BY THE RIPPLING SEA. 



LL day I walked with the gentle murmur of the waves 

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

 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 ol 

 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 



