BY THE SEA. IO3 



from the waters and roll toward the shore at the 

 rate of four hundred feet in thirty seconds. I 

 watch the leader rising higher and concaving as it 

 comes rapidly on. Its crest undulates and throws 

 up streamers of spray, like the flying hairs on the 

 mane of a galloping horse. Now the climax is 

 reached. The sharp edge bends in graceful curves, 

 tumbles over and breaks with dull, heavy roar into 

 a long line of foam, that shoots swiftly up the 

 steep, shingly beach; then, as it retreats, rolls 

 back a thousand stones, which, as they strike 

 against each other, make a cracking, rattling 

 sound, like the snapping of musket caps by a 

 regiment of soldiers. 



The observing rambler while walking along the 

 shores is impressed with the view of the regular 

 alternation of jagged cliffs, and the gracefully- 

 curved shingle beaches. The latter, which invari- 

 ably front swamps or low tracts of land, that 

 were ancient coves and arms of the sea, are 

 arranged in a succession of shelves or terraces, 

 the highest of which are often twenty feet above 

 low water level. 



Here the mills of the Ocean "grind slowly, but 

 grind exceeding small." The surf is continually 

 undermining the rocky abutments on the outer 

 points, and the frosts and rains breaking off 

 rough, angular fragments, which the waves take 

 between their rollers, fashioning them into lap- 



