The seagull loves the salt sea and the wild wind. The waves are his cradle. When he wishes to fly, he spreads his long, narrow wings, and the breeze carries him along as if he were a white boat with sails.

Now and then he pounces down upon the water. That is when he catches sight of some shining fish which he thinks will make him a good dinner. He is a hungry bird, and, fortunately for us, he is not very particular as to what he eats. He swallows the floating scraps which would soon become unsightly and dangerous if they were left along the shore.

The common gull has a pure white breast, a slate-colored back, and black-tipped wings. Its nest is built of seaweed on some rocky cliff or ledge. As soon as it can scramble out of its nest, the young gull likes to sit on a ledge of rocks, where it looks like a ball of soft, gray down. When hundreds of them are seen sitting on the same cliff, it seems wonderful that the mother birds can find their own children, but they make no mistake. They are devoted and faithful mothers. Often their lives are in danger, and they might easily seek safety for themselves, but they will not leave their helpless birdlings.

The gulls have the same sad story to tell that belongs to all beautiful, soft-hued birds. They are much less numerous than formerly, because sportsmen take advantage of the mother's devotion to kill her and steal her wings. When girls and women consent to wear these feathers in their hats, they forget the pain and terror of the dying birds. Few girls would go so far as to kill a bird. Perhaps not one would harm a mother bird defending her little ones. Yet to wear the soft, pretty wings is to doom another victim to this piteous death.