172 A SALT BREEZE. 



them both into the sea, and they were drowned. In 

 a few days the body of one was cast up, but the other 

 was never seen again. Such fawning, such treachery, 

 are in the waves. 



The sea shifts its pillow like an uneasy sleeper. 

 The contour of the beach is seldom two days alike ; 

 that round, smooth bolster of sand is at times very 

 prominent. The waves stroke and caress it and slide 

 their delicate sea-draperies over it, as if they were 

 indeed making their bed. When you walk there 

 again it is gone, carried down under the waves, and 

 the beach is low and naked. 



Both the sight and "the sound of the waves fill the 

 mind with images. One thinks of rockets, windrows, 

 embroideries. How they lift themselves up and grow 

 tall as they approach the shore ! They are entering 

 shallower water, they are running aground, and they 

 rise up like vessels. 



I saw little in the waves that suggested steeds, but 

 more that reminded of huge sheep. At times they 

 would come wallowing ashore precisely like a great 

 flock or mob of woolly-headed sheep ; the wave breaks 

 far out, and then comes that rushing line of tossing, 

 leaping woolly heads and shoulders, diminishing as it 

 comes, and leaving the space behind it strewn with 

 foam. Sometimes the waves look like revolving cy- 

 lindrical knives, carving the coast. Then they thrust 

 up their thin, crescent-shaped edges, like reapers, 

 reaping only shells and sand ; yet one seems to hear 

 the hiss of a great sickle, the crackle of stubble, the 



