112 



JOHN BURROUGHS 



LANDING AT ST. MATTHEW ISLAND. 



violet, white ; saxifrage, chickweed, astragalus, claytonia — 

 dropped here and there upon it. Sometimes the flowers 



seemed worked into the 

 carpet itself, and a spe- 

 cies of creeping willow 

 spread its leaves out as 

 if stitched upon it. Scat- 

 tered about were the yel- 

 low poppies, a yellowand 

 a red pe- 

 dicularis, 

 and a rare 

 and curi- 

 ous blue 

 flower in 

 heads — 



the name of which I have forgotten. On the highest 

 point, the blue and purple astragalus covered large areas, 

 but the most novel of all the flowers was a little spe- 

 cies of silene with a bluish ribbed flower precisely like a 

 miniature Chinese lantern. 



The highest point of the island was enveloped most of 

 the time in fog and cloud. While groping my way upon 

 one of these cloud summits, probably 1,000 feet above the 

 sea which flowed at its base, I came suddenly upon a 

 deep cleft or chasm which opened in the moss and flowers 

 at my feet and led down between crumbling rocky walls 

 at a fearful incline to the beach. It gave one a sense of 

 peril that made him pause quickly. The wraiths of fog 

 and mist whirling through and over it enhanced its dread- 

 ful mystery and depth. Yet I hovered about it, retreat- 

 ing and returning quite fascinated by the contrast between 

 the smooth flowery carpet upon which I stood and the 

 terrible yawning chasm. When the fog lifted a little and 

 the sun gleamed out, I looked down this groove into the 



