VIGNETTES OF NATURE 



FROM their tussocks upon the sward the 

 pink flowers of the sea- thrift are rising. 

 In one clump a pippit has its nest. The 

 male bird rises high in the air, then falls 

 suddenly, singing his little sweet song; he 

 regains height by mad flutterings, sing-sing- 

 singing all the time. In the matted turf 

 the leaves of the wild thyme give a faint 

 fragrance to the hands. Near by is the 

 skull of a finch, whitened by the sun and 

 the rains. Perhaps the falcons left it there, 

 or one of the buzzards; or a herring gull 

 chased and killed the bird, for gulls are 

 prepared for any villainy. But it is still of 

 use to something. A small spider lurks 

 within its shadowed emptiness. 



Reclining by the precipice edge one 

 morning in May I was made curious by a 



