ld. The incident is forgotten, when one
morning, as you turn over the newspaper, there is the _Orient_ announced
to start again. It is like a tale of enchantment; it seems but yesterday
that the Head hid her from view; you have scarcely moved, attending to
the daily routine of life, and scarce recognise that time has passed at
all. In so few hours has the earth been encompassed.

The sea-gulls as they settle on the surface ride high out of the water,
like the mediaeval caravals, with their sterns almost as tall as the
masts. Their unconcerned flight, with crooked wings unbent, as if it
were no matter to them whether they flew or floated, in its peculiar
jerking motion somewhat reminds one of the lapwing--the heron has it,
too, a little--as if aquatic or water-side birds had a common and
distinct action of the wing.

Sometimes a porpoise comes along, but just beyond the reef; looking down
on him from the verge of the cliff, his course can be watched. His dark
body, wet and oily, appears on the surface for two seconds; and then,
throwing up his tail like the fluke of an anchor, down he goes. Now look
forward, along the waves, some fifty yards or so, and he will come up,
the sunshine gleaming on the water as it runs off his back, to again
dive, and reappear after a similar interval. Even when the eye can no
longer distinguish the form, the spot where he rises is visible, from
the slight change in the surface.

The hill receding in hollows leaves a narrow plain between the foot of
the sward and the cliff; it is ploughed, and the teams come to the
footpath which follows the edge; and thus those who plough the sea and
those who plough the land look upon each other. The one sees the vessel
change her tack, the other notes the plough turning at the end of the
furrow. Bramble bushes project over the dangerous wall of chalk, and
grasses fill up the interstices, a hedge suspended in air; but be
careful not to reach too far for the blackberries.

The green sea is on the one hand, the yellow stubble on the other. The
porpoise dives along beneath, the sheep graze above. Green seaweed lines
the reef over which the white spray flies, blue lucerne dots the field.
The pebbles of the beach seen from the height mingle in a faint blue
tint, as if the distance ground them into coloured sand. Leaving the
footpath now, and crossing the stubble to "France," as the wide open
hollow in the down is called by the shepherds, it is no easy matter