170 A SALT BREEZE. 



along its edge, their yard-arras pointing to all quar- 

 ters of the globe ! Mystery, adventure, the promise 

 of unknown lands, beckon to us from the full-rigged 

 ships. One does not see them come or depart ; they 

 dawn upon him like his own thoughts, some dim and 

 shadowy, just hovering on the verge of consciousness, 

 others white and full, a solace to the eye. But pres- 

 ently, while you ponder, they are gone, or else vaguely 

 notch the horizon line. Illusion, enchantment, hover 

 over the sail-ships. They have the charm of the an- 

 cient world of fable and romance. They are blown 

 by Homeric winds. They are a survival from the re- 

 motest times. But yonder comes a black steamship, 

 cutting across this enchanted circle in defiance of 

 wind and tide ; this is the modern world snubbing 

 and dispelling our illusions, and putting our poets to 

 flight. 



But the veritable oceanic brine there before one, 

 the continental, primordial, original liquid, the hoary, 

 eternal sea itself, what can a lover of fields and 

 woods make of it ? None of the charms or solace- 

 ments of birds and flowers here, or of rural sights 

 and sounds ; no repose, no plaintiveness, no dumb 

 companionship ; but|a spirit threatening, hungering, 

 remorseless, decoying, fascinating, serpentine, rebel- 

 ling and forever rebelling against the fiat, " Thus far 

 shalt thou come, and no farther." The voice of the 

 sea is unlike any other sound in nature ; more riant 

 and chafing than any roar of woods or storms. One 

 never ceases to hear the briny, rimy, weltering qual- 



