harbor, on the west, covers an area of more than 

 fifty acres. The sole vegetation of its many hun- 

 dred hummocks is composed of thatch (Spartina) , 

 a high reedy grass which in full growth is rank and 

 luxurious and rises well above the height of a man. 

 On early spring days, when the tide is out (twice 

 daily this entire tract is inundated by the waters 

 of the sea) , its rolling meadows of glistening green 

 spread before the eye like a sea of frozen swells — 

 if I may use an extravagant simile for what is 

 surely an extravagant sight — as under the vernal 

 sun and the invisible caresses of a freshening 

 breeze, its immobile billows sparkle with the play 

 of innumerable, intergrading, emerald lights. 



But not always does it present so pleasing an 

 aspect. It is a marsh of many moods. Sometimes it 

 manifests itself in a way which scarcely allows a 

 parallel. Particularly of certain autumn evenings 

 here, when the heavens are heavy with grayness, 

 and the low-hanging sky is breaking into one wild 

 route of storm-clouds — like phantoms fleeing from 

 some nether-fiend — it takes on a troubled look; you 

 may see stealing over the landscape a shuddering, 

 as from a ghostly touch, a vast trembling; and you 

 may hear a sibilant murmuring, like a spirit whis- 



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