DEAD TREES LOVE THE FIRE. 155 



mile drive to the nearest railway station, and 

 that would be a fatal waste of time to any busi- 

 ness man. One of the reasons given for the 

 success of the big hotel at Babylon is that it 

 stands so near the railroad that the New Yorker 

 can step from his train to the piazza of the 

 hotel. 



The shore presents this morning a beautiful 

 picture of absolute calm. At nine o'clock 

 nothing is heard as we stand on the little wharf 

 and survey the scene but the distant boom of 

 the surf to the south of us on the other side of 

 the sand-bar, and the singing of the birds in the 

 woods around us. The bay sleeps quietly in 

 the sunlight, and the whole Long Island coast 

 is in brilliant relief, with its hills in the back- 

 ground, just beginning to show the first tints 

 of autumn. Our miniature forest is but a five 

 minutes' stroll up to the headland, and the 

 children begin an attack on the last of the 

 blackberries as we go along. Upon reaching 

 our grove I spied my old friend the Cap'n 

 coming along the shore in his cat-boat from a 

 visit to some distant eel-pots, and with the con- 

 viction that he may have something worth 

 buying besides eels, I go down to the shore 



