ROCKHAM BAY. 30T 



zigzag road, through fields, to the edge of the clifis, 

 and by a footpath down to their base. The wild and 

 romantic bay opens before me ; but the sky again 

 threatens, and compels a search for refuge. I find a 

 little cavern that looks as if it had been made on pur- 

 pose, and get into it just as the first drops fall. 



It is a narrow indenture of the rocky coast, as wild 

 and silent as a desert island in the midst of the 

 Pacific ; enclosed with lofty and inaccessible cliffs of 

 hard blue slate, hollowed into many small and shallow 

 caverns. The floor of the cove, if I may be allowed 

 the expression, is of the same slate ; there is indeed 

 a coating of sand in some places, and of pebbles in 

 others ; but everywhere the slate crops oat in blue 

 ridges and hillocks, rubbed smooth (though still un- 

 even) by the constant action of the waves. Farther 

 out the rock forms long bristling ridges running into 

 the sea, draped in their lower parts with yellow sea- 

 weed and tangle, and holding in their angular hollows 

 many a perpetual pool of still water ; while here and 

 there, between the ridges, are lanes of the finest 

 yellow sand. In some spots there are extensive beds 

 of minute pebbles, most of them of quartz of dazzling 

 whiteness, and in general not larger than children's 

 sugar-plums, which they closely resemble in form 

 and colour. 



The most absolute solitude reigns here : no hamlet 

 is nearer than Morte ; no fisherman's hut stands upon 

 the shore ; no net is spread upon the sands to dry ; 

 no boat lies at anchor in the offing. One might 

 wander beneath these blue cliffs for days, — 



