Nature and Art, January 1, 18f>7.] 
FLAMBOROUGH HEAD. 
9 
After leaving the South Landing-place at Flam- 
borough and climbing the hill, we pass on our left 
a low mound — perhaps the last resting-place of a 
Brigantian chieftain — and not far from the tomb 
of the old warrior, and close to the edge of the cliff, 
a “ third-class target,” which a persevering volun- 
teer has constructed out of some old iron plates, 
the relics probably of a steamer which has gone to 
pieces on these rocks. Half a mile further, and 
we stand near the extremity of the headland ; and 
here let us wait awhile, the better to view the 
grand scene. The extreme point of all we cannot 
reach, for that is now partly separated from the 
mainland by the slipping of the upper clay cliff. 
It represents an immense block of almost isolated 
rock, of a diamond shape. On its northern side, 
the ceaseless wash of the waves has excavated a 
grand natural arch ; and in each of the little 
bays which flank the central mass is an immense 
column of limestone, which in the course of ages 
has become detached from the parent wall, marking 
the slow encroachment of the sea on the lit^'d 
chalk cliffs. Stretching directly out from the head 
is a long reef, barely covered at low water, and 
thickly overgrown witli seaweed and tangle, which 
floats backwards and forwards with the flow of the 
. sea over the reef. The water at a short distance 
from the coast is a deep green ; but close in-shore, 
the constant friction of the waves on the white 
limestone is continually rubbing off minute particles 
of chalk, which gives the water quite a milky 
appearance. Thus in the course of ages the water 
wears away the softer portion of the cliffs, leaving 
those great isolated pillars standing as monuments 
of its eroding power. 
We shall find that this northern shore presents 
a very different aspect to the more sheltered southern 
coast, along which we have been hitherto walking ; 
for it has been exposed to the full .sweep of the 
storms of ages, and everywhere on its rugged preci- 
pices bears marks of its battle with the waves. 
Here the coast recedes, forming a lovely bay ; 
there again, standing out in a bold promontory, its 
sides broken into deep fissures and caverns, in some 
places worn completely through, forming a giant 
archway, or like the vaulted roof of a cathedral. 
Then again, we find, as at the head, great masses 
of cliff standing solitary, and surrounded by the 
sea ; and there they yet may stand for thousands of 
yeai\s to come to break the wild fury of the north- 
ern storms. The base of these cliffs is excavated 
into deep holes and caves, some of them, like 
“Robin Lythe’s Hole,” of great extent and beauty, 
and which will well repay the trouble and diffi- 
culty of exploring. Those heaps of broken spars 
and planks saved from the waves, remind us of the 
insecurity and danger of this iron-bound coast. 
Thanks to the precautions taken, it is seldom we 
now hear of a wreck. The lighthouse, situated on 
an eminence overlooking a beautiful bay, is 87 
feet high, its light being 214 feet above the level of 
the sea. The apparatus revolves once in six minutes ; 
it is triangular, two sides displaying a white flash, 
and the third a crimson one. But when the headland 
is wrapped in mist and spray, or during the drift of 
a northern snow-storm, the light would be of little 
avail to warn off the storm-tossed mariner. To 
provide for this emergency, a small station has been 
built close to the cliff, from which an 18-pounder is 
fired every quarter of an hour. Many of the 
migratory birds which arrive on our coasts in the 
winter months, as woodcocks, redwings, widgeons, 
&c., are picked up dead at the foot of the lantern — 
dazzled by the light, they dash like moths against 
the thick glass, and are killed. On one occasion 
one of these thick glass plates was broken by the 
force with which a wild duck dashed against it. 
But we must press forward, as we have yet a 
long line of coast to explore. Yonder are a small 
flock of terns, familiar as they are to visitors at the 
sea-side, under the name of Sea Swallows ; not 
unlike small gulls in appearance. Mark their mode 
of feeding as they fly along in line, one behind the 
other; now one, now another dashes downward, 
making a visible splash in the sea, but not alighting, 
and then rising again resumes its flight, each time 
probably capturing some minute object floating 
near the surface. How different in their flight and 
colour are those black-and-white birds, with the long 
red bills, which, as we approach the cliff, rise 
rapidly from the water below : by their pied 
appearance and sin-ill whistle we know them to be 
Oyster-catchers. They have been busily cleaving- 
open with their strong bills and feeding upon the 
mussels on the reef below. 
Passing a beautiful bay shut in by lofty cliffs, 
and containing, near its entrance, two remarkable 
insular masses of rock, called the “ King and 
Queen,” we next come to the North Landing. At 
the bottom of a steep descent, the northern termi- 
nation of the road which crosses the promontory, 
are drawn up a long array of gaily- painted pleasure- 
boats, in great demand during the summer by the 
hundreds who visit Flamborough from the' neigh- 
bouring watering-places of Bridlington and Filey. 
Perhaps no portion of the coast exceeds in beauty 
this lovely hay. In the cliffs, both to the east and 
west, many of the finest sea-caves which penetrate 
the rocks may be explored. One remarkable cavern, 
called “ Robin Lythe’s Hole,” is easily accessible at 
low water. Many years since the rocks about this 
bay, as also those near the lighthouse, were the 
resort of thousands of sea-fowl — we may now 
walk for miles along the coast and see but few, until 
we reach their last retreat, the almost inaccessible 
range of the Speeton cliffs. 
The rapid decrease of the sea-fowl on this coast 
is much to be regretted, and is, we are sorry to say, 
attributable in a great measure to the almost con- 
stant persecution of the birds by parties who visit 
Flamborough during the spring and summer for the 
sake of “having a shot at the sea-fowl.” As the 
“ cheap excursion ” trains from the manufacturing- 
districts increase in number, so certainly will the 
birds decrease. Indeed, it is impossible to walk 
along the cliffs on any fine day during the summer 
months without hearing the constant x-eport of 
guns, fired by men and boys fi-om boats below ; 
