land, without bounds or fences, or such herds of cattle promiscuously scattered over the hills and plains.
There are no woods or groves upon the peninsula, and but very few scattered trees. As you advance, however, it takes more of the granite formation, and of the aspect of New England; the stones become larger, and the rocks more angular, as if less beaten and washed by the ocean. There are but three or four families on the point, and their houses are miles apart, so that in the wintry season they must lead the lives of hermits. In summer many strangers resort hither, some to fish and hunt, some to breathe the invigorating sea-breeze, and not a few attracted by the solitary grandeur of the spot. Here you seem separated from the world, placed on a lone promontory jutting out into the great deep. On one side, the nearest land is Europe, and around you, filling all your senses and your whole soul, is the boundless ocean, with its thunder-surge breaking forever against the cliff on which you stand.
The dread uniformity of this scene is, however, enlivened by the multitude of sails that in a fine day pass within view, and by the proximity of Gardiner's and Fisher's Islands, and the southern shore of Rhode Island. These lie upon the northern horizon, and relieve the eye, fatigued with wandering over a world of waves, and the mind, oppressed with the loneliness and sublimity of the place.
This peninsula was formerly the residence of the