a heavy moist soil; the result +was a slow, stunted growth. After a few years in +which it barely lived, it surprised its owner by a +vigorous growth which was as astonishing as +pleasing, and the cause was looked for. It was +found the roots in search of food had traveled +under the house a distance of some thirty feet to +the well, where they took a downward course till +they reached the water that furnished the moisture +which is essential to the growth of this tree.</p> + +<p>“The movements of the squash vine when +pressed by hunger or thirst are truly wonderful. +During a severe drought if you place a basin of +water at night, say two feet to the left or the +right of a strong vine, in the morning it will be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>found bathing in the basin! Is not this an indication +of thought in the vine? Does it not indicate +a knowledge in the vine analogous to human +understanding?... There must be some agent +employed to bring the vine to the fountain....</p> + +<p>“The more we study plant life the more we become +convinced that life is a unit, varying in form +only, not in principle. Everything capable of reproduction, +growth, and development is governed +by the same law, and each is but a part of the unit +we term life.”</p> + +<p>Again to quote the famous Frenchman: “When +I breathe the perfume of a Rose,” he says, “when +I admire the beauty of form, the grace of this +flower in its freshly opening bloom, what strikes +me most is the work of that hidden, unknown, +mysterious force which rules over the plant’s life +and can direct it in the maintenance of its existence, +which chooses the proper molecules of air, +water, and earth for its nourishment, and which +knows, above all, how to assimilate these molecules +and group them so delicately as to form this +graceful stem, these dainty green leaves, these +soft pink petals, these exquisite tints and delicious +fragrance....</p> + +<p>“This mysterious force is the animating principle +of the plant. Put a Lily seed, an acorn, a grain +of wheat, and a peach-stone side by side in the +ground, each germ will build up its own organism +and no other....</p> + +<p>“A plant breathes, drinks, eats, selects, refuses, +seeks, works, lives, acts, according to its instincts. +One does like a charm, another pines, a third is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>nervous and agitated. The Sensitive Plant shivers +and droops its leaves at the slightest touch.”</p> + +<p>Climbing plants show often a surprising degree +of intelligence, reaching out for support as if they +had eyes to see. I have known a vine whose head +was aimlessly waving in the wind, with nothing +near it to which it might cling, turn deliberately +round in an opposite direction to that in which it +had been growing and seize a line I had stretched +for it to grasp, without any help outside itself, and +within the space of an hour’s time. By manifold +ways they cling and climb, many by winding their +stems round and round strings or sticks or wires, +or whatever is given them, as do the Morning-glories, +Hop, Honeysuckle, Wistarias, and many +others; but Sweet Peas, Cobcœa, and so forth, put +out a delicate tendril at the end of each leaf, or +rather group of leaves. Nasturtiums, Clematis, +and others take a turn with their leaf-stems round +anything that comes in their way, and so lift and +hold themselves securely, and the Echinocystus or +Wild Cucumber has a system of tendrils strong +as iron and elastic as India-rubber. It is most interesting +to observe them all and ponder on their +different charming ways and habits, to help them +if they need it, and to sympathize with all their +experiences. As I work among my flowers, I +find myself talking to them, reasoning and remonstrating +with them, and adoring them as if they +were human beings. Much laughter I provoke +among my friends by so doing, but that is of no +consequence. We are on such good terms, my +flowers and I!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + +<p>Altogether lovely they are out of doors, but +I plant and tend them always with the thought +of the joy they will be within the house also. I +know well what Emerson means when he asks,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loved the wood Rose and left it on its stalk?”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>and if I gather this or any other wild-flower I do +it with such reverent love that even he would be +satisfied. No one knows better and deplores +more deeply than I the wholesale destruction, +wanton and cruel, which goes on among our wild-flowers +every year; but to bring a few indoors for +purposes of study and fuller appreciation is another +and a desirable thing. For the wild Rose +is but partially learned when one pauses a moment +in passing to admire the sweet surprise of +its beauty as it suddenly smiles up from the roadside. +It cannot be learned in a single glance, +nor, indeed, in many glances: it must be carefully +considered and lovingly meditated upon before +it yields all the marvel of its delicate glory to +your intelligence. “Consider the Lilies,” said the +Master. Truly, there is no more prayerful business +than this “consideration” of all the flowers +that grow.</p> + +<p>And in the garden they are planted especially +to feast the souls that hunger for beauty, and +within doors as well as without they “delight the +spirit of man.” Opening out on the long piazza +over the flower beds, and extending almost its +whole length, runs the large, light, airy room +where a group of happy people gather to pass the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>swiftly flying summers here at the Isles of Shoals. +This room is made first for music; on the polished +floor is no carpet to muffle sound, only a few rugs +here and there, like patches of warm green moss +on the pine-needle color given by the polish to +the natural hue of the wood. There are no heavy +draperies to muffle the windows, nothing to absorb +the sound. The piano stands midway at +one side; there are couches, sofas with pillows +of many shades of dull, rich color, but mostly of +warm shades of green. There are low bookcases +round the walls, the books screened by short curtains +of pleasant olive-green; the high walls to +the ceiling are covered with pictures, and flowers +are everywhere. The shelves of the tall mantel +are splendid with massed Nasturtiums like a blazing +torch, beginning with the palest yellow, almost +white, and piled through every deepening shade +of gold, orange, scarlet, crimson, to the blackest +red; all along the tops of the low bookcases burn +the fires of Marigolds, Coreopsis, large flowers of +the velvet single Dahlias in yellow, flame, and +scarlet of many shades, masses of pure gold summer +Chrysanthemums, and many more,—all here +and there interspersed with blossoming grasses +for a touch of ethereal green. On one low bookcase +are Shirley Poppies in a roseate cloud. And +here let me say that the secret of keeping Poppies +in the house two whole days without fading is +this: they must be gathered early, before the dew +has dried, in the morning. I go forth between +five and six o’clock to cut them while yet their +gray-green leaves are hoary with dew, taking a tall +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>slender pitcher or bottle of water with me into +the garden, and as I cut each stem dropping the +flower at once into it, so that the stem is covered +nearly its whole length with water; and so on till +the pitcher is full. Gathered in this way, they +have no opportunity to lose their freshness, indeed, +the exquisite creatures hardly know they +have been gathered at all. When I have all I +need, I begin on the left end of this bookcase, +which most felicitously fronts the light, and into +the glasses put the radiant blossoms with an +infinite enjoyment of the work. The glasses +(thirty-two in all) themselves are beautiful: nearly +all are white, clear and pure, with a few pale +green and paler rose and delicate blue, one or two +of richer pink, all brilliantly clear and filled with +absolutely colorless water, through which the stems +show their slender green lengths. Into the +glasses at this end on the left I put first the dazzling +white single Poppy, the Bride, to lead the +sweet procession,—a marvelous blossom, whose +pure white is half transparent, with its central +altar of ineffable green and gold. A few of these +first, then a dozen or more of delicate tissue-paperlike +blossoms of snow in still another variety +(with petals so thin that a bright color behind +them shows through their filmy texture); then the +double kind called Snowdrift, which being double +makes a deeper body of whiteness flecked with +softest shadow. Then I begin with the palest +rose tints, placing them next, and slightly mingling +a few with the last white ones,—a rose tint +delicate as the palm of a baby’s hand; then the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>next, with a faint suffusion of a blush, and go on +to the next shade, still very delicate, not deeper +than the soft hue on the lips of the great whelk +shells in southern seas; then the damask rose +color and all tints of tender pink, then the deeper +tones to clear, rich cherry, and on to glowing +crimson, through a mass of this to burning +maroon.</p> + +<p>The flowers are of all heights (the stems of +different lengths), and, though massed, are in +broken and irregular ranks, the tallest standing +a little over two feet high. But there is no crushing +or crowding. Each individual has room to +display its full perfection. The color gathers, +softly flushing from the snow white at one end, +through all rose, pink, cherry, and crimson shades, +to the note of darkest red; the long stems of tender +green showing through the clear glass, the +radiant tempered gold of each flower illuminating +the whole. Here and there a few leaves, stalks, +and buds (if I can bring my mind to the cutting +of these last) are sparingly interspersed at the +back. The effect of this arrangement is perfectly +beautiful. It is simply indescribable, and I have +seen people stand before it mute with delight. It +is like the rose of dawn.</p> + +<p>To the left of this altar of flowers is a little +table, upon which a picture stands and leans +against the wall at the back. In the picture two +Tea Roses long since faded live yet in their exquisite +hues, never indeed to die. Before this I +keep always a few of the fairest flowers, and call +this table the shrine. Sometimes it is a spray of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>Madonna Lilies in a long white vase of ground +glass, or beneath the picture in a jar of yellow +glass floats a saffron-tinted Water Lily, the Chromatella, +or a tall sapphire glass holds deep blue +Larkspurs of the same shade, or in a red Bohemian +glass vase are a few carmine Sweet Peas, +another harmony of color, or a charming dull red +Japanese jar holds a few Nasturtiums that exactly +repeat its hues. The lovely combinations and contrasts +of flowers and vases are simply endless.</p> + +<p>On another small table below the “altar” are +pink Water Lilies in pink glasses and white ones +in white glasses; a low basket of amber glass is +filled with the pale turquoise of Forget-me-nots, +the glass is iridescent and gleams with changing +reflections, taking tints from every color near it. +Sweet Peas are everywhere about and fill the air +with fragrance; orange and yellow Iceland Poppies +are in tall vases of English glass of light +green. There is a large, low bowl, celadon-tinted, +and decorated with the boughs and fruit of the +Olive on the gray-green background. This is +filled with magnificent Jacqueminot Roses, so +large, so deep in color as to fully merit the word. +Sometimes they are mixed with pink Gabrielle +de Luizets and old-fashioned Damask Roses, and +the bowl is set where the light falls just as it +should to give the splendor of the flowers its full +effect. In the centre of a round table under one +of the chandeliers is a flaring Venice glass as pure +as a drop of dew and of a quaintly lovely shape; +on the crystal water therein lies a single white +Water Lily, fragrant snow and gold. By itself is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>a low vase shaped like a Magnolia flower, with +petals of light yellow deepening in color at the +bottom, where its calyx of olive-green leaves clasps +the flower. This has looking over its edge a few +pale yellow Nasturtiums of the Asa Gray variety, +the lightest of all. With these, one or two of a +richer yellow (Dunnett’s Orange), the flowers repeating +the tones of the vase, and with them +harmoniously blending. A large pearly shell of +the whelk tribe was given me years ago. I did +not know what to do with it. I do not like flowers +in shells as a rule, and I think the shells are best +on the beach where they belong, but I was fond +of the giver, so I sought some way of utilizing the +gift. In itself it was beautiful, a mass of glimmering +rainbows. I bored three holes in its edge +and suspended it from one of the severely simple +chandeliers with almost invisible wires. I keep +it filled with water and in it arrange sometimes +clusters of monthly Honeysuckle sparingly; the +hues of the flowers and the shell mingle and blend +divinely. I get the same effect with Hydrangea +flowers, tints and tones all melt together; so also +with the most delicate Sweet Peas, white, rose, and +lilac; with these I take some lengths of the +blossoming Wild Cucumber vine with its light +clusters of white flowers, or the white Clematis, +the kind called “Traveler’s Joy,” and weave it +lightly about the shell, letting it creep over one +side and, running up the wires, entirely conceal +them; then it is like a heavenly apparition afloat +in mid air. Sometimes the tender mauve and +soft rose and delicate blues of the exquisite little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>Rose Campion, or Rose of Heaven, with its grassy +foliage, swing in this rainbow shell, making another +harmony of hues.</p> + +<p>Sometimes it is draped with wild Morning-glory +vines which are gathered with their buds +at evening; their long wiry stems I coil in the +water, and arrange the graceful lengths of leaves +and buds carefully, letting a few droop over the +edge and twine together beneath the shell, and +some run up to the chandelier and conceal the +wires. The long smooth buds, yellow-white like +ivory, deepen to a touch of bright rose at the tips +close folded. In the morning all the buds open +into fair trumpets of sea-shell pink, turning to +every point of the compass, an exquisite sight to +see. By changing the water daily these vines +last a week, fresh buds maturing and blossoming +every morning.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i146" style="max-width: 143.1875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i146.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>The Altar and Shrine</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>Near my own seat in a sofa corner at one of +the south windows stands yet another small table, +covered with a snow-white linen cloth embroidered +in silk as white and lustrous as silver. On +this are gathered every day all the rarest and +loveliest flowers as they blossom, that I may touch +them, dwell on them, breathe their delightful fragrance +and adore them. Here are kept the daintiest +and most delicate of the vases which may +best set off the flowers’ loveliness,—the smallest of +the collection, for the table is only large enough +to hold a few. There is one slender small tumbler +of colorless glass, from the upper edge of +which a crimson stain is diffused half way down +its crystal length. In this I keep one glowing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>crimson Burgundy Rose, or an opening Jacqueminot +bud; the effect is as if the color of the +rose ran down and dyed the glass crimson. It +is so beautiful an effect one never wearies of it. +There is a little jar of Venice glass, the kind +which Browning describes in “The Flight of the +Duchess,”—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">“With long white threads distinct inside,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like the lake-flower’s fibrous roots that dangle</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loose such a length and never tangle.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>This is charming with a few rich Pinks of different +shades. Another Venice glass is irregularly +bottle-shaped, bluish white with cool sea-green +reflections at the bottom, very delicate, like +an aqua-marine. It is lightly sprinkled with gold +dust throughout its whole length; toward the top +the slender neck takes on a soft touch of pink +which meets and mingles with the Bon Silene or +La France Rose I always keep in it. Another +Venice glass still is a wonder of iridescent blues, +lavenders, gray, and gold, all through, with a faint +hint of elusive green. A spray of heaven-blue +Larkspur dashed with rose is delicious in this +slender shape, with its marvelous tints melting +into the blue and pink of the fairy flowers.</p> + +<p>A little glass of crystal girdled with gold holds +pale blue Forget-me-nots; sometimes it is rich +with orange and yellow Erysimum flowers. In +a tall Venetian vase of amber a Lilium auratum +is superb. A low jar of opaque rose-pink, lost at +the bottom in milky whiteness, is refreshing with +an old-fashioned Damask Rose matching its color +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>exactly. This is also exquisite with one pink +Water Lily. The pink variety of the Rose Campion +is enchanting in this low jar. A tall shaft +of ruby glass is radiant with Poppies of every +shade of rose and lightest scarlet, with the silvery +green of a few oats among them. A slender purple +glass is fine with different shades of purple +and lilac Sweet Peas, or one or two purple Poppies, +or an Aster or two of just its color, but there +is one long gold-speckled Bohemian glass of rich +green which is simply perfect for any flower that +blows, and perfect under any circumstances. A +half dozen Iceland Poppies, white, yellow, orange, +in a little Japanese porcelain bottle, always stand +on this beautiful table, the few flecks of color on +the bottle repeating their tints. I never could +tell half the lovely combinations that glow on this +table all summer long.</p> + +<p>By the wide western window a large vase of +clear white glass, nearly three feet high, stands +full of spears of timothy grass taller than the vase, +the tallest I can find, springing stately and high, +their heavy green tops bending the fine strong +stems just enough for consummate grace. These +are mixed with lighter branching grasses, and +down among the grass stalks are thrust the slender +stalks of tall Poppies of every conceivable +shade of red; the whole is a great sheaf of splendor +reaching higher than the top of the window. +This is really imposing; it takes the eye with delight.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i152" style="max-width: 140.4375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i152.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>A Favorite Corner</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>All summer long within this pleasant room the +flowers hold carnival in every possible combination +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>of beauty. All summer long it is kept fresh +and radiant with their loveliness,—a wonder of +bloom, color, and fragrance. Year after year a +long procession of charming people come and go +within its doors, and the flowers that glow for +their delight seem to listen with them to the music +that stirs each blossom upon its stem. Often +have I watched the great red Poppies drop their +fiery petals wavering solemnly to the floor, stricken +with arrows of melodious sound from the matchless +violin answering to the touch of a master, or +to the storm of rich vibrations from the piano. +What heavenly music has resounded from those +walls, what mornings and evenings of pleasantness +have flown by in that room! How many +people who have been happy there have gone +out of it and of the world forever! Yet still the +summers come, the flowers bloom, are gathered +and adored, not without wistful thought of the +eyes that will see them no more. Still in the +sweet tranquil mornings at the piano one sits +playing, also with a master’s touch, and strains of +Schubert, Mozart, Schumann, Chopin, Rubinstein, +Beethoven, and many others, soothe and +enchant the air. The wild bird’s song that breaks +from without into the sonata makes no discord. +Open doors and windows lead out on the vine-wreathed +veranda, with the garden beyond steeped +in sunshine, a sea of exquisite color swaying in +the light air. Poppies blowing scarlet in the +wind, or delicately flushing in softest rose or +clearest red, or shining white where the Bride +stands tall and fair, like a queen among them all. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>A thousand varied hues amid the play of fluttering +leaves: Marigolds ablaze in vivid flame; purple +Pansies,—a myriad flowers, white, pink, blue, +carmine, lavender, in waves of sweet color and +perfume to the garden fence, where stand the +sentinel Sunflowers and Hollyhocks, gorgeously +arrayed and bending gently to the breeze; Sunflowers +with broad faces that seem to reflect the +glory of the day; the Hollyhocks, tall spikes of +pale and deep pink, white, scarlet, yellow, maroon, +and many hues. Over the sweet sea of flowers +the butterflies go wavering on airy wings of white +and gold, the bees hum in the Hollyhocks, and +the humming-birds glitter like jewels in the sun; +but whether these their winged lovers go or come, +the flowers do not care, they live their happy +lives and rejoice, intent only on fulfilling Heaven’s +will, to grow and to blossom in the utmost perfection +possible to them. Climbing the trellis, +the monthly Honeysuckle holds its clusters high +against the pure sunlit sky, glowing in beauty +beyond any words of mine to tell. Charming +people sit within the pleasant room among its +flowers, listening to the delicious music; others +are grouped without in the sun-flecked shadow of +the green vines, where the cool air ripples lightly +in the leaves; lovely women in colors that seem +to have copied the flowers in the garden, and all +steeped in sweet dreams and fugitive fancies as +delicate as the perfumes that drift in soft waves +from the blossoms below. Beyond the garden +the green grassy spaces sloping to the sea are rich +with blossoming thickets of wild Roses, among +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>the bleached white ledges, blushing fair to see, +and the ocean beyond shimmers and sparkles +beneath the touch of the warm south wind.</p> + +<p>Enchanting days, and evenings still more so, if +that were possible! With the music still thrilling +within the lighted room where the flowers +glow under the lamplight, while floods of moonlight +make more mystic the charmed night without. +The thick curtain of the green vine that +drapes the piazza is hung over its whole surface +with the long drooping clusters of its starry flowers +that lose all their sweetness upon the air, +and show from the garden beneath like an immense +airy veil of delicate white lace in the moonlight,—a +wonderful white glory. Through the +windows cut in this living curtain of leaves and +flowers we look out over the sea beneath the +moon—is anything more mysteriously beautiful?—on +glimmering waves and shadowy sails and +rocks dim in broken light and shade; on the +garden with all its flowers so full of color that +even in the moonlight their hues are visibly glowing. +The fair creatures stand still, unstirred by +any wandering airs, the Lilies gleam, and the +white stars of the Nicotiana, the white Poppies, +the white Asters that just begin to bloom, and +the tall milky clusters of the Phlox: nothing disturbs +their slumber save perhaps the wheeling of +the rosy-winged Sphinx moth that flutters like +the spirit of the night above them as they dream.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i156_headpiece" style="max-width: 133.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i156_headpiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i156_dropcap.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt=""> +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> garden +suffers from the long +drought in this last week of July, +though I water it faithfully. The sun +burns so hot that the earth dries again in an +hour, after the most thorough drenching I can +give it. The patient flowers seem to be standing +in hot ashes, with the air full of fire above them. +The cool breeze from the sea flutters their drooping +petals, but does not refresh them in the blazing +noon. Outside the garden on the island +slopes the baked turf cracks away from the heated +ledges of rock, and all the pretty growths of Sorrel +and Eyebright, Grasses and Crowfoot, Potentilla +and Lion’s-tongue, are crisp and dead. All +things begin again to pine and suffer for the +healing touch of the rain.</p> + +<p>Toward noon on this last day of the month the +air darkens, and around the circle of the horizon +the latent thunder mutters low. Light puffs of +wind eddy round the garden, and whirl aloft the +weary Poppy petals high in air, till they wheel +like birds about the chimney-tops. Then all is +quiet once more. In the rich, hot sky the clouds +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>pile themselves slowly, superb white heights of +thunder-heads warmed with a brassy glow that +deepens to rose in their clefts toward the sun. +These clouds grow and grow, showing like Alpine +summits amid the shadowy heaps of looser vapor; +all the great vault of heaven gathers darkness; +soon the cloudy heights, melting, are suffused +in each other, losing shape and form and color. +Then over the coast-line the sky turns a hard +gray-green, against which rises with solemn movement +and awful deliberation an arch of leaden +vapor spanning the heavens from southwest to +northeast, livid, threatening, its outer edges +shaped like the curved rim of a mushroom, +gathering swiftness as it rises, while the water +beneath is black as hate, and the thunder rolls +peal upon peal, as faster and faster the wild arch +moves upward into tremendous heights above our +heads. The whole sky is dark with threatening +purple. Death and destruction seem ready to +emerge from beneath that flying arch of which +the livid fringes stream like gray flame as the +wind rends its fierce and awful edge. Under it +afar on the black level water a single sail gleams +chalk-white in the gloom, a sail that even as we +look is furled away from our sight, that the frail +craft which bears it may ride out the gale under +bare poles, or drive before it to some haven of +safety. Earth seems to hold her breath before +the expected fury. Lightning scores the sky from +zenith to horizon, and across from north to south +“a fierce, vindictive scribble of fire” writes its +blinding way, and the awesome silence is broken +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>by the cracking thunder that follows every flash. +A moment more, and a few drops like bullets +strike us; then the torn arch flies over in tattered +rags, a monstrous apparition lost in darkness; +then the wind tears the black sea into white +rage and roars and screams and shouts with triumph,—the +floods and the hurricane have it all +their own way. Continually the tempest is shot +through with the leaping lightning and crashing +thunder, like steady cannonading, echoing and +reëchoing, roaring through the vast empty spaces +of the heavens. In pauses of the tumult a strange +light is fitful over sea and rocks, then the tempest +begins afresh as if it had taken breath and +gained new strength. One’s whole heart rises +responding to the glory and the beauty of the +storm, and is grateful for the delicious refreshment +of the rain. Every leaf rejoices in the life-giving +drops. Through the dense sparkling rain-curtain +the lightning blazes now in crimson and +in purple sheets of flame. Oh, but the wind is +wild! Spare my treasures, oh, do not slay utterly +my beautiful, beloved flowers! The tall +stalks bend and strain, the Larkspurs bow. I +hold my breath while the danger lasts, thinking +only of the wind’s power to harm the garden; for +the leaping lightning and the crashing thunder I +love, but the gale fills me with dread for my flowers +defenseless. Still down pour the refreshing +floods; everything is drenched: where are the +humming-birds? The boats toss madly on the +moorings, the sea breaks wildly on the shore, +the world is drowned and gone, there is nothing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>but tempest and tumult and rush and roar of wind +and rain.</p> + +<p>The long trailing sprays of the Echinocystus +vine stretch and strain like pennons flying out in +the blast, the Wistaria tosses its feathery plumes +over the arch above the door. Alas, for my bank +of tall Poppies and blue Cornflowers and yellow +Chrysanthemums outside! The Poppies are laid +low, never to rise again, but the others will gather +themselves together by and by, and the many-colored +fires of Nasturtiums will clothe the slope +with new beauty presently. The storm is sweeping +past, already the rain diminishes, the lightning +pales, the thunder retreats till leagues and +leagues away we hear it “moaning and calling +out of other lands.” The clouds break away and +show in the west glimpses of pure, melting blue, +the sun bursts forth, paints a rainbow in the east +upon the flying fragments of the storm, and pours +a flood of glory over the drowned earth; the +pelted flowers take heart and breathe again, every +leaf shines, dripping with moisture; the grassy +slopes laugh in sweet color; the sea calms itself +to vast tranquillity and answers back the touch +of the sun with a million glittering smiles.</p> + +<p>Though the outside bank of flowers is wrecked +and the tall Poppies prone upon the ground, those +inside the garden are safe because I took the precaution +to run two rows of wire netting up and +down through the beds for their support. So, +when the winds are cruelly violent, the tall, brittle +stalks lean against this light but strong bulwark +and are unhurt.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> + +<p>After the storm, in the clear, beautiful morning, +before sunrise I went as usual into the garden to +gather my flowers. To and fro, up and down +over the ruined bank I passed; the wind blew +cool and keen from the west, though the sky was +smiling. The storm had beaten the flowers flat +all over the slope; in scarlet and white and blue +and pink and purple and orange bloom they were +prostrate everywhere, leaves, stalks, blossoms, and +all tangled and matted in an inextricable confusion. +Swiftly I made my way through it, finding +a foothold here and there, and stooping for +every freshly unfolded cup or star or bell whose +bud the tempest had spared. As I neared the little +western gate with my hands full of blossoms to +enter the garden on my way to the house, I was +stopped still as a statue before a most pathetic +sight. There, straight across the way, a tall +Poppy plant lay prone upon the ground, and +clinging to the stem of one of its green seed-pods +sat my precious pet humming-bird, the dearest of +the flock that haunt the garden, the tamest of +them all. His eyes were tightly closed, his tiny +claws clasped the stem automatically, he had no +feeling, he was rigid with cold. The chill dew +loaded the gray-green Poppy leaves, the keen +wind blew sharply over him,—he is dead, I +thought with a pang, as I shifted my flowers in a +glowing heap to my left arm, and clasped the +frozen little body in the palm of my right hand. +It was difficult to disengage his slender wiry claws +from their close grip on the chilly stalk, but he +never moved or showed a sign of life as I took +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>him off. I held him most tenderly in my closed +hand, very careful not to crush or even press his +tiny perishing body, and breathed into the shut +hollow of my palm upon him with a warm and +loving breath. I was so very busy, there were so +many things to be done that morning, I could not +stop to sit down and nurse him back to life. But +I held him safe, and as I went up and down the +garden paths gathering the rest of my flowers, I +breathed every moment into my hand upon him. +Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed; he made no +sign of life. Alas, I thought, he is truly dead; +when all at once I felt the least little thrill pass +through the still, cold form, an answering thrill +of joy ran through me in response, and more +softly, closely, tenderly yet I sent my warm breath +to the tiny creature as I still went on with my +work. In a few minutes more I began to feel +the smallest fluttering pulse of life throbbing +faintly within him; in yet a few moments more +he stirred and stretched his wings, comforting +himself in the genial heat. When at last I felt +him all alive, I took a small shallow basket of +yellow straw, very small and light, and in it put +a tuft of soft cotton wool, filled a tiny glass cup +with sugar and water, honey-thick, placed it in the +basket by the cotton, then gently laid the wee bird +on the warm fluff. His eyes were still closed, +but he moved his head slowly from side to side. +The sun had risen and was pouring floods of light +and heat into the garden. I carried the basket +out into the corner where the heavenly blue Larkspurs +stood behind the snow-whiteness of the full +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>blossoming Lilies, and among the azure spikes I +hung the pretty cradle where the sunbeams lay +hottest and brightest on the flowers. The wind, +grown balmy and mild, rocked the tall flower-spikes +gently, the basket swayed with them, and +the heat was so reviving that the dear little creature +presently opened his eyes and quietly looked +about him. At that my heart rejoiced. It was +delightful to watch his slow return to his old self +as I still went on with my work, looking continually +toward him to see how he was getting on. +The ardent sunbeams sent fresh life through him; +suddenly he rose, an emerald spark, into the air, +and quivered among the blue flowers, diving deep +into each winged blossom for his breakfast of +honey.</p> + +<p>All day and every day he haunts the garden, +and when tired rests contentedly on the small twig +of a dry pea-stick near the Larkspurs. The rosy +Peas blossom about him, the Hollyhock flowers +unfold in glowing pink with lace-like edges of +white; the bees hum there all day in and out of +the many flowers; the butterflies hover and waver +and wheel. When one comes too near him, up +starts my beauty and chases him away on burnished +wings, away beyond the garden’s bounds, +and returns to occupy his perch in triumph,—the +dry twig he has taken for his home the whole +sweet summer long. Other humming-birds haunt +the place, but he belongs there; they go and come, +but he keeps to his perch and his Larkspurs faithfully. +He is so tame he never stirs from his twig +for anybody, no matter how near a person may +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>come; he alights on my arms and hands and hair +unafraid; he rifles the flowers I hold, when I am +gathering them, and I sometimes think he is the +very most charming thing in the garden. The +jealous bees and the butterflies follow the flowers +I carry also, sometimes all the way into the +house. The other day, as I sat in the piazza +which the vines shade with their broad green +leaves and sweet white flowers climbing up to the +eaves and over the roof, I saw the humming-birds +hovering over the whole expanse of green, to and +fro, and discovered that they were picking off and +devouring the large transparent aphides scattered, +I am happy to say but sparingly, over its surface, +every little gnat and midge they snapped up with +avidity. I had fancied they lived on honey, but +they appeared to like the insects quite as well.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i163" style="max-width: 145.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i163.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>Home of the Humming-bird</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>In the sweet silence before sunrise, standing in +the garden I watch the large round shield of the +full moon slowly fading in the west from copper +to brass and then to whitest silver, throwing across +a sea of glass its long, still reflection, while the +deep, pure sky takes on a rosy warmth of color +from the approaching sun. Soon an insufferable +glory burns on the edge of the eastern horizon; +up rolls the great round red orb and sets the dew +twinkling and sparkling in a thousand rainbows, +sending its first rejoicing rays over the wide face +of the world. When in these fresh mornings I +go into my garden before any one is awake, I go +for the time being into perfect happiness. In this +hour divinely fresh and still, the fair face of every +flower salutes me with a silent joy that fills me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>with infinite content; each gives me its color, +its grace, its perfume, and enriches me with the +consummation of its beauty. All the cares, perplexities, +and griefs of existence, all the burdens +of life slip from my shoulders and leave me +with the heart of a little child that asks nothing +beyond its present moment of innocent bliss. +These myriad beaming faces turned to mine seem +to look at me with blessing eyes. I feel the personality +of each flower, and I find myself greeting +them as if they were human. “Good-morning, +beloved friends! Are all things well with you? +And are you tranquil and bright? and are you +happy and beautiful?” They stand in their peace +and purity and lift themselves to my adoring gaze +as if they knew my worship,—so calm, so sweet, +so delicately radiant, I lose myself in the tranquillity +of their happiness. They seem like sentient +beings, as if they knew me and loved me, not +indeed as I love them, but with almost a reliance +on my sympathy and care, and a pleasure in my +delight in them. I please myself with the thought +that if anything goes wrong with them, if a vine +or tender stalk droops for lack of support, or if +some insect is working them woe, or threat of +harm comes to them from any quarter, they say +to each other, “Patience! She will be coming +soon, she will see our trouble, she will succor us, +and all will again be well.”</p> + +<p>The summer life in the garden of the winged +things of the air is most charming,—the wonderful +creatures that have escaped, as it were, from +the earth. The life that crawls and creeps and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>devours and destroys, in the forms of slug and +cutworm and all hideous shapes, is utterly forgotten +as we watch these ethereal beings, fluttering, +quivering, darting, dancing, wavering, wheeling, +rejoicing aloft in merry flight. The Larkspur +spikes bend with the weight of the booming bees, +the whole blossoming space is alive with many-colored +butterflies like floating flowers, and the +humming-birds are a perpetual pleasure. They +are astir even before sunrise, when the air is yet +chill with the breath of the retreating night,—there +they are, vibrating with their soft humming +over the Larkspur blossoms which are themselves +like exquisite azure birds all poised for flight, +or diving deep into the fragrant trumpets of the +Honeysuckle, everywhere flashing in emerald and +ruby as the sun’s first beams strike them, like the +living jewels they are. Their fearlessness is something +amazing. I never shall forget the surprise +of joy that filled me when for the first time one +alighted on my sleeve and rested, as much at home +as if I were a stick or a harmless twig! Sparrows +and nuthatches had often alighted on my head as +I stood musing over my flowers, perfectly still, +but to have this tiny spark of brilliant life come +to anchor, as it were, on anything so earthly as my +arm was indeed a nine days’ wonder! Now it has +grown to be an old story, but it is never any less +delightful.</p> + +<p>August 18th. This morning the garden was so +dry again when I sought it at sunrise, in spite of +the heavy dew, that I took the hose and turned +on the water, showering the whole place most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>thoroughly. When I had done the drops clung +thickly to everything, to the sprays of Sweet Peas +especially, the rough surface of their leaves +and stalks catching and holding the water more +tenaciously than the smoother foliage; they were +begemmed, as it were, with so many sparkling +spheres of light. The tamest, dearest humming-bird, +whose home is in the Larkspurs, was greatly +excited by this unexpected and refreshing shower, +and whirred about me, uttering continually his +one fine, sweet, keen note. When my rain-storm +ceased he flew to the Sweet Peas close to his +azure bower, and sitting on a green spray already +bent with the weight of the clear drops, proceeded +to take his morning bath with the most cheerful +enjoyment. He fluttered his tiny wings and +ducked his head and wagged his tail and drenched +himself completely; his feathers were so soaking +wet that his little body looked no bigger than a +bumble-bee; then he flew up and lighted on the +tallest pea-stick that reached over the fence +among the Larkspurs: there sitting on his favorite +twig he rapidly preened his feathers, shook himself, +spread his wings and tail and combed them +with his slender beak and dried them in the +broad, bright beams that poured across the garden +from the low sun. With claws and beak he +smoothed and arranged his dainty raiment, perfectly +regardless of me, his ardent admirer, standing +near enough to touch him with my finger. +Then he fluttered in and out among the flowers, +dipping into every dewy chalice and feasting on +his fragrant honey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + +<p>I wonder, as I muse over the charms of these +most minute of feathered creatures, how it is possible +for their tiny wings to bear them over the +miles of restless and perilous brine, to find this +rock with its nest of flowers! Do they surmise +the hospitality that awaits them at the end of +their long journey as they steer their dangerous +way across the wastes of the salt sea on those +small, weak, quivering pinions? Have they some +subtle inkling of the tender welcome that awaits +them here? Do they guess how they will be admired +and adored? I have filled a small glass +mug with sugar and water thick as honey, and +fastened it in a crotch of the pea-sticks for them +to feed upon; the bees throng to it, the ants +have found it, and I hope the humming-birds will +feast there too. One morning lately, as I was busy +in the garden, a little creature brushed by me so +close I thought it was a bee; turning to look at +it, I was sure it was a humming-bird, but such an +atom! Its like I had never imagined. I watched +it, fascinated, as it flew here, there, and everywhere, +whirring just like a humming-bird, crazy over the +annual Larkspurs. A greenish golden sheen was +reflected from the head and back, the very color +of the little bird, and it had a small, short tail, with +a band of white round its body, which seemed +feathered, as also its mottled breast. Its bright +black eyes were like the bird’s, and it hummed +with its wings in precisely the same way. Its +beak was short, and as it went from flower to +flower, probing for honey, I was perfectly sure it +was a new variety of humming-bird, the most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>minute that was ever created. I watched it with +breathless interest, completely puzzled by it. Perfectly +tame, it flew all about me and investigated +the flowers in my hand. Suddenly I discovered +that it had three pairs of legs! No bird, I said, +ever had more than one, and then I was satisfied +that it must be the most marvelous moth in the +world. It was so happy and beautiful, flying +about so confidingly in the bright sunshine within +reach of my hand! But I knew of some one to +whom it would be a treasure, so I threw a light +veil over, caught it, and sent it softly to sleep +forever with some chloroform. It was <i>Ællopos +Titan</i>, very rare, and found in the tropics.</p> + +<p>The dazzling white Lilies blossoming now, +bright as silvery snow below the Larkspurs, are +taller than they by several feet. I wish I could +in any words paint the hues of these splendid +Delphiniums; such shades of melting blue, some +light, others dark, some like the summer heaven, +and dashed across their pale azure wings with delicious +rose. Now is the garden at high tide of +beauty. Sweet Peas are brilliant in all their vivid +tints; they are doing bravely, spite of the drought, +because their roots are so well shaded. They +bloom so plenteously that they can hardly be +gathered, though they are cut daily. The Rose +Campion bed is a lake of delicate colors with its +border of scarlet Flax. Poppies of every tint are +blazing; the Hollyhocks are splendid, with their +comrades the Sunflowers; every day the single +Dahlias surprise me with new and unexpected +flowers; the Tea Rose bed is a perpetual delight +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>and astonishment; the purple Zanzibar Lily is +blossoming in its tub and never is without its +wonderful cup afloat; the Lotus sends up strong, +long-stemmed leaves aloft, and keeps me eagerly +looking for its promised flower of radiant pink,—its +leaves are a marvel with their mystic markings +held so high above the water. The Honeysuckles +are breathing out all their sweetness on the air; +the Pinks are out in spicy bloom; the Mountain +Fringe drapes the doorway with cloudy green +and pale rose-color. Constellations of Marigolds +and Artemisias and Coreopsis, whole solar systems +of fiery suns and stars, blossom all over the +place, and in partly shaded corners large fragrant +stars of Nicotiana shine also when twilight falls. +The Japanese Sunflowers make every spot gay +where they unfold; they are hardy; when once +they fairly get a foothold in the garden, they will +not be dislodged, and I for one would never wish +to dislodge them, though they spread and grow +and multiply rapidly, and take much space if left +to go on undisturbed. They have an indescribable +golden atmosphere about them, because, I suppose, +of their cup-like shape; they never stretch +their petals out flat like other Sunflowers. They +have a small brown central disk, and their “ray-like +florets” are of deep yellow, curved more inward +than outward. The Artemisias are in one +shade of full, rich gold, in shape like a common +field Daisy; the Marigolds are in every shade of +yellow, orange, and flame, effulgent,—some with +centres of velvet brown, some with peacock green, +some all gold, with exquisite gradations of color +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>through all their rays. “Ardent Marigolds!” +sang John Keats. Ardent indeed they are, with +fervors of color that glow like the beams of day.</p> + +<p>The dark crimson Jacqueminot Roses are almost +gone, but almost every other flower is at its +best, the whole garden in blossom at once. Dearly +I love to sit in the sun upon the doorstep with +a blossom in my hand and meditate upon its +details, the lavish elaboration of its loveliness, to +study every peculiar characteristic of each, and +wonder and rejoice in its miraculous existence, a +feast more delicate and satisfying than the honey +the birds and bees and butterflies gather from its +heart. Over my head the Cobœa vine droops its +large green and purple bells, with many another +flower beside. The Tropæolum Lucifer thronging +up the trellis on either hand truly merits the +name of Light-bearer; its scarlet velvet blooms +have almost an illuminating quality. I hold a +flower of the pretty Love-in-a-mist, the quaint +Nigella, and scan its charming face. It blossoms +late and long, and is a flower of most distinguished +beauty. It is star-shaped, in tints of +white, blue, and purple, with full rich stamens +and anthers of warmer red-purple, the petals on +the back delicately veined in each variety with +fine lines of faint green. The rich cluster of +stamens is surrounded at the base by eight smaller +inner petals in different tints, so wonderful in detail, +so ornate in decoration as to be simply indescribable. +Each large outer petal is curved and +cup-shaped, yet each has its finishing point which +makes the blossom starry, and these eight inner +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>petals radiate from the centre within, above the +larger ones. The foliage whence it gets its old-time +name, Love-in-a-mist, is like a soft green +vapor, and in the double varieties, the white especially, +runs up and mixes itself with the petals. +The single varieties are much the finest. They +have a faint perfume of anise, and they are among +the quaintest and most interesting flowers I know.</p> + +<p>I love to pore over every blossom that unfolds +in the garden, no matter what it may be, to study +it and learn it by heart as far as a poor mortal +may. If one but gazes closely into a tiny flower +of the pale blue Forget-me-not, what a chapter +of loveliness is there! One sees at a glance the +sweet color of the starry, compact cluster, and +perhaps will notice that the delicate buds in their +cherishing calyx are several shades of rose and +lilac before they unclose, but unless one studies +it closely, how shall one know that in most cases +the <i>himmel-blau</i> petals are distinctly heart-shaped, +that round its golden centre it wears a necklace +of pearls, or so they seem, till on looking closer +one discovers that the effect is made by the +fluting of the whitened folds of each petal at the +base; it looks precisely as if it wore a string of +polished beads. The tiny spot of darkness within +its inmost yellow ring holds five stamens, with +dusty anthers of paler yellow (also heart-shaped +when the flower first unfolds) in a close circle +round the pistil of pale green. Unless the eyes +are young and keen a microscope only will tell +this; but it is one of the wisest things in the +world to carry in one’s pocket a little magnifying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>glass, for this opens so many unknown gates into +the wonders and splendors of Creation. There +is such wealth of ornament, such marvelous subtile +thought spent on the smallest blossom! The +“sweet and cunning hand of Nature” is so lavish +of its work, and it is all so happy, the joy is so +inexhaustible, the refreshment to the human soul +so heavenly!</p> + +<p>The fragrant fringes of the Mignonette, how +surprising and curiously beautiful they are under +the little pocket microscope! What elaboration +of detail, what tempered harmonies of color, what +marvels of construction! I reach my hand for a +blossom of Coreopsis Coronata some one has let +fall on the step,—what a refulgent flower! There +is something Spanish about its aspect always to +me. There are eight yellow velvet petals deeply +toothed at the edges, and rich embroideries in +red about the warmer yellow of the centre. Gorgeous +it is, and so is its relative, Coreopsis Drummondii, +and both have a double row of sepals, the +row nearest the corolla brown and thin and light, +the outer one much coarser and bright green. +The centre of the Drummondii is more like the +wild Rudbeckia, with markings not so ornate as +the Coronata, but in a mass, and of a brighter, +clearer red. All this family of flowers, Lanceolata, +Golden Banner, the deep scarlet and maroon +varieties, are superb and most decorative.</p> + +<p>It is a great temptation to linger over the loveliness +of every flower that unfolds, but I spare +my patient readers, and leave them to pursue +these fascinating researches for themselves.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>I have had reward enough for all my care of +the Water Lilies (even though they had put forth +only leaves, but they have blossomed well) in the +delight of the birds over the tubs of clear water +on which the mottled leaves are floating. So +many charming creatures pause at them to drink, +and the song-sparrows bathe there daily. Enchanting +it is to watch their pretty ways as they +hop from the tub’s edge upon a Lily-pad which +yields beneath their weight and lets them gently +down, but out of this they always flit and take +their own way about it, dipping and splashing +bravely till they are thoroughly drenched, then +preening and drying themselves as they sit upon +the brim, and singing their song of sweet content +when all is done.</p> + +<p>September 23d. Now are the crickets loud in +the grass and the Hawkweed waves in pale yellow +all over the island, the autumn Dandelion, starry +on its long and slender stem. But still the garden +glows, and still autumn</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent14">“Sets budding more</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And still more later flowers for the bees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Until they think warm days will never cease,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For summer has o’er brimmed their clammy cells.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Where the Hollyhocks earliest to blossom stand +bereft of all save their thick-growing, full, round +seed vessels, the late Morning-glories have +wreathed and twined themselves and hung the +stems with white and rose and heaven-blue bells, +and the later blooming stalks are rich with fresh +flowers. Still the Sweet Peas blossom as if their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>thick ranks were ready to fly away with myriad +wings of delicious pink, blue, purple, red, and +white. Poppies yet bloom, Rose Campions at +their brightest, hemmed in with the Scarlet Flax, +and the stars and suns of Marigolds blaze with a +matchless glory. Single Dahlias are sumptuous +in every color, and in their prime. One Coreopsis +Golden Banner is a sight to see, like a great gold +mountain heaped in the middle of the garden. +Many kinds of Helianthus make splendid the little +inclosure; Love-in-a-mist puts out flower after +flower of mystic charm; the Asters bloom in +profusion of exquisite colors,—the Comet variety, +which I think is most lovely of all. The white +Stocks are dazzling in their purity, and so fragrant! +Nasturtiums run riot, of course, and light +up every corner; the Phloxes glow; the Mourning +Brides are fine in their sumptuous black-red +velvet; Verbenas are brilliant; Tea Roses blossoming +yet; the Giant Spider flower, <i>Cloeme +pungens</i>, rises all over the garden in rosy purple +clouds. Mignonette is lavish of rich spikes of +bloom, and the Pansies never so splendid; immense +smooth, perfect flowers of every color, they +never put forth such in the summer heats. Picotee +pinks are bright and sweet, but the poor little +Margarets suffered too much with the venomous +carnation worm, spite of my daily care, and are +only just now sending up their buds. I shall take +them up and keep them safe in the house over +the winter. In a corner the deep blue Plumbago +Lady Larpent blooms finely, the Foxgloves +are strong and tall, though they will not blossom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>till another year; but the whole garden is a mass +of bloom and fragrance, still haunted by birds, +bees, butterflies, and dragonflies; the humming-birds +are gone, I know not whither, not to return +this year. The withering vines are alive with +many little creepers and warblers and flycatchers; +indeed, the island is full of distinguished bird-strangers +on their way south. Scores of golden +woodpeckers, or flickers, or yellow-hammers (they +have dozens of striking names) are here, and just +now two great ospreys perch on the vane above +the highest ridge-pole, and soar and perch again, +uttering strange, harsh cries. This morning a +large flock of wild geese flew over toward the +south, so low we could see the colors and the +markings of their plumage. The familiar curlews +call sweetly as in spring. Outside the garden +this tranquil morning the soft green turf that +slopes smoothly to the sea in front is shaggy with +the thick dew from which the yet low sun strikes +a thousand broken rainbows. The clumps of +wild Roses glow with their red haws in the full +light; the Elder bushes are laden with clusters of +purple berries; Goldenrod and wild Asters bloom, +and a touch of fire begins to light up the Huckleberry +bushes, “Autumn laying here and there a +fiery finger on the leaves.” The gray rocks show +so fair in the changing lights, and all the dear +island with its sights and sounds is set in the +pale light summer-blue of a smiling sea as if it +were June, with hardly a wave to break its happy +calm. Round the horizon a band of haze, the +same ashes-of-roses color as that which makes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>lovely the skies of May, holds the fair world in a +light embrace for this one day; a few white clouds +are losing themselves in the pure blue above; a +few sails gleam afar. Though the tide is full, it +makes no murmur; I hear only the drowsy bees +in the Hollyhocks, the young fledgling song-sparrows +trying their voices, learning the sweet +song their parents are pouring at intervals on the +quiet air, and the chirp and twitter of other birds, +birds of passage, with finch and thrush, nuthatch +and late robin, the whistle of a whitethroat, the +clanking jar of the kingfisher that perches on the +mast of the faithful little tug Pinafore (so many +years our only link with the mainland in winter), +as she lies at her wharf in the upper cove, and +shows his handsome blue and gray plumage and +white collar glittering in the sun. A fisherman +draws his nets in a shining white skiff, but he +makes no sound that I can hear. The season is +so divinely tranquil and sweet, all things are so +beautiful in and about the little isle, from the glittering +seal that emerges from the waves to sun +himself sometimes on the seaweed-covered rocks, +to the smallest flower that blossoms in my garden; +from the wonderful jelly-fish that spreads its +large diaphanous cup, expanding and contracting +as it swims, and colored like a great melting opal +in the pale-green, translucent water, to the bright-eyed +bats that flitter at dusk when the evening +star is sparkling above the rich red of the sunset +sky. And that reminds me that all summer a +white bat has skittered ghostly with its dark companions, +as soon as twilight fell, about the place. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>Of a white bat never before have I heard, but all +kinds of strange and remarkable creatures find +their way here, and I am surprised at nothing.</p> + +<p>Once more the weird laughter of the loons +comes to my ear, the distance lends it a musical, +melancholy sound. From a dangerous ledge off +the lighthouse island floats in on the still air the +gentle tolling of a warning bell as it swings on its +rocking buoy; it might be tolling for the passing +of summer and sweet weather with that persistent, +pensive chime.</p> + +<p>And so the ripe year wanes. From turfy +slopes afar the breeze brings delicious, pungent, +spicy odors from the wild Everlasting flowers, and +the mushrooms are pearly in the grass. I gather +the seed-pods in the garden beds, sharing their +bounty with the birds I love so well, for there are +enough and to spare for us all. Soon will set +in the fitful weather, with fierce gales and sullen +skies and frosty air, and it will be time to tuck up +safely my Roses and Lilies and the rest for their +long winter sleep beneath the snow, where I never +forget them, but ever dream of their wakening +in happy summers yet to be.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i185" style="max-width: 146.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i185.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p><i>Sunset and the Pinafore</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Notes</b></p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> + +<p>Illustrations have been moved nearer to the text to which they refer. +As a result, the page numbers listed in the illustrations table +may be incorrect.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation and compound words have been maintained +as printed.</p> +</div> +<div 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