The Glaucous-winged Gull 



creased cost of living; His Opu- 

 lence, the Gull, fares fat on what 

 you squander, and yawns con- 

 tentedly over a full crop. As for 

 revels, what more giddy whirl 

 than the aerial dance of the 

 white-winged watchers, as they 

 welcome an incoming steamer, 

 or divide the cook's largess on 

 the churning waters! What! 

 You tired-eyed galley slave of 

 Fortune, you spent son of Ambi- 

 tion and dull Care! Consider 

 the sea-gulls how they fare, and 

 forget yourself — for an hour. 



The gulls are mother Na- 

 ture's pledge that she has not 

 forgotten us. The sparrows gib- 

 bering in the street yonder are 

 scant comfort to the human 

 heart; — outcasts they are, 

 mere collocations of soil and 

 smut, blatant, futile. But here, 

 where sea meets shore, Nature 

 deals kindly with us and sends 

 daintily liveried messengers to 

 prophesy of a world beyond. 

 White for purity, pale blue for 

 tremulous hope and reminis- 

 cence of heaven (when skies are 

 dull) ; these, with a little black 

 for tagging — ■ recognition marks 

 — compose the dainty costume 

 of a full-grown gull. The murky 

 flood below gnaws sulkily at the 

 underpinning of the wharfage, or 

 recoils in turbid fright from dark 

 secrets of vegetable outlawry; 

 but the sea-birds, hovering over, 

 spotless, graceful, debonair, 

 make us forget our partnership 

 of guilty knowledge, and pledge. 



Taken in Washington 



SAILORS 



Photo by the Autlior 



I369 



