6 
FLAMBOKOUGH HEAD. 
[Nature and Art, January 1, 1807. 
“ Yes, ma’am, so long as I had the shed and yard, 
which Bizz considered her own, having brought up 
three litters there, she stayed there, because also, 
she was chained, which I did out of mercy to the 
neighbours’ cats, and if she did not like the dinner 
Mrs. H. gave her, why she got no other ; but since 
I gave up the yard, when Mrs. H. does not please 
her in the cooking, she goes straight to our butcher’s 
and walks off with whatever piece of meat pleases 
her best, and takes it into Brompton churchyard to 
eat it quietly. She’s as fleet as a roe, and once in the 
churchyard, she knows the boys dare not follow her ; 
and indeed they don’t bother much about catching 
her, for they know, sooner than have her badly used, 
I’d pay for the meat, and that’s what Mrs. H. can’t 
stand. Last 'week there was three shillings in the 
week’s bill against Bizz, for sheep’s head and trotters. 
I gave in to the head, but “ trotters ” is what I 
know the dog’s above — Bizz is above trotters ! — and 
the butcher and I had words about it, and Mrs. LI. 
put in her word as well, and she said Bizz or she 
must leave the house. Now, ma’am, I think it 
would not be the thing to let Mrs. H. go, and 
keep Bizz ; so, if I don’t get a home for the poor 
animal ” Hatchment was obliged to leave 
the sentence unfinished, as Bizz had attacked a 
small boy who was vainly attempting to get at 
her blind side, which was turned towards a basket 
of oranges. 
“ The greatest little thief in Chelsea,” Hatchment 
called him, and then when he saw that Bizz had 
bruised one of his poor red shanks, without how- 
ever breaking the skin, the good-natured green- 
grocer gave him an apple not to cry. 
“ Please, shy’ stammered out young impudence, 
“ I’ll hold the other leg to liery if ye’ll give me an 
orange ! ” 
“ There never was such a watch,” continued 
Hatchment, after dismissing the imp, with the 
threat of a sound thrashing ; “ never ! Your yard is 
too well walled for her to escape, so she could not 
get into trouble with any of the butchers, and she’s 
equal to any three policemen, by day or night. 
The corner is very much exposed : poor Bizz, poor 
brute, she’s worth her bit any day.” 
I asked Hatchment if he had had her from her 
puppyhood, and then he told me her history as far 
as he knew it. 
FLAMBOROUGH HEAD. 
By John Cordeaux. 
F EW places on our English coast will so well re- 
pay a visit as the noble Yorkshire headland of 
Flamborough. To the lover of nature it offers many 
and varied attractions, in the grand scenery of its 
coast-line, the countless thousands of sea-fowl which, 
during the spring and summer months, frequent its 
sea- washed cliffs for the purposes of incubation, 
and the beauty and variety of the wild flowers which 
everywhere deck 
“ The zigzag paths and juts of pointed rock.” 
To the archaeologist it offers an additional attrac- 
tion in the remains of the famous fortification known 
as Hanes’ Dyke. 
The best way to see Flamborough is on foot. We 
shall, therefore, in the course of this paper, take our 
readers along with us in a walk round the headland, 
more especially to observe the habits of its numerous 
tenantry, the sea-fowl. We shall not, however, 
find them in any great numbers till we arrive at 
their great haunt, the lofty mural precipices of 
Speeton ; for constant persecution has all but driven 
them from the lower range of cliffs on the southern 
side of the promontory. 
Let us suppose ourselves then, early on some fine 
summer’s morning in July, at Bridlington Quay, a 
few miles south of Flamborough, properly equipped 
for a walk, — a stout stick in hand, a good landscape 
glass slung across our shoulders, and not forgetting 
a well-filled sandwich-case. We will follow, as 
near as we are able, the line of coast until we reach 
the western extremity of that grand wall of lime- 
stone rock oveilooking Filey Bay, — no easy walk 
on a warm July day, particularly as it is nearly all 
cross-country work and over broken ground ; and 
although, looking across the Bay, the two light- 
houses placed near the extremity of the headland 
appear at no great distance, yet, following the line 
of coast, we shall find it take us six good miles to 
reach them, and thence ten more to the western 
end of the Speeton Cliffs. 
And now for a few minutes, as we stand here on 
this north cliff of Bridlington, let us observe the 
line of coast. How is it that bold promontory of 
chalk before us retains its proud position compara- 
tively uninjured by the storms of thousands of 
winters which have broken against it ; while the 
land on which we stand is gradually, but surely, 
year by year, receding before the encroachments of 
the sea? It is that the entire length of the York- 
shire seaboard, from Spurn Point to a mile beyond 
our pi’esent position, is composed of what geologists 
term the “ Boulder clay,” a dark clay containing 
some large fragments and innumerable smaller por- 
tions of water-worn rocks thickly embedded in its 
substance. The higher portion of these clay cliffs 
is capped with fine sands and gravel, and an occa- 
sional bed of clay and peat marking a fresh-water 
deposit, — the site of an ancient lake, long since 
drained dry by the sea, which has for ages been 
slowly eating up the land. Thus, in the whole 
length of this coast, we find no solid rock until we 
reach this limestone headland. The sea constantly 
washing the base of these clay cliffs undermines 
