AN ISLAND GARDEN 113 



with infinite content; each gives me its color, 

 its grace, its perfume, and enriches me with the 

 consummation of its beauty. All the cares, per- 

 plexities, and griefs of existence, all the burdens 

 of life slip from my shoulders and leave me 

 with the heart of a little child that asks nothing 

 beyond its present moment of innocent bliss. 

 These myriad beaming faces turned to mine seem 

 to look at me with blessing eyes. I feel the per- 

 sonality of each flower, and I find myself greeting 

 them as if they were human. "Good-morning, 

 beloved friends ! Are all things well with you ? 

 And are you tranquil and bright ? and are you 

 happy and beautiful ? " They stand in their peace 

 and purity and lift themselves to my adoring gaze 

 as if they knew my worship, so calm, so sweet, 

 so delicately radiant, I lose myself in the tran- 

 quillity of their happiness. They seem like senti- 

 ent beings, as if they knew me and loved me, not 

 indeed as I love them, but with almost a reliance 

 on my sympathy and care, and a pleasure in my 

 delight in them. I please myself with the thought 

 that if anything goes wrong with them, if a vine 

 or tender stalk droops for lack of support, or if 

 some insect is working them woe, or threat of 

 harm comes to them from any quarter, they say 

 to each other, " Patience ! She will be coming 

 soon, she will see our trouble, she will succor us, 

 and all will again be well." 



The summer life in the garden of the winged 

 things of the air is most charming, the wonder- 

 ful creatures that have escaped, as it were, from 

 the earth. The life that crawls and creeps and 



