rivers, till, after tossing for weeks and months along with


"--wrecks of ships, and drifting
spars uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas:
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main;"


the "toiling surges" cast them on Yubets beach, and


"All have found repose again."


A grim repose!

The deep boom of the surf was music, and the strange cries of sea-
birds, and the hoarse notes of the audacious black crows, were all
harmonious, for nature, when left to herself, never produces
discords either in sound or colour.



LETTER XXXV--(Continued)