ALONG THE COAST AND ELSEWHERE 169 



peep at the wading birds, which so dearly delight to secure 

 provender among the mud there, when the tide goes out and 

 exposes a prolific hunting ground. 



I have explored the recesses of Lulworth Cove, near Weymouth, 

 and stalked the rare Dartford Warbler near St Albans Head, in 

 Dorset, and around sunny Bournemouth I have spent many 

 happy and profitable hours by the sea, and along the sandbanks 

 near Poole Harbour. 



At Hayling Island, near Portsmouth, I first made acquaint- 

 ance with the song of the Rock Pipit, which, in tone and manner 

 of utterance, strongly reminded me of the Meadow Pipit of our 

 own chalky Chilterns, and in the Isle of Wight, from Ryde to 

 Ventnor, I have fairly extensively surveyed the coast-line, especi- 

 ally where the famous landslip, between Shanklin and Ventnor, 

 provides such a profitable environment for animal and plant 

 life. Near by, I have loitered round secluded Bonchurch, and 

 made a pilgrimage to Swinburne's last resting place. His delight 

 in flowers, especially wild flowers, will be remembered by all 

 who knew and loved him. 



In the neighbourhood of Brighton, Eastbourne, and Hastings, 

 I have enjoyed many memorable excursions, in company with 

 kindred souls, one of whom, poor Edward Connold, has now 

 passed beyond the border, deeply regretted and loved by all who 

 knew him. 



I have peeped over Beachy Head to get a sight of the Peregrine 

 Falcon, and gathered stfay mushrooms on the Downs close by, as 

 Richard Jefferies did before me. 



As a boy, I was taken to see the white chalk cliffs of Dover, 

 and at old-world Whitstable I remember, with unfeigned delight, 

 many happy saunters where the Winkles and Oysters congregate 

 in countless myriads, where the Grayling Butterfly is in constant 

 view during the Summer hours, and the Glow-worm and Grass 

 Snake revel in the grassy meadows near the shore. 



Ramsgate and Margate are too populous for a Nature lover 

 to enjoy, except when he requires artificial relaxation, and I 

 must skip the Thames estuary and clamorous Southend, until 

 more sequestered South wold hoves in sight. There, in company 

 with Arthur Paterson, the genial East Coast Naturalist, whose 

 work has not yet received the high recognition it deserves, I have 

 been let into some of the secrets of marine fishes and other 

 tenants of the mighty deep. Together, Paterson and I have 

 explored Broadland, its bird, insect, and plant life, and may the 



