No one can be in Monterey a single night, without being startled and
awed by the deep, solemn crashes of the surf, as it breaks along the
shore. There is no continuous roar of the plunging waves, as we hear on
the Atlantic seaboard; the slow, regular swells--quiet pulsations of
the great Pacific's heart--roll inward in unbroken lines, and fall with
single grand crashes, with intervals of dead silence between. They may
be heard through the day, if one listens, like a solemn undertone to all
the shallow noises of the town; but at midnight, when all else is
still, those successive shocks fall upon the ear with a sensation of
inexpressible solemnity. All the air, from the pine forests to the sea,
is filled with a light tremor, and the intermitting beats of sound are
strong enough to jar a delicate ear. Their constant repetition at last
produces a feeling something like terror. A spirit worn and weakened by
some scathing sorrow could scarcely bear the reverberation.
* * * * *
=_274._= APPROACH TO SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.
Sunset came on as we approached the strait opening from Pablo Bay into
the Bay of San Francisco. The cloudless sky became gradually suffused
with a soft rose-tint, which covered its whole surface, painting alike
the glassy sheet of the bay, and glowing most vividly on the mountains
to the eastward.
Pages:
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528