THE BREEZE ON BEACHT HEAD. 235 



ballast, high out of the water, black of hull and dingy 

 of sail: still, it is a ship, and there is always an 

 interest about a ship. She is so near, running along 

 but just outside the reef, that the deck is visible. 

 Up rises her stern as the billows come fast and roll 

 under ; then her bow lifts, and immediately she rolls, 

 and, loosely swaying with the sea, drives along. 



The slope of the billow now behind her is white 

 with the bubbles of her passage, rising, too, from her 

 rudder. Steering athwart with a widening angle 

 from the land, she is laid to clear the distant point of 

 Dungeness. Next, a steamer glides forth, unseen till 

 she passed the cliff ; and thus each vessel that comes 

 from the westward has the charm of the unexpected. 

 Eastward there is many a sail working slowly into 

 the wind, and as they approach talking in the 

 language of flags with the watch on the summit of 

 the Head. 



Once now and then the great Orient pauses on her 

 outward route to Australia, slowing her engines : the 

 immense length of her hull contains every adjunct of 

 modern life ; science, skill, and civilization are there. 

 She starts, and is lost sight of round the cliff, gone 

 straight away for the very ends of the world. The 

 incident is forgotten, when one morning, as you turn 

 over the newspaper, there is the Orient announced to 

 start again. It is like a tale of enchantment ; it 

 seems but yesterday that the Head hid her from view ; 

 you have scarcely moved, attending to the daily 

 routine of life, and scarce recognize that time has 

 passed at all. In so few hours has the earth beeu 

 encompassed. 



