We stand in awe at the grandeur of the mountains, thrusting their
snowcapped summits into the clouds, and it is indeed a glorious sight;
but the ocean, with its ceaseless motion, its wonderful rising and
falling of the tides, and its constant and mysterious moaning, is not
to be outdone in sublimity, and offers a keen delight to the lover of
nature. Its sands and waters are ever changing. Its rugged coast, with
rocks scattered in wild profusion, is one of the most interesting
spots in all the world.

A piece of wreckage is thrown upon the beach, and you wonder what dire
disaster happened far out at sea, and if the rest of the ship went to
the bottom with all on board. But take it home, let it dry in the sun,
then place it on your open grate fire, and as you watch the iridescent
blaze curl up the chimney, dream dreams, and weave strange fancies in
the light of your driftwood fire.

A day at the seashore is one of pleasure, a delightful change from
woods and uplands to rocks and rushing waters. Some prefer the smooth
stretch of sandy beach, where one may lie at luxurious ease in the
warm sand, and listen to the waves lapping along shore, or, discarding
shoes and stockings, wade out until the white-capped waves, like
policemen, drive you back from encroaching upon old Neptune's domain.
But we prefer the rocky cliffs, combined with the sandy beach, and
such a place is Land's End, near the Golden Gate, in San Francisco.

We started down the steep incline, strewn with jagged rocks, to follow
the narrow path along the cliffs. But our outing was marred by meeting
two men toiling up the path along the narrow way, carrying an
unfortunate sightseer who had ventured too near the edge of the cliff
and fallen into the ocean. Only the prompt action of a friend who