ner's waves,
precisely of the same kind which we saw in his waterfall. We have not a
cutting, springing, elastic line--no jumping or leaping in the waves:
_that_ is the characteristic of Chelsea Reach or Hampstead Ponds in a
storm. But the surges roll and plunge with such prostration and hurling
of their mass against the shore, that we feel the rocks are shaking
under them; and, to add yet more to this impression, observe how little,
comparatively, they are broken by the wind; above the floating wood, and
along the shore, we have indication of a line of torn spray; but it is a
mere fringe along the ridge of the surge--no interference with its
gigantic body. The wind has no power over its tremendous unity of force
and weight. Finally, observe how, on the rocks on the left, the violence
and swiftness of the rising wave are indicated by precisely the same
lines which we saw were indicative of fury in the torrent. The water on
these rocks is the body of the wave which has just broken, rushing up
over them; and in doing so, like the torrent, it does not break, nor
foam, nor part upon the rock, but accommodates itself to every one of
its swells and hollows, with undulating lines, whose grace and variety
might alone serve us for a day's study; and it is only where two streams
of this rushing water meet in the hollow of the rock, that their force
is shown by the vertical bound of the spray.

[Illustration: PORT RUYSDAeL.
From a painting by Turner.]

Sec. 34. Peculiar action of recoiling waves.

Sec. 35. And of the stroke of a breaker on the shore.

Sec. 36. General character of sea on a rocky coast given by Turner in the
Land's End.

In the distance of this grand picture, there are two waves which
entirely depart from the principle observed by all the rest, and spring
high into the air. They have a message for us which it is important that
we should understand. Their leap is not a preparation for breaking,
neither is it caused by their meeting with a rock. It is caused by their
encounter with the recoil of the preceding wave. When a large surge, in
the act of breaking, just as it curls over, is hurled against the face
either of a wall or of a vertical rock, the sound of the blow is not a
crash nor a roar; it is a report as loud as, and in every respect
similar to, that of a great gun, and the wave is dashed back from the
rock with force scarcely diminished, but reversed in direction,--it now
rec