FOREFATHERS' DAY 43 



Anyone who knows that Massachusetts coast in 

 December will recognize the weather, a wind 

 from the northeast bringing mingled rain and 

 snow, not a gale, but -a squally wind, with a "very 

 grown sea" such as beat upon the coast at the 

 beginning of this week, sending the white horses 

 racing up the beach below Manomet Head, which 

 has been named for them, and smashing in con- 

 tinuous thunder on the stern and rockbound cliffs 

 between White Horse Beach and Plymouth har- 

 bor. 



To see Manomet in stormy December is to 

 know how grim it is. The wooded headland 

 which the little shallop so desperately won by in 

 the gloom of that December twilight and storm 

 has changed little if any since that time. Stern 

 and rock-bound it certainly is. The sea of cen- 

 turies has beaten against the great drumlins of 

 boulder-till and has not moved the boulders that 

 bind them together. At the most it has but 

 washed out the smaller ones, leaving the sea front 

 surfaced with great white granite rocks that 

 gleam like marble in the sundown to the limits of 

 the washing tide, then shine olive green with the 

 froth of the waves. From the sands of White 

 Horse Beach to those of the Spit in Plymouth 



