rt of the
swell, having then greater velocity than the lower parts assumes more
and more the form of a billow. As it comes on it towers up like a great
green wall of glittering glass, moving with a grand, solemn motion,
which does not at first give the idea of much force or impetus. As it
nears the rock, however, its height (probably fifteen or twenty feet)
becomes apparent; its velocity increases; the top, with what may be
termed gentle rapidity, rushes in advance of the base; its dark green
side becomes concave; the upper edge lips over, then curls majestically
downwards, as if bowing to a superior power, and a gleam of light
flashes for a moment on the curling top. As yet there is no sound; all
has occurred in the profound silence of the calm, but another instant
and there is a mighty crash--a deafening roar; the great wall of water
has fallen, and a very sea of churning foam comes leaping, bursting,
spouting over rocks and ledges, carrying all before it with a tremendous
sweep that seems to be absolutely irresistible until it meets the higher
ledges of rock, when it is hurled back, and retires with a watery hiss
that suggests the idea of baffled rage.

But it is not conquered. With the calm majesty of unalterable
determination, wave after wave comes on, in slow, regular succession,
like the inexhaustible battalions of an unconquerable foe, to meet with
a similar repulse again and again.

There is, however, this peculiar difference between the waves on the
ordinary seashore and the billows on the Bell Rock, that the latter,
unlike the former, are not always defeated. The spectator on shore
plants his foot confidently at the very edge of the mighty sea, knowing
that "thus far it may come, but no farther." On the Bell Rock the
rising tide makes the conflict, for a time, more equal. Now, the rock
stands proudly above the sea: anon the sea sweeps furiously over the
rock with a roar of "Victory!"

Thus the war goes on, and thus the tide of battle daily and nightly ebbs
and flows all the year round.

But when the cunning hand of man began to interfere, the aspect of
things was changed, the sea was forced to succumb, and the rock, once a
dreaded enemy, became a servant of the human race. True, the former
rages in rebellion still, and the latter, although compelled to uphold
the light that warns against itself, continues its perpetual warfare
with the sea; but both are effectually conquered by means of the
wonde