n8 Idylls of the Field. 



kittiwake has felt the grip of his cruel bill. Hundreds 

 of young puffins he has taken unaware at the mouths of 

 their burrows or snatched up from the surface of the 

 sea. 



On the reefs that fringe the shore groups of cor- 

 morants are drying their wet plumage in the sun. 



From a great chasm in the rocks, a mighty rift 

 with bare precipitous walls running deep into the 

 island, sounds now and then the clamour of a colony 

 of gulls ; and, at times, hundreds of kittiwakes, as if 

 moved by common impulse, rise in a cloud from the 

 dark hollow, float like flecks of foam over the sea, and 

 then sink slowly back into the cavernous depth. 



In these rocky hollows seals find shelter still, and 

 it is not long since a shepherd-dog was seen barking 

 furiously at a seal, lying on a reef a few yards from 

 shore, who for his part was staring hard at this strange 

 monster of the land. The presence of the shepherd 

 broke the spell. The seal gazed a moment at the 

 man — a form but too well known to all the timid race 

 — and sank down into the sheltering waves. 



The whole surface of the water as far as the eye can 

 reach is dotted with figures light or dark, swimming, 

 diving, drifting idly with the current. Far out a white 

 cloud of gulls has gathered over some object floating 

 in the waves. 



A few gannets sail over the water, their outstretched 

 necks, slow flight, and pure white plumage singling 

 them plainly out among the motley crowd. 



