"THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET" 113 



and browns and greens, keen grays and soft 

 blues, are in the marsh, shaded and toned to 

 an individuality of their own, as tonic to the 

 eye as its ozonic odors are to the sense of 

 smell. 



Through these comes the full tide twice a day, 

 bringing the salt, cool tang of its kisses to the feet 

 of the old dam, there to meet those of the stream 

 brought far from cool springs in the hills and daily 

 perfumed with the petals of some newly ripened 

 wild flower, caltha in the spring, wild rose in the 

 summer, clematis now, with aster and witch hazel 

 still to come. No wonder " the wide-spreading 

 pond and the mill that stood by it ; the bridge and 

 the rock where the cataract fell," were strongly 

 fixed on the memory of one who had in boyhood 

 been familiar with these scenes. The farm of his 

 ancestors may not have held these by deed, nor the 

 level wonder of the marsh, and the blue reaches 

 of the sea beyond, but it held them, nevertheless, 

 and the man that owned the one had an inalienable 

 right to the other. Nor need the passer in this un- 

 spoiled, half-forgotten corner of Pilgrim land be 

 without them, though he merely rent a room by 



