The record-union., 1896-07-26
A VACATION IDYLL.
Done into Prose for the "Record.
UniOn' by Memo.
(Copyrighted.)

of a ballroom has more charms than an
hours ramble by the restless waves
to such one Slaughter Beach holds out
no inducements But to him in whom
still courses the good, red blood of kim
ship to nature, this little beach gives
refreshment and inspiration
BY day the clouds play shadow
dances over the great sheet Of Della
ware Bay and along the glorious curve
of the shore from Sand Point to "The
Cedars' and beyond. The green of the
sparse grasses and the light brown of
the sands stretch on and on until they
are blent into one low indefinitely
tinted outline that shades off gradually
into the moving waters ever-colored as
they are, with all the Kaleidoscope pos
sibfhties of varying shades of green and
gray and blue.
AS the day draws to it's close, the
eyes are raised to the sunset glories OF
the silent skies. Upward and down.
ward we look; those masses of color
that so stately glide, rejecting back
the rays of the dear departed sun, of
this great world both eye and SOUL"
bing uneasily at our feet. Transmitted
and glorified, the ocean below decks the
heavens above; just as the advancing
and receding, never motlonless mass or
our common humanity gives of its own
substance and gladly that the perfected
ones may shine down upon it some of
the glory of which the whole mass is
capable.
X
At night, without tree or house to
break the outlook, and freed from all
incongruous sounds to mar the vocal 81
lence of the stars singing in their courses,
there bursts upon the vision of the east
ward gazer a wondrous view of the
prodigality of creative effort in stellar
space. In the presence of these thickly
studded points of light, electrically
bright, that have swung and glided,
circled and guided for ages before our
puny advent, the soul, by the scene
made to supernal thought receptive,
sinks into abject humility at the appall-
ing sense of it's insignif1cance, then rises
to triumphant humility at the power
within it to hear and understand the
voice of God.
And when at last the soul has taken
a surfeit of the beauties that sift
through it's windows, and the eyes grow
heavy with sleep, the last conscious i'm
preston through the closing easements
OF intelligence is given by the kindly
CLEAN of the vigil-keeping stars shining
in through four-square frame; the last
sound, the gently swelling and receding
sibilant monotone of the ripples, min
gled with the love-lorn signing of the
breeze, or possibly the dull grating roar
Of the angry waves, lashed into fury by
the spirit of the storm as it whistles
and shrieks: the last feeling the peace
that the noisy city can neither give nor
ever fully take away; the last thought
thankfulness.
Then when the curtains of the night
are slowly and silently drawn aside and
the light of new day shines through
upon a slumberOus world, the soothed
senses glide back into consciousness.
The faint aroma of the wet sands and
of the salty seaweed gratifies the nos
trils; the nourishment for the body is
surrendered from the plenteous stores
of the sea; the ear yields itself once
more to the SomnOlent sounds of the
night continued on with the day, but
now occasionally broken by the voices
of the cottagers; the appreciative eye
sweeps with full and lingering glance
around the noble spread of the watery
horizon, or turns to rest for a few &C.
static moments upon the intense green
cry Of the marsh fringed by the distant
woods, dimly outlined at one moment
through a bridal veil of mist, at another
darkly silhouetted against sky of me-
tallic clearness feeling is swallowed up
in thought, and that thought is a su
preme appreciation of the power of ma
ture to uplift the soul that is not case
h9rdened against it's divine impressive
ness.
Here he who doeth wisely, doeth lit
tie; and he who doeth much, doeth i'll.
1t is an eight-cottaged oasis of indo
lence in a world that too frequently
seems to us an arid, disappointing, un-
productive desert of effort. But just as
the rich juices of the grape are yielded
only under the strain and stress of the
wine-press, so this spot, sacred to re-
vivifying idleness, gives up fully of its
it all toward himself with the strength
of desperation born from conscious
ness of burden and pressure, toll and ex
haustion. The steady 1dler, with no
plans, and the vigorous worker, with
many, would find the hours unutterably
burdensome because UNMARRIED with the
gaudy display and hollow amusements
of a fashionable watering place. Yet
time does not hang heavily here. The
hours run swiftly by, though spent in
absolute inaction or given to the enjoy
ment of the few amusements that the
sea itself furnishes.
The days of brief vacation are rap
idly passing into the catalogue of pleas
ures that have been and are no more.
The wish to hinder their nimble feet
with leaden hobbies is as strong as it
is vain. Yet who would deny himself
the value of such a restful experience
just because it may not continue al
way? Sleep is given for refreshment;
everlasting sleep is tantamount to
death. Positive cessation from active
effort is wholesome only when it is
brief.
Forth from the inspiration that comes
from the attrition of kindred minds.
forth from the impulses for good that
cluster close around friendship, forth
from natures own temple, sanctified to
heavenly rest, the feet move on. With
frightened eye and invigorated step the
marching order burdens of life are car