Year: 1870




days spoke, with a sad sort of humor, of his
having never looked upon the ocean" l." he
added, "who have written so much about II ~
1t is a curious fact that during this burning
Summer hundreds and more of inland people
at Long Branch, Newport, Cape May. and
from other strands, will for the first time look
with other than the eyes of imagination upon
the melancholy main of which they have been
reading and dreaming all their lives. They
come down to the waters edge with their
hearts ready to be touched and with their
mouths full of stale quotations. "Roll oDW
they cry, "thou dark and deep blue ocean,
"rolln "Here, at last" they say, "is the gray
"and melancholy waste" They are willing to
make affidavit that the solemn sea sug
gests to them Eternity. They are determined
TO be gOrged with wonder, and to be running
over with awe-to dream dreams and to see
visions-to be enraptured by the white
"drifted foam and the dark -heaving green;"
and generally to be very much overcome by
"the majesty, the glory, and the might" In
short having been told that they must be
greatly impressed they fancy that they are so,
and strive with all their might to dilate with
the orthodox emotions. And yet, if 1t were
possible to get at the honest truth, we should
probably find that most of these enthusiasts
from the interior are far from experiencing
the ecstacy which they profess at their first
sight of breaker and billow. For it often hap
pens that there is neither breaker nor billow
to enrapture them-nothing but long
cleaning floor of white sand, kissed
by ripping wavelets, while the lazy sea
stretches like polished floor, hardly dabbled
with white, into the horizon. 1t is not every
day that Neptune exhibits his little tempers,
nor every evening that there is "music in his
"warr so that often he is but tame, and, to
over-expectant eyes, q somewhat inspld " I'M
cage of Eternity and "thrOne of the Invisi-
"blen and not at all "boundless, endless, and
Sublime" as Lord Byron declares him to be-
Whoever goes to the shore in fever of ex-
pectation must prepare for disappointment
While his shoes gradually fill with sand, his
head may be emptied of many notions; while
the imagination may have promised thousand
inexpressble raptures, the eyes themselves are
great disenchanters "Where is the Ocean,
{" the wondrous Ocean, of which Ihave read so
"muchq where are the leviathansW cries
Laura Matilda "Where are the shipwrecks ~
Poor young woman She might as reasonably
X,
" the Trident-b bearer come in his chariot with
"his harnessed hppocamp to welcome me"


Patience, pretty Miss Laura. Possess your
soul in peace, bare-throated bard from the
back country. Drink another bottle of porter
and eat another beef-steak, dear Mrs. Bubb of
Fifth-ave This ocean, good friends, which
you have come "out for to see," 10! it is
here-here with deeper and purer veracity
than you will find in the pretty verses of
the poets. We must prepare in the very be-
ginning for the discovery that mid-ocean, fur
rowed and tossed by the great gales until its
mountain pillows seem to reach the murky
skies through which the thunder-bolts are hiss
ing, is not the ocean which, rolling by head
land and stealing into half-sheltered places
melts at last upon the shore with gentle
murmur. Gradually, but only SO, do we come
to know the exquisite beauty of this serenity
the wealth of golden and silvery glory
which the sun-shafts kindle on the placid sur
face the meaning of that musical monotone,
which may swell into more sublime music,
but which, through all the ages, has never sunk
into absolute silence. Only after long and
patient waiting may its grandeur stir "Our
mortal frames" :" yet he who has best enjoyed
the calmer delioacy of the ocean in its hours of
comparative repOse will best appreciate the
sublimity of its awakened wrath. The long
waves which yesterday were gliding, like
milx-white serpents, almost noiselessly, come
tumbling and tossing toward us now like
shapeless giants, while around the scanned and
blackened rocks the waters break into fOamy
spray and fall once more into undistinguished
foam. The thunder is in our ears as if the
lOosened Titans were still shifting the battle
ments of Heaven. The cry of the moaning
gale is heard afar Off over our heads the
startled sea-birds are screaming, while down
upon all comes the curtain of night; the
beacon lamps are glimmering from the pill
Jared lighthouse which we can no longer see,
and we turn to leave the mystery with new
and countless fancies of all its sable wings
are brooding over Waking perhaps from
dreams of sylvan beauty, the great anthem of
the sea comes to us through the stiffness of
the night, steals in through our open windows,
telling the same endless story of chatting
restlessness


Nature is always reticent and cold to her
Over-eager vOtaries We must wait for her
to come to u.s. we must be content
with a trustful receptivity; we must stay
calmly for the great gain of the treasure
which we have given into the keeping of
memory. Gradually the strange will grow
familiar without losing its dignity, and we
may honestly enjoy sea-view or mountain-vew
or valleys smiling in their seclusion-may
enjoy and quietly appreciate all without pre-
tense or affectaton. Expecting and having
nothing, we may then have all.


We do not pretend TO contradict tithe of the for