Islesboro 
—one, a typical Islesboro day in coloring—strong 
blues and greens, picked out by the very white 
sails, the harbor, alive with boats of every size 
and kind; steam 
yachts, white and 
black, giving a so- 
lidity of back¬ 
ground to the flut¬ 
tering, bird-like 
sails of the smaller 
craft. Very blue 
is the sky, with a 
few soft white 
clouds along the 
line of the still bluer 
Camden Hills. 
The water is the 
color of an uncut 
sapphire, with 
deeper tones here 
and there, where 
the fresh breeze the drf. 
from the west is 
beginning to ruffle its glass-like surlace. As a 
contrast to this dazzling blue and white is the 
intense yet infinitely soft green of the fir trees 
which cover the islands. The air is like cham¬ 
pagne, making one glad with the joy of living. But 
last in our minds is the sunset hour! One grows 
strangely silent at 
the thought of all 
its glory of sky 
and sea. 
Above, the pale 
blue melting into 
the faintest of 
green—which in 
its turn changes 
to vivid golden 
and orange, mak¬ 
ing the hills stand 
out sharply in 
their beautiful 
violet covering. 
Every atom of 
lovel iness is re¬ 
flected in the sea, 
x el woods and the great sails 
on the schooners 
by the lighthouse, look like the wings of tired birds, 
drooping lower and lower, to rest, secure in the 
protection of the light, and awaiting the dawn. 
“ HOLT FLEET,” RESIDENCE OF DAVID SCULL, ESQ. 
23 
