after the dreariness of winter, those studies of the works of God which are so delightful, my mind was powerfully struck with that Almighty decree which amidst continual change, maintains an everlasting order. Man grows old, but Nature is ever young; the seasons change, but are perpetually renewed—"While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease." Beautifully has the American poet sung of this:—
"Has Nature in her calm majestic march
Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun
Grow dim in heaven? or in their far blue arch,
Sparkle the crowd of stars when day is done
Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on,
Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky
With flowers less fair than when her reign began?
Does prodigal Autumn to our age deny
The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye?
"Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth
In her fair page: see, every season brings
New change to her of everlasting youth;
Still the green soil with joyous living things
Swarms; the wide air is full of joyous wings;
And myriads still are happy in the sleep
Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings
The restless surge. Eternal love doth keep
In his complacent arms the earth, the air, the deep."
The shingle beach presently becomes sand as we approach the angle of the bight, and after a few yards the shore is covered with a wilderness of rugged shapeless masses of conglomerate that have fallen from the cliff. Ledges of flat, or very slightly inclined, rock run out into the sea in several successive spits at this
