It has been found, by experiment, that the velocity imparted to an incoming wave sometimes equals _seventy feet in a second of time_. Now this would give nearly one mile in a minute, if it were a projectile in free space; but the case here is, of course, different, since the wave is only a portion of the mass to which it belongs, and no individual wave travels very far. Still, the amount of rush and pressure which are exerted is altogether stupendous. Probably the _breakers_, which in an enduring storm rise against a lighthouse in the open sea, are among the strongest instances with which we are acquainted, and, next to these, I suppose, the billows off the Cape of Good Hope. But we may take those on the Irish coast, westward, as a well-known sample. I have often watched these—once in a gale of wind—and I have seen, in one as yet _unbroken_ wave, a body of water which I should compute roughly at two hundred tons’ weight, and as having, at the moment, a velocity of not less than sixty feet in the second, discharge itself upon the reef of rock. On such occasions, if you happen to stand on the shore, you will feel the ground _vibrate_ apparently, though the sensation is probably electrical. But let any one consider the conditions of the wave cited above, and reckon what is _the force of the blow_ at the moment of impact. I have no doubt it would knock down a good strong house, if delivered against the upright face of it. One winter, when I was at Sandown, in the Isle of Wight, a spot frequently mentioned in these pages, I found I was _utterly unable_ to traverse the bit of open road reaching from the Fort to the point where the lane turns off to Yaverland. Yet I had on at the time a stout Cording’s waterproof, with sleeves, and a slouched hat tied under my chin, and held a powerful oaken stick in my hand to help me win my way. In fact, it was a trial of dynamics between me and the gale, whether this “body,” acted on by a continuous muscular force, in nearly a right line, could be propelled through that resisting medium. I am sorry to say, it could _not_; but, in the attempt, it lost a neck-button from its coat, and was within an ace of being blown into the hedge, like a certain “man in Thessaly, wondrous wise,” whom we have heard tell of in our childhood.