36 South Beach. 



tion, it will for a short time protect the meadow immedi- 

 ately behind it, and thus occasionally there is a low place 

 on the upland side of one of these clumps, where the cat- 

 tails still grow, while all about it will be sand. 



The line is generally well denned between this barren 

 waste and the fertile meadow, and close to its threatening 

 edge grow the golden-rods and asters, whose roots by next 

 year will probably be deeply buried. The purple and the 

 green stemmed stramoniums find the sandy wastes to their 

 liking, and particularly just along its edge often grow lux- 

 uriantly. The beach-grass follows the sand, and the little 

 tufts that spring from the subterranean rhizoma all stand 

 in a row and look like some queer feathery little soldiers 

 marching across a sandy desert. There are sometimes 

 quite complete circles described about these clumps of 

 grass that stand alone, for being buffeted about by the 

 wind, marks are left in the sand of their furthest reach 

 in every direction. Some days the wind roars across the 

 beach, and if you have a companion you must needs put 

 your head close to his and shout loudly in order to make 

 him hear. Then the sand is lifted off the up-shore, where 

 it is dry, and comes flying against your face, and it does 

 not do to turn the eyes in the direction from whence it 

 comes. If the wind is from the north or northwest the 

 spray from the waves is blown seaward again in great 

 clouds, the gulls clang their doleful cries, and there is a 

 grim seriousness in the scene that lives long in the memory. 

 The hills, viewed from the shore across the intervening 

 lowland, give you the impression of life, as if somehow 

 the ridge that you saw in the distance was the dorsal 



