THE COAST-SCENERY. 9 



On your right hand, the clear Wilder- stream babbles 

 incessantly to the wild-flowers nodding over its rij^ples. 

 Accompanied by this music we reach the Baths, and 

 come upon a tunnel, dark, indeed, but with a gleam of 

 light at the end. We enter : how cool, not to say 

 cold ! The eye is getting familiar with the darkness 

 when we emerge, and what a thrill runs along all the 

 sentient paths to our souls as the blue of the sea bursts 

 upon us ! We lean upon a parapet of rock to watch 

 the waves running up the rugged face of the cliffs, and 

 falling back in spray. An inarticulate gasp does duty 

 for the highest eloquence. It is enough to drink in 

 with our eyes the scene before us ; anything more than 

 an incoherent exclamation would be out of place. 

 Another tunnel invites us ; through it we pass, and 

 come upon a wooden bridge overarching an ugly- 

 looking spot bearing the name of Tracy's Cave, which 

 has of course its devout legend to tell, if you are will- 

 ing to listen. Let the legend be what it may, the place 

 is grim, and at first we tread cautiously as we pass over 

 the bridge of logs ; but soon familiarity reconciles us 

 to this — as it does to small-pox or the income-tax. 

 Before reaching this spot we have come upon another 

 opening, leaned upon another parapet, and had another 

 gaze at the sunset gleaming over the sea. We now 

 step on the wild and rugged shore. 



And what a shore ! Precipitous walls and battle- 

 ments of rock rise on each side, making a bay ; before 

 us, sharply-cut fragments of dark rock start out of the 

 water for some distance. Every yard of ground here 



