IO2 By Leafy Ways. 



scores in the old rabbit-holes along the fringe of the 

 down. 



The wide stretch of mud below, whose shining levels 

 wear a tinge of purple in the failing light, is dotted 

 with the figures of unnumbered gulls, some in the pure 

 white and grey of perfect plumage, others still wearing 

 the brown dress of youth. Redshanks and curlews 

 wade among the pools and line the edges of the long 

 hollows worn by the retreating tide. 



A troop of dunlins fly in close array along the edge 

 of the water. Now they settle down upon the mud. 

 Even at this height their musical voices sound above 

 the faint murmur of the waves. 



The lazy sea beyond them, scarcely broken by a 

 ripple, stretches away to the dim horizon like a sheet 

 of glass. In the golden splendour under the sinking 

 sun there lies becalmed a single sail. The sea-line 

 melts into an amber haze, through which shows now 

 and then the faint outline of some distant craft. 

 Along the bold sickle of the shore rise the broken 

 ridges of the sandhills. Beyond them the blue lines of 

 far-off hills. Between lie the wide levels of the moor ; 

 here, white with peaceful hamlets clustering round the 

 grey towers of ancient churches; there, golden with 

 ungathered grain, whose ripened sheaves await the 

 harvest home. 



On the bold headland yonder, whose rocky steep is 

 kindling in the light of sunset, a grey ruin looks down 

 upon the fruitful plain. Round the old walls there 



