THE EQUINOCTIAL ON THE DUNES. 



THE dunes of Ipswich in Massachusetts lie in 

 a somewhat secluded and peculiar spot. Facing 

 the open ocean between Plum Island and Coffin's 

 Beach, the Ipswich shore presents a strange 

 aspect to the passing world, seaward, skyward, 

 or landward. It is a rough bit of desert, made 

 into odd shapes by wind, tide, and river. From 

 no point of view is it commonplace. 



An early morning train from Boston landed 

 me on March 21 at Ipswich station. Rain 

 fell in a determined way upon the earth, 

 the snowdrifts, and the rushing Ipswich River. 

 In a rickety buggy drawn by a lean horse I 

 started for the dunes. It was a five-mile drive 

 over a rolling glacial plain and wind-swept 

 marsh land. As the sea was neared, the wind 

 became stronger and stronger. The buggy 

 swayed from side to side ; the lean horse, stung 

 by rain in front and whip behind, staggered 

 feebly on against the storm ; and birds, waves, 

 sand, trees, marsh grass, the face of the water, 

 everything, in fact, which could move, 



