stick as I drew it across its surface, I could only imagine to be caused
by a flood of ink poured upon the beach by some horrible squid. My
musings on whether sea-monsters did ever disport themselves on the shore
under the cover of sufficiently dark nights would be broken into by
discovering that I had plunged into a stream of undiscoverable
dimensions, whose existence only revealed itself by the splash of my
boots. Retreating cautiously, I would take a run, and then a terrific
leap into the darkness, sometimes finding myself on firm dry sand, and
as frequently in the water.

I had decided that I should probably not reach Sandsend until daylight,
when a red lamp near the railway-bridge shone out as a beacon, and I
realized that I would soon be safe from the tentacles of sea-monsters.

When I awoke next morning, I dashed out on to the beach, and commenced
to walk rapidly in the direction of Whitby, in the hope that the tide
had left some of those black stains still showing. I wanted, also, to
examine some of the queer ridges I had so often stepped over, and some
of the rivers I had leapt. The rivers were there wide enough in places,
but nothing in the way of a ridge or any signs of those inky patches
could I discern. Careful examination showed, however, that here and
there the smooth shore was covered with sand of a rather reddish hue,
quite unworthy of remark in daylight. The foolishness of my
apprehensions seems apparent, but nevertheless I urge everyone to choose
a moonlit night and a companion of some sort for traversing these three
miles after sunset.

The two little becks finding their outlet at East Row and Sandsend are
lovely to-day; but their beauty must have been much more apparent before
the North-Eastern Railway put their black lattice girder bridges across