A WALK ALONG THE SHORE. 97 



A solemn peace pervades these ancient groves, 

 and the light laugh is instinctively hushed as one 

 enters their shady portals. It is not a place for 

 mirth, much less for sadness, but for quiet, for 

 thoughtfulness, and for peace. 



Under these old trees there quietly lives a 

 small colony of very interesting snails. We have 

 already seen the picture of one of them in Figure 

 16. His ancestors were here long before mission 

 times, but the race is fewer now than it was for- 

 merly, for the saucy jays which flutter and scold 

 in the green branches overhead search out the 

 poor snails in their summer hiding-places, and 

 break the pretty shells to satisfy their gross ap- 

 petites. 



But we may find a few good specimens even 

 yet, along with the broken shells, and we may 

 trust that there are others left, too deeply buried 

 for birds or boys to discover their place of con- 

 cealment. 



Leaving the silent groves, let us go down to the 

 beach and walk along its margin on our way 

 home. Everywhere we see the work of the waves. 



Here are piles of rounded stones cast up by the 

 winter's storms; there are tangles of seaweed, 

 which drifted in at high tide; beyond is a long 

 beach of smooth sand, where the waves roll up 



W.S.R. VOL. 8—7 



