the whetting of the scythe; but no cultivated land abuts upon the main
lake, though beyond the narrow woods there are here and there glimpses
of rye-fields that wave like rolling mist. Graceful islands rise from
the quiet waters,--Grape Island, Grass Island, Sharp Pine Island,
and the rest, baptized with simple names by departed generations of
farmers,--all wooded and bushy and trailing with festoonery of vines.
Here and there the banks are indented, and one may pass beneath drooping
chestnut-leaves and among alder-branches into some secret sanctuary of
stillness. The emerald edges of these silent tarns are starred with
dandelions which have strayed here, one scarce knows how, from their
foreign home; the buck-bean perchance grows in the water, or the Rhodora
fixes here one of its shy camping-places, or there are whole skies of
lupine on the sloping banks;--the catbird builds its nest beside us,
the yellow-bird above, the wood-thrush sings late and the whippoorwill
later, and sometimes the scarlet tanager and his golden-haired bride
send a gleam of the tropics through these leafy aisles.

Sometimes I rest in a yet more secluded place amid the waters, where
a little wooded island holds a small lagoon in the centre, just wide
enough for the wherry to turn round. The entrance lies between two
hornbeam trees, which stand close to the brink, spreading over it their
thorn-like branches and their shining leaves. Within there is perfect
shelter; the island forms a high circular bank, like a coral reef, and
shuts out the wind and the passing boats; the surface is paved with
leaves of lily and pond-weed, and the boughs above are full of song. No
matter what white caps may crest the blue waters of the pond, which here
widens out to its broadest reach, there is always quiet here. A few
oar-strokes distant lies a dam or water-break, where the whole lake is
held under control by certain distant mills, towards which a sluggish
stream goes winding on through miles of water-lilies. The old gray