AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS 45 



the bosom of blue seas, its margin flashing with 

 beryl and pearl where rocks and breakers touch, 

 its rounded ridges white and green again with the 

 granite of which it is built and the verdure with 

 which it is clothed. Over it all bends the blue of 

 the summer sky, and as you look up to this from 

 the little garden it seems to lean lovingly upon the 

 hill which is the island's highest part, heaven so 

 near that the scent of the flowers may easily pass 

 to it by way of the little winding path. To climb 

 this path yourself is to find the sky not so near 

 after all. Standing on the summit, you realize 

 first the depth of its great dome and the wide 

 sweep of sea that rims the islands round. Here 

 are but gray ledges that rise out of an im- 

 mensity which dwarfs them. Far to the north 

 and west is a thin, blue line of land that lifts 

 in the farthest distance the peaks of the White 

 Mountains. All else is but a vast expanse of 

 sea that seems as if it might rise in a storm and 

 overwhelm these rocks that it has washed so white 

 and smooth. Somewhere to the eastward of our 

 coast lies, they tell us, the lost Atlantis, submerged 

 beneath this great sweep of blue that smiles beryl 



