AN ISLAND GARDEN 99 



Rose Campion, or Rose of Heaven, with its grassy 

 foliage, swing in this rainbow shell, making an- 

 other harmony of hues. 



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. 



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 embroid- 

 ered 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 fra- 

 grance and adore them. Here are kept the dain- 

 tiest 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 tum- 

 bler 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 



