golden autumnal hills. I can see them yet, though I have nothing to say about them.
"The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!"
Trains of gulls went flying up the inlet as the tide went out. They live by the sea's almanac as truly as the clam-diggers, two of whom I had watched, an hour before, sailing across the inlet in a rude boat (more picturesque by half than a gentleman's yacht), and setting about their day's work on a shoal newly uncovered. Thank Heaven, there are still some occupations that cannot be carried on in a factory.
The roadsides were bright with gay-colored fruits: barberries, thorn apples, Roxbury waxwork, and rose-hips. Of thorn bushes there were at least two kinds; one already bare-branched, with scattered small fruit; the other still in leaf, and loaded with gorgeous clusters of large red apples. More interesting to me than any of these were the frost grapes; familiar acquaintances of an Old Colony boyhood, but now grown to be strangers. They were shining black, ripe
