1891.
July 12
England.
Tintagil. - Clear, warm and still, a gentle breeze ruffling
the sea at times. A perfect day, perhaps the finest that
we have thus far seen in England.
  Soon after breakfast we went to the cliff which
I visited last night. A Yellow Hammer, a Skylark,
and several Corn Buntings were singing as we walked
down the lanes and across the fields. The song of
the Corn Bunting is feeble, stuttering, and wholly
unmusical. It suggests, if, indeed, it does not
closely resemble, the song of our Savanna Sparrow.
The bird, like the Yellow Hammer, is a persistent
singer sitting on top of a hedge or tall week stalk
on one of the banked walls so common here and
giving its simple lay at frequent intervals from
early morning through the hottest midday hours
and late into the evening twilight.
  Last night I heard and saw three Crows which
I took to be C. corone on the shore at this place.
There were five of them this morning and I
had an excellent chance to study their ways.
They were feeding on the ground in a sheep
pasture and allowed me to approach nearly within
gun-shot. They resemble our Crow very closely indeed
but their cawing is different and, as I have
previously noticed, deeper and hoarser. They kept
taking short flights from place to place and
on alighting twitched their wings exactly as our 
Crow does.
  I found two Wheatears on this point. They were
rather shy, flitting on ahead of me, alighting
nearly always on the top of a rock, and standing