236 NATURE NEAR LONDON. 



The sea-gulls as they settle on the surface ride high 

 out of the water, like the mediaeval caravals, with 

 their sterns almost as tall as the masts. Their un- 

 concerned flight, with crooked wings unbent, as if it 

 were no matter to them whether they flew or floated, 

 in its peculiar jerking motion somewhat reminds one 

 of the lapwing the heron has it, too, a little as if 

 aquatic or water-side birds had a common and distinct 

 action of the wing. 



Sometimes a porpoise comes along, but just beyond 

 the reef ; looking down on him from the verge of the 

 cliff, his course can be watched. His dark body, wet 

 and oily, appears on the surface for two seconds; 

 and then, throwing up his tail like the fluke of an 

 anchor, down he goes. Now look forward, along the 

 waves, some fifty yards or so, and he will come up, 

 the sunshine gleaming on the water as it runs off his 

 back, to again dive, and reappear after a similar 

 interval. Even when the eye can no longer distinguish 

 the form, the spot where he rises is visible, from the 

 slight change in the surface. 



The hill receding in hollows leaves a narrow plain 

 between the foot of the sward and the cliff; it is 

 ploughed, and the teams come to the footpath which 

 follows the edge ; and thus those who plough the sea 

 and those who plough the land look upon each other. 

 The one sees the vessel change her tack, the other 

 notes the plough turning at the end of the furrow. 

 Bramble bushes project over the dangerous wall of 

 chalk, and grasses fill up the interstices, a hedge 

 suspended in air; but be careful not to reach too 

 far for the blackberries. 



