WINTERING IN WEST CORNWALL n 



the harbour and go away in a kind of procession over 

 the sea. The black forms on the moving darkening 

 water and the shapely deep-red sails glowing in the 

 level light have then a beauty, an expression, which 

 comes as a surprise to one unaccustomed to such a 

 scene. The expression is due to association to vague 

 suggestions of a resemblance in this to other scenes. 

 We may be unable to recall them ; the feeling returns 

 but without the mental image of the scene which 

 originally produced it. It was not until I had watched 

 the boats going out on two or three successive evenings 

 that an ancient memory returned to me. 



Sitting or walking by the margin of some wide 

 lake or marsh in a distant land, I am watching a com- 

 pany of birds of some large majestic kind stork, 

 wood-ibis, or flamingo standing at rest in the shallow 

 water, which reflects their forms. By and by one of 

 the birds steps out of the crowd and moves leisurely 

 away, then, slowly unfolding his broad wings, launches 

 himself on the air and goes off, flying very low over 

 the water. Another follows, then, after an interval, 

 another, then still others, in twos and threes and half- 

 dozens, until the last bird has opened his wings and 

 the entire flock is seen moving away in a loose pro- 

 cession over the lake. 



Just in that way did the crowd of boats move by 

 degrees from their resting-place, shake out their 

 wing-like sails, and stream away over the sea. 



That was one scene ; there were faint suggestions 

 of many others, only a few of which I could recover ; 

 one was of large, dark red-winged butterflies, seen at 



