BY THE RIPPLING SEA. 



LL day I walked with the gentle murmur of the waves 

 fi-4 in my ears along the shore of Prince's Bay and the 

 M- A- Great Kill. The morning had dawned sunny, breezy 

 and cool, and it was one of those August days that herald the 

 Fall. There is a subtilty in. the expression of such a day 

 that cannot be set down in words. You feel, but cannot 

 tell why, it is so truly Fall-like. It is near akin to yester- 

 day, and, again, to-morrow we may not see the face of 

 Autumn thus plainly. I might try to tell wherein the dif- 

 ference lies, but it seems to be doing Nature an injustice to 

 coarsely mention the soft brooding haze, or the suspicion 

 of coolness that lingers about even the noon-tide hours ot 

 such a day. 



The golden asters, in their silky coats, were along the 

 wood-paths to the beach, and a number of widely branch- 

 ing yellow gerardias had taken possession of a little open- 

 ing in the trees. Nature loves purple and gold, and with the 

 exception of white and the omnipresent green of Summer, 

 they are her favorite colors. 



On the shore I plodded along, now in the sand and 

 anon among the low shrubbery on the up-beach. The 



