166 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



fall over it. If any of my readers who may carry 

 field-glasses, when they come to some clear deep 

 pool in the woodlands fringed with trailing weeds 

 at the sides that look like waving ferny fronds, 

 with a mass of the brightest emerald green weeds 

 at the bottom, will cautiously get near — their 

 shadows, of course, being behind them — and will 

 examine that pool, looking right down into it with 

 their glasses, they will see something to wonder at. 



Another deserted home comes before me, far 

 away from trees and heather and waving ferns ; 

 for we are standing on the edge of the tide where 

 two rivers flow into the sea. The long grey 

 stretches of marsh, cut up by countless dykes and 

 creeks, are now as they have been for centuries ; 

 and it requires not the least stretch of imagination 

 for you to imagine yourself in Holland — the hollow 

 land. Well might the term be applied here ; for if 

 the sea-walls ever burst, they will be drowned lands. 



Dutchmen and Huguenots settled here, and left 

 their mark, as has been told in 'Annals of a Fishing 

 Village.' Some old buildings and old wharves, 

 now tottering to their fall, are as the Dutchmen 

 that built them years ago left them ; even the bluff- 



