the confessions of a summer colonist-第4章

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collected　for　the　behoof　of　all　the　prisoners。

Our　fiction　has　made　so　much　of　our　summer　places　as　the　mise　en　scene　of
its　love　stories　that　I　suppose　I　ought　to　say　something　of　this　side　of
our　colonial　life。　　But　after　sixty　I　suspect　that　one's　eyes　are　poor
for　that　sort　of　thing；　and　I　can　only　say　that　in　its　earliest　and
simplest　epoch　the　Port　was　particularly　famous　for　the　good　times　that
the　young　people　had。　　They　still　have　good　times；　though　whether　on　just
the　old　terms　I　do　not　know。　　I　know　that　the　river　is　still　here　with
its　canoes　and　rowboats；　its　meadowy　reaches　apt　for　dual　solitude；　and
its　groves　for　picnics。　　There　is　not　much　bicyclingthe　roads　are　rough
and　hillybut　there　is　something　of　it；　and　it　is　mighty　pretty　to　see
the　youth　of　both　sexes　bicycling　with　their　heads　bare。　　They　go　about
bareheaded　on　foot　and　in　buggies；　too；　and　the　young　girls　seek　the　tan
which　their　mothers　used　so　anxiously　to　shun。

The　sail…boats；　manned　by　weather…worn　and　weatherwise　skippers；　are
rather　for　the　pleasure　of　such　older　summer　folks　as　have　a　taste　for
cod…fishing；　which　is　here　very　good。　　But　at　every　age；　and　in　whatever
sort　our　colonists　amuse　themselves；　it　is　with　the　least　possible
ceremony。　　It　is　as　if；　Nature　having　taken　them　so　hospitably　to　her
heart；　they　felt　convention　an　affront　to　her。　　Around　their　cottages；　as
I　have　said；　they　prefer　to　leave　her　primitive　beauty　untouched；　and　she
rewards　their　forbearance　with　such　a　profusion　of　wild　flowers　as　I　have
seen　nowhere　else。　　The　low；　pink　laurel　flushed　all　the　stony　fields　to
the　edges　of　their　verandas　when　we　first　came；　the　meadows　were　milk…
white　with　daisies；　in　the　swampy　places　delicate　orchids　grew；　in　the
pools　the　flags　and　flowering　rushes；　all　the　paths　and　way…sides　were
set　with　dog…roses；　the　hollows　and　stony　tops　were　broadly　matted　with
ground　juniper。　　Since　then　the　goldenrod　has　passed　from　glory　to　glory；
first　mixing　its　yellow…powdered　plumes　with　the　red…purple　tufts　of　the
iron…weed；　and　then　with　the　wild　asters　everywhere。　　There　has　come
later　a　dwarf　sort；　six　or　ten　inches　high；　wonderfully　rich　and　fine；
which；　with　a　low；　white　aster；　seems　to　hold　the　field　against
everything　else；　though　the　taller　golden…rod　and　the　masses　of　the　high；
blue　asters　nod　less　thickly　above　it。　　But　these　smaller　blooms　deck　the
ground　in　incredible　profusion；　and　have　an　innocent　air　of　being　stuck
in；　as　if　they　had　been　fancifully　used　for　ornament　by　children　or
Indians。

In　a　little　while　now；　as　it　is　almost　the　end　of　September；　all　the
feathery　gold　will　have　faded　to　the　soft；　pale　ghosts　of　that
loveliness。　　The　summer　birds　have　long　been　silent；　the　crows；　as　if
they　were　so　many　exultant　natives；　are　shouting　in　the　blue　sky　above
the　windrows　of　the　rowan；　in　jubilant　prescience　of　the　depopulation　of
our　colony；　which　fled　the　hotels　a　fortnight　ago。　　The　days　are　growing
shorter；　and　the　red　evenings　falling　earlier；　so　that　the　cottagers'
husbands　who　come　up　every　Saturday　from　town　might　well　be　impatient　for
a　Monday　of　final　return。　　Those　who　came　from　remoter　distances　have
gone　back　already；　and　the　lady　cottagers；　lingering　hardily　on　till
October；　must　find　the　sight　of　the　empty　hotels　and　the　windows　of　the
neighboring　houses；　which　no　longer　brighten　after　the　chilly　nightfall；
rather　depressing。　　Every　one　says　that　this　is　the　loveliest　time　of
year；　and　that　it　will　be　divine　here　all　through　October。　　But　there　are
sudden　and　unexpected　defections；　there　is　a　steady　pull　of　the　heart
cityward；　which　it　is　hard　to　resist。　　The　first　great　exodus　was　on　the
first　of　the　month；　when　the　hotels　were　deserted　by　four…fifths　of　their
guests。　　The　rest　followed；　half　of　them　within　the　week；　and　within　a
fortnight　none　but　an　all　but　inaudible　and　invisible　remnant　were　left；
who　made　no　impression　of　summer　sojourn　in　the　deserted　trolleys。

The　days　now　go　by　in　moods　of　rapid　succession。　　There　have　been　days
when　the　sea　has　lain　smiling　in　placid　derision　of　the　recreants　who
have　fled　the　lingering　summer；　there　have　been　nights　when　the　winds
have　roared　round　the　cottages　in　wild　menace　of　the　faithful　few　who
have　remained。

We　have　had　a　magnificent　storm；　which　came；　as　an　equinoctial　storm
should；　exactly　at　the　equinox；　and　for　a　day　and　a　night　heaped　the　sea
upon　the　shore　in　thundering　surges　twenty　and　thirty　feet　high。　　I
watched　these　at　their　awfulest；　from　the　wide　windows　of　a　cottage　that
crouched　in　the　very　edge　of　the　surf；　with　the　effect　of　clutching　the
rocks　with　one　hand　and　holding　its　roof　on　with　the　other。　　The　sea　was
such　a　sight　as　I　have　not　seen　on　shipboard；　and　while　I　luxuriously
shuddered　at　it；　I　had　the　advantage　of　a　mellow　log…fire　at　my　back；
purring　and　softly　crackling　in　a　quiet　indifference　to　the　storm。

Twenty…four　hours　more　made　all　serene　again。　　Bloodcurdling　tales　of
lobster…pots　carried　to　sea　filled　the　air；　but　the　air　was　as　blandly
unconscious　of　ever　having　been　a　fury　as　a　lady　who　has　found　her　lost
temper。　　Swift　alternations　of　weather　are　so　characteristic　of　our
colonial　climate　that　the　other　afternoon　I　went　out　with　my　umbrella
against　the　raw；　cold　rain　of　the　morning；　and　had　to　raise　it　against
the　broiling　sun。　　Three　days　ago　I　could　say　that　the　green　of　the　woods
had　no　touch　of　hectic　in　it；　but　already　the　low　trees　of　the　swamp…land
have　flamed　into　crimson。　　Every　morning；　when　I　look　out；　this　crimson
is　of　a　fierier　intensity；　and　the　trees　on　the　distant　uplands　are
beginning　slowly　to　kindle；　with　a　sort　of　inner　glow　which　has　not　yet
burst　into　a　blaze。　　Here　and　there　the　golden…rod　is　rusting；　but　there
seems　only　to　be　more　and　more　asters　sorts；　and　I　have　seen　ladies
coming　home　with　sheaves　of　blue　gentians；　I　have　heard　that　the　orchids
are　beginning　again　to　light　their　tender　lamps　from　the　burning
blackberry　vines　that　stray　from　the　pastures　to　the　edge　of　the　swamps。

After　an　apparently　total　evanescence　there　has　been　a　like　resuscitation
of　the　spirit　of　summer　society。　　In　the　very　last　week　of　September　we
have　gone　to　a　supper；　which　lingered　far　out　of　its　season　like　one　of
these　late　flowers；　and　there　has　been　an　afternoon　tea　which　assembled
an　astonishing　number　of　cottagers；　all　secretly　surprised　to　find　one
another　still　here；　and　professing　openly　a　pity　tinged　with　contempt　for
those　who　are　here　no　longer。

I　blamed　those　who　had　gone　home；　but　I　myself　sniff　the　asphalt　afar；
the　roar　of　the　street　calls　to　me　with　the　magic　that　the　voice　of　the
sea　is　losing。　　Just　now　it　shines　entreatingly；　it　shines　winningly；　in
the　sun　which　is　mellowing　to　an　October　tenderness；　and　it　shines　under
a　moon　of　perfect　orb；　which　seems　to　have　the　whole　heavens　to　itself　in
〃the　first　watch　of　the　night；〃　except　for　〃the　red　planet　Mars。〃　　This
begins　to　burn　in　the　west　before　the　flush　of　sunset　has　passed　from　it；
and　then；　later；　a　few　moon…washed　stars　pierce　the　vast　vault　with　their
keen　points。　　The　stars　which　so　powdered　the　summer　sky　seem　mostly　to
have　gone　back　to　town；　where　no　doubt　people　take　them　for　electric
lights。








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