124 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



till another year ; but the whole garden is a mass 

 of bloom and fragance, still haunted by birds, 

 bees, butterflies, and dragonflies; the humming- 

 birds are gone, I know not whither, not to return 

 this year. The withering vines are alive with 

 many little creepers and warblers and flycatchers ; 

 indeed, the island is full of distinguished bird- 

 strangers on their way south. Scores of golden 

 woodpeckers, or flickers, or yellow-hammers (they 

 have dozens of striking names) are here, and just 

 now two great ospreys perch on the vane above 

 the highest ridge-pole, and soar and perch again, 

 uttering strange, harsh cries. This morning a 

 large flock of wild geese flew over toward the 

 south, so low we could see the colors and the 

 markings of their plumage. The familiar curlews 

 call sweetly as in spring. Outside the garden 

 this tranquil morning the soft green turf that 

 slopes smoothly to the sea in front is shaggy with 

 the thick dew from which the yet low sun strikes 

 a thousand broken rainbows. The clumps of 

 wild Roses glow with their red haws in the full 

 light; the Elder bushes are laden with clusters of 

 purple berries ; Goldenrod and wild Asters bloom, 

 and a touch of fire begins to light up the Huckle- 

 berry bushes, " Autumn laying here and there a 

 fiery finger on the leaves." The gray rocks show 

 so fair in the changing lights, and all the dear 

 island with its sights and sounds is set in the 

 pale light summer-blue of a smiling sea as if it 

 were June, with hardly a wave to break its happy 

 calm. Round the horizon a band of haze, the 

 same ashes-of-roses color as that which makes 



