Charles Lanman,
Haw-Ho-Noo; Or, Records of a Tourist
“ She deceives us too often, and finally takes us, when worn and weary, only by the difficult digging of a grave.“But the ocean is mother-like, singing songs to us continually, and telling a thousand legends to our baby ears. She casts up toys to us on every shore, bright shells and pebbles. (What else do we live for?) True, maniac as she is, she sometimes raves madly and hurls her children from her arms, but see how instantly she clasps them again close, close to her heaving bosom, and how calmly and quietly they sleep there—as she sings to them—nor wake again to sorrow.” ”
