AN ISLAND GARDEN 21 



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. 



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 common- 

 place 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 ! 



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 lan- 

 guage, 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, per- 

 haps, 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 chil- 

 dren prattling not far away ; there are no other 



