Cornish Cliffs in Spring 45 



cleft in the cliff far above it, and over the brow 

 where we stand, its scent is borne on the warm sea- 

 wind in a lively current, with boundaries sharply 

 denned. As we wander on the steep sea-terraces, 

 we find here and there shy flowers of inland woods 

 unexpectedly blooming almost within reach of the 

 spray. On the crags of an out-thrust ness, where 

 the last verdure merges into the zone of lichen and 

 seaweed, the scarlet pimpernel lifts its face to the 

 sea-horizons among the dry heads of last year's 

 samphire flower. Few feet but those of the cliff- 

 fox, the rabbit, or the alighting gull or jackdaw, 

 thread the more intricate slopes of these cliffs. The 

 attraction of primal solitude enfolds their air-girt 

 lawns. Sometimes, across a sheer gash in the slopes, 

 there comes in view a little grassy garden, hanging 

 on the steep of the crag, and absolutely inaccessible 

 to man. As we see the wind blowing on its cowslip 

 flowers, and watch the untroubled business of the 

 nesting wren, it is like a glimpse of the virgin world. 

 Many of the troughs and hollows in the cliff -face 

 are almost inaccessible, not because of any dizzy 

 steepness, but because they are filled with a dense 

 growth of wind-clipped shrubs which forbid the 

 passage of anything larger than a rabbit or a fox. 

 These masses of blackthorn and privet are cut so 

 close by the wind that their upper surface looks 

 almost as solid as green turf or a moss-bank in a 

 wood. They form a kind of false bottom to the 

 hollows and gullies, and may be anything from one 

 foot to eight or ten in height. The highest of the 

 thickets are sometimes thin enough underneath to 



