The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1902-09-27
The ReverieS of q
Sand Grab.
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BY s. RnHTT ROMAN

nTHE day is soft and misty, bright,
i and a breeze blows the foam of
the waves over the sand.
Tide is high, and the water
washes up shells and star-fsh, and
spars of drift wood, along the edge
of the beach, and children troop out
from the big hotel to pick up the
pretty play things, while grown peo-
pie sit on the half-buried, water
soaked masts and logs, and watch the
restless play of the ocean, and the
fitting shadows of the clouds as they
shift by in the summer sky.
''They sit idly on the beach and
say foolish things to each other, and
laugh, and half the time do not rea-
lie the poetic grandeur of the scene
before them, the wondrous combin-
ing line of tints and colors or the
sublimity of the play of moon beams
on the rolling, restless water.
1.-THE children run about and shout
and gambol, gather shells, and dig
holes in the sand-my sand-with
their toy shovels, and then quarrel
over who was first to see piece of
seawood, or corral broken from the
Florida reefs; or they sit down and
build houses, shouting with glee as
the wind sweeps them over, and they
melt away. Their elders, absorbed
in themselves, talk of their puny am
billions, their plans and prospects,
their shallow loves, and short lives,
all of which hear as peep out
from the sand dunes and listen.
There is bench, close down by
the waters edge. near my favorite
haunt. Every evening at dark
come out slyly, knowing the pale
light will confound me with the gray
sand, SO that no one, not. even the
dogs will snap and snarl, and dig in
to the shifting hillocks in pursuit of
me, can distinguish my slight, agile
form when night falls.
IL come out slowly and stealthily,
and laugh at the big New Found
lands, and querulous, over-fed pet
dogs, rambling along the edge Of the
water, while their mistresses stroll
by, and the wind blowing against
them, shows pretty feet, tipping
from under ruffies and laces, and soft
strands of hair, little curls and
tendrils which no comb or ribbon can
keep in place, on our long stretch Of
wind-blown seashore.
II watch the young men and the
girls as they saunter along, and al
ways guess rightly which ones are
going to pause, and sit down on the
bench. Oh, I never make a mistake.
''There is q certain couple I've
grown to know quite well. She's
been here all summer. She's pretty,
very pretty, and holds her head high.
He comes over from the city fire.
quently, very frequently of late, for
the summer is waning fast, and will
soon be over, and then they will all
go away from the seashore and back
to their everyday lives, and, as far
as can judge, will forget each other
completely.
IL like to watch men and women,
and remember faces. Often the
same ones come back and renew
their walks on the beach, sit ON the
rocks of the breakwater and occupy
this decaying old bench near the
beach, but IL is seldom that those Of
the year before are again together.
Il know, because IL is quite anus
ing to watch them, and IL makes me
laugh until grow tired and positive
ly weak, to hear the same old foolish
talk repeated over and over again.
The only difference is that when the
seasons change they change compan-
ions.
"And, strange TO say, they all love
to prate disdainfully Of the changing