It must be a spirit much unlike my own which can keepitself in health and vigor without sometimes stealing fromthe sultry sunshine of the world to plunge into the coolbath of solitude. At intervals， and not infrequent ones， theforest and the ocean summon me—one with the roar ofits waves， the other with the murmur of its boughs—forthfrom the haunts of men. But I must wander many a mileere I could stand beneath the shadow of even one primevaltree， much less be lost among the multitude of hoarytrunks and hidden from the earth and sky by the mysteryof darksome foliage. Nothing is within my daily reachmore like a forest than the acre or two of woodland nearsome suburban farmhouse. When， therefore， the yearningfor seclusion becomes a necessity within me， I am drawnto the seashore which extends its line of rude rocks andseldom-trodden sands for leagues around our bay. Settingforth at my last ramble on a September morning， I boundmyself with a hermit’s vow to interchange no thoughtswith man or woman， to share no social pleasure， but toderive all that day’s enjoyment from shore and sea and sky，from my soul’s communion with these， and from fantasiesand recollections or anticipated realities. Surely here isenough to feed a human spirit for a single day. Farewell，then， busy world！ Till your evening lights shall shine alongthe street—till they gleam upon my sea-flushed face as Itread homeward—free me from your ties and let me be apeaceful outlaw.
Highways and cross-paths are hastily traversed， and，clambering down a crag， I find myself at the extremity ofa long beach. How gladly does the spirit leap forth andsuddenly enlarge its sense of being to the full extent ofthe broad blue， sunny deep！ A greeting and a homage tothe sea！ I descend over its margin and dip my hand intothe wave that meets me， and bathe my brow. That farresoundingroar is Ocean’s voice of welcome. His salt
breath brings a blessing along with it. Now let us pacetogether—the reader’s fancy arm in arm with mine—thisnoble beach， which extends a mile or more from thatcraggy promontory to yonder rampart of broken rocks.
In front， the sea； in the rear， a precipitous bank the grassyverge of which is breaking away year after year， and flingsdown its tufts of verdure upon the barrenness below. Thebeach itself is a broad space of sand， brown and sparkling，with hardly any pebbles intermixed. Near the water’sedge there is a wet margin which glistens brightly in thesunshine and reflects objects like a mirror， and as we treadalong the glistening border a dry spot flashes around eachfootstep， but grows moist again as we lift our feet. In somespots the sand receives a complete impression of the sole，square toe and all； elsewhere it is of such marble firmnessthat we must stamp heavily to leave a print even of theiron-shod heel. Along the whole of this extensive beachgambols the surf-wave. Now it makes a feint of dashingonward in a fury， yet dies away with a meek murmur anddoes but kiss the strand； now， after many such abortiveefforts， it rears itself up in an unbroken line， heighteningas it advances， without a speck of foam on its green crest.
With how fierce a roar it flings itself forward and rushesfar up the beach！
As I threw my eyes along the edge of the surf Iremember that I was startled， as Robinson Crusoe mighthave been， by the sense that human life was withinthe magic circle of my solitude. Afar off in the remotedistance of the beach， appearing like sea-nymphs， or someairier things such as might tread upon the feathery spray，was a group of girls. Hardly had I beheld them， when theypassed into the shadow of the rocks and vanished. Tocomfort myself—for truly I would fain have gazed a whilelonger—I made acquaintance with a flock of beach-birds.
These little citizens of the sea and air preceded me byabout a stone’s-throw along the strand， seeking， I suppose，for food upon its margin. Yet， with a philosophy whichmankind would do well to imitate， they drew a continualpleasure from their toil for a subsistence. The sea waseach little bird’s great playmate. They chased it downwardas it swept back， and again ran up swiftly before theimpending wave， which sometimes overtook them andbore them off their feet. But they floated as lightly as oneof their own feathers on the breaking crest. In their airyflutterings they seemed to rest on the evanescent spray.
Their images—long-legged little figures with gray backsand snowy bosoms—were seen as distinctly as the realitiesin the mirror of the glistening strand. As I advancedthey flew a score or two of yards， and， again alighting，recommenced their dalliance with the surf-wave； andthus they bore me company along the beach， the types ofpleasant fantasies， till at its extremity they took wing overthe ocean and were gone. After forming a friendship withthese small surf-spirits， it is really worth a sigh to find nomemorial of them save their multitudinous little tracks inthe sand.
When we have paced the length of the beach， it ispleasant and not unprofitable to retrace our steps andrecall the whole mood and occupation of the mind duringthe former passage. Our tracks， being all discernible， willguide us with an observing consciousness through everyunconscious wandering of thought and fancy. Here wefollowed the surf in its reflux to pick up a shell which thesea seemed loth to relinquish. Here we found a seaweedwith an immense brown leaf， and trailed it behind us byits long snake-like stalk. Here we seized a live horseshoeby the tail， and counted the many claws of that queermonster. Here we dug into the sand for pebbles， andskipped them upon the surface of the water. Here wewet our feet while examining a jelly-fish which the waves，having just tossed it up， now sought to snatch away again.