AT THE ESTUARY 137 



and in minutest detail which it seems impossible 

 even for Nature to excel. Death itself does not 

 instantly disarrange this order. I found a guillemot 

 near the cliff edge which had lain stark and stiff for 

 more than a day and night, and exposed to rough 

 weather. Yet the plumage was close, smooth, scarcely 

 ruffled about the back and chest. 



The pigeon's feather, which we pick up in the 

 wood and carelessly drop, the single shed feather is 

 a wonder of design ; but what, then, of the whole 

 plumage, and its symmetry and softness, its adjust- 

 ment, its sustaining power in the air, and often its 

 exceeding beauty of colour and chequer ? 



The extreme suspicions of the mallard flock, which 

 is wallowing at the margin of the shallow lake formed 

 by the incoming tide, are well shown by the telescope. 

 There is a seagull on the spit of sand by the lake. I 

 do not notice anything peculiar about this bird till I 

 get the glass on him. Then I see he is running about 

 close to the ducks with a long ribbon of seaweed in 

 his bill ; it trails on the sand as he runs, and a comic 

 figure he cuts. He seems to have found a toy, and 

 to be mightily pleased ; there is no other explanation 

 for this caper it is not the nesting season, and the 

 seaweed is not good to eat. But the ducks are as 

 droll to watch, whilst this is going on, as the gull. 

 They are startled from their dozing ; every duck near 

 the gull comes to attention. No doubt at first they 

 are slightly alarmed ; this passes, and they show signs 



