150 



NATURE FOE ITS OWN SAKE 



and the sand of the beach gleams white as 

 winter snow. The Fairies' Pathway of moon- 

 beams, or as the Chinese call it, the Golden 

 Dragon, twists and flashes upon the eastern 

 water, the dark pines stand in silent ranks their 

 tops spread against the purple western sky, and 

 from the dividing line of land and sea comes 

 that eternal surge of the wave. How it hushes 

 the cry of the mortal that sullen moan of 

 waters ! What human woe or weariness but 

 sobs itself to sleep at last ! But for the sea 

 there is no rest. Under the stars, as under the 

 sun, to-day as through the long centuries of 

 yesterday, it throbs and beats at the feet of the 

 earth, and its voice is never stilled. 



And is not the sea-shore equally beautiful in 

 storm, when the spray is flying high above the 

 cliffs and the rock -bases are trembling with the 

 shock of water? The majority of us see the 

 coast in the calm months of summer when it is 

 not agitated by long storms, when the life-sav- 

 ing service men have closed their stations, and 

 only the curl of the breeze-wave is seen on the 

 beach. But the time when the sea is in its 

 full power is mid-winter, when the land is 

 white with snow and the wave is white with 

 foam. Then the roar and hurly-burly of the 



