the Pacific Ocean. The weary succession of rounded, dome-like hills
obliterated all sense of distance; the rare whaling vessel or still
rarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these rusty undulations,
barren of distinguishing peak or headland, and bald of wooded crest or
timbered ravine. The withered ranks of wild oats gave a dull procession
of uniform color to the hills, unbroken by any relief of shadow in their
smooth, round curves. As far as the eye could reach, sea and shore met
in one bleak monotony, flecked by no passing cloud, stirred by no sign
of life or motion. Even sound was absent; the Angelus, rung from the
invisible Mission tower far inland, was driven back again by the steady
northwest trades, that for half the year had swept the coast line and
left it abraded of all umbrage and color.

But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another monotony as
uniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly contracting before
a wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip of
sea, into which gradually the northern trend of the coast faded and was
lost. As the fog stole with soft step southward, all distance, space,
character, and locality again vanished; the hills upon which the sun
still shone bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped into
space. Last of all, before the red sun sank like the descending host,
it gleamed upon the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was the
last object visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed
over the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became a
confused gray cloud.

The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible and
hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quick
whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmur
as before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in their