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—great happiness in store for those who will follow our advice. To be at the Sea-side without some occupation is one of the dreariest things which can fall to a man's lot,—by occupation let it be remembered we do not mean the abominable pastime,—novel-reading,—so often indulged in, and called recreation, but that in which the mind can participate and be prevented from falling into that listless state which too often succeeds a season of idleness and desuetude.
A more beautiful little Bay than this can scarcely be imagined,—a perfect basin surrounded by high bluffs on the town side, above which are the Botanical Gardens, and over the water, in the back ground, are the pretty Anakies to complete the landscape. Here the sea is ever calm, and seldom disturbed by the huge waves and bleak winds which form so unpleasant a feature at other parts of the coast. This now is a piping hot day, so we are glad enough to leave the dusty streets to embrace any stray puff of wind lurking about. The Shore birds are silent enough; but see how the water birds are sporting about in the greatest enjoyment, perpetually turning over and over in the water, now diving and only raising their bills just above the surface to breathe, their bodies still remaining submerged. How we envy them as we pant here, shrivelled up almost by the sun's rays. The Bird Bank across the Bay is covered with Pelicans, their bills pressed down on their breasts, Gulls, and Cormorants,—the latter have a loose piece of skin under the throat, but not as is the case with the Pelicans, for storing their food, but rather to admit of
