294 DECEMBER 



This quiet bay on the west coast, lit by the low 

 winter sun, is a fair prospect without any need for 

 artificial scrutiny, but a great deal is waiting to be 

 revealed by the glass. On the right, the land rises 

 into a bold, rocky promontory, whence the cliff falls 

 almost vertically to the sea; in front, there is a 

 curving sweep of sand, whereon often thunders the 

 surf, but to-day only wavelets break with a gentle, 

 measured throb. On the left, the land rises again, 

 to descend to the shore in grassy slopes, and a long 

 spit, boulder-strewn and fringed with golden tangle, 

 runs out into the tide. 



There are a couple of kestrels aloft, not hovering 

 as they do when hunting for a meal, but playing 

 with each other ; now rising to a great height, and 

 now plunging headlong with amazing speed, and 

 recovering themselves within a few inches of the 

 rocks below, wheel round the cliff in hot pursuit of 

 each other a magnificent display of wing power. 

 Presently they alight together on the crag ; direct 

 the glass upon them, and you will be charmed with 

 their beauty. They are not hawks these, but true 

 falcons ; the lens bring them so close that you can 

 mark one of the badges of their clan the dark iris, 

 distinguishing the falcons from the yellow-eyed, 



