60 THE OPEN AIR. 



those who face it. Double windows — Eussian fashion 

 — are common all along the sea-front, and are needed. 

 After a gale, when the wind changes, as it usually 

 does, it is pleasant to see the ships work in to the 

 verge of the shore. The sea is turbid and yellow with 

 sand beaten up by the recent billows, — this yellow- 

 ness extends outwards to a certain line, and is there 

 succeeded by the green of clearer water. Beyond this 

 again the surface looks dark, as if still half angry, and 

 clouds hang over it, loth to retire from the strife. As 

 bees come out of their hives when the rain ceases and 

 the sun shines, so the vessels which have been lying-to 

 in harbour, or under shelter of promontories, are now 

 eagerly making their way down Channel, and, in order 

 to get as long a tack and as much advantage as 

 possible, they are brought to the edge of the shallow 

 water. Sometimes fifteen or twenty or more stand 

 in ; all sizes from the ketch to the three-master. The 

 wind is not strong, but that peculiar drawing breeze 

 which seems to pull a ship along as if with a tow- 

 rope. The brig stands straight for the beach, with 

 all sail set ; she heels a little, not much ; she scarcely 

 heaves to the swell, and is not checked by meeting 

 waves ; she comes almost to the yellow line of turbid 

 water, when round she goes, and you can see the sails 

 shiver as the breeze touches them on both surfaces 

 for a moment. Then again she shows her stern and 

 away she glides, while another approaches : and all daj^ 

 long they pass. There is always something shadowy, 

 not exactly unreal, but shadowy about a ship ; it 

 seems to carry a romance, and the imagination 

 fashions a story to the swelling sails. 



