Here we trod along the brink of a fresh-water brookletwhich flows across the beach， becoming shallower andmore shallow， till at last it sinks into the sand and perishesin the effort to bear its little tribute to the main. Heresome vagary appears to have bewildered us， for our tracksgo round and round and are confusedly intermingled， as ifwe had found a labyrinth upon the level beach. And hereamid our idle pastime we sat down upon almost the onlystone that breaks the surface of the sand， and were lostin an unlooked-for and overpowering conception of themajesty and awfulness of the great deep. Thus by trackingour footprints in the sand we track our own nature in itswayward course， and steal a glance upon it when it neverdreams of being so observed. Such glances always make uswiser.
This extensive beach affords room for another pleasantpastime. With your staff you may write verses—loveversesif they please you best—and consecrate them witha woman’s name. Here， too， may be inscribed thoughts，feelings， desires， warm outgushings from the heart’s secretplaces， which you would not pour upon the sand withoutthe certainty that almost ere the sky has looked upon themthe sea will wash them out. Stir not hence till the recordbe effaced. Now （for there is room enough on your canvas）draw huge faces—huge as that of the Sphynx on Egyptiansands—and fit them with bodies of correspondingimmensity and legs which might stride halfway to yonderisland. Child’s-play becomes magnificent on so grand ascale. But， after all， the most fascinating employment issimply to write your name in the sand. Draw the lettersgigantic， so that two strides may barely measure them，and three for the long strokes； cut deep， that the recordmay be permanent. Statesmen and warriors and poetshave spent their strength in no better cause than this. Is itaccomplished？ Return， then， in an hour or two， and seekfor this mighty record of a name. The sea will have sweptover it， even as time rolls its effacing waves over the namesof statesmen and warriors and poets. Hark！ the surf-wavelaughs at you.
Passing from the beach， I begin to clamber over thecrags， making my difficult way among the ruins of arampart shattered and broken by the assaults of a fierceenemy. The rocks rise in every variety of attitude. Some ofthem have their feet in the foam and are shagged halfwayupward with seaweed； some have been hollowed almostinto caverns by the unwearied toil of the sea， which canafford to spend centuries in wearing away a rock， or evenpolishing a pebble. One huge rock ascends in monumentalshape， with a face like a giant’s tombstone， on whichthe veins resemble inscriptions， but in an unknowntongue. We will fancy them the forgotten characters ofan antediluvian race， or else that Nature’s own hand hashere recorded a mystery which， could I read her language，would make mankind the wiser and the happier. Howmany a thing has troubled me with that same idea！ Passon and leave it unexplained. Here is a narrow avenuewhich might seem to have been hewn through the veryheart of an enormous crag， affording passage for the risingsea to thunder back and forth， filling it with tumultuousfoam and then leaving its floor of black pebbles bare andglistening. In this chasm there was once an intersectingvein of softer stone， which the waves have gnawed awaypiecemeal， while the granite walls remain entire on eitherside. How sharply and with what harsh clamor does thesea rake back the pebbles as it momentarily withdrawsinto its own depths！ At intervals the floor of the chasmis left nearly dry， but anon， at the outlet， two or threegreat waves are seen struggling to get in at once； two hitthe walls athwart， while one rushes straight through， andall three thunder as if with rage and triumph. They heapthe chasm with a snow-drift of foam and spray. Whilewatching this scene I can never rid myself of the idea thata monster endowed with life and fierce energy is strivingto burst his way through the narrow pass. And what acontrast to look through the stormy chasm and catch aglimpse of the calm bright sea beyond！
