Many interesting discoveries may be made among thesebroken cliffs. Once， for example， I found a dead sealwhich a recent tempest had tossed into the nook of therocks， where his shaggy carcase lay rolled in a heap of eelgrassas if the sea-monster sought to hide himself from myeye. Another time a shark seemed on the point of leapingfrom the surf to swallow me， nor did I wholly withoutdread approach near enough to ascertain that the maneaterhad already met his own death from some fishermanin the bay. In the same ramble I encountered a bird—alarge gray bird—but whether a loon or a wild goose or theidentical albatross of the Ancient Mariner was beyond myornithology to decide. It reposed so naturally on a bed ofdry seaweed， with its head beside its wing， that I almostfancied it alive， and trod softly lest it should suddenlyspread its wings skyward. But the sea-bird would soaramong the clouds no more， nor ride upon its native waves；so I drew near and pulled out one of its mottled tailfeathersfor a remembrance. Another day I discovered animmense bone wedged into a chasm of the rocks； it wasat least ten feet long， curved like a scymitar， bejewelledwith barnacles and small shellfish and partly covered witha growth of seaweed. Some leviathan of former ages hadused this ponderous mass as a jaw-bone. Curiosities of aminuter order may be observed in a deep reservoir whichis replenished with water at every tide， but becomes a lakeamong the crags save when the sea is at its height. At thebottom of this rocky basin grow marine plants， some ofwhich tower high beneath the water and cast a shadowin the sunshine. Small fishes dart to and fro and hidethemselves among the seaweed； there is also a solitarycrab who appears to lead the life of a hermit， communingwith none of the other denizens of the place， and likewiseseveral five-fingers； for I know no other name than thatwhich children give them. If your imagination be at allaccustomed to such freaks， you may look down into thedepths of this pool and fancy it the mysterious depth ofocean. But where are the hulks and scattered timbersof sunken ships？ where the treasures that old Oceanhoards？ where the corroded cannon？ where the corpsesand skeletons of seamen who went down in storm andbattle？
On the day of my last ramble—it was a Septemberday， yet as warm as summer—what should I behold asI approached the above-described basin but three girlssitting on its margin and—yes， it is veritably so—lavingtheir snowy feet in the sunny water？ These， these are thewarm realities of those three visionary shapes that flittedfrom me on the beach. Hark their merry voices as theytoss up the water with their feet！ They have not seen me. Imust shrink behind this rock and steal away again.
In honest truth， vowed to solitude as I am， there issomething in this encounter that makes the heart flutterwith a strangely pleasant sensation. I know these girlsto be realities of flesh and blood， yet， glancing at themso briefly， they mingle like kindred creatures with theideal beings of my mind. It is pleasant， likewise， to gazedown from some high crag and watch a group of childrengathering pebbles and pearly shells and playing with thesurf as with old Ocean’s hoary beard. Nor does it infringeupon my seclusion to see yonder boat at anchor off theshore swinging dreamily to and fro and rising and sinkingwith the alternate swell， while the crew—four gentlemenin roundabout jackets—are busy with their fishing-lines.
But with an inward antipathy and a headlong flight do Ieschew the presence of any meditative stroller like myself，known by his pilgrim-staff， his sauntering step， his shydemeanor， his observant yet abstracted eye.
From such a man as if another self had scared me Iscramble hastily over the rocks， and take refuge in a nookwhich many a secret hour has given me a right to call myown. I would do battle for it even with the churl thatshould produce the title-deeds. Have not my musingsmelted into its rocky walls and sandy floor and madethem a portion of myself？ It is a recess in the line of cliffs，walled round by a rough， high precipice which almostencircles and shuts in a little space of sand. In front thesea appears as between the pillars of a portal； in the rearthe precipice is broken and intermixed with earth whichgives nourishment not only to clinging and twining shrubs，but to trees that grip the rock with their naked roots andseem to struggle hard for footing and for soil enough tolive upon. These are fir trees， but oaks hang their heavybranches from above， and throw down acorns on thebeach， and shed their withering foliage upon the waves.
At this autumnal season the precipice is decked withvariegated splendor. Trailing wreaths of scarlet flaunt fromthe summit downward； tufts of yellow-flowering shrubsand rose-bushes， with their reddened leaves and glossyseed-berries， sprout from each crevice； at every glance Idetect some new light or shade of beauty， all contrastingwith the stern gray rock. A rill of water trickles down thecliff and fills a little cistern near the base. I drain it at adraught， and find it fresh and pure. This recess shall bemy dining-hall. And what the feast？ A few biscuits madesavory by soaking them in sea-water， a tuft of samphiregathered from the beach， and an apple for the dessert. Bythis time the little rill has filled its reservoir again， and as Iquaff it I thank God more heartily than for a civic banquetthat he gives me the healthful appetite to make a feast ofbread and water.
Dinner being over， I throw myself at length upon thesand and， basking in the sunshine， let my mind disportitself at will. The walls of this my hermitage have notongue to tell my follies， though I sometimes fancy thatthey have ears to hear them and a soul to sympathize.
There is a magic in this spot. Dreams haunt its precinctsand flit around me in broad sunlight， nor require thatsleep shall blindfold me to real objects ere these be visible.