of a devil. This unrest is savage and terrible like 

 that of a caged tiger. The eye turns with relief 

 to the imperturbable rock, which seems to confine 

 and restrain the angry waters. The granite rests 

 in unalterable calm, sphinxlike, on the edge of the 

 watery desert. It stands for the constant and 

 enduring, as it forever confronts the inconstant 

 and changeful sea. They are two opposing forces : 

 the sea coy, arch, coquettish, now bewitching and 

 full of her beautiful wiles, now disdainful and 

 imperious, again mad, tempestuous, hurling herself 

 in her wild passion; the granite grim, massive, 

 unconquerable. 



Late in the afternoon the wind is blowing from 

 the north, the sky has cleared and the sea is 

 sapphire, dotted with whitecaps; yesterday, opal, 

 this morning leaden, and later, sapphire. It is no 

 longer formidable, rather is it cold and distant. 

 The face of the waters is a peculiarly pertinent 

 figure of speech, for the sea is as a face refledting 

 all moods. In the glare of noonday, ocean and 

 landscape seem to discharge themselves of feel- 

 ing, — that is to say, they are barren to the eye 

 and unproductive of feeling in us. But in the at- 

 mosphere of sunset and twilight they are again 



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