146 
A NATURALIST’S NOTES IN NORTH DEVON. July, 1890. 
birds to seek more secluded haunts. I found the best plan 
was to walk as much as possible between the places of 
interest, and in this way a good deal may be seen of natural 
history. 
However, when I went on board the ex-mail steamer, 
“ Gael,” which lay some way off the pier-head at Portishead, 
on a rather dull, hot afternoon in August, I did not particu¬ 
larly expect to see much of my favourite birds during the 
week or two I was to spend in Devon. 
Remarkably few birds were seen during a protracted run 
down the Bristol Channel to Ilfracombe against the flowing 
tide. Some Kittiwake and Herring, with a few Lesser Black- 
backed Gulls, and a little flock of Starlings, which rose from 
a rocky islet as we skirted the warm Glamorgan coast, were 
all I saw. But, for the absence of bird life, we were amply 
compensated by the beauty of the changing scenery. 
In the afternoon of the day after I arrived, I wandered 
towards Hele over the high ground, known as Hillsborough, 
rising nearly 450 feet above the sea. and, like the next cliff, 
Rillage, running out into the sea in a long mole of pointed 
rock, round which the white foam is ever hissing. The 
upper part of the cliff at Rillage is broken and sloping. 
Descending this, I found a bright enough floral display. 
Heather and Hawkweeds, Ragworts, Harebells, Wood Sage, 
and the tall Hemp Agrimony—a perfect medley of rich, late 
summer colours. And over the flowers countless butterflies 
were flitting and dancing—Blues and Coppers, Meadow 
Browns, and Gatekeepers, and the rarer Graylings. Here, too, 
I gathered the Perfoliate Yellow-wort (Chlora perfoliata). 
Linnets twittered as they flew from bush to bush, a Wheatear 
takes a quick run and now stands motionless, save for an 
occasional flirt of his tail, on yonder turfy buttress ; and 
the sneeh s?ieek of the Rock Pipits draws attention to their 
dusky forms. Their specific name, obscurus, is very descrip¬ 
tive of their dusky plumage, but maritimus would describe 
their habits. I have never explored a rocky shore in summer, 
or a muddy one in winter, without meeting with these sea¬ 
side birds, and I have never seen them inland. Nor, indeed, 
have I ever come across a reliable record of their occurrence 
far away from the coast or a tidal river. A considerable 
colony of House Martins frequented the face of the overhang¬ 
ing grey shale cliff below me, and apparently were breeding, 
but, being awkwardly placed, I was unable to mark one to its 
nest. 
A brilliant morning had been followed at noon by evident 
signs of a change in the weather. The atmosphere seemed 
