WESTLAND MAY 125 



wide, high and low, thousands of pale primroses 

 bespangle the turf. On lower banks, near the 

 stream, the clusters grow thicker, till, in yielding 

 place to the golden marsh marigolds, they strike the 

 harmony of sulphur and orange, so dear to the 

 dead Albert Moore. There is another and purer 

 yellow on the heights, a middle hue between prim- 

 rose and marigold, the pretty rock-rose (Helianthe- 

 mum), wreathed among masses of the snowy bladder 

 campion, and, thinly scattered over all, there stand 

 little pillars of brilliant purplish crimson the early 

 orchis. Just where the green turf carpet ends on 

 the beach, between it and the broad expanse of cold 

 shingle, all these hues meet and mingle, and there 

 is added a wide selvage of a colour gayer than all 

 the rest, the dainty rose-pink of the sea-thrift. To 

 sit on the thyme-scented cliff before the quiet sea, to 

 bask in the afternoon rays and drink in this oratorio 

 of colour, is a joy to be had in everlasting remem- 

 brance. 



And when that is done, there be other things to 

 note in this quiet bay. It is just such a beach as 

 this that the Vikings loved to draw their long black 

 kyuls upon. The very name of the place Physgil 

 is our tortured writing of the Norse fisk-gil, fish 



