WATER IN THE GARDEN 



the sough of wind and the voices of birds and 

 insects there are no sounds but the harping of 

 water-drops, as they fall from the central foun- 

 tain. Here, remote, alone, forgetful of the 

 rudeness of the world, living with his books, his 

 science, his art, his music, his flowers, will sit the 

 recluse and keep his mind warm and serene with 

 loveliness. 



Some such a yard as this could also be con- 

 trived for seashore cottagers whose premises go 

 down to the border of the deep. If they dwelt 

 on Cape Ann, or the Maine islands, it would 

 not be difficult or costly to blast out a hollow in 

 the native rock, fill it with salt water, by means 

 of a ditch, or pipes, and in this sheltered lagoon 

 to introduce, besides the usual finned swimmers, 

 starfish, jellyfish, squids, octopods, anemones, 

 lobsters, crabs, shrimps, sandworms and mol- 

 lusks, as well as the sea-mosses that sway so 

 softly when the water moves. The pool would 

 be a veritable place of wonders, and you would 

 lie in a boat or on a board above it, studying its 

 strange forms by the hour. Have you sailed 

 across the sunken gardens in the glass-bottomed 

 boats at Santa Catalina? If so, you need no 

 233 



