Aug., 1890. a naturalist’s notes in north Devon 
181 
minor), a rather rare plant except in the West of England ; 
and the air was sweet with masses of wild mint. 
There are swarms of Rabbits on the Burrows. At high 
spring tides numbers of these apparently perish, for their 
bleached skulls and bones lie about in all directions. Flies 
swarmed over the surface of the warm, bare sand in the 
hollows, and Swallows were eagerly skimming up and down 
within a few inches of the ground. The Wlieatear, which 
loves a lonely spot, was here, and a few Meadow Pipits. The 
tide was far out, and had left a huge expanse of wet glisten¬ 
ing sand. Near the tide edge a large herd of Curlew 
(Numenim arquatus) were feeding, and four compactly-shaped 
little waders skimming along the edge are shown by my 
glasses to be Turnstones (Strep silas inter pres). Their expanded 
wings, prettily mottled with white, and the large patch of the 
same on the lower back, makes them rather conspicuous. 
The air was calm, and the sea outside like glass ; yet the 
heavy Atlantic rollers of the ground swell came thundering 
in to break on the level sands with a sullen roar, heard far 
away inland. What wonder, then, that the hollows among 
the sand-hills are often strewn with wreckage, and that we 
see to-day the timbers of many a ship which have found a 
resting-place here. There might have been more species of 
wading birds about, although it was yet early in the season, 
but they were all so wild that it was impossible to get any¬ 
where near them on the bare sands at low tide. And at that 
time, too, I had not the experience of the call notes of the 
various species which has been subsequently gained during 
long days spent in pursuit of shore birds in the salt marshes. 
Beyond the two just mentioned, the only other wader I 
actually saw in Devon was the Common Sandpiper, an 
example of which I flushed when walking along the bank of 
the Taw, at Barnstaple. But Ringed Plover, Wliimbrel, and 
perhaps Redshank, passed over Ilfracombe on migration at 
night. 
The lines of migration, or the routes taken by birds on their 
vernal and autumnal travels, lie, when practicable, for the 
most part along the sea coast. It is, therefore, well worth 
the naturalist’s while, when he happens to be there at one of 
the periods of migration, to keep a sharp look out for birds 
passing over at night, at which time the migrations take 
place. Especially watchful should he be on dark or thick 
nights, when the birds fly at a much lower elevation than 
when the weather is clear and the sky starlit. The various 
wading birds will be chiefly noticed, and an acquaintance 
with their call notes, which they utter almost incessantly, is 
