XXIV.

A WHIFF OF THE SEA

WHO has not felt at times an insatiable longing to escape from the monotony of one's ordinary occupation and rush off to the nearest watering-place for a sight of the grand old sea and a whiff of the bracing winds which blow over it? What visions cross the brain as we sit fagged and weary by the light of the midnight lamp, of the bonny wild waves sparkling in the sun; of flowery slopes between the precipitous cliffs; of seabirds swooping from rocky ledges, and of magnificent sunsets behind the level sea! And what a relief, say, on a Saturday to close the book, throw down the pen, lock up the papers, and speed as fast as the train can carry us to the realization of our wishes. Oh, the sweetness of such brief holidays, all the pleasanter because short and few and far between! A

holiday, methinks, should never be prolonged until the freshness has worn off.

It is even an advantage to be a bachelor in taking such brief excursions. There is no better half to interfere with one's arrangements, or be cross because she cannot accompany us. It does not take long to pack up, and I take care to put in a case of sea-fishing tackle, in view of probable requirements. The beauty of only having oneself to consult is, that one need not decide where to go until the last moment, and accordingly it is only as I arrive at the ticket office that I decide upon Borth. There, at least, I shall be quiet, and I feel just now as if that were the greatest desideratum. Well, here I am in the train; and, as my habit is while travelling, I examine myself, as it were, as to whether things at home are left in proper trim, if I have everything I want, and how many changes I shall have to make and where? Then to settle down quietly to the perusal of my paper or a comfortable nap.

On we speed through mountain scenery which grows wilder every mile; past leaping cataracts which almost seem to overhang the line, woods which grow more stunted as we near the sea; villages which grow more picturesque and, alas ! more dirty, until it is getting dusk and the rhythmic rattling of the train has resolved itself into a song with regular cadences, lulling

the mind until the whilom active thoughts grow wandering and the senses duller. I am awaked from a sound sleep by a gust of wind through the open window, carrying with it the unmistakeable odour of the sea. There it is, that long grey line like a wall just discernible in the summer twilight over the hazy marsh. What a luxury it is to take in breath after breath of the fresh breeze, so invigorating and spiritcheering after the sultry inland air! Now we pass by the side of the Dovey, and, over its sands the white seabirds are flying, the highest of them having the crimson of the sunset still reflected on their breasts. How weird their cries sound in the gloaming! Along the edge of a dyke six herons stand solemnly in a row, a most unusual sight, for generally speaking a heron loves his own company better than that of his brethren. On a sandbank in the estuary are grouped a number of sooty cormorants, and over the nearest marsh the lapwings sweep and toss, and scream in rare affright at the gunner walking beneath them.

Borth at last; and after replenishing the inner man and refreshing the outer with a wash, I turn out for a stroll along the edge of the waves, and listen to their inspiriting music. The long subdued murmur of the summer sea and the dreamy plash of its waves are to my mind the pleasantest of nature's sounds. In them

there is a music and poetry that is almost human in its expression. A grand teacher is the sea. By its side the thoughts seem to have freer range and larger scope; and by the inspiration born of it many a noble word has been written and spoken, and many readers and hearers have indirectly felt its influence. But see, the horizon is no longer visible. You cannot tell where the sea ends and sky begins. The vessels in the offing seem floating in the air. The lights in the villages are disappearing fast. "The day has ended, the night has descended," and I retire to rest, with the window of my room wide open to catch the faintest breeze from the sea and to let in its "voices of the night" to be my lullaby.

With the daylight I am up, and in the sea, sporting with the buoyant waves; now floating on my back and letting them toss me where they will, and then striking out vigorously through the cool, clear water. It is half an hour of exquisite and unalloyed enjoyment.

Let us see what manner of place Borth is. To the north is the estuary of the Dovey, with its banks of yellow sand, and on the further side is a town with a musical name-Aberdovey—and, as the song says, musical bells. I do not know whether they are so or not, but certain it is that bells always sound sweeter

and mellower by the water's side, and the sound of their pealing is very beautiful when it comes over a wide stretch of the sea on a quiet sabbath morn. Beyond Aberdovey the hills rise in long green slopes to meet the blue sky. Southward are beetling, dark-brown cliffs, against which the sea always dashes as if in fury at the sudden check, and when there is the least wind, sends up columns of white spray. Between the estuary and the cliffs is a long curve of coast, with a firm sandy beach, most delightful to walk upon or bathe from. Above that is a steep bank of pebbles, the protecting boundary of the road and adjacent moor. Near the Dovey are dry, sandy dunes, covered with scant herbage, and here the rabbits literally swarm. I believe that visitors staying at the Hotel can obtain leave to shoot in this warren. To the west is of course the sea; and inland, with a great sweep and curve far back to the foot of its bordering hills, stretches a morass, once very wild and dangerous, but now being gradually drained and cultivated. It is worth while to venture a little way on this bog at night, to listen to the strange cries of the different birds. You will hear the shrill whistle of the curlew, the wilder scream of the lapwing, the hoarse croak of the coot, the sharper call of the water-hen, and sometimes the hollow booming of the bittern. In the winter you will also

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