stricken. Willows are brittle stemmed, and 
birds do not build in them to any great extent. 
The fish crow occasionally builds his coarse nest 
in the upper branches because it is a safe place. 
No cat or boy would venture on the brittle 
branches. The willows felt the effect of the 
storm of three weeks ago, which was in truth a 
great northeaster. For two days the wind blew 
a gale. The ocean was gray and tempersome, 
roaring wildly and madly pounding the beach 
with tons upon tons of seething water, then with 
a wild leap, lifted its white crests, if not moun- 
tain high, high enough to make the sight sublime. 
Great logs twelve or more feet long were tossed 
over the fifteen feet of bulkhead, with the ease 
of a school boy tossing his ball over a fence. 
The ocean has its moods. This was one of them. 
To-day it is of another type, so calm, so peaceful, 
so blue. 
The Shrewsbury. 
The moods of the Shrewsbury are mostly un- 
changing — to-day as yesterday. At its best 
bluer than the ocean or the beautiful Naversink 
Heights beyond. 
The height of the flower season at Monmouth 
Beach has passed. Only the golden rod, the 
beautiful gerardia and the heath-aster remain to 
tell the story of a rich season of bloom, the 
queens of which were the scarlet pimpernel, the 
Sabbatia and the marsh rosemary or statice. Of 
many or all of these, making a list of more than 
32 
