JULY 147 



flying Guillemots and Razorbills whizz past overhead. 

 Single birds, select parties, whole fleets of them — always 

 in company with Puffins — paddle at ease, dive, bob up 

 again like corks, splash along the surface of the water 

 or rise clumsily, adjusting their steering gear by spread- 

 ing feet and tail. Puffins swim up close to the boat ; 

 one of them will retain its hold upon the first-caught 

 slippery fry, diving for more, until a whole string of 

 them depends from its beak. A few weeks later there 

 will be many young guillemots, which could never 

 have made their way down from the ledges without 

 parental assistance, each one swimming in the wake 

 of the old bird. 



Now to change one's standpoint to the verge of the 

 cliff, or reach, by the aid of a friendly gulley,some point 

 midway between its top storey and the basement. All 

 the grassy ledges are peopled by Herring Gulls, whose 

 mottled young have mostly reached the sea, though 

 some remain at the nests. Every suitable spot on the 

 cliff face, where the rough grass covers earth of a 

 sufficient depth to be burrowed into, is a warren of 

 Puffins ; their orange feet show up as spots of colour 

 against the dark background. On the barer ledges 

 stand the Guillemots, shoulder to shoulder, nodding 

 their heads as if bowing to one another. We can see 

 their bright green eggs on narrow exposed ledges where, 

 if they rolled a couple of inches, they would go over 

 the edge. No eggs are more wonderful in their beauty 



