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 
Photo by the Author 
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