188 BIRDS AND MAN 



point where it flows into the Severn Sea stands 

 Brean Down, a huge isolated hill, the last of the 

 Mendip range on that side. It has a singular 

 appearance : it might be hkened in its form to a 

 hippopotamus standing on the flat margin of an 

 African lake, its breast and mouth touching the 

 water, and all its body belly-deep in the mud; it is, 

 in fact, a hill or a promontory united to the main- 

 land by a strip of low flat land — a huge, oblong, 

 saddle-backed hill projected into the sea towards 

 Wales. Down at its foot, at the point where it 

 touches the mainland, close to the mouth of the 

 Axe, there is a farmhouse, and the farmer is the 

 tenant of the entire hill, and uses it as a sheep-walk. 

 The sheep and rabbits and birds are the only in- 

 habitants. I remember a delightful experience I 

 had one cold windy but very bright spring morning 

 near the farmhouse. There is there, at a spot where 

 one is able to ascend the steep hill, a long strip of 

 rock that looks like the wall of a gigantic ruined 

 castle, rough and black, draped mth ancient ivy 

 and crowned with furze and bramble and thorn. 

 Here, coming out of the cold wind to the shelter of 

 this giant ivy-draped black wall, I stood still to 

 enjoy the sensations of warmth and a motionless 

 air, when high above appeared a swift-moving little 



