the deep, leafy shades
that are heralded by "the green dance of summer"; and the sharp fall
winds that tear the brilliant banners with which the trees greet the
dying year.

The Sound is always lovely. In the summer nights we watch it from the
piazza, and see the lights of the tall Fall River boats as they steam
steadily by. Now and then we spend a day on it, the two of us together
in the light rowing skiff, or perhaps with one of the boys to pull an
extra pair of oars; we land for lunch at noon under wind-beaten oaks
on the edge of a low bluff, or among the wild plum bushes on a spit
of white sand, while the sails of the coasting schooners gleam in the
sunlight, and the tolling of the bell-buoy comes landward across the
waters.

Long Island is not as rich in flowers as the valley of the Hudson. Yet
there are many. Early in April there is one hillside near us which glows
like a tender flame with the white of the bloodroot. About the same time
we find the shy mayflower, the trailing arbutus; and although we rarely
pick wild flowers, one member of the household always plucks a little
bunch of mayflowers to send to a friend working in Panama, whose soul
hungers for the Northern spring. Then there are shadblow and delicate
anemones, about the time of the cherry blossoms; the brief glory of the
apple orchards follows; and then the thronging dogwoods fill the forests
with their radiance; and so flowers follow flowers until the springtime
splendor closes with the laurel and the evanescent, honey-sweet locust
bloom. The late summer flowers follow, the flaunting lilies, and
cardinal flowers, and marshmallows, and pale beach rosemary; and the
goldenrod and the asters when the afternoons shorten and we again begin
to think of fires in the wide fireplaces.

Most of the birds in our neighborhood are the ordinary home friends of
the house and the barn, the wood lot and the pasture; but now and then
the species make queer shifts. The cheery quail, alas! are rarely found
near us now; and we no longer hear the whip-poor-wills at night. But
some birds visit us now which formerly did not. When I was a boy neither
the black-throated green warbler nor the purple finch nested around us,
nor were bobolinks found in our fields. The black-throated green warbler
is now one of our commonest summer warblers; there are plenty of purple
finches; and, best of all, the bobolinks are far from infrequent. I had
written about these new visitors to Jo