28 East and West 
depths of the pool, and the olive-brown air sacs 
of rockweed floating on its surface. These 
pools are veritable gems in a rough setting 
and one is never tired of peering into them 
while the sea, fluid sapphire to the horizon 
line, croons at the ebb. For the sea is a kind 
of enchantment. There are days when an 
azure sky and a sapphire sea conspire to hold 
one spellbound upon these rocks. Not only 
is the somnolent murmur of the surf in the 
ears, the sea pervades the whole being, so 
that one is literally ‘‘possessed’”’ by it; not 
as by a devil surely, but by an enchantress— 
a being all motion and music and light. 
But there comes a day when you may 
think the sea a devil indeed, when all the 
wiles of the enchantress have vanished, her 
sapphire hues, her dancing waves, her gentle 
lullabies. Darkness lies over the face of the 
deep, and like the hiss of serpents is the sound 
of the fretful spray. The summer resident 
has departed with the summer birds and the 
fisherman in oilskins and sou’wester is left 
with the crow and the chickadee to face the 
winter gales. A sullen sea beats upon a deso- 
late shore. Grey! grey! grey! The Cape, 
its leafless oaks and hickories chattering in 
the wind, lies like a gaunt skeleton of rock, its 
