BESIDE THE GULF WITH RUSKIN. 



Let me sketch a bit of landscape before I 

 begin to write, a bit with which I have been 

 so charmed day after day that I have not 

 looked at anything else. The point of view is 

 a high swell of sand thinly set with tall, slen- 

 der pine trees, and our seat is a smooth, 

 weather-beaten log. Behind us is a dense 

 forest, stretching away for miles, a forest in 

 which the blooms and tassels are beginning 

 to show, albeit it is the second day of Feb- 

 ruary. Before us, and but 150 yards away, 

 shines the white beach and pale blue water of 

 the Gulf of Mexico. There is a sound over- 

 head, a strange moaning, made by the breeze 

 in the pine-tops, and the rhythmic sea-boom 

 seems to flow close to the ground at our feet. 

 We can see the sky in violet streaks and frag- 

 ments through the foliage, and we can catch 

 at times glimpses of stately ships standing far 

 9ut along the horizon, apparently motionless, 

 but in reality bowling along before a good 

 breeze " from lands of snow to lands of sun." 

 The temperature of the air is such that we 

 need no wraps, and yet are not too warm, 

 and there is a June-like balm felt with every 

 breath we draw. Here is where my friend 

 and I come to lounge— to " loaf and invite our 

 souls." We have been reading Euskin, too, 

 or rather my friend has been reading aloud 

 to me, while I have lain in a most receptive 

 mood, watching the ever fresh color-changes 

 of the landscape. Ruskin describes clouds, 

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