In Portia's Gardens
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m i^^ f/lf% ^ roR:riA>- Cornell University Library QH 50.K36 In Portia's gardens 3 1924 000 015 721 RETURN TO ALBERT R. MANN LIBRARY ITHACA, N. Y. Cornell University Library The original of tiiis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924000015721 In PORTIA'S Gardens BY William Sloane Kennedy BOSTON BRADLEE WHIDDEN Copyright, 1897 hv BRAni.KK Whiduhn PARKHILL & CO., . PRINTERS " Bu£ sing high and aloof, Safe front the wolf^s black Jaw and tke dull ass^s hoof** Ben Jonson, Underwoods. " Et tanguant in specula positus^ ridere tnecufn soleo.'* Burton, Anat. of Melancholy. " Gentle Reader ! "Lo, here a Camera Obscura is presented to thy view, in which are lights and shades dancing on a whited canvas, aud magnified into apparent life ! If thou art perfectly at leisure for such trivial a7nusenient, walk in, and view the wonders of my Inchanted Garden!''' Darwin, Loves of the Plants. PREFACE. Imagine a huge wooded ridge of trap and gravel, fronting the rising sun and the sea, some three miles long and between two and three hundred feet high, bearing upon its broad back orchards and farms and villas, and bird-haunted meadows and groves, lazily- turning windmills, springs of sweet water, and old winding lanes full of mints and flowers, berries, wild cherries, and ferns, — a natural pleasance in which that gray aborigine, the woodchuck, the crafty red fox, the red and gray squirrel, the sooty crow, and all the songster birds find their homes and fight their battles for existence. Think of this broad lidge as connected by a lonely country road, nine miles long, with the town of Emerson and Thoreau, and as sloping down southward through an old forest to cool its heels in a pretty brook, that, after its leap over the rocks, ripples along by the foot of a glacier kame, or " horseback," out of which tower gigantic oaks that were trees of goodly size before the landing of the Pilgrims. For outlook oceanward and Europe-ward, picture to yourself in the foreground a rolling plain, diverg- ing, fan-shaped, to the sea, the segment of a mighty circle whose chord is the ridge, whose arc sweeps a curve of twenty miles, from Longfellow's Nahant to the Blue Hills of Milton. The spread of landscape within these bounds is threaded by winding rivers and :; VI PREFACE. alluvial plains, is dotted by blue lakes, and crossed by city-sprinkled ridges. Burnished with the silver sun of morning, the lakes seem holes in the green earth- crust through which the white fire breaks from under- ground ; or is the world-floor but a many-colored flying carpet, with the sunlight shining through its rents ? By night, instead of Portia's candle, sending its pencU of light afar, you shall see the imprisoned lightning flaming in a thousand lamps, whose combined radiance at the distance of five or six miles is just about equal in power to that of the moon at the end of her first quarter. It splashes the tree-trunks with silver and hangs above the sleeping cities a delicate veil of pe- numbral light, hailed with joy by the belated pedes- trian in the country long before the city itself sparkles on his sight. If, now, you will conceive of a little red gabled cottage high up on the aforesaid ridge, and peeping forth from a verdurous earth-wrinkle thereof, — a sort of Liliputian farm that is steeped in profound silence from New Year's Day to New Year's Day (bating the distant noise of trains and the voices of squirrels and birds), and whose live stock consists solely of said squirrels and birds, with two or three hundred thou- sand spiders and ants and such small game, — you will have a tolerably fair notion both of the birth- place of these chapters and of the poetic aspects of this rustic landscape,— gardens where the richest roses bloom, upon whose banks of violets the moonlight sleeps as sweet as ever Shakspere saw it ; and where the lawns and copses are haunted, if not by Italian nightingales, yet by birds as rare or blithe of song the wood-thrush with his tender hymn ; the loud- carolling mock-thrush ; the meadow lark with plain- tive-sweet whistle ; the wren with bubbling song the shy and hidden veery, making the silent marsh- groves ring ia the gloaming as he utters his tremu- PREFACE. vii lous cry ; and that master of flute melody and clashing cymbals, the incomparable bobolink, lord of the sunny meadow. My notes on this region, covering many years, with their accretions of suggested topics, have grown into a book, which resembles a box of kineto-phonographic records in that it contains views and voices of living things, — rooted, a-wing, or afoot, — each section inde- pendent of the others. And let the initial chapter on sweet odors be as a grain of ambergris or musk to perfume the whole, so that it may be said, " The box-lid is but perceptibly open'd, nevertheless the per- fume pours copiously out of the whole box." For all the illustrations in the volume, except the title-page vignette, I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. W. Lyman Underwood. They are reproduced from photographs taken by him. The owls, squirrel, young humming-birds, and muskrat are from an origi- nal collection of photographs of animal life he is making. One of the curiosities of his work this sum- mer were negatives of a female yellow-throated vireo taken near its nest in a neighbor's apple-tree, the bird perched on the proprietor's hand or eating from a little box on his head. In the Appendix, dealing with bird songs and calls, I have attempted to supply some of the numerous and annoying deficiencies of the books in this matter. By the aid of my tabular list alone, a beginner ought to be able to identify many a bird ; though of course he will want his ornithological hand-book, too, and the Appendix may serve as a supplement to that. w. s. K. July 17, 1897. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE SWEET-BRIEB AND WlLD ChERKY .... 1 CHAPTER II. Back into the Sunshine . .... 18 CHAPTER III. The Enchanted Forest . .41 CHAPTER IV. Flowers and Birds 80 CHAPTER V. High Noon op the Year Ill CHAPTER VI. The Serb and Yellow Leaf 138 CHAPTER VII. Lengthened Shadows . 169 X CONTENTS. PAQB CHAPTER Vni. Hungry Ckows and Sauoy Jays . 174 CHAPTER IX. Polyps of the Aie 190 CHAPTER X. Br Fountain and Stream .... 203 APPENDIX. Some Bikd Songs and Calls . 219 A Final Word on the Wolf Spiders . 227 Index 229 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. To face page Wise Men or the Wood . 8 Eahly Spking in the Forest ... 18 The Wag of the Tree-tops . 39 Humming-bird's Nest with Yocng . 107 Hating Time . 114 A Down East Mubkrat 130 A Woodland Lane 150 Waterfall in Winter ....... 213 IN PORTIA'S GARDENS. I. SWHBT-BEIEK, AND WILD CHEEEY. To pack as much sunshine and happiness into each twenty-four hours as is consistent with the exercise of every virtue and every duty, — do you know a better guide for the conduct of life than that ? Goethe said to Eckermann, " In my seventy-fifth year I may say that I have never had four weeks of genuine pleasure." And the Caliph Abdalrahman of Cordova wrote (I find it in Gibbon's fifth volume, fifty^econd chapter) that, after having diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which had fallen to his lot, he found they amounted to only four- teen. One could imagine a ruler might have little real happiness, but that a poet could ex- tract only four weeks' happiness from a lifetime is impossible. Indeed, Goethe contradicts him- self ; for in the very next sentence but one he says, "What really made me happy was my poetic mind, my creative power." So Landor confesses that in writing his works his pleasure 2 m POETIA'S GARDENS. in " was the conception and formation : Excite- ment, not hope ; interior glory, not external, — animated and sustained me." What Goethe meant by happiness was doubt- less that super-essential attar of joy which is inhaled so seldom by the sensitive idealist. The days, weeks, months, years, of most of us, are mottled pretty uniformly with a tolerable article of pleasure, which we are very glad to get and no questions asked. To be happy, one must be guileless and recep- tive. "I must inform you," cries Landor's Messer Francesco, " that Father Fontesecco has the heart of a flower: it feels nothing, wants nothing ; it is pure and simple, and full of its own little light." Now, after many shrewd brushes by the way, and some pleasant acquaintance with nature by mountain, stream, and sea, I have for the nonce come to the delicate plain called Ease. But, as you remember, Bunyan says that plain was but narrow, and so they were soon got over it. I will, then, at once fortify myself with the loaf of bread, bottle of wine, cluster of raisins, and other viands now in the cupboard, and buckle down to the business in hand. My task shall be to imitate the old Schildbiirgers, who, it is jestingly said, attempted to carry darkness out of a house by capfuls and empty it into the sun- shine, which they brought back to fill all the rooms with.