LETTER I. TO THOMAS PENNANT, ESQUIRE.

THE pariſh of SELBORNE lies in the extreme eaſtern corner of the county of Hampſhire, bordering on the county of Suſſex, and not far from the county of Surrey; is about fifty miles ſouth-weſt of London, in latitude 51, and near midway between the towns of Alton and Petersfield. Being very large and extenſive it abuts on twelve pariſhes, two of which are in Suſſex, viz. Trotton and Rogate. If you begin from the ſouth and proceed weſtward the adjacent pariſhes are Emſhot, Newton Valence, Faringdon, Harteley Mauduit, Great Ward le ham, Kingſley, Hedleigh, Bramſhot, Trotton, Rogate, Lyſſe, and Greatham. The ſoils of this diſtrict are almoſt as various and diverſified as the views and aſpects. The high part to the ſouth-weſt conſiſts of a vaſt hill of chalk, riſing three [2] hundred feet above the village; and is divided into a ſheep down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood called The Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the moſt lovely of all foreſt trees, whether we conſider it's ſmooth rind or bark, it's gloſſy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs. The down, or ſheep-walk, is a pleaſing park-like ſpot, of about one mile by half that ſpace, jutting out on the verge of the hill-country, where it begins to break down into the plains, and commanding a very engaging view, being an aſſemblage of hill, dale, wood-lands, heath, and water. The proſpect is bounded to the ſouth-eaſt and eaſt by the vaſt range of mountains called The Suſſex Downs, by Guild-down near Guildford, and by the Downs round Dorking, and Ryegate in Surrey, to the north-eaſt, which altogether, with the country beyond Alton and Farnham, form a noble and ex⯑tenſive outline.

At the foot of this hill, one ſtage or ſtep from the uplands, lies the village, which conſiſts of one ſingle ſtraggling ſtreet, three quarters of a mile in length, in a ſheltered vale, and running parallel with The Hanger. The houſes are divided from the hill by a vein of ſtiff clay (good wheat-land), yet ſtand on a rock of white ſtone, little in appearance removed from chalk; but ſeems ſo far from being calcarious, that it endures extreme heat. Yet that the freeſtone ſtill preſerves ſomewhat that is analogous to chalk, is plain from the beeches which deſcend as low as thoſe rocks extend, and no farther, and thrive as well on them, where the ground is ſteep, as on the chalks.

The cart-way of the village divides, in a remarkable manner, two very incongruous ſoils. To the ſouth-weſt is a rank clay, that requires the labour of years to render it mellow; while the gardens to the north-eaſt, and ſmall encloſures behind, conſiſt of a [3] warm, forward, crumbling mould, called black malm, which ſeems highly ſaturated with vegetable and animal manure; and theſe may perhaps have been the original ſite of the town; while the woods and coverts might extend down to the oppoſite bank.

At each end of the village, which runs from ſouth-eaſt to north-weſt, ariſes a ſmall rivulet: that at the north-weſt end fre⯑quently fails; but the other is a fine perennial ſpring, little in⯑fluenced by drought or wet ſeaſons, called Well-head ^a. This breaks out of ſome high grounds joining to Nore Hill, a noble chalk promontory, remarkable for ſending forth two ſtreams into two different ſeas. The one to the ſouth becomes a branch of the Arun, running to Arundel, and ſo falling into the Britiſh channel: the other to the north. The Selborne ſtream makes one branch of the Wey; and, meeting the Black-down ſtream at Hedleigh, and the Alton and Farnham ſtream at Tilford-bridge, ſwells into a conſiderable river, navigable at Godalming; from whence it paſſes to Guildford, and ſo into the Thames at Weybridge; and thus at the Nore into the German ocean.

Our wells, at an average, run to about ſixty-three feet, and when ſunk to that depth ſeldon fail; but produce a fine limpid water, ſoft to the taſte, and much commended by thoſe who drink the pure element, but which does not lather well with ſoap.

To the north-weſt, north and eaſt of the village, is a range of fair encloſures, conſiſting of what is called a white malm, a ſort of [4] rotten or rubble ſtone, which, when turned up to the froſt and rain, moulders to pieces, and becomes manure to itſelf^b.

Still on to the north-eaſt, and a ſtep lower, is a kind of white land, neither chalk nor clay, neither fit for paſture nor for the plough, yet kindly for hops, which root deep into the freeſtone, and have their poles and wood for charcoal growing juſt at hand. This white ſoil produces the brighteſt hops.

As the pariſh ſtill inclines down towards Wolmer-foreſt, at the juncture of the clays and ſand the ſoil becomes a wet, ſandy loam, remarkable for timber, and infamous for roads. The oaks of Temple and Blackmoor ſtand high in the eſtimation of purveyors, and have furniſhed much naval timber; while the trees on the freeſtone grow large, but are what workmen call ſhakey, and ſo brittle as often to fall to pieces in ſawing. Beyond the ſandy loam the ſoil becomes an hungry lean ſand, till it mingles with the foreſt; and will produce little without the aſſiſtance of lime and turnips.

LETTER II. TO THE SAME.

IN the court of Norton farm houſe, a manor farm to the north-weſt of the village, on the white malms, ſtood within theſe twenty years a broad-leaved elm, or wych hazel, ulmus folio latiſſimo ſcabro of Ray, which, though it had loſt a conſiderable leading [5] bough in the great ſtorm in the year 1703, equal to a moderate tree, yet, when felled, contained eight loads of timber; and, be⯑ing too bulky for a carriage, was ſawn off at ſeven feet above the butt, where it meaſured near eight feet in the diameter. This elm I mention to ſhew to what a bulk planted elms may attain; as this tree muſt certainly have been ſuch from it's ſituation.

In the centre of the village, and near the church, is a ſquare piece of ground ſurrounded by houſes, and vulgarly called The Pleſtor ^c. In the midſt of this ſpot ſtood, in old times, a vaſt oak, with a ſhort ſquat body, and huge horizontal arms extending almoſt to the extremity of the area. This venerable tree, ſur⯑rounded with ſtone ſteps, and ſeats above them, was the delight of old and young, and a place of much reſort in ſummer even⯑ings; where the former ſat in grave debate, while the latter fro⯑licked and danced before them. Long might it have ſtood, had not the amazing tempeſt in 1703 overturned it at once, to the infinite regret of the inhabitants, and the vicar, who beſtowed ſeveral pounds in ſetting it in it's place again: but all his care could not avail; the tree ſprouted for a time, then withered and died. This oak I mention to ſhew to what a bulk planted oaks alſo may arrive: and planted this tree muſt certainly have been, as will appear from what will be ſaid farther concerning this area, when we enter on the antiquities of Selborne.

On the Blackmoor eſtate there is a ſmall wood called Loſel's, of a few acres, that was lately furniſhed with a ſet of oaks of a pe⯑culiar growth and great value; they were tall and taper like firs, but ſtanding near together had very ſmall heads, only a little bruſh without any large limbs. About twenty years ago the [6] bridge at the Toy, near Hampton Court, being much decayed, ſome trees were wanted for the repairs that were fifty feet long without bough, and would meaſure twelve inches diameter at the little end. Twenty ſuch trees did a purveyor find in this little wood, with this advantage, that many of them anſwered the deſcrip⯑tion at ſixty feet. Theſe trees were ſold for twenty pounds apiece.

In the centre of this grove there ſtood an oak, which, though ſhapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excreſcence about the middle of the ſtem. On this a pair of ravens had fixed their reſidence for ſuch a ſeries of years, that the oak was diſtinguiſhed by the title of The Raven-tree. Many were the at⯑tempts of the neighbouring youths to get at this eyry: the diffi⯑culty whetted their inclinations, and each was ambitious of ſur⯑mounting the arduous taſk. But, when they arrived at the ſwelling, it jutted out ſo in their way, and was ſo far beyond their graſp, that the moſt daring lads were awed, and acknowledged the un⯑dertaking to be too hazardous. So the ravens built on, neſt upon neſt, in perfect ſecurity, till the fatal day arrived in which the wood was to be levelled. It was in the month of February, when thoſe birds uſually ſit. The ſaw was applied to the butt, the wedges were inſerted into the opening, the woods echoed to the heavy blows of the beetle or mallet, the tree nodded to it's fall; but ſtill the dam ſat on. At laſt, when it gave way, the bird was flung from her neſt; and, though her parental affection deſerved a better fate, was whipped down by the twigs, which brought her dead to the ground.

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LETTER III. TO THE SAME.

THE foſſil-ſhells of this diſtrict, and ſorts of ſtone, ſuch as have fallen within my obſervation, muſt not be paſſed over in ſilence. And firſt I muſt mention, as a great curioſity, a ſpecimen that was plowed up in the chalky fields, near the ſide of the Down, and given to me for the ſingularity of it's appearance, which, to an incurious eye, ſeems like a petrified fiſh of about four inches long, the cardo paſſing for an head and mouth. It is in reality a bivalve of the Linnaean Genus of Mytilus, and the ſpecies of Criſta Galli; called by Liſter, Raſtellum; by Rumphius, Oſtreum plicatum minus; by D'Argenville, Auris Porci, ſ. Criſta Galli; and by thoſe who make collections cock's comb. Though I applied to ſeveral ſuch in London, I never could meet with an entire ſpecimen; nor could I ever find in books any engraving from a perfect one. In the ſuperb muſeum at Leiceſter-houſe permiſſion was given me to exa⯑mine for this article; and, though I was diſappointed as to the foſſil, I was highly gratified with the ſight of ſeveral of the ſhells themſelves in high preſervation. This bivalve is only known to inhabit the Indian ocean, where it fixes itſelf to a zoophyte, known by the name Gorgonia. The curious foldings of the ſuture the one into the other, the alternate flutings or grooves, and the curved form of my ſpecimen being much eaſier expreſſed by the pencil than by words, I have cauſed it to be drawn and engraved.

Cornua Ammonis are very common about this village. As we were cutting an inclining path up The Hanger, the labourers found [8] them frequently on that ſteep, juſt under the ſoil, in the chalk, and of a conſiderable ſize. In the lane above Well-head, in the way to Emſhot, they abound in the bank in a darkiſh ſort of marl; and are uſually very ſmall and ſoft; but in Clay's Pond, a little far⯑ther on, at the end of the pit, where the ſoil is dug out for ma⯑nure, I have occaſionally obſerved them of large dimenſions, per⯑haps fourteen or ſixteen inches in diameter. But as theſe did not conſiſt of firm ſtone, but were formed of a kind of terra lapidoſa, or hardened clay, as ſoon as they were expoſed to the rains and froſt they mouldered away. Theſe ſeemed as if they were a very recent production. In the chalk-pit, at the north-weſt end of The Hanger, large nautili are ſometimes obſerved.

In the very thickeſt ſtrata of our freeſtone, and at conſiderable depths, well-diggers often find large ſcallops or pectines, having both ſhells deeply ſtriated, and ridged and furrowed alternately. They are highly impregnated with, if not wholly compoſed of, the ſtone of the quarry.

LETTER IV. TO THE SAME.

AS in a former letter the freeſtone of this place has been only mentioned incidentally, I ſhall here become more particular.

This ſtone is in great requeſt for hearth-ſtones, and the beds of ovens: and in lining of lime-kilns it turns to good account; for the workmen uſe ſandy loam inſtead of mortar; the ſand of which fluxes, ^d and runs by the intenſe heat, and ſo caſes over the [9] whole face of the kiln with a ſtrong vitrified coat like glaſs, that it is well preſerved from injuries of weather, and endures thirty or forty years. When chiſeled ſmooth, it makes elegant fronts for houſes, equal in colour and grain to the Bath ſtone; and ſu⯑perior in one reſpect, that, when ſeaſoned, it does not ſcale. De⯑cent chimney-pieces are worked from it of much cloſer and finer grain than Portland; and rooms are floored with it; but it proves rather too ſoft for this purpoſe. It is a freeſtone, cutting in all directions; yet has ſomething of a grain parallel with the horizon, and therefore ſhould not be ſurbedded, but laid in the ſame poſition that it grows in the quarry^e. On the ground abroad this fire⯑ſtone will not ſucceed for pavements, becauſe, probably ſome de⯑gree of ſaltneſs prevailing within it, the rain tears the ſlabs to pieces^f. Though this ſtone is too hard to be acted on by vinegar; yet both the white part, and even the blue rag, ferments ſtrongly in mineral acids. Though the white ſtone will not bear wet, yet in every quarry at intervals there are thin ſtrata of blue rag, which reſiſt rain and froſt; and are excellent for pitching of ſtables, paths and courts, and for building of dry walls againſt banks; a valuable ſpecies of fencing, much in uſe in this village, and for mending of roads. This rag is rugged and ſtubborn, and will not hew to a ſmooth face; but is very durable: yet, as theſe ſtrata are ſhallow and lie deep, large quantities cannot be procured but at conſider⯑able expenſe. Among the blue rags turn up ſome blocks tinged [10] with a ſtain of yellow or ruſt colour, which ſeem to be nearly as laſt⯑ing as the blue; and every now and then balls of a friable ſub⯑ſtance, like ruſt of iron, called ruſt balls.

In Wolmer Foreſt I ſee but one ſort of ſtone, called by the work⯑men ſand, or foreſt-ſtone. This is generally of the colour of ruſty iron, and might probably be worked as iron ore; is very hard and heavy, and of a firm, compact texture, and compoſed of a ſmall roundiſh cryſtalline grit, cemented together by a brown, terrene, ferruginous matter; will not cut without difficulty, nor eaſily ſtrike fire with ſteel. Being often found in broad flat pieces, it makes good pavement for paths about houſes, never becoming ſlippery in froſt or rain; is excellent for dry walls, and is ſometimes uſed in buildings. In many parts of that waſte it lies ſcattered on the ſurface of the ground; but is dug on Weaver's Down, a vaſt hill on the eaſtern verge of that foreſt, where the pits are ſhallow, and the ſtratum thin. This ſtone is imperiſhable.

From a notion of rendering their work the more elegant, and giving it a finiſh, maſons chip this ſtone into ſmall fragments about the ſize of the head of a large nail; and then ſtick the pieces into the wet mortar along the joints of their freeſtone walls: this em⯑belliſhment carries an odd appearance, and has occaſioned ſtrangers ſometimes to aſk us pleaſantly, ‘"whether we faſtened our walls together with tenpenny nails."’

LETTER V. TO THE SAME.

AMONG the ſingularities of this place the two rocky hollow lanes, the one to Alton, and the other to the foreſt, deſerve our attention. Theſe roads, running through the malm lands, are, by the traffick of ages, and the fretting of water, worn down through the firſt ſtratum of our freeſtone, and partly through the ſecond; ſo that they look more like water-courſes than roads; and are bedded with naked rag for furlongs together. In many places they are reduced ſixteen or eighteen feet beneath the level of the fields; and after floods, and in froſts, exhibit very groteſque and wild appearances, from the tangled roots that are twiſted among the ſtrata, and from the torrents ruſhing down their broken ſides; and eſpecially when thoſe caſcades are frozen into icicles, hanging in all the fanciful ſhapes of froſt-work. Theſe rugged gloomy ſcences affright the ladies when they peep down into them from the paths above, and make timid horſemen ſhudder while they ride along them; but de⯑light the naturaliſt with their various botany, and particularly with their curious filices with which they abound.

The manor of Selborne, was it ſtrictly looked after, with all it's kindly aſpects, and all it's ſloping coverts, would ſwarm with game; even now hares, partridges, and pheaſants abound; and in old days woodcocks were as plentiful. There are few quails, be⯑cauſe they more affect open fields than encloſures; after harveſt ſome few land-rails are ſeen.

The pariſh of Selborne, by taking in ſo much of the foreſt, is a vaſt diſtrict. Thoſe who tread the bounds are employed part of [12] three days in the buſineſs, and are of opinion that the outline, in all it's curves and indentings, does not compriſe leſs than thirty miles.

The village ſtands in a ſheltered ſpot, ſecured by The Hanger from the ſtrong weſterly winds. The air is ſoft, but rather moiſt from the effluvia of ſo many trees; yet perfectly healthy and free from agues.

The quantity of rain that falls on it is very conſiderable, as may be ſuppoſed in ſo woody and mountainous a diſtrict. As my experience in meaſuring the water is but of ſhort date, I am not qualified to give the mean quantity^g. I only know that

The village of Selborne, and large hamlet of Oakhanger, with the ſingle farms, and many ſcattered houſes along the verge of [13] the foreſt, contain upwards of ſix hundred and ſeventy inhabitants^h. [14] We abound with poor; many of whom are ſober and induſ⯑trious, and live comfortably in good ſtone or brick cottages, which are glazed, and have chambers above ſtairs: mud buildings we have none. Beſides the employment from huſbandry, the men work in hop gardens, of which we have many; and fell and bark timber. In the ſpring and ſummer the women weed the corn; and enjoy a ſecond harveſt in September by hop picking. For⯑merly, in the dead months they availed themſelves greatly by ſpinning wool, for making of barragons, a genteel corded ſtuff, much in vogue at that time for ſummer wear; and chiefly manu⯑factured at Alton, a neighbouring town, by ſome of the people called Quakers: but from circumſtances this trade is at an endⁱ. The inhabitants enjoy a good ſhare of health and longevity; and the pariſh ſwarms with children.

LETTER VI. TO THE SAME.

SHOULD I omit to deſcribe with ſome exactneſs the foreſt of Wol⯑mer, of which three fifths perhaps lie in this pariſh, my account of Selborne would be very imperfect, as it is a diſtrict abounding with many curious productions, both animal and vegetable; and has often afforded me much entertainment both as a ſportſman and as a naturaliſt.

[15] The royal foreſt of Wolmer is a tract of land of about ſeven miles in length, by two and a half in breadth, running nearly from North to South, and is abutted on, to begin to the South, and ſo to proceed eaſtward, by the pariſhes of Greatham, Lyſſe, Rogate, and Trotton, in the county of Suſſex; by Bramſhot, Hedleigh, and Kingſley. This royalty conſiſts entirely of ſand covered with heath and fern; but is ſomewhat diverſified with hills and dales, without having one ſtanding tree in the whole extent. In the bottoms, where the waters ſtagnate, are many bogs, which formerly abound⯑ed with ſubterraneous trees; though Dr. Plot ſays poſitively^k, that ‘"there never were any fallen trees hidden in the moſſes of the ſouthern counties."’ But he was miſtaken: for I myſelf have ſeen cottages on the verge of this wild diſtrict, whoſe timbers conſiſted of a black hard wood, looking like oak, which the owners aſſured me they procured from the bogs by probing the ſoil with ſpits, or ſome ſuch inſtruments: but the peat is ſo much cut out, and the moors have been ſo well examined, that none has been found of late^l. Beſides the oak, I have alſo been ſhewn pieces of foſſil-wood of a paler colour, and ſofter nature, which the inhabitants called [16] fir: but, upon a nice examination, and trial by fire, I could diſ⯑cover nothing reſinous in them; and therefore rather ſuppoſe that they were parts of a willow or alder, or ſome ſuch aquatic tree.

This lonely domain is a very agreeable haunt for many ſorts of wild fowls, which not only frequent it in the winter, but breed there in the ſummer; ſuch as lapwings, ſnipes, wild-ducks, and, as I have diſcovered within theſe few years, teals. Partridges in vaſt plenty are bred in good ſeaſons on the verge of this foreſt, into which they love to make excurſions: and in particular, in the dry ſummer of 1740 and 1741, and ſome years after, they ſwarmed to ſuch a degree that parties of unreaſonable ſportſmen killed twenty and ſometimes thirty brace in a day.

But there was a nobler ſpecies of game in this foreſt, now ex⯑tinct, which I have heard old people ſay abounded much before ſhooting flying became ſo common, and that was the heath-cock, black game, or grouſe. When I was a little boy I recollect one coming now and then to my father's table. The laſt pack remem⯑bered was killed about thirty-five years ago; and within theſe ten years one ſolitary grey hen was ſprung by ſome beagles in beating for a hare. The ſportſmen cried out, ‘"A hen pheaſant;"’ but a gentleman preſent, who had often ſeen grouſe in the north of Eng⯑land, aſſured me that it was a greyhen.

Nor does the loſs of our black game prove the only gap in the Fauna Selbornienſis; for another beautiful link in the chain of beings [17] is wanting, I mean the red deer, which toward the beginning of this century amounted to about five hundred head, and made a ſtately ap⯑pearance. There is an old keeper, now alive, named Adams, whoſe great grandfather (mentioned in a perambulation taken in 1635) grandfather, father and ſelf, enjoyed the head keeperſhip of Wol⯑mer foreſt in ſucceſſion for more than an hundred years. This perſon aſſures me, that his father has often told him, that Queen Anne, as ſhe was journeying on the Portſmouth road, did not think the foreſt of Wolmer beneath her royal regard. For ſhe came out of the great road at Lippock, which is juſt by, and, repoſing herſelf on a bank ſmoothed for that purpoſe, lying about half a mile to the eaſt of Wolmer-pond, and ſtill called Queen's-bank, ſaw with great complacency and ſatisfaction the whole herd of red deer brought by the keepers along the yale before her, conſiſting then of about five hundred head. A ſight this worthy the attention of the greateſt ſovereign! But he farther adds that, by means of the Wal⯑tham blacks, or, to uſe his own expreſſion, as ſoon as they began blacking, they were reduced to about fifty head, and ſo con⯑tinued decreaſing till the time of the late Duke of Cumberland. It is now more than thirty years ago that his highneſs ſent down an huntſman, and ſix yeomen-prickers, in ſcarlet jackets laced with gold, attended by the ſtag-hounds; ordering them to take every deer in this foreſt alive, and to convey them in carts to Windſor. In the courſe of the ſummer they caught every ſtag, ſome of which ſhewed extraordinary diverſion: but, in the following winter, when the hinds were alſo carried off, ſuch fine chaſes were exhibited as ſerved the country people for matter of talk and wonder for years afterwards. I ſaw myſelf one of the yeomen-prickers ſingle out a ſtag from the herd, and muſt confeſs that it was the moſt curious feat of activity I ever beheld, ſuperior to any thing in Mr. Aſtley's [18] riding-ſchool. The exertions made by the horſe and deer much exceeded all my expectations; though the former greatly excelled the latter in ſpeed. When the devoted deer was ſeparated from his companions, they gave him, by their watches, law, as they called it, for twenty minutes; when, ſounding their horns, the ſtop-dogs were permitted to purſue, and a moſt gallant ſcene enſued.

LETTER VII. TO THE SAME.

THOUGH large herds of deer do much harm to the neighbour⯑hood, yet the injury to the morals of the people is of more mo⯑ment than the loſs of their crops. The temptation is irreſiſtible; for moſt men are ſportſmen by conſtitution: and there is ſuch an inherent ſpirit for hunting in human nature, as ſcarce any inhibi⯑tions can reſtrain. Hence, towards the beginning of this cen⯑tury all this country was wild about deer-ſtealing. Unleſs he was a hunter, as they affected to call themſelves, no young perſon was allowed to be poſſeſſed of manhood or gallantry. The Waltham blacks at length committed ſuch enormities, that government was forced to interfere with that ſevere and ſanguinary act called the black act ^m, which now comprehends more felonies than any law that ever was framed before. And, therefore, a late biſhop of Wincheſter, [19] when urged to re-ſtock Waltham-chaſe ⁿ, refuſed, from a motive worthy of a prelate, replying that ‘"it had done miſchief enough already."’

Our old race of deer-ſtealers are hardly extinct yet: it was but a little while ago that, over their ale, they uſed to recount the ex⯑ploits of their youth; ſuch as watching the pregnant hind to her lair, and, when the calf was dropped, paring it's feet with a penknife to the quick to prevent it's eſcape, till it was large and fat enough to be killed; the ſhooting at one of their neighbours with a bullet in a turnip-field by moonſhine, miſtaking him for a deer; and the loſing a dog in the following extraordinary manner:—Some fellows, ſuſpecting that a calf new-fallen was depoſited in a certain ſpot of thick fern, went, with a lurcher, to ſurpriſe it; when the parent⯑hind ruſhed out of the brake, and, taking a vaſt ſpring with all her feet cloſe together, pitched upon the neck of the dog, and broke it ſhort in two.

Another temptation to idleneſs and ſporting was a number of rabbits, which poſſeſſed all the hillocks and dry places: but theſe being inconvenient to the huntſmen, on account of their burrows, when they came to take away the deer, they permitted the coun⯑try people to deſtroy them all.

Such foreſts and waſtes, when their allurements to irregularities are removed, are of conſiderable ſervice to neighbourhoods that verge upon them, by furniſhing them with peat and turf for their firing; with fuel for the burning their lime; and with aſhes for their graſſes; and by maintaining their geeſe and their ſtock of young cattle at little or no expenſe.

The manor-farm of the pariſh of Greatham has an admitted [20] claim, I ſee, (by an old record taken from the Tower of London) of turning all live ſtock on the foreſt, at proper ſeaſons, bidentibus exceptis ^o. The reaſon, I preſume, why ſheep^p are excluded, is, becauſe, being ſuch cloſe grazers, they would pick out all the fineſt graſſes, and hinder the deer from thriving.

Though (by ſtatute 4 and 5 W. and Mary) c. 23. ‘"to burn on any waſte, between Candlemas and Midſummer, any grig, ling, heath and furze, goſs or fern, is puniſhable with whipping and confinement in the houſe of correction;"’ yet, in this foreſt, about March or April, according to the dryneſs of the ſeaſon, ſuch vaſt heath-fires are lighted up, that they often get to a maſ⯑terleſs head, and, catching the hedges, have ſometimes been communicated to the underwoods, woods, and coppices, where great damage has enſued. The plea for theſe burnings is, that, when the old coat of heath, &c. is conſumed, young will ſprout up, and afford much tender brouze for cattle; but, where there is large old furze, the fire, following the roots, conſumes the very ground; ſo that for hundreds of acres nothing is to be ſeen but ſmother and deſolation, the whole circuit round looking like the cinders of a volcano; and, the ſoil being quite exhauſted, no traces of vegetation are to be found for years. Theſe confla⯑grations, as they take place uſually with a north-eaſt or eaſt wind, much annoy this village with their ſmoke, and often alarm the country; and, once in particular, I remember that a gentleman, who lives beyond Andover, coming to my houſe, when he got on the downs between that town and Wincheſter, at twenty-five miles [21] diſtance, was ſurpriſed much with ſmoke and a hot ſmell of fire; and concluded that Alresford was in flames; but, when he came to that town, he then had apprehenſions for the next village, and ſo on to the end of his journey.

On two of the moſt conſpicuous eminences of this foreſt ſtand two arbours or bowers, made of the boughs of oaks; the one called Waldon-lodge, the other Brimſtone-lodge: theſe the keepers renew annually on the feaſt of St. Barnabas, taking the old materials for a perquiſite. The farm called Blackmoor, in this pariſh, is obliged to find the poſts and bruſh-wood for the former; while the farms at Greatham, in rotation, furniſh for the latter; and are all enjoined to cut and deliver the materials at the ſpot. This cuſtom I men⯑tion, becauſe I look upon it to be of very remote antiquity.

LETTER VIII. TO THE SAME.

ON the verge of the foreſt, as it is now circumſcribed, are three conſiderable lakes, two in Oakhanger, of which I have nothing particular to ſay; and one called Bin's, or Bean's pond, which is worthy the attention of a naturaliſt or a ſportſman. For, being crowded at the upper end with willows, and with the carex ceſpitoſa ^q, it affords ſuch a ſafe and pleaſing ſhelter to wild ducks, [22] teals, ſnipes, &c. that they breed there. In the winter this covert is alſo frequented by foxes, and ſometimes by pheaſants; and the bogs produce many curious plants. [For which conſult letter XLII. to Mr. Barrington.]

By a perambulation of Wolmer foreſt and The Holt, made in 1635, and in the eleventh year of Charles the Firſt (which now lies before me), it appears that the limits of the former are much circum⯑ſcribed. For, to ſay nothing of the farther ſide, with which I am not ſo well acquainted, the bounds on this ſide, in old times, came into Binſwood; and extended to the ditch of Ward le ham-park, in which ſtands the curious mount called King John's Hill, and Lodge Hill; and to the verge of Hartley Mauduit, called Mauduit-hatch; comprehending alſo Short-heath, Oakhanger, and Oakwoods; a large diſtrict, now private property, though once belonging to the royal domain.

It is remarkable that the term purlieu is never once mentioned in this long roll of parchment. It contains, beſides the perambulation, a rough eſtimate of the value of the timbers, which were conſider⯑able, growing at that time in the diſtrict of The Holt; and enu⯑merates the officers, ſuperior and inferior, of thoſe joint foreſts, for the time being, and their oſtenſible fees and perquiſites. In thoſe days, as at preſent, there were hardly any trees in Wolmer foreſt.

Within the preſent limits of the foreſt are three conſiderable lakes, Hogmer, Cranmer, and Wolmer; all of which are ſtocked with carp, tench, eels, and perch: but the fiſh do not thrive well, becauſe the water is hungry, and the bottoms are a naked ſand.

A circumſtance reſpecting theſe ponds, though by no means peculiar to them, I cannot paſs over in ſilence; and that is, that inſtinct by which in ſummer all the kine, whether oxen, cows, [23] calves, or heifers, retire conſtantly to the water during the hotter hours; where, being more exempt from flies, and inhaling the cool⯑neſs of that element, ſome belly deep, and ſome only to mid-leg, they ruminate and ſolace themſelves from about ten in the morning till four in the afternoon, and then return to their feeding. During this great proportion of the day they drop much dung, in which inſects neſtle; and ſo ſupply food for the fiſh, which would be poorly ſubſiſted but from this contingency. Thus Nature, who is a great economiſt, converts the recreation of one animal to the ſupport of another! Thomſon, who was a nice obſerver of natural occur⯑rences, did not let this pleaſing circumſtance eſcape him. He ſays, in his Summer,

Wolmer-pond, ſo called, I ſuppoſe, for eminence ſake, is a vaſt lake for this part of the world, containing, in it's whole circumfe⯑rence, 2646 yards, or very near a mile and an half. The length of the north-weſt and oppoſite ſide is about 704 yards, and the breadth of the ſouth-weſt end about 456 yards. This meaſure⯑ment, which I cauſed to be made with good exactneſs, gives an area of about ſixty-ſix acres, excluſive of a large irregular arm at the north-eaſt corner, which we did not take into the reckoning.

On the face of this expanſe of waters, and perfectly ſecure from fowlers, lie all day long, in the winter ſeaſon, vaſt flocks of ducks, teals, and wigeons, of various denominations; where they preen and ſolace, and reſt themſelves, till towards ſun-ſet, when they iſſue forth in little parties (for in their natural ſtate they are all [24] birds of the night) to feed in the brooks and meadows; returning again with the dawn of the morning. Had this lake an arm or two more, and were it planted round with thick covert (for now it is perfectly naked), it might make a valuable decoy.

Yet neither it's extent, nor the clearneſs of it's water, nor the reſort of various and curious fowls, nor it's pictureſque groups of cattle, can render this meer ſo remarkable as the great quantity of coins that were found in it's bed about forty years ago. But, as ſuch diſcoveries more properly belong to the antiquities of this place, I ſhall ſuppreſs all particulars for the preſent, till I enter profeſſedly on my ſeries of letters reſpecting the more remote hiſtory of this village and diſtrict.

LETTER IX. TO THE SAME.

BY way of ſupplement, I ſhall trouble you once more on this ſubject, to inform you that Wolmer, with her ſiſter foreſt Ayles Holt, alias Alice Holt ^q, as it is called in old records, is held by grant from the crown for a term of years.

The grantees that the author remembers are Brigadier-General Emanuel Scroope Howe, and his lady, Ruperta, who was a natural daughter of Prince Rupert by Margaret Hughs; a Mr. Mordaunt, of [25] the Peterborough family, who married a dowager Lady Pembroke; Henry Bilſon Legge and lady; and now Lord Stawel, their ſon.

The lady of General Howe lived to an advanced age, long ſurviving her huſband; and, at her death, left behind her many curious pieces of mechaniſm of her father's conſtructing, who was a diſtinguiſhed mechanic and artiſt^r, as well as warrior; and, among the reſt, a very complicated clock, lately in poſſeſſion of Mr. Elmer, the celebrated game-painter at Farnham, in the county of Surrey.

Though theſe two foreſts are only parted by a narrow range of encloſures, yet no two ſoils can be more different: for The Holt conſiſts of a ſtrong loam, of a miry nature, carrying a good turf, and abounding with oaks that grow to be large timber; while Wolmer is nothing but a hungry, ſandy, barren waſte.

The former, being all in the pariſh of Binſted, is about two miles in extent from north to ſouth, and near as much from eaſt to weſt; and contains within it many woodlands and lawns, and the great lodge where the grantees reſide; and a ſmaller lodge called Gooſe-green; and is abutted on by the pariſhes of Kingſley, Frinſham, Farnham, and Bentley; all of which have right of com⯑mon.

One thing is remarkable; that, though The Holt has been of old well ſtocked with fallow-deer, unreſtrained by any pales or fences more than a common hedge, yet they were never ſeen within the limits of Wolmer; nor were the red deer of Wolmer ever known to haunt the thickets or glades of The Holt.

At preſent the deer of The Holt are much thinned and reduced by the night-hunters, who perpetually haraſs them in ſpite of the [26] efforts of numerous keepers, and the ſevere penalties that have been put in force againſt them as often as they have been detected, and rendered liable to the laſh of the law. Neither fines nor im⯑priſonments can deter them: ſo impoſſible is it to extinguiſh the ſpirit of ſporting, which ſeems to be inherent in human nature.

General Howe turned out ſome German wild boars and ſows in his foreſts, to the great terror of the neighbourhood; and, at one time, a wild bull or buffalo: but the country roſe upon them and deſtroyed them.

A very large fall of timber, conſiſting of about one thouſand oaks, has been cut this ſpring (viz. 1784) in The Holt foreſt; one fifth of which, it is ſaid, belongs to the grantee, Lord Stawel. He lays claim alſo to the lop and top: but the poor of the pariſhes of Binſted and Frinſham, Bentley and Kingſley, aſſert that it belongs to them; and, aſſembling in a riotous manner, have ac⯑tually taken it all away. One man, who keeps a team, has carried home, for his ſhare, forty ſtacks of wood. Forty-five of theſe people his Lordſhip has ſerved with actions. Theſe trees, which were very ſound, and in high perfection, were winter-cut, viz. in February and March, before the bark would run. In old times The Holt was eſtimated to be eighteen miles, computed mea⯑ſure, from water-carriage, viz. from the town of Chertſey, on the Thames; but now it is not half that diſtance, ſince the Wey is made navigable up to the town of Godalming in the county of Surrey.

LETTER X. TO THE SAME.

IT has been my misfortune never to have had any neighbours whoſe ſtudies have led them towards the purſuit of natural know⯑ledge: ſo that, for want of a companion to quicken my induſtry and ſharpen my attention, I have made but ſlender progreſs in a kind of information to which I have been attached from my child⯑hood.

As to ſwallows (hirundines ruſticae) being found in a torpid ſtate during the winter in the iſle of Wight, or any part of this country, I never heard any ſuch account worth attending to. But a clergy⯑man, of an inquiſitive turn, aſſures me, that, when he was a great boy, ſome workmen, in pulling down the battlements of a church tower early in the ſpring, found two or three ſwifts (hirundines apodes) among the rubbiſh, which were, at firſt appearance, dead; but, on being carried toward the fire, revived. He told me that, out of his great care to preſerve them, he put them in a paper-bag, and hung them by the kitchen fire, where they were ſuffocated.

Another intelligent perſon has informed me that, while he was a ſchoolboy at Brighthelmſtone, in Suſſex, a great fragment of the chalk-cliff fell down one ſtormy winter on the beach; and that many people found ſwallows among the rubbiſh: but, on my queſtioning him whether he ſaw any of thoſe birds himſelf; to my no ſmall diſappointment, he anſwered me in the negative; but that others aſſured him they did.

[28] Young broods of ſwallows began to appear this year on July the eleventh, and young martins (hirundines urbicae) were then fledged in their neſts. Both ſpecies will breed again once. For I ſee by my fauna of laſt year, that young broods came forth ſo late as September the eighteenth. Are not theſe late hatchings more in favour of hiding than migration? Nay, ſome young martins remained in their neſts laſt year ſo late as September the twenty-ninth; and yet they totally diſappeared with us by the fifth of October.

How ſtrange is it that the ſwift, which ſeems to live exactly the ſame life with the ſwallow and houſe-martin, ſhould leave us before the middle of Auguſt invariably! while the latter ſtay often till the middle of October; and once I ſaw numbers of houſe-martins on the ſeventh of November. The martins and red-wing fieldfares were flying in ſight together; an uncommon aſſem⯑blage of ſummer and winter-birds!

A little yellow bird (it is either a ſpecies of the alauda trivialis, or rather perhaps of the motacilla trochilus) ſtill continues to make a ſibilous ſhivering noiſe in the tops of tall woods. The ſtoparola of Ray (for which we have as yet no name in theſe parts) is called; in your Zoology, the fly-catcher. There is one circumſtance charac⯑teriſtic of this bird, which ſeems to have eſcaped obſervation, and that is, it takes it's ſtand on the top of ſome ſtake or poſt, from whence it ſprings forth on it's prey, catching a fly in the air, and hardly ever touching the ground, but returning ſtill to the ſame ſtand for many times together.

I perceive there are more than one ſpecies of the motacilla trochilus: Mr. Derham ſuppoſes, in Ray's Philoſ. Letters, that he has diſcovered three. In theſe there is again an inſtance of ſome very common birds that have as yet no Engliſh name.

[29] Mr. Stillingfleet makes a queſtion whether the black-cap (motacilla atricapilla) be a bird of paſſage or not: I think there is no doubt of it: for, in April, in the firſt fine weather, they come trooping, all at once, into theſe parts, but are never ſeen in the winter. They are delicate ſongſters.

Numbers of ſnipes breed every ſummer in ſome moory ground on the verge of this pariſh. It is very amuſing to ſee the cock bird on wing at that time, and to hear his piping and humming notes.

I have had no opportunity yet of procuring any of thoſe mice which I mentioned to you in town. The perſon that brought me the laſt ſays they are plenty in harveſt, at which time I will take care to get more; and will endeavour to put the matter out of doubt, whether it be a non-deſcript ſpecies or not.

I ſuſpect much there may be two ſpecies of water-rats. Ray ſays, and Linnaeus after him, that the water-rat is web-footed behind. Now I have diſcovered a rat on the banks of our little ſtream that is not web-footed, and yet is an exellent ſwimmer and diver: it anſwers exactly to the mus amphibius of Linnaeus (See Syſt. Nat.) which he ſays ‘"natat in foſſis & urinatur."’ I ſhould be glad to procure one ‘"plantis palmatis."’ Linnaeus ſeems to be in a puzzle about his mus amphibius, and to doubt whether it differs from his mus terreſtris; which if it be, as he allows, the ‘"mus agreſtis capite grandi brachyuros"’ of Ray, is widely different from the water-rat, both in ſize, make, and manner of life.

As to the falco, which I mentioned in town, I ſhall take the liberty to ſend it down to you into Wales; preſuming on your candour, that you will excuſe me if it ſhould appear as familiar to you as it is ſtrange to me. Though mutilated ‘"qualem dices . . . antehac fuiſſe, tales cum ſint reliquiae!"’

[30] It haunted a marſhy piece of ground in queſt of wild-ducks and ſnipes: but, when it was ſhot, had juſt knocked down a rook, which it was tearing in pieces. I cannot make it anſwer to any of our Engliſh hawks; neither could I find any like it at the curious exhibition of ſtuffed birds in Spring-Gardens. I found it nailed up at the end of a barn, which is the countryman's muſeum.

The pariſh I live in is a very abrupt, uneven country, full of hills and woods, and therefore full of birds.

LETTER XI. TO THE SAME.

IT will not be without impatience that I ſhall wait for your thoughts with regard to the falco; as to it's weight, breadth, &c. I wiſh I had ſet them down at the time: but, to the beſt of my remembrance, it weighed two pounds and eight ounces, and mea⯑ſured, from wing to wing, thirty-eight inches. It's cere and feet were yellow, and the circle of it's eyelids a bright yellow. As it had been killed ſome days, and the eyes were ſunk, I could make no good obſervation on the colour of the pupils and the irides.

The moſt unuſual birds I ever obſerved in theſe parts were a pair of hoopoes (upupa), which came ſeveral years ago in the ſummer, and frequented an ornamented piece of ground, which joins to my garden, for ſome weeks. They uſed to march about in a ſtately manner, feeding in the walks, many times in the day; and ſeemed [31] diſpoſed to breed in my outlet; but were frighted and perſecuted by idle boys, who would never let them be at reſt.

Three groſs-beaks (loxia coccothrauſtes) appeared ſome years ago in my fields, in the winter; one of which I ſhot: ſince that, now and then one is occaſionally ſeen in the ſame dead ſeaſon.

A croſs-bill (loxia curviroſtra) was killed laſt year in this neigh⯑bourhood.

Our ſtreams, which are ſmall, and riſe only at the end of the village, yield nothing but the bull's-head or miller's-thumb (gobius fluviatilis capitatus), the trout (trutta fluviatilis), the eel (anguilla), the lampern (lampaetra parva et fluviatilis), and the ſtickle-back (piſciculus aculeatus).

We are twenty miles from the ſea, and almoſt as many from a great river, and therefore ſee but little of ſea-birds. As to wild fowls, we have a few teems of ducks bred in the moors where the ſnipes breed; and multitudes of widgeons and teals in hard weather frequent our lakes in the foreſt.

Having ſome acquaintance with a tame brown owl, I find that it caſts up the fur of mice, and the feathers of birds in pellets, after the manner of hawks: when full, like a dog, it hides what it can⯑not eat.

The young of the barn-owl are not eaſily raiſed, as they want a conſtant ſupply of freſh mice: whereas the young of the brown owl will eat indiſcriminately all that is brought; ſnails, rats, kittens, puppies, magpies, and any kind of carrion or offal.

The houſe-martins have eggs ſtill, and ſquab-young. The laſt ſwift I obſerved was about the twenty-firſt of Auguſt; it was a ſtraggler.

Red-ſtarts, fly-catchers, white-throats, and reguli non criſtati, ſtill appear; but I have ſeen no black-caps lately.

[32] I forgot to mention that I once ſaw, in Chriſt Church college quadrangle in Oxford, on a very ſunny warm morning, a houſe martin flying about, and ſettling on the parapets, ſo late as the twentieth of November.

At preſent I know only two ſpecies of bats, the common veſpertilio murinus and the veſpertilio auribus.

I was much entertained laſt ſummer with a tame bat, which would take flies out of a perſon's hand. If you gave it any thing to eat, it brought it's wings round before the mouth, hovering and hiding it's head in the manner of birds of prey when they feed. The adroitneſs it ſhewed in ſhearing off the wings of the flies, which were always rejected, was worthy of obſervation, and pleaſed me much. Inſects ſeemed to be moſt acceptable, though it did not refuſe raw fleſh when offered: ſo that the notion, that bats go down chimnies and gnaw men's bacon, ſeems no improbable ſtory. While I amuſed myſelf with this wonderful quadruped, I ſaw it ſeveral times confute the vulgar opinion, that bats when down on a flat furface cannot get on the wing again, by riſing with great eaſe from the floor. It ran, I obſerved, with more diſpatch than I was aware of; but in a moſt ridiculous and groteſque manner.

Bats drink on the wing, like ſwallows, by ſipping the ſurface, as they play over pools and ſtreams. They love to frequent waters, not only for the ſake of drinking, but on account of in⯑ſects, which are found over them in the greateſt plenty. As I was going, ſome years ago, pretty late, in a boat from Richmond to Sunbury, on a warm ſummer's evening, I think I ſaw myriads of bats between the two places; the air ſwarmed with them all along the Thames, ſo that hundreds were in ſight at a time.

LETTER XII. TO THE SAME.

IT gave me no ſmall ſatisfaction to hear that the falco ^s turned out an uncommon one. I muſt confeſs I ſhould have been better pleaſed to have heard that I had ſent you a bird that you had never ſeen before; but that, I find, would be a difficult taſk.

I have procured ſome of the mice mentioned in my former letters, a young one and a female with young, both of which I have preſerved in brandy. From the colour, ſhape, ſize, and manner of neſting, I make no doubt but that the ſpecies is non⯑deſcript. They are much ſmaller, and more ſlender, than the mus domeſticus medius of Ray; and have more of the ſquirrel or dor⯑mouſe colour: their belly is white; a ſtraight line along their ſides divides the ſhades of their back and belly. They never enter into houſes; are carried into ricks and barns with the ſheaves; abound in harveſt; and build their neſts amidſt the ſtraws of the corn above the ground, and ſometimes in thiſtles. They breed as many as eight at a litter, in a little round neſt com⯑poſed of the blades of graſs or wheat.

One of theſe neſts I procured this autumn, moſt artificially platted, and compoſed of the blades of wheat; perfectly round, and about the ſize of a cricket-ball; with the aperture ſo inge⯑niouſly cloſed, that there was no diſcovering to what part it [34] belonged. It was ſo compact and well filled, that it would roll acroſs the table without being diſcompoſed, though it contained eight little mice that were naked and blind. As this neſt was perfectly full, how could the dam come at her litter reſpectively ſo as to adminiſter a teat to each? perhaps ſhe opens different places for that purpoſe, adjuſting them again when the buſineſs is over: but ſhe could not poſſibly be contained herſelf in the ball with her young, which moreover would be daily increaſing in bulk. This wonderful procreant cradle, an elegant inſtance of the efforts of inſtinct, was found in a wheat-field ſuſpended in the head of a thiſtle.

A gentleman, curious in birds, wrote me word that his ſervant had ſhot one laſt January, in that ſevere weather, which he believed would puzzle me. I called to ſee it this ſummer, not knowing what to expect: but, the moment I took it in hand, I pronounced it the male garrulus bohemicus or German ſilk-tail, from the five peculiar crimſon tags or points which it carries at the ends of five of the ſhort remiges. It cannot, I ſuppoſe, with any propriety, be called an Engliſh bird: and yet I ſee, by Ray's Philoſoph. Letters, that great flocks of them, feeding on haws, appeared in this kingdom in the winter of 1685.

The mention of haws puts me in mind that there is a total failure of that wild fruit, ſo conducive to the ſupport of many of the winged nation. For the ſame ſevere weather, late in the ſpring, which cut off all the produce of the more tender and curious trees, deſtroyed alſo that of the more hardy and common.

Some birds, haunting with the miſſel-thruſhes, and feeding on the berries of the yew-tree, which anſwered to the deſcription of the merula torquata or ring-ouzel, were lately ſeen in this neigh⯑bourhood. [35] I employed ſome people to procure me a ſpecimen, but without ſucceſs. See Letter VIII.

Query—Might not Canary birds be naturalized to this climate, provided their eggs were put, in the ſpring, into the neſts of ſome of their congeners, as goldfinches, greenfinches, &c.? Before winter perhaps they might be hardened, and able to ſhift for themſelves.

About ten years ago I uſed to ſpend ſome weeks yearly at Sunbury, which is one of thoſe pleaſant villages lying on the Thames, near Hampton-court. In the autumn, I could not help being much amuſed with thoſe myriads of the ſwallow kind which aſſemble in thoſe parts. But what ſtruck me moſt was, that, from the time they began to congregate, forſaking the chimnies and houſes, they rooſted every night in the oſier-beds of the aits of that river. Now this reſorting towards that element, at that ſeaſon of the year, ſeems to give ſome countenance to the northern opinion (ſtrange as it is) of their retiring under water. A Swediſh naturaliſt is ſo much perſuaded of that fact, that he talks, in his calendar of Flora, as familiarly of the ſwallow's going under water in the beginning of September, as he would of his poultry going to rooſt a little before ſunſet.

An obſerving gentleman in London writes me word that he ſaw an houſe-martin, on the twenty-third of laſt October, flying in and out of it's neſt in the Borough. And I myſelf, on the twenty⯑ninth of laſt October (as I was travelling through Oxford), ſaw four or five ſwallows hovering round and ſettling on the roof of the county-hoſpital.

Now is it likely that theſe poor little birds (which perhaps had not been hatched but a few weeks) ſhould, at that late ſeaſon of the [36] year, and from ſo midland a county, attempt a voyage to Goree or Senegal, almoſt as far as the equator ^t?

I acquieſce entirely in your opinion—that, though moſt of the ſwallow kind may migrate, yet that ſome do ſtay behind and hide with us during the winter.

As to the ſhort-winged ſoft-billed birds, which come trooping in ſuch numbers in the ſpring, I am at a loſs even what to ſuſpect about them. I watched them narrowly this year, and ſaw them abound till about Michaelmas, when they appeared no longer. Subſiſt they cannot openly among us, and yet elude the eyes of the inquiſitive: and, as to their hiding, no man pretends to have found any of them in a torpid ſtate in the winter. But with regard to their migration, what difficulties attend that ſuppoſition! that ſuch feeble bad fliers (who the ſummer long never flit but from hedge to hedge) ſhould be able to traverſe vaſt ſeas and continents in order to enjoy milder ſeaſons amidſt the regions of Africa!

LETTER XIII. TO THE SAME.

As in one of your former letters you expreſſed the more ſatisfac⯑tion from my correſpondence on account of my living in the moſt ſoutherly county; ſo now I may return the compliment, and ex⯑pect to have my curioſity gratified by your living much more to the North.

[37] For many years paſt I have obſerved that towards Chriſtmas vaſt flocks of chaffinches have appeared in the fields; many more, I uſed to think, than could be hatched in any one neighbourhood. But, when I came to obſerve them more narrowly, I was amazed to find that they ſeemed to me to be almoſt all hens. I com⯑municated my ſuſpicions to ſome intelligent neighbours, who, after taking pains about the matter, declared that they alſo thought them all moſtly females; at leaſt fifty to one. This extraordinary occurrence brought to my mind the remark of Linnaeus; that ‘"before winter all their hen chaffinches migrate through Holland into Italy."’ Now I want to know, from ſome curious perſon in the north, whether there are any large flocks of theſe finches with them in the winter, and of which ſex they moſtly conſiſt? For, from ſuch intelligence, one might be able to judge whether our female flocks migrate from the other end of the iſland, or whether they come over to us from the continent.

We have, in the winter, vaſt flocks of the common linnets; more, I think, than can be bred in any one diſtrict. Theſe, I obſerve, when the ſpring advances, aſſemble on ſome tree in the ſunſhine, and join all in a gentle ſort of chirping, as if they were about to break up their winter quarters and betake themſelves to their proper ſummer homes. It is well known, at leaſt, that the ſwallows and the fieldfares do congregate with a gentle twittering before they make their reſpective departure.

You may depend on it that the bunting, emberiza miliaria, does not leave this county in the winter. In January 1767 I ſaw ſeveral dozen of them, in the midſt of a ſevere froſt, among the buſhes on the downs near Andover: in our woodland encloſed diſtrict it is a rare bird.

[38] Wagtails, both white and yellow, are with us all the winter. Quails crowd to our ſouthern coaſt, and are often killed in numbers by people that go on purpoſe.

Mr. Stillingfleet, in his Tracts, ſays that ‘"if the wheatear (aenanthe) does not quit England, it certainly ſhifts places; for about harveſt they are not to be found, where there was before great plenty of them."’ This well accounts for the vaſt quantities that are caught about that time on the ſouth downs near Lewes, where they are eſteemed a delicacy. There have been ſhepherds, I have been credibly informed, that have made many pounds in a ſeaſon by catching them in traps. And though ſuch multitudes are taken, I never ſaw (and I am well acquainted with thoſe parts) above two or three at a time: for they are never gregarious. They may perhaps migrate in general; and, for that purpoſe, draw towards the coaſt of Suſſex in autumn: but that they do not all withdraw I am ſure; becauſe I ſee a few ſtragglers in many counties, at all times of the year, eſpecially about warrens and ſtone quarries.

I have no acquaintance, at preſent, among the gentlemen of the navy: but have written to a friend, who was a ſea-chaplain in the late war, deſiring him to look into his minutes, with reſpect to birds that ſettled on their rigging during their voyage up or down the channel. What Haſſelquiſt ſays on that ſubject is remarkable. there were little ſhort-winged birds frequently coming on board his ſhip all the way from our channel quite up to the Levant, eſpecially before ſqually weather.

What you ſuggeſt, with regard to Spain, is highly probable. The winters of Andaluſia are ſo mild, that, in all likelihood, the ſoft-billed birds that leave us at that ſeaſon may find inſects ſufficient to ſupport them there.

[39] Some young man, poſſeſſed of fortune, health, and leiſure, ſhould make an autumnal voyage into that kingdom; and ſhould ſpend a year there, inveſtigating the natural hiſtory of that vaſt country. Mr. Willughby ^u paſſed through that kingdom on ſuch an errand; but he ſeems to have ſkirted along in a ſuperficial manner and an ill humour, being much diſguſted at the rude diſſolute manners of the people.

I have no friend left now at Sunbury to apply to about the ſwallows rooſting on the aits of the Thames: nor can I hear any more about thoſe birds which I ſuſpected were merulae torquatae.

As to the ſmall mice, I have farther to remark, that though they hang their neſts for breeding up amidſt the ſtraws of the ſtanding corn, above the ground; yet I find that, in the winter, they burrow deep in the earth, and make warm beds of graſs: but their grand rendezvous ſeems to be in corn-ricks, into which they are carried at harveſt. A neighbour houſed an oat-rick lately, under the thatch of which were aſſembled near an hundred, moſt of which were taken; and ſome I ſaw. I meaſured them; and found that, from noſe to tail, they were juſt two inches and a quarter, and their tails juſt two inches long. Two of them, in a ſcale, weighed down juſt one copper halfpenny, which is about the third of an ounce avoirdupois: ſo that I ſuppoſe they are the ſmalleſt quadrupeds in this iſland. A full-grown mus medius domeſticus weighs, I find, one ounce lumping weight, which is more than ſix times as much as the mouſe above; and meaſures from noſe to rump four inches and a quarter, and the ſame in it's tail. We have had a very ſevere froſt and deep ſnow this month. My thermometer was one day fourteen degrees and [40] an half below the freezing point, within doors. The tender ever⯑greens were injured pretty much. It was very providential that the air was ſtill, and the ground well covered with ſnow, elſe vegetation in general muſt have ſuffered prodigiouſly. There is reaſon to believe that ſome days were more ſevere than any ſince the year 1739-40.

LETTER XIV. TO THE SAME.

IF ſome curious gentleman would procure the head of a fallow⯑deer, and have it diſſected, he would find it furniſhed with two ſpiracula, or breathing-places, beſides the noſtrils; probably analogous to the puncta lachrymalia in the human head. When deer are thirſty they plunge their noſes, like ſome horſes, very deep under water, while in the act of drinking, and continue them in that ſituation for a conſiderable time: but, to obviate any incon⯑veniency, they can open two vents, one at the inner corner of each eye, having a communication with the noſe. Here ſeems to be an extraordinary proviſion of nature worthy our attention; and which has not, that I know of, been noticed by any naturaliſt. For it looks as if theſe creatures would not be ſuffocated, though both their mouths and noſtrils were ſtopped. This curious form⯑ation of the head may be of ſingular ſervice to beaſts of chaſe, by [41] affording them free reſpiration: and no doubt theſe additional noſtrils are thrown open when they are hard run^x. Mr. Ray obſerved that, at Malta, the owners ſlit up the noſtrils of ſuch aſſes as were hard worked: for they, being naturally ſtrait or ſmall, did not admit air ſufficient to ſerve them when they travelled, or laboured, in that hot climate. And we know that grooms, and gentlemen of the turf, think large noſtrils neceſſary, and a perfec⯑tion, in hunters and running horſes.

Oppian, the Greek poet, by the following line, ſeems to have had ſome notion that ſtags have four ſpiracula:

Writers, copying from one another, make Ariſtotle ſay that goats breathe at their ears; whereas he aſſerts juſt the con⯑trary:—‘" [...]."’ ‘"Alcmaeon does not advance0 what is true, when he avers that goats breathe through their ears."’ —Hiſtory of Animals. Book I. chap. xi.

LETTER XV. TO THE SAME.

SOME intelligent country people have a notion that we have, in theſe parts, a ſpecies of the genus muſtelinum, beſides the weaſel, ſtoat, ferret, and polecat; a little reddiſh beaſt, not much bigger than a field mouſe, but much longer, which they call a cane. This piece of intelligence can be little depended on; but farther inquiry may be made.

A gentleman in this neighbourhood had two milkwhite rooks in one neſt. A booby of a carter, finding them before they were able to fly, threw them down and deſtroyed them, to the regret of the owner, who would have been glad to have preſerved ſuch a curi⯑ofity in his rookery. I ſaw the birds myſelf nailed againſt the end of a barn, and was ſurpriſed to find that their bills, legs, feet, and claws were milkwhite.

A ſhepherd ſaw, as he thought, ſome white larks on a down above my houſe this winter: were not theſe the emberiza nivalis, the ſnow-flake of the Brit. Zool.? No doubt they were.

A few years ago I ſaw a cock bullfinch in a cage, which had been caught in the fields after it was come to it's full colours. In about a year it began to look dingy; and, blackening every ſucceeding year, it became coal-black at the end of four. It's chief food was hempſeed. Such influence has food on the colour of animals! The pied and mottled colours of domeſticated ani⯑mals are ſuppoſed to be owing to high, various, and unuſual food.

[43] I had remarked, for years, that the root of the cuckoo-pint (arum) was frequently ſcratched out of the dry banks of hedges, and eaten in ſevere ſnowy weather. After obſerving, with ſome exactneſs, myſelf, and getting others to do the ſame, we found it was the thruſh kind that ſearched it out. The root of the arum is remarkably warm and pungent.

Our flocks of female chaffinches have not yet forſaken us. The blackbirds and thruſhes are very much thinned down by that fierce weather in January.

In the middle of February I diſcovered, in my tall hedges, a little bird that raiſed my curioſity: it was of that yellow-green colour that belongs to the ſalicaria kind, and, I think, was ſoft-billed. It was no parus; and was too long and too big for the golden⯑crowned wren, appearing moſt like the largeſt willow-wren. It hung ſometimes with it's back downwards, but never continuing one moment in the ſame place. I ſhot at it, but it was ſo deſultory that I miſſed my aim.

I wonder that the ſtone curlew, charadrius oedicnemus, ſhould be mentioned by the writers as a rare bird: it abounds in all the campaign parts of Hampſhire and Suſſex, and breeds, I think, all the ſummer, having young ones, I know, very late in the autumn. Already they begin clamouring in the evening. They cannot, I think, with any propriety, be called, as they are by Mr. Ray, ‘"circa aquas verſantes;"’ for with us, by day at leaſt, they haunt only the moſt dry, open, upland fields and ſheep walks, far re⯑moved from water: what they may do in the night I cannot ſay. Worms are their uſual food, but they alſo eat toads and frogs.

I can ſhew you ſome good ſpecimens of my new mice. Linnaeus perhaps would call the ſpecies mus minimus.

LETTER XVI. TO THE SAME.

THE hiſtory of the ſtone curlew, charadrius oedicnemus, is as follows. It lays it's eggs, uſually two, never more than three, on the bare ground, without any neſt, in the field; ſo that the countryman, in ſtirring his fallows, often deſtroys them. The young run im⯑mediately from the egg like partridges, &c. and are withdrawn to ſome flinty field by the dam, where they ſculk among the ſtones, which are their beſt ſecurity; for their feathers are ſo exactly of the colour of our grey ſpotted flints, that the moſt exact obſerver, unleſs he catches the eye of the young bird, may be eluded. The eggs are ſhort and round; of a dirty white, ſpotted with dark bloody blotches. Though I might not be able, juſt when I pleaſed, to procure you a bird, yet I could ſhew you them almoſt any day; and any evening you may hear them round the village, for they make a clamour which may be heard a mile. Oedicnemus is a moſt apt and expreſſive name for them, ſince their legs ſeem ſwoln like thoſe of a gouty man. After harveſt I have ſhot them before the pointers in turnip-fields.

I make no doubt but there are three ſpecies of the willow-wrens: two I know perfectly; but have not been able yet to procure the third. No two birds can differ more in their notes, and that con⯑ſtantly, than thoſe two that I am acquainted with; for the one has a joyous, eaſy, laughing note; the other a harſh loud chirp. [45] The former is every way larger, and three quarters of an inch longer, and weighs two drams and an half; while the latter weighs but two: ſo the ſongſter is one fifth heavier than the chirper. The chirper (being the firſt ſummer-bird of paſſage that is heard, the wryneck ſometimes excepted) begins his two notes in the middle of March, and continues them through the ſpring and ſummer till the end of Auguſt, as appears by my journals. The legs of the larger of theſe two are fleſh-coloured; of the leſs, black.

The graſshopper-lark began his ſibilous note in my fields laſt Saturday. Nothing can be more amuſing than the whiſper of this little bird, which ſeems to be cloſe by though at an hundred yards diſtance; and, when cloſe at your ear, is ſcarce any louder than when a great way off. Had I not been a little acquainted with inſects, and known that the graſshopper kind is not yet hatched, I ſhould have hardly believed but that it had been a locuſta whiſpering in the buſhes. The country people laugh when you tell them that it is the note of a bird. It is a moſt art⯑ful creature, ſculking in the thickeſt part of a buſh; and will ſing at a yard diſtance, provided it be concealed. I was obliged to get a perſon to go on the other ſide of the hedge where it haunted; and then it would run, creeping like a mouſe, before us for an hundred yards together, through the bottom of the thorns; yet it would not come into fair ſight: but in a morning early, and when undiſturbed, it ſings on the top of a twig, gaping and ſhivering with it's wings. Mr. Ray himſelf had no knowledge of this bird, but received his account from Mr. Johnſon, who apparently con⯑founds it with the reguli non criſtati, from which it is very diſtinct. See Ray's Philoſ. Letters, p. 108.

[46] The fly-catcher (ſtoparola) has not yet appeared: it uſually breeds in my vine. The redſtart begins to ſing: it's note is ſhort and imperfect, but is continued till about the middle of June. The willow-wrens (the ſmaller ſort) are horrid peſts in a garden, deſtroying the peaſe, cherries, currants, &c.; and are ſo tame that a gun will not ſcare them.

[47] My countrymen talk much of a bird that makes a clatter with it's bill againſt a dead bough, or ſome old pales, calling it a jar⯑bird. I procured one to be ſhot in the very fact; it proved to be the ſitta europaea (the nuthatch.) Mr. Ray ſays that the leſs ſpotted woodpecker does the ſame. This noiſe may be heard a furlong or more.

Now is the only time to aſcertain the ſhort-winged ſummer birds; for, when the leaf is out, there is no making any remarks on ſuch a reſtleſs tribe; and, when once the young begin to appear, it is all confuſion: there is no diſtinction of genus, ſpecies, or ſex.

In breeding-time ſnipes play over the moors, piping and hum⯑ming: they always hum as they are deſcending. Is not their hum ventriloquous like that of the turkey? Some ſuſpect it is made by their wings.

This morning I ſaw the golden-crowned wren, whoſe crown glitters like burniſhed gold. It often hangs like a titmouſe, with it's back downwards.

LETTER XVII. TO THE SAME.

ON Wedneſday laſt arrived your agreeable letter of June the 10th. It gives me great ſatisfaction to find that you purſue theſe ſtudies ſtill with ſuch vigour, and are in ſuch forwardneſs with regard to reptiles and fiſhes.

[48] The reptiles, few as they are, I am not acquainted with, ſo well as I could wiſh, with regard to their natural hiſtory. There is a degree of dubiouſneſs and obſcurity attending the propaga⯑tion of this claſs of animals, ſomething analagous to that of the cryptogamia in the ſexual ſyſtem of plants: and the caſe is the ſame with regard to ſome of the fiſhes; as the eel, &c.

The method in which toads procreate and bring forth ſeems to be very much in the dark. Some authors ſay that they are viviparous: and yet Ray claſſes them among his oviparous ani⯑mals; and is ſilent with regard to the manner of their bringing forth. Perhaps they may be [...], as is known to be the caſe with the viper.

The copulation of frogs (or at leaſt the appearance of it; for Swammerdam proves that the male has no penis intrans) is notorious to every body: becauſe we ſee them ſticking upon each others backs for a month together in the ſpring: and yet I never ſaw, or read, of toads being obſerved in the ſame ſituation. It is ſtrange that the matter with regard to the venom of toads has not been yet ſettled. That they are not noxious to ſome animals is plain: for ducks, buzzards, owls, ſtone curlews, and ſnakes, eat them, to my knowledge, with impunity. And I well remember the time, but was not eye-witneſs to the fact (though numbers of perſons were) when a quack, at this village, ate a toad to make the country-people ſtare; afterwards he drank oil.

I have been informed alſo, from undoubted authority, that ſome ladies (ladies you will ſay of peculiar taſte) took a fancy to a toad, which they nouriſhed ſummer after ſummer, for many years, till he grew to a monſtrous ſize, with the maggots which turn to fleſh flies. The reptile uſed to come forth every evening from an hole under the garden-ſteps; and was taken up, after ſupper, on the [49] table to be fed. But at laſt a tame raven, kenning him as he put forth his head, gave him ſuch a ſevere ſtroke with his horny beak as put out one eye. After this accident the creature languiſhed for ſome time and died.

I need not remind a gentleman of your extenſive reading of the excellent account there is from Mr. Derham, in Ray's Wiſdom of God in the Creation (p. 365), concerning the migration of frogs from their breeding ponds. In this account he at once ſubverts that fooliſh opinion of their dropping from the clouds in rain; ſhewing that it is from the grateful coolneſs and moiſture of thoſe ſhowers that they are tempted to ſet out on their travels, which they defer till thoſe fall. Frogs are as yet in their tadpole ſtate; but, in a few weeks, our lanes, paths, fields, will ſwarm for a few days with myriads of thoſe emigrants, no larger than my little finger nail. Swammerdam gives a moſt accurate account of the method and ſituation in which the male impregnates the ſpawn of the female. How wonderful is the oeconomy of Provi⯑dence with regard to the limbs of ſo vile a reptile! While it is an aquatic it has a fiſh-like tail, and no legs: as ſoon as the legs ſprout, the tail drops off as uſeleſs, and the animal betakes itſelf to the land!

Merret, I truſt, is widely miſtaken when he advances that the rana arborea is an Engliſh reptile; it abounds in Germany and Switzerland.

It is to be remembered that the ſalamandra aquatica of Ray (the water-newt or eft) will frequently bite at the angler's bait, and is often caught on his hook. I uſed to take it for granted that the ſalamandra aquatica was hatched, lived, and died, in the water. But John Ellis, Eſq. F.R.S. (the coralline Ellis) aſſerts, in a letter to the Royal Society, dated June the 5th, 1766, in his ac⯑count [50] of the mud inguana, an amphibious bipes from South Carolina, that the water-eft, or newt, is only the larva of the land-eft, as tadpoles are of frogs. Leſt I ſhould be ſuſpected to miſunder⯑ſtand his meaning, I ſhall give it in his own words. Speaking of the opercula or coverings to the gills of the mud inguana, he pro⯑ceeds to ſay that ‘"The form of theſe pennated coverings approach very near to what I have ſome time ago obſerved in the larva or aquatic ſtate of our Engliſh lacerta, known by the name of eft, or newt; which ſerve them for coverings to their gills, and for fins to ſwim with while in this ſtate; and which they loſe, as well as the fins of their tails, when they change their ſtate and become land animals, as I have obſerved, by keeping them alive for ſome time myſelf."’

Linnaeus, in his Syſtema Naturae, hints at what Mr. Ellis advances more than once.

Providence has been ſo indulgent to us as to allow of but one venomous reptile of the ſerpent kind in theſe kingdoms, and that is the viper. As you propoſe the good of mankind to be an object of your publications, you will not omit to mention common ſallad⯑oil as a ſovereign remedy againſt the bite of the viper. As to the blind worm (anguis fragilis, ſo called becauſe it ſnaps in ſunder with a ſmall blow), I have found, on examination, that it is per⯑fectly innocuous. A neighbouring yeoman (to whom I am indebted for ſome good hints) killed and opened a female viper about the twenty-ſeventh of May: he found her filled with a chain of eleven eggs, about the ſize of thoſe of a blackbird; but none of them were advanced ſo far towards a ſtate of maturity as to contain any rudiments of young. Though they are oviparous, yet they are viviparous alſo, hatching their young within their bellies, and then bringing them forth. Whereas ſnakes lay [51] chains of eggs every ſummer in my melon beds, in ſpite of all that my people can do to prevent them; which eggs do not hatch till the ſpring following, as I have often experienced. Several intelligent folks aſſure me that they have ſeen the viper open her mouth and admit her helpleſs young down her throat on ſudden ſurpriſes, juſt as the female opoſſum does her brood into the pouch under her belly, upon the like emergencies; and yet the London viper-catchers inſiſt on it, to Mr. Barrington, that no ſuch thing ever happens. The ſerpent kind eat, I believe, but once in a year; or, rather, but only juſt at one ſeaſon of the year. Country people talk much of a water-ſnake, but, I am pretty ſure, without any reaſon; for the common ſnake (coluber natrix) delights much to ſport in the water, perhaps with a view to procure frogs and other food.

I cannot well gueſs how you are to make out your twelve ſpecies of reptiles, unleſs it be by the various ſpecies, or rather varieties, of our lacerti, of which Ray enumerates five. I have not had op⯑portunity of aſcertaining theſe; but remember well to have ſeen, formerly, ſeveral beautiful green lacerti on the ſunny ſandbanks near Farnham, in Surrey; and Ray admits there are ſuch in Ireland.

LETTER XVIII. TO THE SAME.

I RECEIVED your obliging and communicative letter of June the 28th, while I was on a viſit at a gentleman's houſe, where I had neither books to turn to, nor leiſure to ſit down, to return you an anſwer to many queries, which I wanted to reſolve in the beſt manner that I am able.

A perſon, by my order, has ſearched our brooks, but could find no ſuch fiſh as the gaſteroſteus pungitius: he found the gaſteroſteus aculeatus in plenty. This morning, in a baſket, I packed a little earthen pot full of wet moſs, and in it ſome ſtickle⯑backs, male and female; the females big with ſpawn: ſome lamperns; ſome bulls heads; but I could procure no minnows. This baſket will be in Fleet-ſtreet by eight this evening; ſo I hope Mazel will have them freſh and fair to-morrow morning. I gave ſome directions, in a letter, to what particulars the engraver ſhould be attentive.

Finding, while I was on a viſit, that I was within a reaſonable diſtance of Ambreſbury, I ſent a ſervant over to that town, and procured ſeveral living ſpecimens of loaches, which he brought, ſafe and briſk, in a glaſs decanter. They were taken in the gul⯑lies that were cut for watering the meadows. From theſe fiſhes (which meaſured from two to four inches in length) I took the following deſcription: ‘"The loach, in it's general aſpect, has a pellucid appearance: it's back is mottled with irregular collections of ſmall black dots, not reaching much below the [53] linea lateralis, as are the back and tail fins: a black line runs from each eye down to the noſe; it's belly is of a ſilvery white; the upper jaw projects beyond the lower, and is ſur⯑rounded with ſix feelers, three on each ſide: it's pectoral fins are large, it's ventral much ſmaller; the fin behind it's anus ſmall; it's dorſal-fin large, containing eight ſpines; it's tail, where it joins to the tail-fin, remarkably broad, without any taperneſs, ſo as to be characteriſtic of this genus: the tail-fin is broad, and ſquare at the end. From the breadth and muſ⯑cular ſtrength of the tail it appears to be an active nimble fiſh."’

In my viſit I was not very far from Hungerford, and did not forget to make ſome inquiries concerning the wonderful method of curing cancers by means of toads. Several intelligent per⯑ſons, both gentry and clergy, do, I find, give a great deal of credit to what was aſſerted in the papers: and I myſelf dined with a clergyman who ſeemed to be perſuaded that what is related is matter of fact; but, when I came to attend to his account, I thought I diſcerned circumſtances which did not a little invalidate the woman's ſtory of the manner in which ſhe came by her ſkill. She ſays of herſelf ‘"that, labouring under a virulent cancer, ſhe went to ſome church where there was a vaſt crowd: on going into a pew, ſhew was accoſted by a ſtrange clergyman; who, after expreſſing compaſſion for her ſituation, told her that if ſhe would make ſuch an application of living toads as is mentioned ſhe would be well."’ Now is it likely that this unknown gen⯑tleman ſhould expreſs ſo much tenderneſs for this ſingle ſufferer, and not feel any for the many thouſands that daily languiſh under this terrible diſorder? Would he not have made uſe of this invaluable noſtrum for his own emolument; or, at leaſt, by [54] ſome means of publication or other, have found a method of mak⯑ing it public for the good of mankind? In ſhort, this woman (as it appears to me) having ſet up for a cancer-doctreſs, finds it ex⯑pedient to amuſe the country with this dark and myſterious relation.

The water-eft has not, that I can diſcern, the leaſt appearance of any gills; for want of which it is continually riſing to the ſur⯑face of the water to take in freſh air. I opened a big-bellied one indeed, and found it full of ſpawn. Not that this circumſtance at all invalidates the aſſertion that they are larvae: for the larvae of inſects are full of eggs, which they exclude the inſtant they enter their laſt ſtate. The water-eft is continually climbing over the brims of the veſſel, within which we keep it in water, and wander⯑ing away: and people every ſummer ſee numbers crawling, out of the pools where they are hatched, up the dry banks. There are varieties of them, differing in colour; and ſome have fins up their tail and back, and ſome have not.

LETTER XIX. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE now, paſt diſpute, made out three diſtinct ſpecies of the willow-wrens (motacillae trochili) which conſtantly and invariably uſe diſtinct notes. But, at the ſame time, I am obliged to confeſs that I know nothing of your willow-lark^y. In my letter [55] of April the 18th, I had told you peremptorily that I knew your willow-lark, but had not ſeen it then: but, when I came to pro⯑cure it, it proved, in all reſpects, a very motacilla trochilus; only that it is a ſize larger than the two other, and the yellow-green of the whole upper part of the body is more vivid, and the belly of a clearer white. I have ſpecimens of the three ſorts now lying before me; and can diſcern that there are three gradations of ſizes, and that the leaſt has black legs, and the other two fleſh-coloured ones. The yelloweſt bird is conſiderably the largeſt, and has it's quill-feathers and ſecondary feathers tipped with white, which the others have not. This laſt haunts only the tops of trees in high beechen woods, and makes a ſibilous graſshopper-like noiſe, now and then, at ſhort intervals, ſhivering a little with it's wings when it ſings; and is, I make no doubt now, the regulus non criſtatus of Ray; which he ſays ‘"cantat voce ſtridulâ locuſtae."’ Yet this great ornithologiſt never ſuſpected that there were three ſpecies.

LETTER XX. TO THE SAME.

IT is, I find, in zoology as it is in botany: all nature is ſo full, that that diſtrict produces the greateſt variety which is the moſt examined. Several birds, which are ſaid to belong to the north only, are, it ſeems, often in the ſouth. I have diſcovered this [56] ſummer three ſpecies of birds with us, which writers mention as only to be ſeen in the northern counties. The firſt that was brought me (on the 14th of May), was the ſandpiper, tringa hypoleucus: it was a cock bird, and haunted the banks of ſome ponds near the village; and, as it had a companion, doubtleſs intended to have bred near that water. Beſides, the owner has told me ſince, that, on recollection, he has ſeen ſome of the ſame birds round his ponds in former ſummers.

The next bird that I procured (on the 21ſt of May) was a male red-backed butcher bird, lanius collurio. My neighbour, who ſhot it, ſays that it might eaſily have eſcaped his notice, had not the outcries and chattering of the white-throats and other ſmall birds drawn his attention to the buſh where it was: it's craw was filled with the legs and wings of beetles.

The next rare birds (which were procured for me laſt week) were ſome ring-ouſels, turdi torquati.

This week twelve months a gentleman from London, being with us, was amuſing himſelf with a gun, and found, he told us, on an old yew hedge where there were berries, ſome birds like black⯑birds, with rings of white round their necks: a neighbouring farmer alſo at the ſame time obſerved the ſame; but, as no ſpeci⯑mens were procured, little notice was taken. I mentioned this circumſtance to you in my letter of November the 4th, 1767: (you however paid but ſmall regard to what I ſaid, as I had not ſeen theſe birds myſelf): but laſt week the aforeſaid farmer, ſeeing a large flock, twenty or thirty of theſe birds, ſhot two cocks and two hens: and ſays, on recollection, that he remembers to have obſerved theſe birds again laſt ſpring, about Lady-day, as it were, on their return to the north. Now perhaps theſe ouſels are not the ouſels of the north of England, but belong to the more northern parts of [57] Europe; and may retire before the exceſſive rigor of the froſts in thoſe parts; and return to breed in the ſpring, when the cold abates. If this be the caſe, here is diſcovered a new bird of winter paſſage, concerning whoſe migrations the writers are ſilent: but if theſe birds ſhould prove the ouſels of the north of England, then here is a migration diſcloſed within our own kingdom never be⯑fore remarked. It does not yet appear whether they retire beyond the bounds of our iſland to the ſouth; but it is moſt probable that they uſually do, or elſe one cannot ſuppoſe that they would have continued ſo long unnoticed in the ſouthern counties. The ouſel is larger than a blackbird, and feeds on haws; but laſt autumn (when there were no haws) it fed on yew-berries: in the ſpring it feeds on ivy-berries, which ripen only at that ſeaſon, in March and April.

I muſt not omit to tell you (as you have been ſo lately on the ſtudy of reptiles) that my people, every now and then of late, draw up with a bucket of water from my well, which is 63 feet deep, a large black warty lizard with a fin-tail and yellow belly. How they firſt came down at that depth, and how they were ever to have got out thence without help, is more than I am able to ſay.

My thanks are due to you for your trouble and care in the ex⯑amination of a buck's head. As far as your diſcoveries reach at preſent, they ſeem much to corroborate my ſuſpicions; and I hope Mr. — may find reaſon to give his deciſion in my favour; and then, I think, we may advance this extraordinary proviſion of nature as a new inſtance of the wiſdom of God in the creation.

As yet I have not quite done with my hiſtory of the oedicnemus, or ſtone-curlew; for I ſhall deſire a gentleman in Suſſex (near whoſe houſe theſe birds congregate in vaſt flocks in the autumn) [58] to obſerve nicely when they leave him, (if they do leave him) and when they return again in the ſpring: I was with this gentle⯑man lately, and ſaw ſeveral ſingle birds.

LETTER XXI. TO THE SAME.

WITH regard to the oedicnemus, or ſtone-curlew, I intend to write very ſoon to my friend near Chicheſter, in whoſe neighbour⯑hood theſe birds ſeem moſt to abound; and ſhall urge him to take particular notice when they begin to congregate, and afterwards to watch them moſt narrowly whether they do not withdraw them⯑ſelves during the dead of the winter. When I have obtained infor⯑mation with reſpect to this circumſtance, I ſhall have finiſhed my hiſtory of the ſtone-curlew; which I hope will prove to your ſatiſ⯑faction, as it will be, I truſt, very near the truth. This gentle⯑man, as he occupies a large farm of his own, and is abroad early and late, will be a very proper ſpy upon the motions of theſe birds: and beſides, as I have prevailed on him to buy the Naturaliſt's Journal (with which he is much delighted), I ſhall expect that he will be very exact in his dates. It is very extraordinary, as you obſerve, that a bird ſo common with us ſhould never ſtraggle to you.

And here will be the propereſt place to mention, while I think of it, an anecdote which the above-mentioned gentleman told me [59] when I was laſt at his houſe; which was that, in a warren joining to his outlet, many daws (corvi monedulae) build every year in the rabbit-burrows under ground. The way he and his brothers uſed to take their neſts, while they were boys, was by liſtening at the mouths of the holes; and, if they heard the young ones cry, they twiſted the neſt out with a forked ſtick. Some water-fowls (viz. the puffins) breed, I know, in that manner; but I ſhould never have ſuſpected the daws of building in holes on the flat ground.

Another very unlikely ſpot is made uſe of by daws as a place to breed in, and that is Stonehenge. Theſe birds depoſit their neſts in the interſtices between the upright and the impoſt ſtones of that amazing work of antiquity: which circumſtance alone ſpeaks the prodigious height of the upright ſtones, that they ſhould be tall enough to ſecure thoſe neſts from the annoyance of ſhepherd-boys, who are always idling round that place.

One of my neighbours laſt Saturday, November the 26th, ſaw a martin in a ſheltered bottom: the ſun ſhone warm, and the bird was hawking briſkly after flies. I am now perfectly ſatisfied that they do not all leave this iſland in the winter.

You judge very right, I think, in ſpeaking with reſerve and caution concerning the cures done by toads: for, let people ad⯑vance what they will on ſuch ſubjects, yet there is ſuch a propen⯑ſity in mankind towards deceiving and being deceived, that one cannot ſafely relate any thing from common report, eſpecially in print, without expreſſing ſome degree of doubt and ſuſpicion.

Your approbation, with regard to my new diſcovery of the migration of the ring-ouſel, gives me ſatisfaction; and I find you concur with me in ſuſpecting that they are foreign birds which viſit us. You will be ſure, I hope, not to omit to make inquiry whether your ring-ouſels leave your rocks in the autumn. What [60] puzzles me moſt, is the very ſhort ſtay they make with us; for in about three weeks they are all gone. I ſhall be very curious to remark whether they will call on us at their return in the ſpring, as they did laſt year.

I want to be better informed with regard to icthyology. If fortune had ſettled me near the ſea-ſide, or near ſome great river, my natural propenſity would ſoon have urged me to have made myſelf acquainted with their productions: but as I have lived moſtly in inland parts, and in an upland diſtrict, my knowledge of fiſhes extends little farther than to thoſe common ſorts which our brooks and lakes produce.

LETTER XXII. TO THE SAME.

AS to the peculiarity of jackdaws building with us under the ground in rabbit-burrows, you have, in part, hit upon the rea⯑ſon; for, in reality, there are hardly any towers or ſteeples in all this country. And perhaps, Norfolk excepted, Hampſhire and Suſſex are as meanly furniſhed with churches as almoſt any counties in the kingdom. We have many livings of two or three hundred pounds a year, whoſe houſes of worſhip make little better appear⯑ance than dovecots. When I firſt ſaw Northamptonſhire, Cambridgeſhire [61] and Huntingdonſhire, and the fens of Lincolnſhire, I was amazed at the number of ſpires which preſented themſelves in every point of view. As an admirer of proſpects, I have reaſon to lament this want in my own country; for ſuch objects are very neceſſary ingredients in an elegant landſcape.

What you mention with reſpect to reclaimed toads raiſes my curioſity. An ancient author, though no naturaliſt, has well re⯑marked that ‘"Every kind of beaſts, and of birds, and of ſerpents, and things in the ſea, is tamed, and hath been tamed, of mankind ^z."’

It is a ſatisfaction to me to find that a green lizard has actually been procured for you in Devonſhire; becauſe it corroborates my diſcovery, which I made many years ago, of the ſame ſort, on a ſunny ſandbank near Farnham, in Surrey. I am well acquainted with the ſouth hams of Devonſhire; and can ſuppoſe that diſtrict, from it's ſoutherly ſituation, to be a proper habitation for ſuch animals in their beſt colours.

Since the ring-ouſels of your vaſt mountains do certainly not forſake them againſt winter, our ſuſpicions that thoſe which viſit this neighbourhood about Michaelmas are not Engliſh birds, but driven from the more northern parts of Europe by the froſts, are ſtill more reaſonable; and it will be worth your pains to endeavour to trace from whence they come, and to inquire why they make ſo very ſhort a ſtay.

In your account of your error with regard to the two ſpecies of herons, you incidentally gave me great entertainment in your de⯑ſcription of the heronry at Creſſi-hall; which is a curioſity I never could manage to ſee. Fourſcore neſts of ſuch a bird on one tree is a rarity which I would ride half as many miles to have a [62] ſight of. Pray be ſure to tell me in your next whoſe ſeat Creſſi-hall is, and near what town it lies^a. I have often thought that thoſe vaſt extents of fens have never been ſufficiently explored. If half a dozen gentlemen, furniſhed with a good ſtrength of water-ſpaniels, were to beat them over for a week, they would certainly find more ſpecies.

There is no bird, I believe, whoſe manners I have ſtudied more than that of the caprimulgus (the goat-ſucker), as it is a won⯑derful and curious creature: but I have always found that though ſometimes it may chatter as it flies, as I know it does, yet in general it utters it's jarring note ſitting on a bough; and I have for many an half hour watched it as it ſat with it's under mandible quivering, and particularly this ſummer. It perches uſually on a bare twig, with it's head lower than it's tail, in an attitude well expreſſed by your draughtſman in the folio Britiſh Zoology. This bird is moſt punctual in beginning it's ſong exactly at the cloſe of day; ſo exactly that I have known it ſtrike up more than once or twice juſt at the report of the Portſmouth evening gun, which we can hear when the weather is ſtill. It appears to me paſt all doubt that it's notes are formed by organic impulſe, by the powers of the parts of it's windpipe, formed for ſound, juſt as cats put. You will credit me, I hope, when I aſſure you that, as my neighbours were aſſembled in an ^b hermitage on the ſide of a ſteep hill where we drink tea, one of theſe churn-owls came and ſettled on the croſs of that little ſtraw edifice and began to chatter, and continued his note for many minutes: and we were all ſtruck with wonder to find that the organs of that little animal, when put in motion, gave a ſenſible vibration to the whole building! This [63] bird alſo ſometimes makes a ſmall ſqueak, repeated four or five times; and I have obſerved that to happen when the cock has been purſuing the hen in a toying way through the boughs of a tree.

It would not be at all ſtrange if your bat, which you have procured, ſhould prove a new one, ſince five ſpecies have been found in a neighbouring kingdom. The great ſort that I men⯑tioned is certainly a non-deſcript: I ſaw but one this ſummer, and that I had no opportunity of taking.

Your account of the Indian-graſs was entertaining. I am no angler myſelf; but inquiring of thoſe that are, what they ſuppoſed that part of their tackle to be made of? they replied ‘"of the in⯑teſtines of a ſilkworm."’

Though I muſt not pretend to great ſkill in entomology, yet I cannot ſay that I am ignorant of that kind of knowledge: I may now and then perhaps be able to furniſh you with a little information.

The vaſt rains ceaſed with us much about the ſame time as with you, and ſince we have had delicate weather. Mr. Barker, who has meaſured the rain for more than thirty years, ſays, in a late letter, that more has fallen this year than in any he ever attended to; though, from July 1763 to January 1764, more fell than in any ſeven months of this year.

LETTER XXIII. TO THE SAME.

IT is not improbable that the Guernſey lizard and our green lizards may be ſpecifically the ſame; all that I know is, that, when ſome years ago many Guernſey lizards were turned looſe in Pembroke college garden, in the univerſity of Oxford, they lived a great while, and ſeemed to enjoy themſelves very well, but never bred. Whether this circumſtance will prove any thing either way I ſhall not pretend to ſay.

I return you thanks for your account of Creſſi-hall; but recollect, not without regret, that in June 1746 I was viſiting for a week to⯑gether at Spalding, without ever being told that ſuch a curioſity was juſt at hand. Pray ſend me word in your next what ſort of tree it is that contains ſuch a quantity of herons' neſts; and whether the heronry conſiſts of a whole grove or wood, or only of a few trees.

It gave me ſatisfaction to find we accorded ſo well about the caprimulgus: all I contended for was to prove that it often chatters ſitting as well as flying; and therefore the noiſe was voluntary, and from organic impulſe, and not from the reſiſtance of the air againſt the hollow of it's mouth and throat.

If ever I ſaw any thing like actual migration, it was laſt Michaelmas-day. I was travelling, and out early in the morning: at firſt there was a vaſt fog; but, by the time that I was got ſeven or eight miles from home towards the coaſt, the ſun broke out into a [65] delicate warm day. We were then on a large heath or common, and I could diſcern, as the miſt began to break away, great numbers of ſwallows (hirundines ruſticae) cluſtering on the ſtunted ſhrubs and buſhes, as if they had rooſted there all night. As ſoon as the air became clear and pleaſant they all were on the wing at once; and, by a placid and eaſy flight, proceeded on ſouthward to⯑wards the ſea: after this I did not ſee any more flocks, only now and then a ſtraggler.

I cannot agree with thoſe perſons that aſſert that the ſwallow kind diſappear ſome and ſome gradually, as they come, for the bulk of them ſeem to withdraw at once: only ſome ſtragglers ſtay behind a long while, and do never, there is the greateſt reaſon to believe, leave this iſland. Swallows ſeem to lay themſelves up, and to come forth in a warm day, as bats do continually of a warm evening, after they have diſappeared for weeks. For a very reſpec⯑table gentleman aſſured me that, as he was walking with ſome friends under Merton-wall on a remarkably hot noon, either in the laſt week in December or the firſt week in January, he eſpied three or four ſwallows huddled together on the moulding of one of the windows of that college. I have frequently remarked that ſwallows are ſeen later at Oxford than elſewhere: is it owing to the vaſt maſſy build⯑ings of that place, to the many waters round it, or to what elſe?

When I uſed to riſe in a morning laſt autumn, and ſee the ſwallows and martins cluſtering on the chimnies and thatch of the neighbouring cottages, I could not help being touched with a ſecret delight, mixed with ſome degree of mortification: with delight, to obſerve with how much ardour and punctuality thoſe poor little birds obeyed the ſtrong impulſe towards migration, or hiding, imprinted on their minds by their great Creator; and with ſome degree of mortification, when I reflected that, after all our [66] pains and inquiries, we are yet not quite certain to what regions they do migrate; and are ſtill farther embaraſſed to find that ſome do not actually migrate at all.

Theſe reflections made ſo ſtrong an impreſſion on my imagina⯑tion, that they became productive of a compoſition that may per⯑haps amuſe you for a quarter of an hour when next I have the honour of writing to you.

LETTER XXIV. TO THE SAME.

THE ſcarabaeus fullo I know very well, having ſeen it in collec⯑tions; but have never been able to diſcover one wild in it's natural ſtate. Mr. Banks told me he thought it might be found on the ſeacoaſt.

On the thirteenth of April I went to the ſheep-down, where the ring-ouſels have been obſerved to make their appearance at ſpring and fall, in their way perhaps to the north or ſouth; and was much pleaſed to ſee three birds about the uſual ſpot. We ſhot a cock and a hen; they were plump and in high condition. The hen had but very ſmall rudiments of eggs within her, which proves they are late breeders; whereas thoſe ſpecies of the thruſh kind that remain with us the whole year have fledged young before that time. In their crops was nothing very diſtinguiſhable, but ſome⯑what that ſeemed like blades of vegetables nearly digeſted. In [67] autumn they feed on haws and yew-berries, and in the ſpring on ivy-berries. I dreſſed one of theſe birds, and found it juicy and well flavoured. It is remarkable that they make but a few days ſtay in their ſpring viſit, but reſt near a fortnight at Michaelmas. Theſe birds, from the obſervations of three ſprings and two autumns, are moſt punctual in their return; and exhibit a new migration unnoticed by the writers, who ſuppoſed they never were to be ſeen in any of the ſouthern counties.

One of my neighbours lately brought me a new ſalicaria, which at firſt I ſuſpected might have proved your willow-lark^c, but, on a nicer examination, it anſwered much better to the de⯑ſcription of that ſpecies which you ſhot at Reveſby, in Lincolnſhire. My bird I deſcribe thus: ‘"It is a ſize leſs than the graſshopper-lark; the head, back, and coverts of the wings, of a duſky brown, without thoſe dark ſpots of the graſshopper-lark; over each eye is a milkwhite ſtroke; the chin and throat are white, and the under parts of a yellowiſh white; the rump is tawny, and the feathers of the tail ſharp-pointed; the bill is duſky and ſharp, and the legs are duſky; the hinder claw long and crooked."’ The perſon that ſhot it ſays that it ſung ſo like a reed-ſparrow that he took it for one; and that it ſings all night: but this account merits farther inquiry. For my part, I ſuſpect it is a ſecond ſort of locuſtella, hinted at by Dr. Derham in Ray's Letters: ſee p. 108. He alſo procured me a graſshopper-lark.

The queſtion that you put with regard to thoſe genera of animals that are peculiar to America, viz. how they came there, and whence? is too puzzling for me to anſwer; and yet ſo obvious as often to have ſtruck me with wonder. If one looks into the writers [68] on that ſubject little ſatisfaction is to be found. Ingenious men will readily advance plauſible arguments to ſupport whatever theory they ſhall chuſe to maintain; but then the misfortune is, every one's hypotheſis is each as good as another's, ſince they are all founded on conjecture. The late writers of this ſort, in whom may be ſeen all the arguments of thoſe that have gone before, as I remember, ſtock America from the weſtern coaſt of Africa and the ſouth of Europe; and then break down the Iſthmus that bridged over the Atlantic. But this is making uſe of a violent piece of machinery: it is a difficulty worthy of the interpoſition of a god! ‘"Incredulus odi."’

LETTER XXV. TO THE SAME.

IT gives me ſatisfaction to find that my account of the ouſel migration pleaſes you. You put a very ſhrewd queſtion when you aſk me how I know that their autumnal migration is ſouthward? [71] Was not candour and openneſs the very life of natural hiſtory, I ſhould paſs over this query juſt as a ſly commentator does over a crabbed paſſage in a claſſic; but common ingenuouſneſs obliges me to confeſs, not without ſome degree of ſhame, that I only rea⯑ſoned in that caſe from analogy. For as all other autumnal birds migrate from the northward to us, to partake of our milder winters, and return to the northward again when the rigorous cold abates, ſo I concluded that the ring-ouſels did the ſame, as well as their congeners the fieldfares; and eſpecially as ring-ouſels are known to haunt cold mountainous countries: but I have good reaſon to ſuſpect ſince that they may come to us from the weſtward; be⯑cauſe I hear, from very good authority, that they breed on Dartmore; and that they forſake that wild diſtrict about the time that our viſitors appear, and do not return till late in the ſpring.

I have taken a great deal of pains about your ſalicaria and mine, with a white ſtroke over it's eye and a tawny rump. I have ſur⯑veyed it alive and dead, and have procured ſeveral ſpecimens; and am perfectly perſuaded myſelf (and truſt you will ſoon be convinced of the ſame) that it is no more nor leſs than the paſſer arundinaceus minor of Ray. This bird, by ſome means or other, ſeems to be entirely omitted in the Britiſh Zoology; and one reaſon probably was becauſe it is ſo ſtrangely claſſed in Ray, who ranges it among his picis affines. It ought no doubt to have gone among his aviculae caudâ unicolore, and among your ſlender-billed ſmall birds of the ſame diviſion. Linnaeus might with great propriety have put it into his genus of motacilla; and the motacilla ſalicaria of his fauna ſuecica ſeems to come the neareſt to it. It is no uncom⯑mon bird, haunting the ſides of ponds and rivers where there is covert, and the reeds and ſedges of moors. The country people in ſome places call it the ſedge-bird. It ſings inceſſantly night and [72] day during the breeding-time, imitating the note of a ſparrow, a ſwallow, a ſky-lark; and has a ſtrange hurrying manner in it's ſong. My ſpecimens correſpond moſt minutely to the deſcrip⯑tion of your fen ſalicaria ſhot near Reveſby. Mr. Ray has given an excellent characteriſtic of it when he ſays, ‘"Roſtrum & pedes in hâc aviculâ multò majores ſunt quâm pro corporis ratione."’ See letter May 29, 1769.

I have got you the egg of an oedicnemus, or ſtone-curlew, which was picked up in a fallow on the naked ground: there were two; but the finder inadvertently cruſhed one with his foot before he ſaw them.

When I wrote to you laſt year on reptiles, I wiſh I had not forgot to mention the faculty that ſnakes have of ſtinking ſe defendendo. I knew a gentleman who kept a tame ſnake, which was in it's perſon as ſweet as any animal while in good humour and unalarmed; but as ſoon as a ſtranger, or a dog or cat, came in, it fell to hiſſing, and filled the room with ſuch nauſeous effluvia as rendered it hardly ſupportable. Thus the ſqunck, or ſtonck, of Ray's Synop. Quadr. is an innocuous and ſweet animal; but, when preſſed hard by dogs and men, it can eject ſuch a moſt peſtilent and fetid ſmell and excrement, that nothing can be more horrible.

A gentleman ſent me lately a fine ſpecimen of the lanius minor cineraſcens cum maculâ in ſcapulis albâ, Raii; which is a bird that, at the time of your publiſhing your two firſt volumes of Britiſh Zoology, I find you had not ſeen. You have deſcribed it well from Edwards's drawing.

LETTER XXVI. TO THE SAME.

I WAS much gratified by your communicative letter on your return from Scotland, where you ſpent, I find, ſome conſiderable time, and gave yourſelf good room to examine the natural curioſities of that extenſive kingdom, both thoſe of the iſlands, as well as thoſe of the highlands. The uſual bane of ſuch expeditions is hurry; becauſe men ſeldom allot themſelves half the time they ſhould do: but, fixing on a day for their return, poſt from place to place, rather as if they were on a journey that required diſpatch, than as philoſophers inveſtigating the works of nature. You muſt have made, no doubt, many diſcoveries, and laid up a good fund of materials for a future edition of the Britiſh Zoology; and will have no reaſon to repent that you have beſtowed ſo much pains on a part of Great-Britian that perhaps was never ſo well examined before.

It has always been matter of wonder to me that fieldfares, which are ſo congenerous to thruſhes and blackbirds, ſhould never chuſe to breed in England: but that they ſhould not think even the highlands cold and northerly, and ſequeſtered enough, is a circumſtance ſtill more ſtrange and wonderful. The ring⯑ouſel, you find, ſtays in Scotland the whole year round; ſo that we have reaſon to conclude that thoſe migrators that viſit us for a ſhort ſpace every autumn do not come from thence.

[74] And here, I think, will be the proper place to mention that thoſe birds were moſt punctual again in their migration this autumn, appearing, as before, about the 30th of September: but their flocks were larger than common, and their ſtay protracted ſome⯑what beyond the uſual time. If they came to ſpend the whole winter with us, as ſome of their congeners do, and then left us, as they do, in ſpring, I ſhould not be ſo much ſtruck with the occurrence, ſince it would be ſimilar to that of the other winter birds of paſſage; but when I ſee them for a fortnight at Michaelmas, and again for about a week in the middle of April, I am ſeized with wonder, and long to be informed whence theſe travellers come, and whither they go, ſince they ſeem to uſe our hills merely as an inn or baiting place.

Your account of the greater brambling, or ſnow-fleck, is very amuſing; and ſtrange it is that ſuch a ſhort-winged bird ſhould delight in ſuch perilous voyages over the northern ocean! Some country people in the winter time have every now and then told me that they have ſeen two or three white larks on our downs; but, on conſidering the matter, I begin to ſuſpect that theſe are ſome ſtragglers of the birds we are talking of, which ſometimes perhaps may rove ſo far to the ſouthward.

It pleaſes me to find that white hares are ſo frequent on the Scottiſh mountains, and eſpecially as you inform me that it is a diſtinct ſpecies; for the quadrupeds of Britain are ſo few, that every new ſpecies is a great acquiſition.

The eagle-owl, could it be proved to belong to us, is ſo majeſtic a bird, that it would grace our fauna much. I never was informed before where wild-geeſe are known to breed.

You admit, I find, that I have proved your fen-ſalicaria to be the leſſer reed-ſparrow of Ray: and I think you may be ſecure [75] that I am right; for I took very particular pains to clear up that matter, and had ſome fair ſpecimens; but, as they were not well preſerved, they are decayed already. You will, no doubt, inſert it in it's proper place in your next edition. Your additional plates will much improve your work.

De Buffon, I know, has deſcribed the water ſhrew-mouſe: but ſtill I am pleaſed to find you have diſcovered it in Lincolnſhire, for the reaſon I have given in the article of the white hare.

As a neighbour was lately plowing in a dry chalky field, far removed from any water, he turned out a water-rat, that was curiouſly laid up in an hybernaculum artificially formed of graſs and leaves. At one end of the burrow lay above a gallon of potatoes regularly ſtowed, on which it was to have ſupported itſelf for the winter. But the difficulty with me is how this amphibius mus came to fix it's winter ſtation at ſuch a diſtance from the water. Was it determined in it's choice of that place by the mere accident of finding the potatoes which were planted there; or is it the conſtant practice of the aquatic-rat to forſake the neighbourhood of the water in the colder months?

Though I delight very little in analogous reaſoning, knowing how fallacious it is with reſpect to natural hiſtory; yet, in the following inſtance, I cannot help being inclined to think it may conduce towards the explanation of a difficulty that I have men⯑tioned before, with reſpect to the invariable early retreat of the hirundo apus, or ſwift, ſo many weeks before it's congeners; and that not only with us, but alſo in Andaluſia, where they alſo begin to retire about the beginning of Auguſt.

The great large bat^l (which by the by is at preſent a non⯑deſcript [76] in England, and what I have never been able yet to procure) retires or migrates very early in the ſummer: it alſo ranges very high for it's food, feeding in a different region of the air; and that is the reaſon I never could procure one. Now this is exactly the caſe with the ſwifts; for they take their food in a more exalted region than the other ſpecies, and are very ſeldom ſeen hawking for flies near the ground, or over the ſurface of the water. From hence I would conclude that theſe hirundines, and the larger bats, are ſupported by ſome ſorts of high-flying gnats, ſcarabs, or phalaenae, that are of ſhort continuance; and that the ſhort ſtay of theſe ſtrangers is regulated by the defect of their food.

By my journal it appears that curlews clamoured on to October the thirty-firſt; ſince which I have not ſeen or heard any. Swallows were obſerved on to November the third.

LETTER XXVII. TO THE SAME.

HEDGE-HOGS abound in my gardens and fields. The manner in which they eat their roots of the plantain in my graſs-walks is very curious: with their upper mandible, which is much longer than their lower, they bore under the plant, and ſo eat the root off up⯑wards, leaving the tuft of leaves untouched. In this reſpect they [77] are ſerviceable, as they deſtroy a very troubleſome weed; but they deface the walks in ſome meaſure by digging little round holes. It appears, by the dung that they drop upon the turf, that beetles are no inconſiderable part of their food. In June laſt I procured a litter of four or five young hedge-hogs, which appeared to be about five or ſix days old: they, I find, like puppies, are born blind, and could not ſee when they came to my hands. No doubt their ſpines are ſoft and flexible at the time of their birth, or elſe the poor dam would have but a bad time of it in the critical mo⯑ment of parturition: but it is plain that they ſoon harden; for theſe little pigs had ſuch ſtiff prickles on their backs and ſides as would eaſily have fetched blood, had they not been handled with caution. Their ſpines are quite white at this age; and they have little hang⯑ing ears, which I do not remember to be diſcernible in the old ones. They can, in part, at this age draw their ſkin down over their faces; but are not able to contract themſelves into a ball, as they do, for the ſake of defence, when full grown. The reaſon, I ſuppoſe, is, becauſe the curious muſcle that enables the creature to roll itſelf up in a ball was not then arrived at it's full tone and firmneſs. Hedge-hogs make a deep and warm hybernaculum with leaves and moſs, in which they conceal themſelves for the winter: but I never could find that they ſtored in any winter proviſion, as ſome quadrupeds certainly do.

I have diſcovered an anecdote with reſpect to the fieldfare (turdus pilaris), which I think is particular enough: this bird, though it ſits on trees in the day-time, and procures the greateſt part of it's food from white-thorn hedges; yea, moreover, builds on very high trees; as may be ſeen by the fauna ſuecica; yet always appears with us to rooſt on the ground. They are ſeen to come in flocks juſt before it is dark, and to ſettle and neſtle [78] among the heath on our foreſt. And beſides, the larkers, in dragging their nets by night, frequently catch them in the wheat⯑ſtubbles; while the bat-fowlers, who take many red-wings in the hedges, never entangle any of this ſpecies. Why theſe birds, in the matter of rooſting, ſhould differ from all their congeners, and from themſelves alſo with reſpect to their proceedings by day, is a fact for which I am by no means able to account.

I have ſomewhat to inform you of concerning the mooſe-deer; but in general foreign animals fall ſeldom in my way: my little intelligence is confined to the narrow ſphere of my own obſervations at home.

LETTER XXVIII. TO THE SAME.

ON Michaelmas-day 1768 I managed to get a ſight of the female mooſe belonging to the duke of Richmond, at Goodwood; but was greatly diſappointed, when I arrived at the ſpot, to find that it died, after having appeared in a languiſhing way for ſome time, on the morning before. However, underſtanding that it was not ſtripped, I proceeded to examine this rare quadruped: I found it in an old green-houſe, ſlung under the belly and chin by ropes, and in a ſtanding poſture; but, though it had been dead for ſo ſhort a time, it was in ſo putrid a ſtate that the ſtench was hardly [79] ſupportable. The grand diſtinction between this deer, and any other ſpecies that I have ever met with, conſiſted in the ſtrange length of it's legs; on which it was tilted up much in the manner of the birds of the grallae order. I meaſured it, as they do an horſe, and found that, from the ground to the wither, it was juſt five feet four inches; which height anſwers exactly to ſixteen hands, a growth that few horſes arrive at: but then, with this length of legs, it's neck was remarkably ſhort, no more than twelve inches; ſo that, by ſtraddling with one foot forward and the other back⯑ward, it grazed on the plain ground, with the greateſt difficulty, between it's legs: the ears were vaſt and lopping, and as long as the neck; the head was about twenty inches long, and aſs-like; and had ſuch a redundancy of upper lip as I never ſaw before, with huge noſtrils. This lip, travellers ſay, is eſteemed a dainty diſh in North America. It is very reaſonable to ſuppoſe that this creature ſupports itſelf chiefly by browſing of trees, and by wading after water plants; towards which way of livelihood the length of legs and great lip muſt contribute much. I have read ſomewhere that it delights in eating the nymphaea, or water-lily. From the fore-feet to the belly behind the ſhoulder it meaſured three feet and eight inches: the length of the legs before and behind conſiſted a great deal in the tibia, which was ſtrangely long; but, in my haſte to get out of the ſtench, I forgot to meaſure that joint exactly. It's ſcut ſeemed to be about an inch long; the colour was a grizzly black; the mane about four inches long; the fore-hoofs were upright and ſhapely, the hind flat and ſplayed. The ſpring before it was only two years old, ſo that moſt probably it was not then come to it's growth. What a vaſt tall beaſt muſt a full grown ſtag be! I have been told ſome arrive at ten feet and an half! This poor creature had at firſt a female companion of the [80] ſame ſpecies, which died the ſpring before. In the ſame garden was a young ſtag, or red deer, between whom and this mooſe it was hoped that there might have been a breed; but their inequality of height muſt have always been a bar to any commerce of the amorous kind. I ſhould have been glad to have examined the teeth, tongue, lips, hoofs, &c. minutely; but the putrefaction precluded all farther curioſity. This animal, the keeper told me, ſeemed to enjoy itſelf beſt in the extreme froſt of the former winter. In the houſe they ſhewed me the horn of a male mooſe, which had no front-antlers, but only a broad palm with ſome ſnags on the edge. The noble owner of the dead mooſe propoſed to make a ſkeleton of her bones.

Pleaſe to let me hear if my female mooſe correſponds with that you ſaw; and whether you think ſtill that the American mooſe and European elk are the ſame creature.

LETTER XXIX. TO THE SAME.

LAST month we had ſuch a ſeries of cold turbulent weather, ſuch a conſtant ſucceſſion of froſt, and ſnow, and hail, and tempeſt, that the regular migration or appearance of the ſummer birds was much interrupted. Some did not ſhew themſelves (at [81] leaſt were not heard) till weeks after their uſual time; as the black-cap and white-throat; and ſome have not been heard yet, as the graſshopper-lark and largeſt willow-wren. As to the fly-catcher, I have not ſeen it; it is indeed one of the lateſt, but ſhould appear about this time: and yet, amidſt all this meteorous ſtrife and war of the elements, two ſwallows diſcovered themſelves as long ago as the eleventh of April, in froſt and ſnow; but they withdrew quickly, and were not viſible again for many days. Houſe⯑martins, which are always more backward than ſwallows, were not obſerved till May came in.

Among the monogamous birds ſeveral are to be found, after pairing-time, ſingle, and of each ſex: but whether this ſtate of celibacy is matter of choice or neceſſity, is not ſo eaſily diſcover⯑able. When the houſe-ſparrows deprive my martins of their neſts, as ſoon as I cauſe one to be ſhot, the other, be it cock or hen, preſently procures a mate, and ſo for ſeveral times following.

I have known a dove-houſe infeſted by a pair of white owls, which made great havock among the young pigeons: one of the owls was ſhot as ſoon as poſſible; but the ſurvivor readily found a mate, and the miſchief went on. After ſome time the new pair were both deſtroyed, and the annoyance ceaſed.

Another inſtance I remember of a ſportſman, whoſe zeal for the increaſe of his game being greater than his humanity, after pairing-time he always ſhot the cock-bird of every couple of partridges upon his grounds; ſuppoſing that the rivalry of many males interrupted the breed: he uſed to ſay, that, though he had widowed the ſame hen ſeveral times, yet he found ſhe was ſtill provided with a freſh paramour, that did not take her away from her uſual haunt.

Again; I knew a lover of ſetting, an old ſportſman, who has [80] [...] [81] [...] [82] often told me that ſoon after harveſt he has frequently taken ſmall coveys of partridges, conſiſting of cock-birds alone; theſe he pleaſantly uſed to call old bachelors.

There is a propenſity belonging to common houſe-cats that is very remarkable; I mean their violent fondneſs for fiſh, which appears to be their moſt favourite food: and yet nature in this inſtance ſeems to have planted in them an appetite that, unaſſiſted, they know not how to gratify: for of all quadrupeds cats are the leaſt diſpoſed towards water; and will not, when they can avoid it, deign to wet a foot, much leſs to plunge into that element.

Quadrupeds that prey on fiſh are amphibious: ſuch is the otter, which by nature is ſo well formed for diving, that it makes great havock among the inhabitants of the waters. Not ſuppoſing that we had any of thoſe beaſts in our ſhallow brooks, I was much pleaſed to ſee a male otter brought to me, weighing twenty-one pounds, that had been ſhot on the bank of our ſtream below the Priory, where the rivulet divides the pariſh of Selborne from Harteley-wood.

LETTER XXX. TO THE SAME.

THE French, I think, in general are ſtrangely prolix in their natural hiſtory. What Linnaeus ſays with reſpect to inſects holds good in every other branch: ‘"Verboſitas praeſentis ſaeculi, calamitas artis."’

[83] Pray how do you approve of Scopoli's new work? as I admire his Entomologia, I long to ſee it.

I forgot to mention in my laſt letter (and had not room to inſert in the former) that the male mooſe, in rutting time, ſwims from iſland to iſland, in the lakes and rivers of North-America, in purſuit of the females. My friend, the chaplain, ſaw one killed in the water as it was on that errand in the river St. Lawrence: it was a monſtrous beaſt, he told me; but he did not take the dimenſions.

When I was laſt in town our friend Mr. Barrington moſt obligingly carried me to ſee many curious ſights. As you were then writing to him about horns, he carried me to ſee many ſtrange and wonderful ſpecimens. There is, I remember, at Lord Pembroke's, at Wilton, an horn room furniſhed with more than thirty different pairs; but I have not ſeen that houſe lately.

Mr. Barrington ſhewed me many aſtoniſhing collections of ſtuffed and living birds from all quarters of the world. After I had ſtudied over the latter for a time, I remarked that every ſpecies almoſt that came from diſtant regions, ſuch as South America, the coaſt of Guinea, &c. were thick-billed birds of the loxia and fringilla genera; and no motacillae, or muſcicapae, were to be met with. When I came to conſider, the reaſon was obvious enough; for the hard-billed birds ſubſiſt on ſeeds which are eaſily carried on board; while the ſoft-billed birds, which are ſupported by worms and inſects, or, what is a ſuccedaneum for them, freſh raw meat, can meet with neither in long and tedious voyages. It is from this defect of food that our collections (curious as they are) are defective, and we are deprived of ſome of the moſt delicate and lively genera.

LETTER XXXI. TO THE SAME.

YOU ſaw, I find, the ring-ouſels again among their native crags; and are farther aſſured that they continue reſident in thoſe cold regions the whole year. From whence then do our ring⯑ouſels migrate ſo regularly every September, and make their appearance again, as if in their return, every April? They are more early this year than common, for ſome were ſeen at the uſual hill on the fourth of this month.

An obſerving Devonſhire gentleman tells me that they frequent ſome parts of Dartmoor, and breed there; but leave thoſe haunts about the end of September or beginning of October, and return again about the end of March.

Another intelligent perſon aſſures me that they breed in great abundance all over the Peak of Derby, and are called there Tor⯑ouſels; withdraw in October and November, and return in ſpring. This information ſeems to throw ſome light on my new migration.

Scopoli's^m new work (which I have juſt procured) has it's merit in aſcertaining many of the birds of the Tirol and Carniola. Monographers, come from whence they may, have, I think, fair pretence to challenge ſome regard and approbation from the [85] lovers of natural hiſtory; for, as no man can alone inveſtigate all the works of nature, theſe partial writers may, each in their department, be more accurate in their diſcoveries, and freer from errors, than more general writers; and ſo by degrees may pave the way to an univerſal correct natural hiſtory. Not that Scopoli is ſo circumſtantial and attentive to the life and converſation of his birds as I could wiſh: he advances ſome falſe facts; as when he ſays of the hirundo urbica that ‘"pullos extra nidum non nutrit."’ This aſſertion I know to be wrong from repeated obſervation this ſummer; for houſe-martins do feed their young flying, though it muſt be acknowledged not ſo commonly as the houſe-ſwallow; and the feat is done in ſo quick a manner as not to be perceptible to indifferent obſervers. He alſo advances ſome (I was going to ſay) improbable facts; as when he ſays of the woodcock that ‘"pullos roſtro portat fugiens ab hoſte."’ But candour forbids me to ſay abſolutely that any fact is falſe, becauſe I have never been witneſs to ſuch a fact. I have only to remark that the long unweildy bill of the woodcock is perhaps the worſt adapted of any among the winged creation for ſuch a feat of natural affection.

LETTER XXXII. TO THE SAME.

AFTER an ineffectual ſearch in Linnaeus, Briſſon, &c. I begin to ſuſpect that I diſcern my brother's hirundo hyberna in Scopoli's new diſcovered hirundo rupeſtris, p. 167. His deſcription of ‘"Supra murina, ſubtus albida; rectrices maculâ ovali albâ in latere interno; pedes nudi, nigri; roſtrum nigrum; remiges obſcuriores quam plumae dorſales; rectrices remigibus concolores; caudâ emarginatâ, nec forcipatâ;"’ agrees very well with the bird in queſtion: but when he comes to advance that it is ‘"ſtatura hirundinis urbicae,"’ and that ‘"definitio hirundinis ripariae Linnaei huic quoque convenit,"’ he in ſome meaſure invalidates all he has ſaid; at leaſt he ſhews at once that he compares them to theſe ſpecies merely from memory: for I have compared the birds themſelves, and find they differ widely in every circumſtance of ſhape, ſize, and colour. However, as you will have a ſpecimen, I ſhall be glad to hear what your judgment is in the matter.

Whether my brother is foreſtalled in his non-deſcript or not, he will have the credit of firſt diſcovering that they ſpend their winters under the warm and ſheltery ſhores of Gibraltar and Barbary.

Scopoli's characters of his ordines and genera are clean, juſt, and expreſſive, and much in the ſpirit of Linnaeus. Theſe few remarks are the reſult of my firſt peruſal of Scopoli's Annus Primus.

[87] The bane of our ſcience is the comparing one animal to the other by memory: for want of caution in this particular Scopoli falls into errors: he is not ſo full with regard to the manners of his indigenous birds as might be wiſhed, as you juſtly obſerve: his Latin is eaſy, elegant, and expreſſive, and very ſuperior to Kramer'sⁿ.

I am pleaſed to ſee that my deſcription of the mooſe correſponds ſo well with yours.

LETTER XXXIII. TO THE SAME.

I WAS much pleaſed to ſee, among the collection of birds from Gibraltar, ſome of thoſe ſhort-winged Engliſh ſummer-birds of paſſage, concerning whoſe departure we have made ſo much inquiry. Now if theſe birds are found in Andaluſia to migrate to and from Barbary, it may eaſily be ſuppoſed that thoſe that come to us may migrate back to the continent, and ſpend their winters in ſome of the warmer parts of Europe. This is certain, that many ſoft-billed birds that come to Gibraltar appear there only in ſpring and autumn, ſeeming to advance in pairs towards the northward, for the ſake of breeding during the ſummer months; [88] and retiring in parties and broods towards the ſouth at the decline of the year: ſo that the rock of Gibraltar is the great rendezvous, and place of obſervation, from whence they take their departure each way towards Europe or Africa. It is therefore no mean diſcovery, I think, to find that our ſmall ſhort-winged ſummer birds of paſſage are to be ſeen ſpring and autumn on the very ſkirts of Europe; it is a preſumptive proof of their emigrations.

Scopoli ſeems to me to have found the hirundo melba, the great Gibraltar ſwift, in Tirol, without knowing it. For what is his hirundo alpina but the afore-mentioned bird in other words? Says he ‘"Omnia prioris"’ (meaning the ſwift); ‘"ſed pectus album; paulo major priore."’ I do not ſuppoſe this to be a new ſpecies. It is true alſo of the melba, that ‘"nidificat in excelſis Alpium rupibus."’ Vid. Annum Primum.

My Suſſex friend, a man of obſervation and good ſenſe, but no naturaliſt, to whom I applied on account of the ſtone-curlew, oedicnemus, ſends me the following account: ‘"In looking over my Naturaliſt's Journal for the month of April, I find the ſtone⯑curlews are firſt mentioned on the ſeventeenth and eighteenth, which date ſeems to me rather late. They live with us all the ſpring and ſummer, and at the beginning of autumn prepare to take leave by getting together in flocks. They ſeem to me a bird of paſſage that may travel into ſome dry hilly country ſouth of us, probably Spain, becauſe of the abundance of ſheep-walks in that country; for they ſpend their ſummers with us in ſuch diſtricts. This conjecture I hazard, as I have never met with any one that has ſeen them in England in the winter. I believe they are not fond of going near the water, but feed on earth-worms, that are common on ſheep-walks and downs. They breed on fallows and lay-fields abounding with [89] grey moſſy flints, which much reſemble their young in colour; among which they ſkulk and conceal themſelves. They make no neſt, but lay their eggs on the bare ground, producing in common but two at a time. There is reaſon to think their young run ſoon after they are hatched; and that the old ones do not feed them, but only lead them about at the time of feeding, which, for the moſt part, is in the night."’ Thus far my friend.

In the manners of this bird you ſee there is ſomething very analogous to the buſtard, whom it alſo ſomewhat reſembles in aſpect and make, and in the ſtructure of it's feet.

For a long time I have deſired my relation to look out for theſe birds in Andaluſia; and now he writes me word that, for the firſt time, he ſaw one dead in the market on the third of September.

When the oedicnemus flies it ſtretches out it's legs ſtraight behind, like an heron.

LETTER XXXIV. TO THE SAME.

THERE is an inſect with us, eſpecially on chalky diſtricts, which is very troubleſome and teaſing all the latter end of the ſummer, getting into people's ſkins, eſpecially thoſe of women and children, [90] and raiſing tumours which itch intolerably. This animal (which we call an harveſt bug) is very minute, ſcarce diſcernible to the naked eye; of a bright ſcarlet colour, and of the genus of Acarus. They are to be met with in gardens on kidneybeans, or any legumens; but prevail only in the hot months of ſummer. Warreners, as ſome have aſſured me, are much infeſted by them on chalky downs; where theſe inſects ſwarm ſometimes to ſo infinite a degree as to diſcolour their nets, and to give them a reddiſh caſt, while the men are ſo bitten as to be thrown into fevers.

There is a ſmall long ſhining fly in theſe parts very troubleſome to the houſewife, by getting into the chimnies, and laying it's eggs in the bacon while it is drying: theſe eggs produce maggots called jumpers, which, harbouring in the gammons and beſt parts of the hogs, eat down to the bone, and make great waſte. This fly I ſuſpect to be a variety of the muſca putris of Linnaeus: it is to be ſeen in the ſummer in farm-kitchens on the bacon-racks and about the mantle-pieces, and on the ceilings.

The inſect that infeſts turnips and many crops in the garden (deſtroying often whole fields while in their ſeedling leaves) is an animal that wants to be better known. The country people here call it the turnip-fly and black-dolphin; but I know it to be one of the coleoptera; the ‘"chryſomela oleracea, ſaltatoria, femoribus poſticis craſſiſſimis."’ In very hot ſummers they abound to an amazing degree, and, as you walk in a field or in a garden, make a pattering like rain, by jumping on the leaves of the turnips or cabbages.

There is an Oeſtrus, known in theſe parts to every ploughboy; which, becauſe it is omitted by Linnaeus, is alſo paſſed over by late writers; and that is the curvicauda of old Moufet, mentioned [91] by Derham in his Phyſico-theology, p. 250: an inſect worthy of remark for depoſiting it's eggs as it flies in ſo dextrous a manner on the ſingle hairs of the legs and flanks of graſs-horſes. But then Derham is miſtaken when he advances that this Oeſtrus is the parent of that wonderful ſtar-tailed maggot which he mentions afterwards; for more modern entomologiſts have diſcovered that ſingular production to be derived from the egg, or the muſca chamaeleon: ſee Geoffroy, t. 17, f. 4.

A full hiſtory of noxious inſects hurtful in the field, garden, and houſe, ſuggeſting all the known and likely means of deſtroy⯑ing them, would be allowed by the public to be a moſt uſeful and important work. What knowledge there is of this ſort lies ſcattered, and wants to be collected; great improvements would ſoon follow of courſe. A knowledge of the properties, oeconomy, propagation, and in ſhort of the life and converſation of theſe animals, is a neceſſary ſtep to lead us to ſome method of preventing their depredations.

As far as I am a judge, nothing would recommend entomology more than ſome neat plates that ſhould well expreſs the generic diſtinctions of inſects according to Linnaeus; for I am well aſſured that many people would ſtudy inſects, could they ſet out with a more adequate notion of thoſe diſtinctions than can be conveyed at firſt by words alone.

LETTER XXXV. TO THE SAME.

HAPPENING to make a viſit to my neighbour's peacocks, I could not help obſerving that the trains of thoſe magnificent birds appear by no means to be their tails; thoſe long feathers growing not from their uropygium, but all up their backs. A range of ſhort brown ſtiff feathers, about ſix inches long, fixed in the uropygium, is the real tail, and ſerves as the fulcrum to prop the train, which is long and top-heavy, when ſet an end. When the train is up, nothing appears of the bird before but it's head and neck; but this would not be the caſe were thoſe long feathers fixed only in the rump, as may be ſeen by the turkey-cock when in a ſtrutting attitude. By a ſtrong muſcular vibration theſe birds can make the ſhafts of their long feathers clatter like the ſwords of a ſword-dancer; they then trample very quick with their feet, and run backwards towards the females.

I ſhould tell you that I have got an uncommon calculus aegogropila, taken out of the ſtomach of a fat ox; it is perfectly round, and about the ſize of a large Seville orange; ſuch are, I think, uſually flat.

LETTER XXXVI. TO THE SAME.

THE ſummer through I have ſeen but two of that large ſpecies of bat which I call veſpertilio altivolans, from it's manner of feeding high in the air: I procured one of them, and found it to be a male; and made no doubt, as they accompanied together, that the other was a female: but, happening in an evening or two to procure the other likewiſe, I was ſomewhat diſappointed, when it appeared to be alſo of the ſame ſex. This circumſtance, and the great ſcarcity of this ſort, at leaſt in theſe parts, occaſions ſome ſuſpicions in my mind whether it is really a ſpecies, or whether it may not be the male part of the more known ſpecies, one of which may ſupply many females; as is known to be the caſe in ſheep, and ſome other quadrupeds. But this doubt can only be cleared by a farther examination, and ſome attention to the ſex, of more ſpecimens: all that I know at preſent is, that my two were amply furniſhed with the parts of generation much reſem⯑bling thoſe of a boar.

In the extent of their wings they meaſured fourteen inches and an half; and four inches and an half from the noſe to the tip of the tail: their heads were large, their noſtrils bilobated, their ſhoulders broad and muſcular; and their whole bodies fleſhy and plump. Nothing could be more ſleek and ſoft than their fur, which was of a bright cheſnut colour; their maws were full of [94] food, but ſo macerated that the quality could not be diſtinguiſh⯑ed; their livers, kidnies, and hearts, were large, and their bowels covered with fat. They weighed each, when entire, full one ounce and one drachm. Within the ear there was ſomewhat of a peculiar ſtructure that I did not underſtand perfectly; but refer it to the obſervation of the curious anatomiſt. Theſe creatures ſent forth a very rancid and offenſive ſmell.

LETTER XXXVII. TO THE SAME.

ON the twelfth of July I had a fair opportunity of contem⯑plating the motions of the caprimulgus, or fern-owl, as it was play⯑ing round a large oak that ſwarmed with ſcarabaei ſolſtitiales, or fern-chafers. The powers of it's wing were wonderful, exceeding, if poſſible, the various evolutions and quick turns of the ſwallow genus. But the circumſtance that pleaſed me moſt was, that I ſaw it diſtinctly, more than once, put out it's ſhort leg while on the wing, and, by a bend of the head, deliver ſomewhat into it's mouth. If it takes any part of it's prey with it's foot, as I have now the greateſt reaſon to ſuppoſe it does theſe chafers, I no longer wonder at the uſe of it's middle toe, which is curiouſly furniſhed with a ſerrated claw.

[95] Swallows and martins, the bulk of them I mean, have for⯑ſaken us ſooner this year than uſual; for, on September the twenty-ſecond, they rendezvouſed in a neighbour's walnut-tree, where it ſeemed probable they had taken up their lodging for the night. At the dawn of the day, which was foggy, they aroſe all together in infinite numbers, occaſioning ſuch a ruſhing from the ſtrokes of their wings againſt the hazy air, as might be heard to a con⯑ſiderable diſtance: ſince that no flock has appeared, only a few ſtragglers.

Some ſwifts ſtaid late, till the twenty-ſecond of Auguſt—a rare inſtance! for they uſually withdraw within the firſt week^o.

On September the twenty-fourth three or four ring-ouſels appeared in my fields for the firſt time this ſeaſon: how punctual are theſe viſitors in their autumnal and ſpring migrations!

LETTER XXXVIII. TO THE SAME.

BY my journal for laſt autumn it appears that the houſe-martins bred very late, and ſtaid very late in theſe parts; for, on the firſt of October, I ſaw young martins in their neſt nearly fledged; and again, on the twenty-firſt of October, we had at the next houſe a neſt full of young martins juſt ready to fly; and the old ones were hawking for inſects with great alertneſs. The next [96] morning the brood forſook their neſt, and were flying round the village. From this day I never ſaw one of the ſwallow kind till November the third; when twenty, or perhaps thirty, houſe-mar⯑tins were playing all day long by the ſide of the hanging wood, and over my fields. Did theſe ſmall weak birds, ſome of which were neſtlings twelve days ago, ſhift their quarters at this late ſea⯑ſon of the year to the other ſide of the northern tropic? Or rather, is it not more probable that the next church, ruin, chalk-cliff, ſteep covert, or perhaps ſandbank, lake or pool (as a more northern naturaliſt would ſay), may become their hybernaculum, and afford them a ready and obvious retreat?

We now begin to expect our vernal migration of ring-ouſels every week. Perſons worthy of credit aſſure me that ring-ouſels were ſeen at Chriſtmas 1770 in the foreſt of Bere, on the ſouthern verge of this county. Hence we may conclude that their migra⯑tions are only internal, and not extended to the continent ſouth⯑ward, if they do at firſt come at all from the northern parts of this iſland only, and not from the north of Europe. Come from whence they will, it is plain, from the fearleſs diſregard that they ſhew for men or guns, that they have been little accuſtomed to places of much reſort. Navigators mention that in the Iſle of Aſcenſion, and other ſuch deſolate diſtricts, birds are ſo little acquaint⯑ed with the human form that they ſettle on men's ſhoulders; and have no more dread of a ſailor than they would have of a goat that was grazing. A young man at Lewes, in Suſſex, aſſured me that about ſeven years ago ring-ouſels abounded ſo about that town in the autumn that he killed ſixteen himſelf in one afternoon: he added further, that ſome had appeared ſince in every autumn; but he could not find that any had been obſerved before the ſeaſon in which he ſhot ſo many. I myſelf have found theſe birds in [97] little parties in the autumn cantoned all along the Suſſex downs, wherever there were ſhrubs and buſhes, from Chicheſter to Lewes; particularly in the autumn of 1770.

LETTER XXXIX. TO THE SAME.

As you deſire me to ſend you ſuch obſervations as may occur, I take the liberty of making the following remarks, that you may, according as you think me right or wrong, admit or reject what I here advance, in your intended new edition of the Britiſh Zoology.

The oſprey^p was ſhot about a year ago at Frinſham-pond, a great lake, at about ſix miles from hence, while it was ſitting on the handle of a plough and devouring a fiſh: it uſed to precipi⯑tate itſelf into the water, and ſo take it's prey by ſurpriſe.

A great aſh-coloured ^q butcher-bird was ſhot laſt winter in Tiſted-park, and a red backed butcher-bird at Selborne: they are rarae aves in this county.

Crows^r go in pairs the whole year round.

Corniſh choughs^s abound, and breed on Beachy-head and on all the cliffs of the Suſſex coaſt.

[98] The common wild-pigeon,^t or ſtock-dove, is a bird of paſſage in the ſouth of England, ſeldom appearing till towards the end of November; is uſually the lateſt winter-bird of paſſage. Before our beechen woods were ſo much deſtroyed we had myriads of them, reaching in ſtrings for a mile together as they went out in a morning to feed. They leave us early in ſpring; where do they breed?

The people of Hampſhire and Suſſex call the miſſel-bird^u the ſtorm-cock, becauſe it ſings early in the ſpring in blowing ſhowery weather; it's ſong often commences with the year: with us it builds much in orchards.

A gentleman aſſures me he has taken the neſts of ring-ouſels^x on Dartmoor: they build in banks on the ſides of ſtreams.

Titlarks^y not only ſing ſweetly as they ſit on trees, but alſo as they play and toy about on the wing; and particularly while they are deſcending, and ſometimes as they ſtand on the ground.

Adanſon's^z teſtimony ſeems to me to be a very poor evidence that European ſwallows migrate during our winter to Senegal: he does not talk at all like an ornithologiſt; and probably ſaw only the ſwallows of that country, which I know build within Governor O'Hara's hall againſt the roof. Had he known European ſwallows, would he not have mentioned the ſpecies?

The houſe-ſwallow waſhes by dropping into the water as it flies: this ſpecies appears commonly about a week before the houſe-martin, and about ten or twelve days before the ſwift.

In 1772 there were young houſe-martins^a in their neſt till October the twenty-third.

[99] The ſwift ^b appears about ten or twelve days later than the houſe⯑ſwallow: viz. about the twenty-fourth or twenty-ſixth of April.

Whin-chats and ſtone-chatters ^c ſtay with us the whole year.

Some wheat-ears^d continue with us the winter through.

Wagtails, all ſorts, remain with us all the winter.

Bulfinches,^e when fed on hempſeed, often become wholly black.

We have vaſt flocks of female chaffinches^f all the winter, with hardly any males among them.

When you ſay that in breeding-time the cock-ſnipes^g make a bleating noiſe, and I a drumming (perhaps I ſhould have rather ſaid an humming), I ſuſpect we mean the ſame thing. However, while they are playing about on the wing they certainly make a loud piping with their mouths: but whether that bleating or humming is ventriloquous, or proceeds from the motion of their wings, I cannot ſay; but this I know, that when this noiſe hap⯑pens the bird is always deſcending, and his wings are violently agitated.

Soon after the lapwings^h have done breeding they congregate, and, leaving the moors and marſhes, betake themſelves to downs and ſheep-walks.

Two years agoⁱ laſt ſpring the little auk was found alive and unhurt, but fluttering and unable to riſe, in a lane a few miles from Alresford, where there is a great lake: it was kept awhile, but died.

I ſaw young teals^k taken alive in the ponds of Wolmer-foreſt in the beginning of July laſt, along with ſlappers, or young wild⯑ducks.

[100] Speaking of the ſwift, ^l that page ſays ‘"it's drink the dew;"’ whereas it ſhould be ‘"it drinks on the wing;"’ for all the ſwallow kind ſip their water as they ſweep over the face of pools or rivers: like Virgil's bees, they drink flying; ‘"flumina ſumma libant."’ In this method of drinking perhaps this genus may be peculiar.

Of the ſedge-bird^m be pleaſed to ſay it ſings moſt part of the night; it's notes are hurrying, but not unpleaſing, and imitative of ſeveral birds; as the ſparrow, ſwallow, ſky-lark. When it hap⯑pens to be ſilent in the night, by throwing a ſtone or clod into the buſhes where it ſits you immediately ſet it a ſinging; or in other words, though it ſlumbers ſometimes, yet as ſoon as it is awaken⯑ed it reaſſumes it's ſong.

LETTER XL. TO THE SAME.

BEFORE your letter arrived, and of my own accord, I had been remarking and comparing the tails of the male and female ſwallow, and this ere any young broods appeared; ſo that there was no danger of confounding the dams with their pulli: and be⯑ſides, as they were then always in pairs, and buſied in the employ of nidification, there could be no room for miſtaking the ſexes, nor the individuals of different chimnies the one for the other. From all my obſervations, it conſtantly appeared that each ſex [101] has the long feathers in it's tail that give it that forked ſhape; with this difference, that they are longer in the tail of the male than in that of the female.

Nightingales, when their young firſt come abroad, and are helpleſs, make a plaintive and a jarring noiſe; and alſo a ſnapping or cracking, purſuing people along the hedges as they walk: theſe laſt ſounds ſeem intended for menace and defiance.

The graſshopper-lark chirps all night in the height of ſummer.

Swans turn white the ſecond year, and breed the third.

Weaſels prey on moles, as appears by their being ſometimes caught in mole-traps.

Sparrow-hawks ſometimes breed in old crows' neſts, and the keſtril in churches and ruins.

There are ſuppoſed to be two ſorts of eels in the iſland of Ely. The threads ſometimes diſcovered in eels are perhaps their young: the generation of eels is very dark and myſterious.

Hen-harriers breed on the ground, and ſeem never to ſettle on trees.

When redſtarts ſhake their tails they move them horizontally, as dogs do when they fawn: the tail of a wagtail, when in motion, bobs up and down like that of a jaded horſe.

Hedge-ſparrows have a remarkable flirt with their wings in breeding-time; as ſoon as froſty mornings come they make a very piping plaintive noiſe.

Many birds which become ſilent about Midſummer reaſſume their notes again in September; as the thruſh, blackbird, wood⯑lark, willow-wren, &c.; hence Auguſt is by much the moſt mute month, the ſpring, ſummer, and autumn through. Are birds induced to ſing again becauſe the temperament of autumn re⯑ſembles that of ſpring?

[102] Linnaeus ranges plants geographically; palms inhabit the tropics, graſſes the temperate zones, and moſſes and lichens the polar circles; no doubt animals may be claſſed in the ſame manner with propriety.

Houſe-ſparrows build under eaves in the ſpring; as the weather becomes hotter they get out for coolneſs, and neſt in plum-trees and apple-trees. Theſe birds have been known ſometimes to build in rooks' neſts, and ſometimes in the forks of boughs under rooks' neſts.

As my neighbour was houſing a rick he obſerved that his dogs devoured all the little red mice that they could catch, but rejected the common mice; and that his cats ate the common mice, refuſing the red.

Red-breaſts ſing all through the ſpring, ſummer, and autumn. The reaſon that they are called autumn ſongſters is, becauſe in the two firſt ſeaſons their voices are drowned and loſt in the general chorus; in the latter their ſong becomes diſtinguiſhable. Many ſongſters of the autumn ſeem to be the young cock red-breaſts of that year: notwithſtanding the prejudices in their favour, they do much miſchief in gardens to the ſummer-fruitsⁿ.

The titmouſe, which early in February begins to make two quaint notes, like the whetting of a ſaw, is the marſh titmouſe: the great titmouſe ſings with three cheerful joyous notes, and begins about the ſame time.

Wrens ſing all the winter through, froſt excepted.

Houſe-martins came remarkably late this year both in Hampſhire and Devonſhire: is this circumſtance for or againſt either hiding or migration?

[103] Moſt birds drink ſipping at intervals; but pigeons take a long continued draught, like quadrupeds.

Notwithſtanding what I have ſaid in a former letter, no grey crows were ever known to breed on Dartmoor; it was my miſtake.

The appearance and flying of the ſcarabaeus ſolſtitialis, or fern⯑chafer, commence with the month of July, and ceaſe about the end of it. Theſe ſcarabs are the conſtant food of caprimulgi, or fern owls, through that period. They abound on the chalky downs and in ſome ſandy diſtricts, but not in the clays.

In the garden of the Black-bear inn in the town of Reading is a ſtream or canal running under the ſtables and out into the fields on the other ſide of the road: in this water are many carps, which lie rolling about in ſight, being fed by travellers, who amuſe themſelves by toſſing them bread: but as ſoon as the weather grows at all ſevere theſe fiſhes are no longer ſeen, becauſe they retire under the ſtables, where they remain till the return of ſpring. Do they lie in a torpid ſtate? if they do not, how are they ſupported?

The note of the white-throat, which is continually repeated, and often attended with odd geſticulations on the wing, is harſh and diſpleaſing. Theſe birds ſeem of a pugnacious diſpoſition; for they ſing with an erected creſt and attitudes of rivalry and de⯑fiance; are ſhy and wild in breeding-time, avoiding neighbour⯑hoods, and haunting lonely lanes and commons; nay even the very tops of the Suſſex-downs, where there are buſhes and covert; but in July and Auguſt they bring their broods into gardens and orchards, and make great havock among the ſummer-fruits.

The black-cap has in common a full, ſweet, deep, loud, and wild pipe; yet that ſtrain is of ſhort continuance, and his motions are deſultory; but when that bird ſits calmly and engages in ſong [104] in earneſt, he pours forth very ſweet, but inward melody, and expreſſes great variety of ſoft and gentle modulations, ſuperior perhaps to thoſe of any of our warblers, the nightingale excepted.

Black-caps moſtly haunt orchards and gardens; while they warble their throats are wonderfully diſtended.

The ſong of the redſtart is ſuperior, though ſomewhat like that of the white-throat: ſome birds have a few more notes than others. Sitting very placidly on the top of a tall tree in a village, the cock ſings from morning to night: he affects neighbourhoods, and avoids ſolitude, and loves to build in orchards and about houſes; with us he perches on the vane of a tall maypole.

The fly-catcher is of all our ſummer birds the moſt mute and the moſt familiar; it alſo appears the laſt of any. It builds in a vine, or a ſweetbriar, againſt the wall of an houſe, or in the hole of a wall, or on the end of a beam or plate, and often cloſe to the poſt of a door where people are going in and out all day long. This bird does not make the leaſt pretenſion to ſong, but uſes a little inward wailing note when it thinks it's young in danger from cats or other annoyances: it breeds but once, and retires early.

Selborne pariſh alone can and has exhibited at times more than half the birds that are ever ſeen in all Sweden; the former has pro⯑duced more than one hundred and twenty ſpecies, the latter only two hundred and twenty-one. Let me add alſo that it has ſhewn near half the ſpecies that were ever known in Great-Britian ^p.

On a retroſpect, I obſerve that my long letter carries with it a quaint and magiſterial air, and is very ſententious; but, when I recollect that you requeſted ſtricture and anecdote, I hope you will pardon the didactic manner for the ſake of the information it may happen to contain.

LETTER XLI. TO THE SAME.

IT is matter of curious inquiry to trace out how thoſe ſpecies of ſoft-billed birds, that continue with us the winter through, ſubſiſt during the dead months. The imbecility of birds ſeems not to be the only reaſon why they ſhun the rigour of our winters; for the robuſt wry-neck (ſo much reſembling the hardy race of wood-peckers) migrates, while the feeble little golden-crowned wren, that ſhadow of a bird, braves our ſevereſt froſts without availing himſelf of houſes or villages, to which moſt of our winter-birds crowd in diſtreſsful ſeaſons, while this keeps aloof in fields and woods; but perhaps this may be the reaſon why they may often periſh, and why they are almoſt as rare as any bird we know.

I have no reaſon to doubt but that the ſoft-billed birds, which winter with us, ſubſiſt chiefly on inſects in their aurelia ſtate. All the ſpecies of wagtails in ſevere weather haunt ſhallow ſtreams near their ſpring-heads, where they never freeze; and, by wading, pick out the aurelias of the genus of ^q Phryganeae, &c.

Hedge-ſparrows frequent ſinks and gutters in hard weather, where they pick up crumbs and other ſweepings: and in mild weather they procure worms, which are ſtirring every month in the year, as any one may ſee that will only be at the trouble of taking a candle to a graſs-plot on any mild winter's night. Red⯑breaſts and wrens in the winter haunt out-houſes, ſtables, and barns, [106] where they find ſpiders and flies that have laid themſelves up during the cold ſeaſon. But the grand ſupport of the ſoft-billed birds in winter is that infinite profuſion of aureliae of the lepidoptera ordo, which is faſtened to the twigs of trees and their trunks; to the pales and walls of gardens and buildings; and is found in every cranny and cleft of rock or rubbiſh, and even in the ground itſelf.

Every ſpecies of titmouſe winters with us; they have what I call a kind of intermediate bill between the hard and the ſoft, be⯑tween the Linnaean genera of fringilla and motacilla. One ſpecies alone ſpends it's whole time in the woods and fields, never retreat⯑ing for ſuccour in the ſevereſt ſeaſons to houſes and neighbour⯑hoods; and that is the delicate long-tailed titmouſe, which is almoſt as minute as the golden-crowned wren: but the blue tit⯑mouſe, or nun (parus caeruleus), the cole-mouſe (parus ater), the great black-headed titmouſe (fringillago), and the marſh titmouſe (parus paluſtris), all reſort, at times, to buildings; and in hard weather particularly. The great titmouſe, driven by ſtreſs of weather, much frequents houſes; and, in deep ſnows, I have ſeen this bird, while it hung with it's back downwards (to my no ſmall delight and admiration), draw ſtraws lengthwiſe from out the eaves of thatched houſes, in order to pull out the flies that were concealed between them, and that in ſuch numbers that they quite defaced the thatch, and gave it a ragged appearance.

The blue titmouſe, or nun, is a great frequenter of houſes, and a general devourer. Beſides inſects, it is very fond of fleſh; for it frequently picks bones on dunghills: it is a vaſt admirer of ſuet, and haunts butchers' ſhops. When a boy, I have known twenty in a morning caught with ſnap mouſe-traps, baited with tallow or ſuet. It will alſo pick holes in apples left on the ground, and [107] be well entertained with the ſeeds on the head of a ſun-flower. The blue, marſh, and great titmice will, in very ſevere weather, carry away barley and oat ſtraws from the ſides of ricks.

How the wheat-ear and whin-chat ſupport themſelves in winter cannot be ſo eaſily aſcertained, ſince they ſpend their time on wild heaths and warrens; the former eſpecially, where there are ſtone quarries: moſt probably it is that their maintenance ariſes from the aureliae of the lepidoptera ordo, which furniſh them with a plentiful table in the wilderneſs.

LETTER XLII. TO THE SAME.

SOME future fauniſt. a man of fortune, will, I hope, extend his viſits to the kingdom of Ireland; a new field, and a country little known to the naturaliſt. He will not, it is to be wiſhed, under⯑take that tour unaccompanied by a botaniſt, becauſe the mountains have ſcarcely been ſufficiently examined; and the ſoutherly coun⯑ties of ſo mild an iſland may poſſibly afford ſome plants little to be expected within the Britiſh dominions. A perſon of a thinking turn of mind will draw many juſt remarks from the modern im⯑provements of that country, both in arts and agriculture, where premiums obtained long before they were heard of with us. The manners of the wild natives, their ſuperſtitions, their prejudices, [108] their ſordid way of life, will extort from him many uſeful reflec⯑tions. He ſhould alſo take with him an able draughtſman; for he muſt by no means paſs over the noble caſtles and ſeats, the extenſive and pictureſque lakes and waterfalls, and the lofty ſtupendous mountains, ſo little known, and ſo engaging to the imagination when deſcribed and exhibited in a lively manner: ſuch a work would be well received.

As I have ſeen no modern map of Scotland, I cannot pretend to ſay how accurate or particular any ſuch may be; but this I know, that the beſt old maps of that kingdom are very defective.

The great obvious defect that I have remarked in all maps of Scotland that have fallen in my way is, a want of a coloured line, or ſtroke, that ſhall exactly define the juſt limits of that diſtrict called The Highlands. Moreover, all the great avenues to that moun⯑tainous and romantic country want to be well diſtinguiſhed. The military roads formed by general Wade are ſo great and Roman-like an undertaking that they well merit attention. My old map, Moll's Map, takes notice of Fort William; but could not mention the other forts that have been erected long ſince: therefore a good repreſentation of the chain of forts ſhould not be omitted.

The celebrated zigzag up the Coryarich muſt not be paſſed over. Moll takes notice of Hamilton and Drumlanrig, and ſuch capital houſes; but a new ſurvey, no doubt, ſhould repreſent every ſeat and caſtle remarkable for any great event, or celebrated for it's paintings, &c. Lord Breadalbane's ſeat and beautiful policy are too curious and extraordinary to be omitted.

The ſeat of the Earl of Eglintoun, near Glaſgow, is worthy of notice. The pine-plantations of that nobleman are very grand and extenſive indeed.

LETTER XLIII. TO THE SAME.

A PAIR of honey-buzzards, buteo apivorus, five veſpivorus Raii, built them a large ſhallow neſt, compoſed of twigs and lined with dead beechen leaves, upon a tall ſlender beech near the middle of Selborne-hanger, in the ſummer of 1780. In the middle of the month of June a bold boy climbed this tree, though ſtanding on ſo ſteep and dizzy a ſituation, and brought down an egg, the only one in the neſt, which had been ſat on for ſome time, and contain⯑ed the embrio of a young bird. The egg was ſmaller, and not ſo round as thoſe of the common buzzard; was dotted at each end with ſmall red ſpots, and ſurrounded in the middle with a broad bloody zone.

The hen-bird was ſhot, and anſwered exactly to Mr. Ray's de⯑ſcription of that ſpecies; had a black cere, ſhort thick legs, and a long tail. When on the wing this ſpecies may be eaſily diſtin⯑guiſhed from the common buzzard by it's hawk-like appearance, ſmall head, wings not ſo blunt, and longer tail. This ſpecimen contained in it's craw ſome limbs of frogs and many grey ſnails without ſhells. The irides of the eyes of this bird were of a beautiful bright yellow colour.

About the tenth of July in the ſame ſummer a pair of ſparrow-hawks bred in an old crow's neſt on a low beech in the ſame hanger; and as their brood, which was numerous, began to grow [110] up, became ſo daring and ravenous, that they were a terror to all the dames in the village that had chickens or ducklings under their care. A boy climbed the tree, and found the young ſo fledged that they all eſcaped from him; but diſcovered that a good houſe had been kept: the larder was well-ſtored with proviſions; for he brought down a young blackbird, jay, and houſe-martin, all clean picked, and ſome half devoured. The old birds had been obſerved to make ſad havock for ſome days among the new-flown ſwallows and martins, which, being but lately out of their neſts, had not acquired thoſe powers and com⯑mand of wing that enable them, when more mature, to ſet ſuch enemies at defiance.

LETTER XLIV. TO THE SAME.

EVERY incident that occaſions a renewal of our correſpondence will ever be pleaſing and agreeable to me.

As to the wild wood-pigeon, the oenas, or vinago, of Ray, I am much of your mind; and ſee no reaſon for making it the origin of the common houſe-dove: but ſuppoſe thoſe that have advanced that opinion may have been miſled by another appellation, often given to the oenas, which is that of ſtock-dove,

[111] Unleſs the ſtock-dove in the winter varies greatly in manners from itſelf in ſummer, no ſpecies ſeems more unlikely to be domeſticated, and to make an houſe-dove. We very rarely ſee the latter ſettle on trees at all, nor does it ever haunt the woods; but the former, as long as it ſtays with us, from November perhaps to February, lives the ſame wild life with the ring-dove, palumbus torquatus; frequents coppices and groves, ſupports itſelf chiefly by maſt, and delights to rooſt in the talleſt beeches. Could it be known in what manner ſtock-doves build, the doubt would be ſettled with me at once, provided they conſtruct their neſts on trees, like the ring-dove, as I much ſuſpect they do.

You received, you ſay, laſt ſpring a ſtock-dove from Suſſex; and are informed that they ſometimes breed in that country. But why did not your correſpondent determine the place of it's nidification, whether on rocks, cliffs, or trees? If he was not an adroit orni⯑thologiſt I ſhould doubt the fact, becauſe people with us perpetually confound the ſtock-dove with the ring-dove.

For my own part, I readily concur with you in ſuppoſing that houſe-doves are derived from the ſmall blue rock-pigeon, for many reaſons. In the firſt place the wild ſtock-dove is manifeſtly larger than the common houſe-dove, againſt the uſual rule of domeſtica⯑tion, which generally enlarges the breed. Again, thoſe two remarkable black ſpots on the remiges of each wing of the ſtock-dove, which are ſo characteriſtic of the ſpecies, would not, one ſhould think, be totally loſt by it's being reclaimed; but would often break out among its deſcendants. But what is worth an hundred arguments is, the inſtance you give in Sir Roger Moſlyn's houſe-doves in Caernarvonſhire; which, though tempted by plenty of food and gentle treatment, can never be prevailed on to [112] inhabit their cote for any time; but, as ſoon as they begin to breed, betake themſelves to the faſtneſſes of Ormſhead, and depoſit their young in ſafety amidſt the inacceſſible caverns, and preci⯑pices of that ſtupendous promontory.

I have conſulted a ſportſman, now in his ſeventy-eighth year, who tells me that fifty or ſixty years back, when the beechen woods were much more extenſive than at preſent, the number of wood-pigeons was aſtoniſhing; that he has often killed near twenty in a day; and that with a long wild-fowl piece he has ſhot ſeven or eight at a time on the wing as they came wheeling over his head: he moreover adds, which I was not aware of, that often there were among them little parties of ſmall blue doves, which he calls rockiers. The food of theſe numberleſs emigrants was beech-maſt and ſome acorns; and particularly barley, which they collected in the ſtubbles. But of late years, ſince the vaſt increaſe of turnips, that vegetable has furniſhed a great part of their ſupport in hard weather; and the holes they pick in theſe roots greatly damage the crop. From this food their fleſh has contracted a rancidneſs which occaſions them to be rejected by nicer judges of eating, who thought them before a delicate diſh. They were ſhot not only as they were feeding in the fields, and eſpecially in ſnowy weather, but alſo at the cloſe of the evening, by men who lay in ambuſh among the woods and groves to kill them as they came in to rooſt.^r. Theſe are the principal circumſtances relating to this [113] wonderful internal migration, which with us takes place towards the end of November, and ceaſes early in the ſpring. Laſt winter we had in Selborne high wood about an hundred of theſe doves; but in former times the flocks were ſo vaſt, not only with us but all the diſtrict round, that on mornings and evenings they traverſed the air, like rooks, in ſtrings, reaching for a mile together. When they thus rendezvouſed here by thouſands, if they happened to be ſuddenly rouſed from their rooſt-trees on an evening,

It will by no means be foreign to the preſent purpoſe to add, that I had a relation in this neighbourhood who made it a practice, for a time, whenever he could procure the eggs of a ring-dove, to place them under a pair of doves that were ſitting in his own pigeon-houſe; hoping thereby, if he could bring about a coalition, to enlarge his breed, and teach his own doves to beat out into the woods and to ſupport themſelves by maſt: the plan was plauſible, but ſomething always interrupted the ſucceſs; for though the birds were uſually hatched, and ſometimes grew to half their ſize, yet none ever arrived at maturity. I myſelf have ſeen theſe foundlings in their neſt diſplaying a ſtrange ferocity of nature, ſo as ſcarcely to bear to be looked at, and ſnapping with their bills by way of menace. In ſhort, they always died, perhaps for want of proper ſuſtenance: but the owner thought that by their fierce and wild demeanour they frighted their foſter-mothers, and ſo were ſtarved.

Virgil, as a familiar occurrence, by way of ſimile, deſcribes a dove haunting the cavern of a rock in ſuch engaging numbers, that I cannot refrain from quoting the paſſage: and John Dryden [114] has rendered it ſo happily in our language, that without farther excuſe I ſhall add his tranſlation alſo.

LETTER I. TO THE HONOURABLE DAINES BARRINGTON.

WHEN I was in town laſt month I partly engaged that I would ſometime do myſelf the honour to write to you on the ſubject of natural hiſtory: and I am the more ready to fulfil my promiſe, becauſe I ſee you are a gentleman of great candour, and one that will make allowances; eſpecially where the writer profeſſes to be an out-door naturaliſt, one that takes his obſervations from the ſubject itſelf, and not from the writings of others.

This aſſemblage of curious and amuſing birds belongs to ten ſeveral genera of the Linnaean ſyſtem; and are all of the ordo of paſſeres ſave the jynx and cuculus, which are picae, and the charadrius (oedicnemus) and rallus (ortygometra), which are grallae.

Theſe birds, as they ſtand numerically, belong to the following Linnaean genera:

• 1. Jynx:
• 2, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 16, 18. Motacilla:
• 3, 4, 5, 15. Hixundo:
• 8. Cuculus:
• 12. Charadrius:
• 13. Columba:
• 17. Rallus:
• 19. Caprimulgus:
• 14. Alauda:
• 20. Muſcicapa.

[117] Moſt ſoft-billed birds live on inſects, and not on grain and feeds; and therefore at the end of ſummer they retire: but the following ſoft-billed birds, though inſect-eaters, ſtay with us the year round:

Theſe birds, as they ſtand numerically, belong to the following Linnaean genera:

• 1, 2, 3, Turdus:
• 4, Corvus:
• 5, 6, 7, Scolopax:
• 8, Columba:
• 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, Anas:
• 15, 16, Loxia:
• 17. Ampelis.

Birds that ſing in the night are but few.

• Nightingale, Luſcinia: ‘"In ſhadieſt covert hid." MILTON.’
• Woodlark, Alauda arborea: Suſpended in mid air.
• Leſs reed-ſparrow, Paſſer arundinaceus minor: Among reeds and willows.

I ſhould now proceed to ſuch birds as continue to ſing after Mid⯑ſummer, but, as they are rather numerous, they would exceed the bounds of this paper: beſides, as this is now the ſeaſon for remark⯑ing on that ſubject, I am willing to repeat my obſervations on ſome birds concerning the continuation of whoſe ſong I ſeem at preſent to have ſome doubt.

LETTER II. TO THE SAME.

WHEN I did myſelf the honour to write to you about the end of laſt June on the ſubject of natural hiſtory, I ſent you a liſt of the ſummer-birds of paſſage which I have obſerved in this neighbour⯑hood; and alſo a liſt of the winter-birds of paſſage: I mentioned beſides thoſe ſoft-billed birds that ſtay with us the winter through in the ſouth of England, and thoſe that are remarkable for ſinging in the night.

According to my propoſal, I ſhall now proceed to ſuch birds (ſinging birds ſtrictly ſo called) as continue in full ſong till after Midſummer; and ſhall range them ſomewhat in the order in which they firſt begin to open as the ſpring advances.

Birds that ceaſe to be in full ſong, and are uſually ſilent at or before Midſummer:

Birds that ſing for a ſhort time, and very early in the ſpring:

[121] Birds that have ſomewhat of a note or ſong, and yet are hardly to be called ſinging birds:

All ſinging birds, and thoſe that have any pretenſions to ſong, not only in Britain, but perhaps the world through, come under the Linnaean ordo of paſſeres.

The above-mentioned birds, as they ſtand numerically, belong to the following Linnaean genera.

• 1, 7, 10, 27. Alauda:
• 2, 11, 21. Turdus:
• 3, 4, 5, 9, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 23, 25, 26. Motacilla:
• 6, 30. Emberiza:
• 8, 28. Hirundo.
• 13, 16, 19. Fringilla.
• 22, 24. Parus.
• 14, 29. Loxia.

[122]Birds that ſing as they fly are but few.

Birds that breed moſt early in theſe parts:

All birds that continue in full ſong till after Midſummer appear to me to breed more than once.

Moſt kinds of birds ſeem to me to be wild and ſhy ſomewhat in proportion to their bulk; I mean in this iſland, where they are much purſued and annoyed: but in Aſcenſion Iſland, and many other deſolate places, mariners have found fowls ſo unacquainted with an human figure, that they would ſtand ſtill to be taken; as is the caſe with boobies, &c. As an example of what is advanced, I remark that the golden-creſted wren (the ſmalleſt Britiſh bird) will ſtand unconcerned till you come within three or four yards of it, while the buſtard (otis), the largeſt Britiſh land fowl, does not care to admit a perſon within ſo many furlongs.

LETTER III. TO THE SAME.

IT was no ſmall matter of ſatisfaction to me to find that you were not diſpleaſed with my little methodus of birds. If there was any merit in the ſketch, it muſt be owing to it's punctuality. For many months I carried a liſt in my pocket of the birds that were to be remarked, and, as I rode or walked about my buſineſs, I noted each day the continuance or omiſſion of each bird's ſong; ſo that I am as ſure of the certainty of my facts as a man can be of any tranſaction whatſoever.

I ſhall now proceed to anſwer the ſeveral queries which you put in your two obliging letters, in the beſt manner that I am able. Perhaps Eaſtwick, and it's environs, where you heard ſo very few birds, is not a woodland country, and therefore not ſtocked with ſuch ſongſters. If you will caſt your eye on my laſt letter, you will find that many ſpecies continued to warble after the beginning of July.

The titlark and yellowhammer breed late, the latter very late; and therefore it is no wonder that they protract their ſong: for I lay it down as a maxim in ornithology, that as long as there is any incubation going on there is muſic. As to the redbreaſt and wren, it is well known to the moſt incurious obſerver that they whiſtle the year round, hard froſt excepted; eſpecially the latter.

[124] It was not in my power to procure you a black-cap, or a leſs reed-ſparrow, or ſedge-bird, alive. As the firſt is undoubtedly, and the laſt, as far as I can yet ſee, a ſummer bird of paſſage, they would require more nice and curious management in a cage than I ſhould be able to give them: they are both diſtinguiſhed ſongſters. The note of the former has ſuch a wild ſweetneſs that it always brings to my mind thoſe lines in a ſong in "As You Like It."

The latter has a ſurpriſing variety of notes reſembling the ſong of ſeveral other birds; but then it has alſo an hurrying manner, not at all to it's advantage: it is notwithſtanding a delicate polyglot.

It is new to me that titlarks in cages ſing in the night; perhaps only caged birds do ſo. I once knew a tame redbreaſt in a cage that always ſang as long as candles were in the room; but in their wild ſtate no one ſuppoſes they ſing in the night.

I ſhould be almoſt ready to doubt the fact, that there are to be ſeen much fewer birds in July than in any former month, notwith⯑ſtanding ſo many young are hatched daily. Sure I am that it is far otherwiſe with reſpect to the ſwallow tribe, which increaſes prodigiouſly as the ſummer advances: and I ſaw, at the time men⯑tioned, many hundreds of young wagtails on the banks of the Cherwell, which almoſt covered the meadows. If the matter ap⯑pears as you ſay in the other ſpecies, may it not be owing to the dams being engaged in incubation, while the young are concealed by the leaves?

[125] Many times have I had the curioſity to open the ſtomachs of woodcocks and ſnipes; but nothing ever occurred that helped to explain to me what their ſubſiſtence might be: all that I could ever find was a ſoft mucus, among which lay many pellucid ſmall gravels.

LETTER IV. TO THE SAME.

YOUR obſervation that ‘"the cuckoo does not depoſit it's egg in⯑diſcriminately in the neſt of the firſt bird that comes in it's way, but probably looks out a nurſe in ſome degree congenerous, with whom to intruſt it's young,"’ is perfectly new to me; and ſtruck me ſo forcibly, that I naturally fell into a train of thought that led me to conſider whether the fact was ſo, and what reaſon there was for it. When I came to recollect and inquire, I could not find that any cuckoo had ever been ſeen in theſe parts, except in the neſt of the wagtail, the hedge-ſparrow, the titlark, the white-throat, and the redbreaſt, all ſoft-billed inſectivorous birds. The excellent Mr. Willughby mentions the neſt of the palumbus (ring-dove), and of the fringilla (chaffinch), birds that ſubſiſt on acorns and grains, and ſuch hard food: but then he does not mention them as of his own knowledge; but ſays after⯑wards [126] that he ſaw himſelf a wagtail feeding a cuckoo. It ap⯑pears hardly poſſible that a ſoft-billed bird ſhould ſubſiſt on the ſame food with the hard-billed: for the former have thin mem⯑branaceous ſtomachs ſuited to their ſoft food; while the latter, the granivorous tribe, have ſtrong muſcular gizzards, which, like mills, grind, by the help of ſmall gravels and pebbles, what is ſwallowed. This proceeding of the cuckoo, of dropping it's eggs as it were by chance, is ſuch a monſtrous outrage on maternal affection, one of the firſt great dictates of nature; and ſuch a violence on inſtinct; that, had it only been related of a bird in the Braſils, or Peru, it would never have merited our belief. But yet, ſhould it farther appear that this ſimple bird, when diveſted of that natural [...] that ſeems to raiſe the kind in general above themſelves, and inſpire them with extraordinary degrees of cunning and addreſs, may be ſtill endued with a more enlarged faculty of diſcerning what ſpecies are ſuitable and congenerous nurſing-mothers for it's diſregarded eggs and young, and may depoſit them only under their care, this would be adding wonder to wonder, and inſtancing, in a freſh manner, that the methods of Providence are not ſubjected to any mode or rule, but aſtoniſh us in new lights, and in various and changeable appearances.

What was ſaid by a very ancient and ſublime writer concerning the defect of natural affection in the oſtrich, may be well applied to the bird we are talking of:

[127] Query. Does each female cuckoo lay but one egg in a ſeaſon, or does ſhe drop ſeveral in different neſts according as opportunity offers?

LETTER V. TO THE SAME.

I HEARD many birds of ſeveral ſpecies ſing laſt year after Mid⯑ſummer; enough to prove that the ſummer ſolſtice is not the period that puts a ſtop to the muſic of the woods. The yellowhammer no doubt perſiſts with more ſteadineſs than any other; but the woodlark, the wren, the redbreaſt, the ſwallow, the white-throat, the goldfinch, the common linnet, are all undoubted inſtances of the truth of what I advanced.

If this ſevere ſeaſon does not interrupt the regularity of the ſum⯑mer migrations, the blackcap will be here in two or three days. I wiſh it was in my power to procure you one of thoſe ſongſters; but I am no birdcatcher; and ſo little uſed to birds in a cage, that I fear if I had one it would ſoon die for want of ſkill in feeding.

[128] Was your reed-ſparrow, which you kept in a cage, the thick-billed reed-ſparrow of the Zoology, p. 320; or was it the leſs reed-ſparrow of Ray, the ſedge-bird of Mr. Pennant's laſt publication, p. 16?

As to the matter of long-billed birds growing fatter in moderate froſts, I have no doubt within myſelf what ſhould be the reaſon. The thriving at thoſe times appears to me to ariſe altogether from the gentle check which the cold throws upon inſenſible perſpiration. The caſe is juſt the ſame with blackbirds, &c.; and farmers and warreners obſerve, the firſt, that their hogs fat more kindly at ſuch times, and the latter that their rabbits are never in ſuch good caſe as in a gentle froſt. But when froſts are ſevere, and of long con⯑tinuance, the caſe is ſoon altered; for then a want of food ſoon overbalances the repletion occaſioned by a checked perſpiration. I have obſerved, moreover, that ſome human conſtitutions are more inclined to plumpneſs in winter than in ſummer.

When birds come to ſuffer by ſevere froſt, I find that the firſt that fail and die are the redwing-fieldfares, and then the ſong-thruſhes.

You wonder, with good reaſon, that the hedge-ſparrows, &c. can be induced at all to ſit on the egg of the cuckoo without being ſcan⯑dalized at the vaſt diſproportioned ſize of the ſuppoſititious egg; but the brute creation, I ſuppoſe, have very little idea of ſize, colour, or number. For the common hen, I know, when the fury of incubation is on her, will ſit on a ſingle ſhapeleſs ſtone in⯑ſtead of a neſt full of eggs that have been withdrawn: and, more⯑over, a hen-turkey, in the ſame circumſtances, would ſit on in the empty neſt till ſhe periſhed with hunger.

I think the matter might eaſily be determined whether a cuckoo lays one or two eggs, or more, in a ſeaſon, by opening a female [129] during the laying-time. If more than one was come down out of the ovary, and advanced to a good ſize, doubtleſs then ſhe would that ſpring lay more than one.

I will endeavour to get a hen, and to examine.

Your ſuppoſition that there may be ſome natural obſtruction in ſinging birds while they are mute, and that when this is removed the ſong recommences, is new and bold: I wiſh you could diſ⯑cover ſome good grounds for this ſuſpicion.

I was glad you were pleaſed with my ſpecimen of the caprimulgus, or fern-owl; you were, I find, acquainted with the bird before.

When we meet I ſhall be glad to have ſome converſation with you concerning the propoſal you make of my drawing up an account of the animals in this neighbourhood. Your partiality towards my ſmall abilities perſuades you, I fear, that I am able to do more than is in my power: for it is no ſmall undertaking for a man unſupported and alone to begin a natural hiſtory from his own autopſia! Though there is endleſs room for obſervation in the field of nature, which is boundleſs, yet inveſtigation (where a man endeavours to be ſure of his facts) can make but ſlow pro⯑greſs; and all that one could collect in many years would go into a very narrow compaſs.

Some extracts from your ingenious ‘"Inveſtigations of the dif⯑ference between the preſent temperature of the air in Italy,"’ &c. have fallen in my way; and gave me great ſatisfaction: they have removed the objections that always aroſe in my mind whenever I came to the paſſages which you quote. Surely the judicious Virgil, when writing a didactic poem for the region of Italy, could never think of deſcribing freezing rivers, unleſs ſuch ſeverity of weather pretty frequently occurred!

P.S. Swallows appear amidſt ſnows and froſt.

LETTER VI. TO THE SAME.

THE ſeverity and turbulence of laſt month ſo interrupted the re⯑gular proceſs of ſummer migration, that ſome of the birds do but juſt begin to ſhew themſelves, and others are apparently thinner than uſual; as the white-throat, the black-cap, the redſtart, the fly-catcher. I well remember that after the very ſevere ſpring in the year 1739-40 ſummer birds of paſſage were very ſcarce. They come probably hither with a ſouth-eaſt wind, or when it blows between thoſe points; but in that unfavourable year the winds blowed the whole ſpring and ſummer through from the oppoſite quarters. And yet amidſt all theſe diſadvantages two ſwallows, as I mentioned in my laſt, appeared this year as early as the eleventh of April amidſt froſt and ſnow; but they withdrew again for a time.

I am not pleaſed to find that ſome people ſeem ſo little ſatisfied with Scopoli's new publication^t; there is room to expect great things from the hands of that man, who is a good naturaliſt: and one would think that an hiſtory of the birds of ſo diſtant and ſouthern a region as Carniola would be new and intereſting. I could wiſh to ſee that work, and hope to get it ſent down. Dr. Scopoli is phyſician to the wretches that work in the quickſilver mines of that diſtrict.

When you talked of keeping a reed-ſparrow, and giving it ſeeds, I could not help wondering; becauſe the reed-ſparrow which I mentioned to you (paſſer arundinaceus minor Raii) is a ſoft⯑billed bird; and moſt probably migrates hence before winter; [131] whereas the bird you kept (paſſer torquatus Raii) abides all the year, and is a thick-billed bird. I queſtion whether the latter be much of a ſongſter; but in this matter I want to be better informed. The former has a variety of hurrying notes, and ſings all night. Some part of the ſong of the former, I ſuſpect, is attributed to the latter. We have plenty of the ſoft-billed ſort; which Mr. Pennant had entirely left out of his Britiſh Zoology, till I reminded him of his omiſſion. See Britiſh Zoology laſt publiſhed, p. 16^x.

I have ſomewhat to advance on the different manners in which different birds fly and walk; but as this is a ſubject that I have not enough conſidered, and is of ſuch a nature as not to be contained in a ſmall ſpace, I ſhall ſay nothing further about it at preſent^y.

No doubt the reaſon why the ſex of birds in their firſt plumage is ſo difficult to be diſtinguiſhed is, as you ſay, ‘"becauſe they are not to pair and diſcharge their parental functions till the enſuing ſpring."’ As colours ſeem to be the chief external ſexual diſtinction in many birds, theſe colours do not take place till ſexual attachments begin to obtain. And the caſe is the ſame in quadrupeds; among whom, in their younger days, the ſexes dif⯑fer but little: but, as they advance to maturity, horns and ſhaggy manes, beards and brawny necks, &c. &c. ſtrongly diſcriminate the male from the female. We may inſtance ſtill farther in our own ſpecies, where a beard and ſtronger features are uſually charac⯑teriſtic of the male ſex: but this ſexual diverſity does not take place in earlier life; for a beautiful youth ſhall be ſo like a beautiful girl that the difference ſhall not be diſcernible;

LETTER VII. TO THE SAME.

I AM glad to hear that Kuckalm is to furniſh you with the birds of Jamaica; a ſight of the hirundines of that hot and diſtant iſland would be a great entertainment to me.

The Anni of Scopoli are now in my poſſeſſion; and I have read the Annus Primus with ſatisfaction: for though ſome parts of this work are exceptionable, and he may advance ſome miſtaken obſervations; yet the ornithology of ſo diſtant a country as Carniola is very curious. Men that undertake only one diſtrict are much more likely to advance natural knowledge than thoſe that graſp at more than they can poſſibly be acquainted with: every kingdom, every province, ſhould have it's own monographer.

The reaſon perhaps why he mentions nothing of Ray's Ornitho⯑logy may be the extreme poverty and diſtance of his country, into which the works of our great naturaliſt may have never yet found their way. You have doubts, I know, whether this Ornithology is genuine, and really the work of Scopoli: as to myſelf, I think I diſcover ſtrong tokens of authenticity; the ſtyle correſponds with that of his Entomology; and his characters of his Ordines and Genera are many of them new, expreſſive, and maſterly. He has ventured to alter ſome of the Linnaean genera with ſufficient ſhew of reaſon.

It might perhaps be mere accident that you ſaw ſo many ſwifts and no ſwallows at Staines; becauſe, in my long obſervation of [133] thoſe birds, I never could diſcover the leaſt degree of rivalry or hoſtility between the ſpecies.

Ray remarks that birds of the gallinae order, as cocks and hens, partridges, and pheaſants, &c. are pulveratrices, ſuch as duſt themſelves, uſing that method of cleanſing their feathers, and ridding themſelves of their vermin. As far as I can obſerve, many birds that duſt themſelves never waſh: and I once thought that thoſe birds that waſh themſelves would never duſt; but here I find myſelf miſtaken; for common houſe-ſparrows are great pulveratrices, being frequently ſeen grovelling and wallowing in duſty roads; and yet they are great waſhers. Does not the ſkylark duſt?

Query. Might not Mahomet and his followers take one method of purification from theſe pulveratrices? becauſe I find from travel⯑lers of credit, that if a ſtrict muſſulman is journeying in a ſandy deſert where no water is to be found, at ſtated hours he ſtrips off his clothes, and moſt ſcrupulouſly rubs his body over with ſand or duſt.

A countryman told me he had found a young fern-owl in the neſt of a ſmall bird on the ground; and that it was fed by the little bird. I went to ſee this extraordinary phenomenon, and found that it was a young cuckoo hatched in the neſt of a titlark: it was become vaſtly too big for it's neſt, appearing

and was very fierce and pugnacious, purſuing my finger, as I teazed it, for many feet from the neſt, and ſparring and buffetting with it's wings like a game-cock. The dupe of a dam appeared at a diſtance, hovering about with meat in it's mouth, and expreſ⯑ſing the greateſt ſolicitude.

[134] In July I ſaw ſeveral cuckoos ſkimming over a large pond; and found, after ſome obſervation, that they were feeding on the libellulae, or dragon-flies; ſome of which they caught as they ſettled on the weeds, and ſome as they were on the wing. Notwithſtand⯑ing what Linnaeus ſays, I cannot be induced to believe that they are birds of prey.

This diſtrict affords ſome birds that are hardly ever heard of at Selborne. In the firſt place conſiderable flocks of croſs-beaks (loxiae curviroſtrae) have appeared this ſummer in the pine-groves belong⯑ing to this houſe; the water-ouſel is ſaid to haunt the mouth of the Lewes river, near Newhaven; and the Corniſh chough builds, I know, all along the chalky cliffs of the Suſſex ſhore.

I was greatly pleaſed to ſee little parties of ring-ouſels (my newly diſcovered migraters) ſcattered, at intervals, all along the Suſſex downs from Chicheſter to Lewes. Let them come from whence they will, it looks very ſuſpicious that they are cantoned along the coaſt in order to paſs the channel when ſevere weather advances. They viſit us again in April, as it ſhould ſeem, in their return; and are not to be found in the dead of winter. It is remarkable that they are very tame, and ſeem to have no manner of apprehenſions of danger from a perſon with a gun. There are buſtards on the wide downs near Brighthelmſtone. No doubt you are acquainted with the Suſſex downs: the proſpects and rides round Lewes are moſt lovely!

As I rode along near the coaſt I kept a very ſharp look out in the lanes and woods, hoping I might, at this time of the year, have diſcovered ſome of the ſummer ſhort-winged birds of paſſage crowding towards the coaſt in order for their departure: but it was very extraordinary that I never ſaw a redſtart, white-throat, black-cap, uncreſted wren, ſly-catcher, &c. And I remember to have made the ſame remark in former years, as I uſually come to [135] this place annually about this time. The birds moſt common along the coaſt at preſent are the ſtone-chatters, whinchats, buntings, linnets, ſome few wheat-ears, titlarks, &c. Swallows and houſe⯑martins abound yet, induced to prolong their ſtay by this ſoft, ſtill, dry ſeaſon.

A land tortoiſe, which has been kept for thirty years in a little walled court belonging to the houſe where I now am viſiting, retires under ground about the middle of November, and comes forth again about the middle of April. When it firſt appears in the ſpring it diſcovers very little inclination towards food; but in the height of ſummer grows voracious: and then as the ſummer de⯑clines it's appetite declines; ſo that for the laſt ſix weeks in autumn it hardly eats at all. Milky plants, ſuch as lettuces, dandelions, ſowthiſtles, are it's favourite diſh. In a neighbouring village one was kept till by tradition it was ſuppoſed to be an hundred years old. An inſtance of vaſt longevity in ſuch a poor reptile!

LETTER VIII. TO THE SAME.

THE birds that I took for aberdavines were reed-ſparrows (paſſeres torquati.)

There are doubtleſs many home internal migrations within this kingdom that want to be better underſtood: witneſs thoſe vaſt ſlocks of hen chaffinches that appear with us in the winter without hardly any cocks among them. Now was there a due proportion [136] of each ſex, it ſhould ſeem very improbable that any one diſtrict ſhould produce ſuch numbers of theſe little birds; and much more when only one half of the ſpecies appears: therefore we may con⯑clude that the fringillae caelebes, for ſome good purpoſes, have a peculiar migration of their own in which the ſexes part. Nor ſhould it ſeem ſo wonderful that the intercourſe of ſexes in this ſpecies of birds ſhould be interrupted in winter; ſince in many animals, and particularly in bucks and does, the ſexes herd ſeparately, except at the ſeaſon when commerce is neceſſary for the continuance of the breed. For this matter of the chaffinches ſee Fauna Suecica, p. 85, and Syſtema Naturae, p. 318. I ſee every winter vaſt flights of hen chaffinches, but none of cocks.

Your method of accounting for the periodical motions of the Britiſh ſinging birds, or birds of flight, is a very probable one; ſince the matter of food is a great regulator of the actions and pro⯑ceedings of the brute creation: there is but one that can be ſet in competition with it, and that is love. But I cannot quite acquieſce with you in one circumſtance when you advance that, ‘"when they have thus feaſted, they again ſeparate into ſmall parties of five or ſix, and get the beſt fare they can within a certain diſtrict, having no inducement to go in queſt of freſh-turned earth."’ Now if you mean that the buſineſs of congregating is quite at an end from the concluſion of wheat-ſowing to the ſeaſon of barley and oats, it is not the caſe with us; for larks and chaffinches, and particularly linnets, flock and congregate as much in the very dead of winter as when the huſbandman is buſy with his ploughs and harrows.

Sure there can be no doubt but that woodcocks and fieldfares leave us in the ſpring, in order to croſs the ſeas, and to retire to ſome diſtricts more ſuitable to the purpoſe of breeding. That the [137] former pair before they retire, and that the hens are forward with egg, I myſelf, when I was a ſportſman, have often experienced. It cannot indeed be denied but that now and then we hear of a woodcock's neſt, or young birds, diſcovered in ſome part or other of this iſland: but then they are always mentioned as rarities, and ſomewhat out of the common courſe of things: but as to redwings and fieldfares, no ſportſman or naturaliſt has ever yet, that I could hear, pretended to have found the neſt or young of thoſe ſpecies in any part of theſe kingdoms. And I the more admire at this in⯑ſtance as extraordinary, ſince, to all appearance, the ſame food in ſummer as well as in winter might ſupport them here which main⯑tains their congeners, the blackbirds and thruſhes, did they chuſe to ſtay the ſummer through. From hence it appears that it is not food alone which determines ſome ſpecies of birds with regard to their ſtay or departure. Fieldfares and redwings diſappear ſooner or later according as the warm weather comes on earlier or later. For I well remember, after that dreadful winter 1739-40, that cold north-eaſt winds continued to blow on through April and May, and that theſe kinds of birds (what few remained of them) did not de⯑part as uſual, but were ſeen lingering about till the beginning of June.

The beſt authority that we can have for the nidiſication of the birds above mentioned in any diſtrict, is the teſtimony of fauniſts that have written profeſſedly the natural hiſtory of particular coun⯑tries. Now, as to the fieldfare, Linnaeus, in his Fauna Suecica, ſays of it that ‘"maximis in arboribus nidificat:"’ and of the redwing he ſays, in the ſame place, that ‘"nidificat in mediis arbuſculis, ſive ſepibus: ova ſex caeruleo-viridia maculis nigris variis."’ Hence we may be aſſured that fieldfares and redwings breed in Sweden. Scopoli ſays, in his Annus Primus, of the woodcock, that ‘"nupta ad nos venit circa aequinoc⯑tium vernale:"’ meaning in Tirol, of which he is a native. And [138] afterwards he adds ‘"nidificat in paludibus alpinis: ova ponit 3—5."’ It does not appear from Kramer that woodcocks breed at all in Auſtria: but he ſays ‘"Avis haec ſeptentrionalium provinciarum aſtivo tempore incola eſt; ubi plerumque nidificat. Appropinquante hyeme auſtraliores provincias petit: hinc circa plenilunium menſis Octobris plerum⯑que Auſtriam tranſmigrat. Tunc rurſus circa plenilunium potiſſimum menſis Martii per Auſtriam matrimonio juncta ad ſeptentrionales provincias redit."’ For the whole paſſage (which I have abridged) ſee Elenchus, &c. p. 351. This ſeems to be a full proof of the migra⯑tion of woodcocks; though little is proved concerning the place of breeding.

P.S. There fell in the county of Rutland, in three weeks of this preſent very wet weather, ſeven inches and an half of rain, which is more than has fallen in any three weeks for theſe thirty years paſt in that part of the world. A mean quantity in that county for one year is twenty inches and an half.

LETTER IX. TO THE SAME.

YOU are, I know, no great friend to migration; and the well at⯑teſted accounts from various parts of the kingdom ſeem to juſtify you in your ſuſpicions, that at leaſt many of the ſwallow kind do [139] not leave us in the winter, but lay themſelves up like inſects and bats, in a torpid ſtate, and ſlumber away the more uncomfortable months till the return of the ſun and fine weather awakens them.

But then we muſt not, I think, deny migration in general; be⯑cauſe migration certainly does ſubſiſt in ſome places, as my brother in Andaluſia has fully informed me. Of the motions of theſe birds he has ocular demonſtration, for many weeks together, both ſpring and fall: during which periods myriads of the ſwallow kind traverſe the Straits from north to ſouth, and from ſouth to north, according to the ſeaſon. And theſe vaſt migrations conſiſt not only of hirundines but of bee-birds, hoopoes, oro pendolos, or golden thruſhes, &c. &c. and alſo of many of our ſoft-billed ſummer birds of paſſage; and moreover of birds which never leave us, ſuch as all the various ſorts of hawks and kites. Old Belon, two hundred years ago, gives a curious account of the incredible armies of hawks and kites which he ſaw in the ſpring-time traverſing the Thracian Boſphorus from Aſia to Europe. Beſides the above mentioned, he remarks that the proceſ⯑ſion is ſwelled by whole troops of eagles and vultures.

Now it is no wonder that birds reſiding in Africa ſhould retreat before the ſun as it advances, and retire to milder regions, and eſpecially birds of prey, whoſe blood being heated with hot animal food, are more impatient of a ſultry climate: but then I cannot help wondering why kites and hawks, and ſuch hardy birds as are known to defy all the ſeverity of England, and even of Sweden and all north Europe, ſhould want to migrate from the ſouth of Europe, and be diſſatisfied with the winters of Andaluſia.

It does not appear to me that much ſtreſs may be laid on the difficulty and hazard that birds muſt run in their migrations, by rea⯑ſon of vaſt oceans, croſs winds, &c.; becauſe, if we reflect, a bird may travel from England to the equator without launching out and [140] expoſing itſelf to boundleſs ſeas, and that by croſſing the water at Dover, and again at Gibraltar. And I with the more confidence advance this obvious remark, becauſe my brother has always found that ſome of his birds, and particularly the ſwallow kind, are very ſparing of their pains in croſſing the Mediterranean: for when arrived at Gibraltar they do not

but ſcout and hurry along in little detached parties of ſix or ſeven in a company; and ſweeping low, juſt over the ſurface of the land and water, direct their courſe to the oppoſite continent at the narroweſt paſſage they can find. They uſually ſlope acroſs the bay to the ſouth-weſt, and ſo paſs over oppoſite to Tangier, which, it ſeems, is the narroweſt ſpace.

In former letters we have conſidered whether it was probable that woodcocks in moon-ſhiny nights croſs the German ocean from Scandinavia. As a proof that birds of leſs ſpeed may paſs that ſea, conſiderable as it is, I ſhall relate the following incident, which, though mentioned to have happened ſo many years ago, was ſtrictly matter of fact:—As ſome people were ſhooting in the pariſh of Trotton, in the county of Suſſex, they killed a duck in that dreadful winter 1708-9, with a ſilver collar about it's neck^z, on which were engraven the arms of the king of Denmark. This anecdote the rector of Trotton at that time has often told to a near relation of mine; and, to the beſt of my remembrance, the collar was in the poſſeſſion of the rector.

[141] At preſent I do not know any body near the ſea-ſide that will take the trouble to remark at what time of the moon woodcocks firſt come: if I lived near the ſea myſelf I would ſoon tell you more of the matter. One thing I uſed to obſerve when I was a ſportſman, that there were times in which woodcocks were ſo ſluggiſh and ſleepy that they would drop again when fluſhed juſt before the ſpaniels, nay juſt at the muzzle of a gun that had been fired at them: whether this ſtrange lazineſs was the effect of a recent fatiguing journey I ſhall not preſume to ſay.

Nightingales not only never reach Northumberland and Scotland, but alſo, as I have been always told, Devonſhire and Cornwall. In thoſe two laſt counties we cannot attribute the failure of them to the want of warmth: the defect in the weſt is rather a preſumptive argument that theſe birds come over to us from the continent at the narroweſt paſſage, and do not ſtroll ſo far weſtward.

Let me hear from your own obſervation whether ſkylarks do not duſt. I think they do: and if they do, whether they waſh alſo.

The alauda pratenſis of Ray was the poor dupe that was educating the booby of a cuckoo mentioned in my letter of October laſt.

Your letter came too late for me to procure a ring-ouſel for Mr. Tunſtal during their autumnal viſit; but I will endeavour to get him one when they call on us again in April. I am glad that you and that gentleman ſaw my Andaluſian birds; I hope they anſwered your ex⯑pectation. Royſton, or grey crows, are winter birds that come much about the ſame time with the woodcock: they, like the fieldfare and redwing, have no apparent reaſon for migration; for as they fare in the winter like their congeners, ſo might they in all appear⯑ance in the ſummer. Was not Tenant, when a boy, miſtaken? did he not find a miſſel-thruſh's neſt, and take it for the neſt of a fieldfare?

[142] The ſtock-dove, or wood-pigeon, oenas Raii, is the laſt winter bird of paſſage which appears with us; and is not ſeen till towards the end of November: about twenty years ago they abounded in the diſtrict of Selborne; and ſtrings of them were ſeen morning and evening that reached a mile or more: but ſince the beechen woods have been greatly thinned they are much decreaſed in number. The ring-dove, palumbus Raii, ſtays with us the whole year, and breeds ſeveral times through the ſummer.

Before I received your letter of October laſt I had juſt remarked in my journal that the trees were unuſually green. This uncom⯑mon verdure laſted on late into November; and may be accounted for from a late ſpring, a cool and moiſt ſummer; but more particu⯑larly from vaſt armies of chafers, or tree-beetles, which, in many places, reduced whole woods to a leafleſs naked ſtate. Theſe trees ſhot again at Midſummer, and then retained their foliage till very late in the year.

My muſical friend, at whoſe houſe I am now viſiting, has tried all the owls that are his near neighbours with a pitch-pipe ſet at concert-pitch, and finds they all hoot in B flat. He will exa⯑mine the nightingales next ſpring.

LETTER X. TO THE SAME.

FROM what follows, it will appear that neither owls nor cuckoos keep to one note. A friend remarks that many (moſt) of his owls hoot in B flat; but that one went almoſt half a note below A. The pipe he tried their notes by was a common half-crown pitch-pipe, ſuch as maſters uſe for tuning of harpſichords; it was the common London pitch.

A neighbour of mine, who is ſaid to have a nice ear, remarks that the owls about this village hoot in three different keys, in G flat, or F ſharp, in B flat and A flat. He heard two hooting to each other, the one in A flat, and the other in B flat. Query: Do theſe different notes proceed from different ſpecies, or only from various individuals? The ſame perſon finds upon trial that the note of the cuckoo (of which we have but one ſpecies) varies in different individuals; for, about Selborne wood, he found they were moſtly in D: he heard two ſing together, the one in D, the other in D ſharp, who made a diſagreeable concert: he afterwards heard one in D ſharp, and about Woolmer-foreſt ſome in C. As to night⯑ingales, he ſays that their notes are ſo ſhort, and their tranſitions ſo rapid, that he cannot well aſcertain their key. Perhaps in a cage, and in a room, their notes may be more diſtinguiſhable. This per⯑ſon has tried to ſettle the notes of a ſwift, and of ſeveral other ſmall birds, but cannot bring them to any criterion.

[144] As I have often remarked that redwings are ſome of the firſt birds that ſuffer with us in ſevere weather, it is no wonder at all that they retreat from Scandinavian winters: and much more the ordo of grallae, who, all to a bird, forſake the northern parts of Europe at the approach of winter. ‘"Grallae tanquam conjuratae unanimiter in fugam ſe conjiciunt; ne earum unicam quidem inter nos habitantem in⯑venire poſſimus; ut enim aeſtate in auſtralibus degere nequeunt ob defectum lumbricorum, terramque ſiccam; ita nec in frigidis ob eandem cauſam",’ ſays Ekmarck the Swede, in his ingenious little treatiſe called Migra⯑tiones Avium, which by all means you ought to read while your thoughts run on the ſubject of migration. See Amaenitates Academicae, vol. 4, p. 565.

Birds may be ſo circumſtanced as to be obliged to migrate in one country and not in another: but the grallae, (which procure their food from marſhes and boggy grounds) muſt in winter forſake the more northerly parts of Europe, or periſh for want of food.

I am glad you are making inquiries from Linnaeus concerning the woodcock: it is expected of him that he ſhould be able to account for the motions and manner of life of the animals of his own Fauna.

Fauniſts, as you obſerve, are too apt to acquieſce in bare deſcrip⯑tions, and a few ſynonyms: the reaſon is plain; becauſe all that may be done at home in a man's ſtudy, but the inveſtigation of the life and converſation of animals, is a concern of much more trouble and difficulty, and is not to be attained but by the active and inquiſitive, and by thoſe that reſide much in the country.

Foreign ſyſtematics are, I obſerve, much too vague in their ſpecific differences; which are almoſt univerſally conſtituted by one or two particular marks, the reſt of the deſcription running in general terms. But our countryman, the excellent Mr. Ray, is [145] the only deſcriber that conveys ſome preciſe idea in every term or word, maintaining his ſuperiority over his followers and imitators in ſpite of the advantage of freſh diſcoveries and modern inform⯑ation.

At this diſtance of years it is not in my power to recollect at what periods woodcocks uſed to be ſluggiſh or alert when I was a ſportſman: but, upon my mentioning this circumſtance to a friend, he thinks he has obſerved them to be remarkably liſtleſs againſt ſnowy foul weather: if this ſhould be the caſe, then the inaptitude for flying ariſes only from an eagerneſs for food; as ſheep are ob⯑ſerved to be very intent on grazing againſt ſtormy wet evenings.

LETTER XI. TO THE SAME.

WHEN I ride about in the winter, and ſee ſuch prodigious flocks of various kinds of birds, I cannot help admiring at theſe congre⯑gations, and wiſhing that it was in my power to account for thoſe appearances almoſt peculiar to the ſeaſon. The two great motives which regulate the proceedings of the brute creation are love and hunger; the former incites animals to perpetuate their kind, the [146] latter induces them to preſerve individuals: whether either of theſe ſhould ſeem to be the ruling paſſion in the matter of congregating is to be conſidered. As to love, that is out of the queſtion at a time of the year when that ſoft paſſion is not indulged: beſides, during the amorous ſeaſon, ſuch a jealouſy prevails between the male birds that they can hardly bear to be together in the ſame hedge or field. Moſt of the ſinging and elation of ſpirits of that time ſeem to me to be the effect of rivalry and emulation: and it is to this ſpirit of jealouſy that I chiefly attribute the equal diſperſion of birds in the ſpring over the face of the country.

Now as to the buſineſs of food: as theſe animals are actuated by inſtinct to hunt for neceſſary food, they ſhould not, one would ſup⯑poſe, crowd together in purſuit of ſuſtenance at a time when it is moſt likely to fail; yet ſuch aſſociations do take place in hard weather chiefly, and thicken as the ſeverity increaſes. As ſome kind of ſelf-intereſt and ſelf-defence is no doubt the motive for the proceeding, may it not ariſe from the helpleſſneſs of their ſtate in ſuch rigorous ſeaſons; as men crowd together, when under great calamities, though they know not why? Perhaps approximation may diſpel ſome de⯑gree of cold; and a crowd may make each individual appear ſafer from the ravages of birds of prey and other dangers.

If I admire when I ſee how much congenerous birds love to con⯑gregate, I am the more ſtruck when I ſee incongruous ones in ſuch ſtrict amity. If we do not much wonder to ſee a flock of rooks uſually attended by a train of daws, yet it is ſtrange that the former ſhould ſo frequently have a flight of ſtarlings for their ſatellites. Is it becauſe rooks have a more diſcerning ſcent than their attend⯑dants, and can lead them to ſpots more productive of food? Anato⯑miſts ſay that rooks, by reaſon of two large nerves which run down between the eyes into the upper mandible, have a more delicate feeling in their beaks than other round-billed birds, and can grope [147] for their meat when out of ſight. Perhaps then their aſſociates attend them on the motive of intereſt, as greyhounds wait on the motions of their finders; and as lions are ſaid to do on the yelpings of jackalls. Lapwings and ſtarlings ſometimes aſſociate.

LETTER XII. TO THE SAME.

AS a gentleman and myſelf were walking on the fourth of laſt November round the ſea-banks at Newhaven, near the mouth of the Lewes river, in purſuit of natural knowledge, we were ſurpriſed to ſee three houſe-ſwallows gliding very ſwiftly by us. That morning was rather chilly, with the wind at north-weſt; but the tenor of the weather for ſome time before had been delicate, and the noons re⯑markably warm. From this incident, and from repeated accounts which I meet with, I am more and more induced to believe that many of the ſwallow kind do not depart from this iſland; but lay themſelves up in holes and caverns; and do, inſect-like and bat-like, come forth at mild times, and then retire again to their latebrae. Nor make I the leaſt doubt but that, if I lived at Newhaven, Sea⯑ford, Brighthelmſtone, or any of thoſe towns near the chalk-cliffs of the Suſſex coaſt, by proper obſervations, I ſhould ſee ſwallows ſtir⯑ring at periods of the winter, when the noons were ſoft and inviting, and the ſun warm and invigorating. And I am the more of this [148] opinion from what I have remarked during ſome of our late ſprings, that though ſome ſwallows did make their appearance about the uſual time, viz. the thirteenth or fourteenth of April, yet meeting with an harſh reception, and bluſtering cold north-eaſt winds, they immediately withdrew, abſconding for ſeveral days, till the weather gave them better encouragement.

LETTER XIII. TO THE SAME.

WHILE I was in Suſſex laſt autumn my reſidence was at the village near Lewes, from whence I had formerly the pleaſure of writing to you. On the firſt of November I remarked that the old tortoiſe, formerly mentioned, began firſt to dig the ground in order to the forming it's hybernaculum, which it had fixed on juſt beſide a great tuft of hepaticas. It ſcrapes out the ground with it's fore-feet, and throws it up over it's back with it's hind; but the motion of it's legs is ridiculouſly ſlow, little exceeding the hour-hand of a clock; and ſuitable to the compoſure of an animal ſaid to be a whole month in performing one feat of copulation. Nothing can be more aſſiduous than this creature night and day in ſcooping the earth, and forcing it's great body into the cavity; but, as the noons of that ſeaſon proved unuſually warm and ſunny, it was continually interrupted, and called forth by the heat in the middle of the day; [149] and though I continued there till the thirteenth of November, yet the work remained unfiniſhed. Harſher weather, and froſty mornings, would have quickened it's operations. No part of it's behaviour ever ſtruck me more than the extreme timidity it always expreſſes with regard to rain; for though it has a ſhell that would ſecure it againſt the wheel of a loaded cart, yet does it diſcover as much ſolicitude about rain as a lady dreſſed in all her beſt attire, ſhuffling away on the firſt ſprinklings, and running it's head up in a corner. If attended to, it becomes an excellent weather-glaſs; for as ſure as it walks elate, and as it were on tiptoe, feeding with great earneſtneſs in a morning, ſo ſure will it rain before night. It is totally a diurnal animal, and never pretends to ſtir after it be⯑comes dark. The tortoiſe, like other reptiles, has an arbitrary ſtomach as well as lungs; and can refrain from eating as well as breathing for a great part of the year. When firſt awakened it eats nothing; nor again in the autumn before it retires: through the height of the ſummer it feeds voraciouſly, devouring all the food that comes in it's way. I was much taken with it's ſagacity in diſ⯑cerning thoſe that do it kind offices: for, as ſoon as the good old lady comes in ſight who has waited on it for more than thirty years, it hobbles towards it's benefactreſs with aukward alacrity; but re⯑mains inattentive to ſtrangers. Thus not only ‘"the ox knoweth his owner, and the aſs his maſter's crib ^b,"’ but the moſt abject reptile and torpid of beings diſtinguiſhes the hand that feeds it, and is touched with the feelings of gratitude!

P.S. In about three days after I left Suſſex the tortoiſe retired into the ground under the hepatica.

LETTER XIV. TO THE SAME.

THE more I reflect on the [...] of animals, the more I am aſto⯑niſhed at it's effects. Nor is the violence of this affection more wonderful than the ſhortneſs of it's duration. Thus every hen is in her turn the virago of the yard, in proportion to the helpleſſneſs of her brood; and will fly in the face of a dog or a ſow in defence of thoſe chickens, which in a few weeks ſhe will drive before her with relentleſs cruelty.

This affection ſublimes the paſſions, quickens the invention, and ſharpens the ſagacity of the brute creation. Thus an hen, juſt be⯑come a mother, is no longer that placid bird ſhe uſed to be, but with feathers ſtanding an end, wings hovering, and clocking note, ſhe runs about like one poſſeſſed. Dams will throw themſelves in the way of the greateſt danger in order to avert it from their pro⯑geny. Thus a partridge will tumble along before a ſportſman in order to draw away the dogs from her helpleſs covey. In the time of nidification the moſt feeble birds will aſſault the moſt rapacious. All the hirundines of a village are up in arms at the ſight of an hawk, whom they will perſecute till he leaves that diſtrict. A very exact obſerver has often remarked that a pair of ravens neſting in the rock of Gibraltar would ſuffer no vulture or eagle to reſt near their ſtation, but would drive them from the hill with an amazing fury: even the [151] blue thruſh at the ſeaſon of breeding would dart out from the clefts of the rocks to chaſe away the keſtril, or the ſparrow-hawk. If you ſtand near the neſt of a bird that has young, ſhe will not be induced to betray them by an inadvertent fondneſs, but will wait about at a diſtance with meat in her mouth for an hour together.

Should I farther corroborate what I have advanced above by ſome anecdotes which I probably may have mentioned before in converſation, yet you will, I truſt, pardon the repetition for the ſake of the illuſtration.

The flycatcher of the Zoology (the ſtoparola of Ray), builds every year in the vines that grow on the walls of my houſe. A pair of theſe little birds had one year inadvertently placed their neſt on a naked bough, perhaps in a ſhady time, not being aware of the inconvenience that followed. But an hot ſunny ſeaſon coming on before the brood was half fledged, the reflection of the wall became inſupportable, and muſt inevitably have deſtroyed the tender young, had not affection ſuggeſted an expedient, and prompted the parent-birds to hover over the neſt all the hotter hours, while with wings expanded, and mouths gaping for breath, they ſcreened off the heat from their ſuffering offspring.

A farther inſtance I once ſaw of notable ſagacity in a willow-wren, which had built in a bank in my fields. This bird a friend and myſelf had obſerved as ſhe ſat in her neſt; but were particularly careful not to diſturb her, though we ſaw ſhe eyed us with ſome degree of jealouſy. Some days after as we paſſed that way we were deſirous of remarking how this brood went on; but no neſt could be found, till I happened to take up a large bundle of long green moſs, as it were, careleſſly thrown over the neſt in order to dodge the eye of any impertinent intruder.

[152] A ſtill more remarkable mixture of ſagacity and inſtinct occurred to me one day as my people were pulling off the lining of an hotbed, in order to add ſome freſh dung. From out of the ſide of this bed leaped an animal with great agility that made a moſt groteſque figure; nor was it without great difficulty that it could be taken; when it proved to be a large white-bellied field-mouſe with three or four young clinging to her teats by their mouths and feet. It was amazing that the deſultory and rapid motions of this dam ſhould not oblige her litter to quit their hold, eſpecially when it appeared that they were ſo young as to be both naked and blind!

To theſe inſtances of tender attachment, many more of which might be daily diſcovered by thoſe that are ſtudious of nature, may be oppoſed that rage of affection, that monſtrous perverſion of the [...] which induces ſome females of the brute creation to devour their young becauſe their owners have handled them too freely, or removed them from place to place! Swine, and ſometimes the more gentle race of dogs and cats, are guilty of this horrid and prepoſterous murder. When I hear now and then of an abandoned mother that deſtroys her offspring, I am not ſo much amazed; ſince reaſon per⯑verted, and the bad paſſions let looſe, are capable of any enormity: but why the parental feelings of brutes, that uſually flow in one moſt uniform tenor, ſhould ſometimes be ſo extravagantly diverted, I leave to abler philoſophers than myſelf to determine.

LETTER XV. TO THE SAME.

SOME young men went down lately to a pond on the verge of Wolmer-foreſt to hunt flappers, or young wild-ducks, many of which they caught, and, among the reſt, ſome very minute yet well-fledged wild-fowls alive, which upon examination I found to be teals. I did not know till then that teals ever bred in the ſouth of England, and was much pleaſed with the diſcovery: this I look upon as a great ſtroke in natural hiſtory.

We have had, ever ſince I can remember, a pair of white owls that conſtantly breed under the eaves of this church. As I have paid good attention to the manner of life of theſe birds during their ſeaſon of breeding, which laſts the ſummer through, the following remarks may not perhaps be unacceptable:—About an hour before ſunſet (for then the mice begin to run) they ſally forth in queſt of prey, and hunt all round the hedges of meadows and ſmall encloſures for them, which ſeem to be their only food. In this irregular country we can ſtand on an eminence and ſee them beat the fields over like a ſetting-dog, and often drop down in the graſs or corn. I have minuted theſe birds with my watch for an hour together, and have found that they return to their neſt, the one or the other of them, about once in five minutes; reflecting at the ſame time on the adroitneſs that every animal is poſſeſſed of as far as regards the well being of itſelf and off⯑ſpring. [154] But a piece of addreſs, which they ſhew when they re⯑turn loaded, ſhould not, I think, be paſſed over in ſilence.—As they take their prey with their claws, ſo they carry it in their claws to their neſt: but, as the feet are neceſſary in their aſcent under the tiles, they conſtantly perch firſt on the roof of the chancel, and ſhift the mouſe from their claws to their bill, that the feet may be at liberty to take hold of the plate on the wall as they are riſing under the eaves.

White owls ſeem not (but in this I am not poſitive) to hoot at all: all that clamorous hooting appears to me to come from the wood kinds. The white owl does indeed ſnore and hiſs in a tre⯑mendous manner; and theſe menaces well anſwer the intention of intimidating: for I have known a whole village up in arms on ſuch an occaſion, imagining the church-yard to be full of goblins and ſpectres. White owls alſo often ſcream horribly as they fly along; from this ſcreaming probably aroſe the common people's imaginary ſpecies of ſcreech-owl, which they ſuperſtitiouſly think attends the windows of dying perſons. The plumage of the remiges of the wings of every ſpecies of owl that I have yet examined is remarkably ſoft and pliant. Perhaps it may be neceſſary that the wings of theſe birds ſhould not make much reſiſtance or ruſhing, that they may be enabled to ſteal through the air unheard upon a nimble and watchful quarry.

While I am talking of owls, it may not be improper to mention what I was told by a gentleman of the county of Wilts. As they were grubbing a vaſt hollow pollard-aſh that had been the manſion of owls for centuries, he diſcovered at the bottom a maſs of matter that at firſt he could not account for. After ſome exa⯑mination, he found that it was a congeries of the bones of mice (and perhaps of birds and bats) that had been heaping together [155] for ages, being caſt up in pellets out of the crops of many genera⯑tions of inhabitants. For owls caſt up the bones, fur, and feathers, of what they devour, after the manner of hawks. He believes, he told me, that there were buſhels of this kind of ſubſtance.

When brown owls hoot their throats ſwell as big as an hen's egg. I have known an owl of this ſpecies live a full year without any water. Perhaps the caſe may be the ſame with all birds of prey. When owls fly they ſtretch out their legs behind them as a balance to their large heavy heads, for as moſt nocturnal birds have large eyes and ears they muſt have large heads to contain them. Large eyes I preſume are neceſſary to collect every ray of light, and large concave ears to command the ſmalleſt degree of ſound or noiſe.

LETTER XVI. TO THE SAME.

IN obedience to your injunctions I ſit down to give you ſome ac⯑count of the houſe-martin, or martlet; and, if my monography of this little domeſtic and familiar bird ſhould happen to meet with your approbation, I may probably ſoon extend my inquiries to the reſt of the Britiſh hirundines—the ſwallow, the ſwift, and the bank⯑martin.

A few houſe-martins begin to appear about the ſixteenth of April; uſually ſome few days later than the ſwallow. For ſome time after they appear the hirundines in general pay no attention to the buſineſs of nidification, but play and ſport about, either to recruit from the fatigue of their journey, if they do migrate at all, or elſe that their blood may recover it's true tone and texture after it has been ſo long benumbed by the ſeverities of winter. About the middle of May, if the weather be fine, the martin begins to think in earneſt of providing a manſion for it's family. The cruſt or ſhell of this neſt ſeems to be formed of ſuch dirt or loam as comes moſt readily to hand, and is tempered and wrought together with little bits of broken ſtraws to render it tough and tenacious. As this bird often builds againſt a perpendicular wall without any pro⯑jecting ledge under, it requires it's utmoſt efforts to get the firſt foundation firmly fixed, ſo that it may ſafely carry the ſuperſtruc⯑ture. On this occaſion the bird not only clings with it's claws, [158] but partly ſupports itſelf by ſtrongly inclining it's tail againſt the wall, making that a fulcrum; and thus ſteadied it works and plaſters the materials into the face of the brick or ſtone. But then, that this work may not, while it is ſoft and green, pull itſelf down by it's own weight, the provident architect has prudence and for⯑bearance enough not to advance her work too faſt; but by building only in the morning, and by dedicating the reſt of the day to food and amuſement, gives it ſufficient time to dry and harden. About half an inch ſeems to be a ſufficient layer for a day. Thus careful workmen when they build mud-walls (informed at firſt perhaps by this little bird) raiſe but a moderate layer at a time, and then deſiſt; leſt the work ſhould become top-heavy, and ſo be ruined by it's own weight. By this method in about ten or twelve days is formed an hemiſpheric neſt with a ſmall aperture towards the top, ſtrong, compact, and warm; and perfectly fitted for all the purpoſes for which it was intended. But then nothing is more common than for the houſe-ſparrow, as ſoon as the ſhell is finiſhed, to ſeize on it as it's own, to eject the owner, and to line it after it's own manner.

After ſo much labour is beſtowed in erecting a manſion, as Nature ſeldom works in vain, martins will breed on for ſeveral years together in the ſame neſt, where it happens to be well ſhelter⯑ed and ſecure from the injuries of weather. The ſhell or cruſt of the neſt is a ſort of ruſtic-work full of knobs and protuberances on the outſide: nor is the inſide of thoſe that I have examined ſmoothed with any exactneſs at all; but is rendered ſoft and warm, and fit for incubation, by a lining of ſmall ſtraws, graſſes, and fea⯑thers; and ſometimes by a bed of moſs interwoven with wool. In this neſt they tread, or engender, frequently during the time of building; and the hen lays from three to five white eggs.

[159] At firſt when the young are hatched, and are in a naked and helpleſs condition, the parent birds, with tender aſſiduity, carry out what comes away from their young. Was it not for this affec⯑tionate cleanlineſs the neſtlings would ſoon be burnt up, and de⯑ſtroyed in ſo deep and hollow a neſt, by their own cauſtic excrement. In the quadruped creation the ſame neat precaution is made uſe of; particularly among dogs and cats, where the dams lick away what proceeds from their young. But in birds there ſeems to be a particular proviſion, that the dung of neſtlings is enveloped in a tough kind of jelly, and therefore is the eaſier conveyed off without ſoiling or daubing. Yet, as nature is cleanly in all her ways, the young perform this office for themſelves in a little time by thruſt⯑ing their tails out at the aperture of their neſt. As the young of ſmall birds preſently arrive at their [...], or full growth, they ſoon become impatient of confinement, and ſit all day with their heads out at the orifice, where the dams, by clinging to the neſt, ſupply them with food from morning to night. For a time the young are fed on the wing by their parents; but the feat is done by ſo quick and almoſt imperceptible a ſlight, that a perſon muſt have attended very exactly to their motions before he would be able to perceive it. As ſoon as the young are able to ſhift for themſelves, the dams immediately turn their thoughts to the buſineſs of a ſecond brood: while the firſt flight, ſhaken off and rejected by their nurſes, congregate in great flocks, and are the birds that are ſeen cluſtering and hovering on ſunny mornings and evenings round towers and ſteeples, and on the roofs of churches and houſes. Theſe congregatings uſually begin to take place about the firſt week in Auguſt; and therefore we may conclude that by that time the firſt flight is pretty well over. The young of this ſpecies do not quit their abodes all together; but the more forward birds get abroad ſome days [160] before the reſt. Theſe approaching the eaves of buildings, and play⯑ing about before them, make people think that ſeveral old ones attend one neſt. They are often capricious in fixing on a neſting⯑place, beginning many edifices, and leaving them unfiniſhed; but when once a neſt is completed in a ſheltered place, it ſerves for ſeveral ſeaſons. Thoſe which breed in a ready finiſhed houſe get the ſtart in hatching of thoſe that build new by ten days or a fortnight. Theſe induſtrious artificers are at their labours in the long days be⯑fore four in the morning: when they fix their materials they plaſter them on with their chins, moving their heads with a quick vibratory motion. They dip and waſh as they fly ſometimes in very hot weather, but not ſo frequently as ſwallows. It has been obſerved that martins uſually build to a north-eaſt or north-weſt aſpect, that the heat of the ſun may not crack and deſtroy their neſts: but in⯑ſtances are alſo remembered where they bred for many years in vaſt abundance in an hot ſtifled inn-yard, againſt a wall facing to the ſouth.

Birds in general are wiſe in their choice of ſituation: but in this neighbourhood every ſummer is ſeen a ſtrong proof to the contrary at an houſe without eaves in an expoſed diſtrict, where ſome mar⯑tins build year by year in the corners of the windows. But, as the corners of theſe windows (which face to the ſouth-eaſt and ſouth-weſt) are too ſhallow, the neſts are waſhed down every hard rain; and yet theſe birds drudge on to no purpoſe from ſummer to ſummer, without changing their aſpect or houſe. It is a piteous ſight to ſee them labouring when half their neſt is waſhed away and bringing dirt—‘"generis lapſi ſarcire ruinas."’ Thus is inſtinct a moſt wonderful unequal faculty; in ſome inſtances ſo much above reaſon, in other reſpects ſo far below it! Martins love to frequent towns, eſpecially if there are great lakes and rivers at hand; nay [161] they even affect the cloſe air of London. And I have not only ſeen them neſting in the Borough, but even in the Strand and Fleet-ſtreet; but then it was obvious from the dingineſs of their aſpect that their feathers partook of the filth of that ſooty atmoſphere. Martins are by far the leaſt agile of the four ſpecies; their wings and tails are ſhort, and therefore they are not capable of ſuch ſurpriſing turns and quick and glancing evolutions as the ſwallow. Accord⯑ingly they make uſe of a placid eaſy motion in a middle region of the air, ſeldom mounting to any great height, and never ſweeping long together over the ſurface of the ground or water. They do not wander far for food, but affect ſheltered diſtricts, over ſome lake, or under ſome hanging wood, or in ſome hollow vale, eſpecially in windy weather. They breed the lateſt of all the ſwallow kind: in 1772 they had neſtlings on to October the twenty-firſt, and are never without unfledged young as late as Michaelmas.

As the ſummer declines the congregating flocks increaſe in num⯑bers daily by the conſtant acceſſion of the ſecond broods; till at laſt they ſwarm in myriads upon myriads round the villages on the Thames, darkening the face of the ſky as they frequent the aits of that river, where they rooſt. They retire, the bulk of them I mean, in vaſt flocks together about the beginning of October: but have appeared of late years in a conſiderable flight in this neighbour⯑hood, for one day or two, as late as November the third and ſixth, after they were ſuppoſed to have been gone for more than a fort⯑night. They therefore withdraw with us the lateſt of any ſpecies. Unleſs theſe birds are very ſhort-lived indeed, or unleſs they do not return to the diſtrict where they are bred, they muſt undergo vaſt devaſtations ſome how, and ſome where; for the birds that return yearly bear no manner of proportion to the birds that retire.

[162] Houſe-martins are diſtinguiſhed from their congeners by having their legs covered with ſoft downy feathers down to their toes. They are no ſongſters; but twitter in a pretty inward ſoft manner in their neſts. During the time of breeding they are often greatly moleſted with fleas.

LETTER XVII. TO THE SAME.

I RECEIVED your laſt favour juſt as I was ſetting out for this place; and am pleaſed to find that my monography met with your appro⯑bation. My remarks are the reſult of many years obſervation; and are, I truſt, true in the whole: though I do not pretend to ſay that they are perfectly void of miſtake, or that a more nice obſerver might not make many additions, ſince ſubjects of this kind are inexhauſtible.

If you think my letter worthy the notice of your reſpectable ſociety, you are at liberty to lay it before them; and they will con⯑ſider it, I hope, as it was intended, as an humble attempt to pro⯑mote a more minute inquiry into natural hiſtory; into the life and converſation of animals. Perhaps hereafter I may be induced to take the houſe-ſwallow under conſideration; and from that pro⯑ceed to the reſt of the Britiſh hirundines.

[163] Though I have now travelled the Suſſex-downs upwards of thirty years, yet I ſtill inveſtigate that chain of majeſtic mountains with freſh admiration year by year; and think I ſee new beauties every time I traverſe it. This range, which runs from Chicheſter eaſtward as far as Eaſt-Bourn, is about ſixty miles in length, and is called The South Downs, properly ſpeaking, only round Lewes. As you paſs along you command a noble view of the wild, or weald, on one hand, and the broad downs and ſea on the other. Mr. Ray uſed to viſit a family^d juſt at the foot of theſe hills, and was ſo raviſhed with the proſpect from Plumpton-plain, near Lewes, that he mentions thoſe ſcapes in his "Wiſdom of God in the Works of the Creation" with the utmoſt ſatisfaction, and thinks them equal to any thing he had ſeen in the fineſt parts of Europe.

For my own part, I think there is ſomewhat peculiarly ſweet and amuſing in the ſhapely figured aſpect of chalk-hills in preference to thoſe of ſtone, which are rugged, broken, abrupt, and ſhapeleſs.

Perhaps I may be ſingular in my opinion, and not ſo happy as to convey to you the ſame idea; but I never contemplate theſe mountains without thinking I perceive ſomewhat analogous to growth in their gentle ſwellings and ſmooth fungus-like protuber⯑ances, their fluted ſides, and regular hollows and ſlopes, that carry at once the air of vegetative dilation and expanſion—

—Or was there ever a time when theſe immenſe maſſes of calcarious matter were thrown into fermentation by ſome adventi⯑tious moiſture; were raiſed and leavened into ſuch ſhapes by ſome plaſtic power; and ſo made to ſwell and heave their broad backs into the ſky ſo much above the leſs animated clay of the wild below?

[164] By what I can gueſs from the admeaſurements of the hills that have been taken round my houſe, I ſhould ſuppoſe that theſe hills ſurmount the wild at an average at about the rate of five hundred feet.

One thing is very remarkable as to the ſheep: from the weſtward till you get to the river Adur all the flocks have horns, and ſmooth white faces, and white legs; and a hornleſs ſheep is rarely to be ſeen: but as ſoon as you paſs that river eaſtward, and mount Beeding-hill, all the flocks at once become hornleſs, or, as they call them, poll-ſheep; and have moreover black faces with a white tuft of wool on their foreheads, and ſpeckled and ſpotted legs: ſo that you would think that the flocks of Laban were paſturing on one ſide of the ſtream, and the variegated breed of his ſon-in-law Jacob were cantoned along on the other. And this diverſity holds good reſpectively on each ſide from the valley of Bramber and Beeding to the eaſtward, and weſtward all the whole length of the downs. If you talk with the ſhepherds on this ſubject, they tell you that the caſe has been ſo from time immemorial; and ſmile at your ſimplicity if you aſk them whether the ſituation of theſe two different breeds might not be reverſed? However, an intelligent friend of mine near Chicheſter is determined to try the experiment; and has this autumn, at the hazard of being laughed at, introduced a parcel of black-faced hornleſs rams among his horned weſtern ewes. The black-faced poll-ſheep have the ſhorteſt legs and the fineſt wool.

As I had hardly ever before travelled theſe downs at ſo late a ſeaſon of the year, I was determined to keep as ſharp a look-out as poſſible ſo near the ſouthern coaſt, with reſpect to the ſummer ſhort⯑winged birds of paſſage. We make great inquiries concerning the withdrawing of the ſwallow kind, without examining enough into [165] the cauſes why this tribe is never to be ſeen in winter: for, entre nous, the diſappearing of the latter is more marvellous than that of the former, and much more unaccountable. The hirundines, if they pleaſe, are certainly capable of migration; and yet no doubt are often found in a torpid ſtate: but redſtarts, nightingales, white-throats, black-caps, &c. &c. are very ill provided for long flights; have never been once found, as I ever heard of, in a torpid ſtate, and yet can never be ſuppoſed, in ſuch troops, from year to year to dodge and elude the eyes of the curious and inquiſitive, which from day to day diſcern the other ſmall birds that are known to abide our winters. But, notwithſtanding all my care, I ſaw no⯑thing like a ſummer bird of paſſage: and, what is more ſtrange, not one wheat-ear, though they abound ſo in the autumn as to be a conſiderable perquiſite to the ſhepherds that take them; and though many are to be ſeen to my knowledge all the winter through in many parts of the ſouth of England. The moſt intelligent ſhep⯑herds tell me that ſome few of theſe birds appear on the downs in March, and then withdraw to breed probably in warrens and ſtone⯑quarries: now and then a neſt is plowed up in a fallow on the downs under a furrow, but it is thought a rarity. At the time of wheat-har⯑veſt they begin to be taken in great numbers; are ſent for ſale in vaſt quantities to Brighthelmſtone and Tunbridge; and appear at the tables of all the gentry that entertain with any degree of elegance. About Michaelmas they retire and are ſeen no more till March. Though theſe birds are, when in ſeaſon, in great plenty on the ſouth downs round Lewes, yet at Eaſt-Bourn, which is the eaſtern extremity of thoſe downs, they abound much more. One thing is very remark⯑able—that though in the height of the ſeaſon ſo many hundreds of dozens are taken, yet they never are ſeen to ſlock; and it is a rare thing to ſee more than three or four at a time: ſo that there [166] muſt be a perpetual flitting and conſtant progreſſive ſucceſſion. It does not appear that any wheat-ears are taken to the weſtward of Houghton-bridge, which ſtands on the river Arun.

I did not fail to look particularly after my new migration of ring-ouſels; and to take notice whether they continued on the downs to this ſeaſon of the year; as I had formerly remarked them in the month of October all the way from Chicheſter to Lewes where⯑ever there were any ſhrubs and covert: but not one bird of this ſort came within my obſervation. I only ſaw a few larks and whin⯑chats, ſome rooks, and ſeveral kites and buzzards.

About Midſummer a flight of croſs-bills comes to the pine-groves about this houſe, but never makes any long ſtay.

The old tortoiſe, that I have mentioned in a former letter, ſtill continues in this garden; and retired under ground about the twentieth of November, and came out again for one day on the thirtieth: it lies now buried in a wet ſwampy border under a wall facing to the ſouth, and is enveloped at preſent in mud and mire!

Here is a large rookery round this houſe, the inhabitants of which ſeem to get their livelihood very eaſily; for they ſpend the greateſt part of the day on their neſt-trees when the weather is mild. Theſe rooks retire every evening all the winter from this rookery, where they only call by the way, as they are going to rooſt in deep woods: at the dawn of day they always reviſit their neſt-trees, and are preceded a few minutes by a flight of daws, that act, as it were, as their harbingers.

LETTER XVIII. TO THE SAME.

THE houſe-ſwallow, or chimney-ſwallow, is undoubtedly the firſt comer of all the Britiſh hirundines; and appears in general on or about the thirteenth of April, as I have remarked from many years obſervation. Not but now and then a ſtraggler is ſeen much earlier: and, in particular, when I was a boy I obſerved a ſwallow for a whole day together on a ſunny warm Shrove Tueſday; which day could not fall out later than the middle of March, and often happened early in February.

It is worth remarking that theſe birds are ſeen firſt about lakes and mill-ponds; and it is alſo very particular, that if theſe early viſiters happen to find froſt and ſnow, as was the caſe of the two dreadful ſprings of 1770 and 1771, they immediately withdraw for a time. A circumſtance this much more in favour of hiding than migration; ſince it is much more probable that a bird ſhould retire to it's hybernaculum juſt at hand, than return for a week or two only to warmer latitudes.

The ſwallow, though called the chimney-ſwallow, by no means builds altogether in chimnies, but often within barns and out⯑houſes againſt the rafters; and ſo ſhe did in Virgil's time:

[168] In Sweden ſhe builds in barns, and is called ladu ſwala, the barn⯑ſwallow. Beſides, in the warmer parts of Europe there are no chim⯑nies to houſes, except they are Engliſh-built: in theſe countries ſhe conſtructs her neſt in porches, and gate-ways, and galleries, and open halls.

Here and there a bird may affect ſome odd, peculiar place; as we have known a ſwallow build down the ſhaft of an old well, through which chalk had been formerly drawn up for the purpoſe of manure: but in general with us this hirundo breeds in chimnies; and loves to haunt thoſe ſtacks where there is a conſtant fire, no doubt for the ſake of warmth. Not that it can ſubſiſt in the immediate ſhaft where there is a fire; but prefers one adjoining to that of the kitchen, and diſregards the perpetual ſmoke of that funnel, as I have often obſerved with ſome degree of wonder.

Five or ſix or more feet down the chimney does this little bird begin to form her neſt about the middle of May, which conſiſts, like that of the houſe-martin, of a cruſt or ſhell compoſed of dirt or mud, mixed with ſhort pieces of ſtraw to render it tough and permanent; with this difference, that whereas the ſhell of the martin is nearly hemiſpheric, that of the ſwallow is open at the top, and like half a deep diſh: this neſt is lined with fine graſſes, and feathers which are often collected as they float in the air.

Wonderful is the addreſs which this adroit bird ſhews all day long in aſcending and deſcending with ſecurity through ſo narrow a paſs. When hovering over the mouth of the funnel, the vibra⯑tions of her wings acting on the confined air occaſion a rumbling like thunder. It is not improbable that the dam ſubmits to this inconvenient ſituation ſo low in the ſhaft, in order to ſecure her broods from rapacious birds, and particularly from owls, which [169] frequently fall down chimnies, perhaps in attempting to get at theſe neſtlings.

The ſwallow lays from four to ſix white eggs, dotted with red ſpecks; and brings out her firſt brood about the laſt week in June, or the firſt week in July. The progreſſive method by which the young are introduced into life is very amuſing: firſt, they emerge from the ſhaft with difficulty enough, and often fall down into the rooms below: for a day or ſo they are fed on the chimney-top, and then are conducted to the dead leafleſs bough of ſome tree, where, ſitting in a row, they are attended with great aſſiduity, and may then be called perchers. In a day or two more they become flyers, but are ſtill unable to take their own food; therefore they play about near the place where the dams are hawking for flies; and, when a mouthful is collected, at a certain ſignal given, the dam and the neſtling advance, riſing towards each other, and meeting at an angle; the young one all the while uttering ſuch a little quick note of gratitude and complacency, that a perſon muſt have paid very little regard to the wonders of Nature that has not often remarked this feat.

The dam betakes herſelf immediately to the buſineſs of a ſecond brood as ſoon as ſhe is diſengaged from her firſt; which at once aſſociates with the firſt broods of houſe-martins; and with them con⯑gregates, cluſtering on ſunny roofs, towers, and trees. This hirundo brings out her ſecond brood towards the middle and end of Auguſt.

All the ſummer long is the ſwallow a moſt inſtructive pattern of unwearied induſtry and affection; for, from morning to night, while there is a family to be ſupported, ſhe ſpends the whole day in ſkimming cloſe to the ground, and exerting the moſt ſudden turns and quick evolutions. Avenues, and long walks under [170] hedges, and paſture-fields, and mown meadows where cattle graze, are her delight, eſpecially if there are trees interſperſed; becauſe in ſuch ſpots inſects moſt abound. When a fly is taken a ſmart ſnap from her bill is heard, reſembling the noiſe at the ſhutting of a watch-caſe; but the motion of the mandibles are too quick for the eye.

The ſwallow, probably the male bird, is the excubitor to houſe⯑martins, and other little birds, announcing the approach of birds of prey. For as ſoon as an hawk appears, with a ſhrill alarming note he calls all the ſwallows and martins about him; who purſue in a body, and buffet and ſtrike their enemy till they have driven him from the village, darting down from above on his back, and riſing in a perpendicular line in perfect ſecurity. This bird alſo will ſound the alarm, and ſtrike at cats when they climb on the roofs of houſes, or otherwiſe approach the neſts. Each ſpecies of hirundo drinks as it flies along, ſipping the ſurface of the water; but the ſwallow alone, in general, waſhes on the wing, by dropping into a pool for many times together: in very hot weather houſe⯑martins and bank-martins dip and waſh a little.

The ſwallow is a delicate ſongſter, and in ſoft ſunny weather ſings both perching and flying; on trees in a kind of concert, and on chimney tops: is alſo a bold flyer, ranging to diſtant downs and commons even in windy weather, which the other ſpecies ſeem much to diſlike; nay, even frequenting expoſed ſea-port towns, and making little excurſions over the ſalt water. Horſemen on wide downs are often cloſely attended by a little party of ſwallows for miles together, which plays before and behind them, ſweeping around, and collecting all the ſculking inſects that are rouſed by the trampling of the horſes feet: when the wind blows hard, without this expedient, they are often forced to ſettle to pick up their lurking prey.

[171] This ſpecies feeds much on little coleoptera, as well as on gnats and flies; and often ſettles on dug ground, or paths, for gravels to grind and digeſt it's food. Before they depart, for ſome weeks, to a bird, they forſake houſes and chimnies, and rooſt in trees; and uſually withdraw about the beginning of October; though ſome few ſtragglers may appear on at times till the firſt week in November.

Some few pairs haunt the new and open ſtreets of London next the fields, but do not enter, like the houſe-martin, the cloſe and crowded parts of the city.

Both male and female are diſtinguiſhed from their congeners by the length and forkedneſs of their tails. They are undoubtedly the moſt nimble of all the ſpecies: and when the male purſues the female in amorous chaſe, they then go beyond their uſual ſpeed, and exert a rapidity almoſt too quick for the eye to follow.

After this circumſtantial detail of the life and diſcerning [...] of the ſwallow, I ſhall add, for your farther amuſement, an anecdote or two not much in favour of her ſagacity:—

A certain ſwallow built for two years together on the handles of a pair of garden-ſhears, that were ſtuck up againſt the boards in an out-houſe, and therefore muſt have her neſt ſpoiled whenever that implement was wanted: and, what is ſtranger ſtill, another bird of the ſame ſpecies built it's neſt on the wings and body of an owl that happened by accident to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn. This owl, with the neſt on it's wings, and with eggs in the neſt, was brought as a curioſity worthy the moſt elegant private muſeum in Great-Britain. The owner, ſtruck with the oddity of the ſight, furniſhed the bringer with a large ſhell, or conch, deſiring him to fix it juſt where the owl hung: the per⯑ſon did as he was ordered, and the following year a pair, pro⯑bably [172] the ſame pair, built their neſt in the conch, and laid their eggs.

The owl and the conch make a ſtrange groteſque appearance, and are not the leaſt curious ſpecimens in that wonderful collection of art and nature^f.

Thus is inſtinct in animals, taken the leaſt out of it's way, an undiſtinguiſhing, limited faculty; and blind to every circumſtance that does not immediately reſpect ſelf-preſervation, or lead at once to the propagation or ſupport of their ſpecies.

LETTER XIX. TO THE SAME.

I RECEIVED your favour of the eighth, and am pleaſed to find that you read my little hiſtory of the ſwallow wtih your uſual candour: nor was I the leſs pleaſed to find that you made objections where you ſaw reaſon.

[173] As to the quotations, it is difficult to ſay preciſely which ſpecies of hirundo Virgil might intend in the lines in queſtion, ſince the ancients did not attend to ſpecific differences like modern natu⯑raliſts: yet ſomewhat may be gathered, enough to incline me to ſuppoſe that in the two paſſages quoted the poet had his eye on the ſwallow.

In the firſt place the epithet garrula ſuits the ſwallow well, who is a great ſongſter; and not the martin, which is rather a mute bird; and when it ſings is ſo inward as ſcarce to be heard. Beſides, if tignum in that place ſignifies a rafter rather than a beam, as it ſeems to me to do, then I think it muſt be the ſwallow that is alluded to, and not the martin; ſince the former does frequently build within the roof againſt the rafters; while the latter always, as far as I have been able to obſerve, builds without the roof againſt eaves and cornices.

As to the ſimile, too much ſtreſs muſt not be laid on it: yet the epithet nigra ſpeaks plainly in favour of the ſwallow, whoſe back and wings are very black; while the rump of the martin is milk⯑white, it's back and wings blue, and all it's under part white as ſnow. Nor can the clumſy motions (comparatively clumſy) of the martin well repreſent the ſudden and artful evolutions and quick turns which Juturna gave to her brother's chariot, ſo as to elude the eager purſuit of the enraged Aeneas. The verb ſonat alſo ſeems to imply a bird that is ſomewhat loquacious^g.

[174] We have had a very wet autumn and winter, ſo as to raiſe the ſprings to a pitch beyond any thing ſince 1764; which was a re⯑markable year for floods and high waters. The land-ſprings, which we call lavants, break out much on the downs of Suſſex, Hampſhire, and Wiltſhire. The country people ſay when the lavants riſe corn will always be dear; meaning that when the earth is ſo glutted with water as to ſend forth ſprings on the downs and uplands, that the corn-vales muſt be drowned: and ſo it has proved for theſe ten or eleven years paſt. For land-ſprings have never obtained more ſince the memory of man than during that period; nor has there been known a greater ſcarcity of all ſorts of grain, conſidering the great improvements of modern huſbandry. Such a run of wet ſeaſons a century or two ago would, I am per⯑ſuaded, have occaſioned a famine. Therefore pamphlets and newſpaper letters, that talk of combinations, tend to inflame and miſlead; ſince we muſt not expect plenty till Providence ſends us more favourable ſeaſons.

The wheat of laſt year, all round this diſtrict, and in the county of Rutland, and elſewhere, yields remarkably bad: and our wheat on the ground, by the continual late ſudden viciſſitudes from fierce froſt to pouring rains, looks poorly; and the turnips rot very faſt.

LETTER XX. TO THE SAME.

THE ſand-martin, or bank-martin, is by much the leaſt of any of the Britiſh hirundines; and, as far as we have ever ſeen, the ſmalleſt known hirundo: though Briſſon aſſerts that there is one much ſmaller, and that is the hirundo eſculenta.

But it is much to be regretted that it is ſcarce poſſible for any obſerver to be ſo full and exact as he could wiſh in reciting the circumſtances attending the life and converſation of this little bird, ſince it is fera naturâ, at leaſt in this part of the kingdom, diſclaim⯑ing all domeſtic attachments, and haunting wild heaths and com⯑mons where there are large lakes: while the other ſpecies, eſpeci⯑ally the ſwallow and houſe-martin, are remarkably gentle and domeſticated, and never ſeem to think themſelves ſafe but under the protection of man.

Here are in this pariſh, in the ſand-pits and banks of the lakes of Woolmer-foreſt, ſeveral colonies of theſe birds; and yet they are never ſeen in the village; nor do they at all frequent the cottages that are ſcattered about in that wild diſtrict. The only inſtance I ever remember where this ſpecies haunts any building is at the town of Biſhop's Waltham, in this county, where many ſand-martins neſtle and breed in the ſcaffold-holes of the back-wall of William of Wykeham's ſtables: but then this wall ſtands in a very ſequeſtered and [176] retired encloſure, and faces upon a large and beautiful lake. And indeed this ſpecies ſeems ſo to delight in large waters, that no in⯑ſtance occurs of their abounding, but near vaſt pools or rivers: and in particular it has been remarked that they ſwarm in the banks of the Thames in ſome places below London-bridge.

It is curious to obſerve with what different degrees of architec⯑tonic ſkill Providence has endowed birds of the ſame genus, and ſo nearly correſpondent in their general mode of life! for while the ſwallow and the houſe-martin diſcover the greateſt addreſs in raiſing and ſecurely fixing cruſts or ſhells of loam as cunabula for their young, the bank-martin terebrates a round and regular hole in the ſand or earth, which is ſerpentine, horizontal, and about two feet deep. At the inner end of this burrow does this bird de⯑poſit, in a good degree of ſafety, her rude neſt, conſiſting of fine graſſes and feathers, uſually gooſe-feathers, very inartificially laid together.

Perſeverance will accompliſh any thing: though at firſt one would be diſinclined to believe that this weak bird, with her ſoft and tender bill and claws, ſhould ever be able to bore the ſtubborn ſand-bank without entirely diſabling herſelf: yet with theſe feeble inſtruments have I ſeen a pair of them make great diſpatch: and could remark how much they had ſcooped that day by the freſh ſand which ran down the bank, and was of a different colour from that which lay looſe and bleached in the ſun.

In what ſpace of time theſe little artiſts are able to mine and finiſh theſe cavities I have never been able to diſcover, for reaſons given above; but it would be a matter worthy of obſervation, where it falls in the way of any naturaliſt to make his remarks. This I have often taken notice of, that ſeveral holes of different depths are left unfiniſhed at the end of ſummer. To imagine that [177] theſe beginnings were intentionally made in order to be in the greater forwardneſs for next ſpring, is allowing perhaps too much foreſight and rerum prudentia to a ſimple bird. May not the cauſe of theſe latebrae being left unfiniſhed ariſe from their meeting in thoſe places with ſtrata too harſh, hard, and ſolid, for their purpoſe, which they relinquiſh, and go to a freſh ſpot that works more freely? Or may they not in other places fall in with a ſoil as much too looſe and mouldering, liable to flounder, and threaten⯑ing to overwhelm them and their labours?

One thing is remarkable—that, after ſome years, the old holes are forſaken and new ones bored; perhaps becauſe the old habitations grow foul and fetid from long uſe, or becauſe they may ſo abound with fleas as to become untenantable. This ſpecies of ſwallow moreover is ſtrangely annoyed with fleas: and we have ſeen fleas, bed-fleas (pulex irritans), ſwarming at the mouths of theſe holes, like bees on the ſtools of their hives.

The following circumſtance ſhould by no means be omitted—that theſe birds do not make uſe of their caverns by way of hyber⯑nacula, as might be expected; ſince banks ſo perforated have been dug out with care in the winter, when nothing was found but empty neſts.

The ſand-martin arrives much about the ſame time with the ſwallow, and lays, as ſhe does, from four to ſix white eggs. But as this ſpecies is cryptogame, carrying on the buſineſs of nidification, incubation, and the ſupport of it's young in the dark, it would not be ſo eaſy to aſcertain the time of breeding, were it not for the coming forth of the broods, which appear much about the time, or rather ſomewhat earlier than thoſe of the ſwallow. The neſtlings are ſupported in common like thoſe of their congeners, with gnats and other ſmall inſects; and ſometimes they are fed with libellulae [178] (dragon-flies) almoſt as long as themſelves. In the laſt week in June we have ſeen a row of theſe ſitting on a rail near a great pool as perchers; and ſo young and helpleſs, as eaſily to be taken by hand: but whether the dams ever feed them on the wing, as ſwallows and houſe-martins do, we have never yet been able to determine; nor do we know whether they purſue and attack birds of prey.

When they happen to breed near hedges and encloſures, they are diſpoſſeſſed of their breeding holes by the houſe-ſparrow, which is on the ſame account a fell adverſary to houſe-martins.

Theſe hirundines are no ſongſters, but rather mute, making only a little harſh noiſe when a perſon approaches their neſts. They ſeem not to be of a ſociable turn, never with us congregating with their congeners in the autumn. Undoubtedly they breed a ſecond time, like the houſe-martin and ſwallow; and withdraw about Michaelmas.

Though in ſome particular diſtricts they may happen to abound, yet in the whole, in the ſouth of England at leaſt, is this much the rareſt ſpecies. For there are few towns or large villages but what abound with houſe-martins; few churches, towers, or ſteeples, but what are haunted by ſome ſwifts; ſcarce a hamlet or ſingle cottage⯑chimney that has not it's ſwallow; while the bank-martins, ſcattered here and there, live a ſequeſtered life among ſome abrupt ſand-hills, and in the banks of ſome few rivers.

Theſe birds have a peculiar manner of flying; flitting about with odd jerks, and vacillations, not unlike the motions of a butterfly. Doubtleſs the flight of all hirundines is influenced by, and adapted to, the peculiar ſort of inſects which furniſh their food. Hence it would be worth inquiry to examine what particular genus of inſects affords the principal food of each reſpective ſpecies of ſwallow.

[179] Notwithſtanding what has been advanced above, ſome few ſand⯑martins, I ſee, haunt the ſkirts of London, frequenting the dirty pools in Saint George's-Fields, and about White-Chapel. The queſ⯑tion is where theſe build, ſince there are no banks or bold ſhores in that neighbourhood: perhaps they neſtle in the ſcaffold holes of ſome old or new deſerted building. They dip and waſh as they fly ſometimes, like the houſe-martin and ſwallow.

Sand-martins differ from their congeners in the diminutiveneſs of their ſize, and in their colour, which is what is uſually called a mouſe-colour. Near Valencia, in Spain, they are taken, ſays Willughby, and ſold in the markets for the table; and are called by the country people, probably from their deſultory jerking manner of flight, Papilion de Montagna.

LETTER XXI. TO THE SAME.

AS the ſwift or black-martin is the largeſt of the Britiſh hirundines, ſo is it undoubtedly the lateſt comer. For I remember but one inſtance of it's appearing before the laſt week in April: and in ſome of our late froſty, harſh ſprings, it has not been ſeen till the begin⯑ing of May. This ſpecies uſually arrives in pairs.

[180] The ſwift, like the ſand-martin, is very defective in architecture, making no cruſt, or ſhell, for it's neſt; but forming it of dry graſſes and feathers, very rudely and inartificially put together. With all my attention to theſe birds, I have never been able once to diſcover one in the act of collecting or carrying in materials: ſo that I have ſuſpected (ſince their neſts are exactly the ſame) that they ſome⯑times uſurp upon the houſe-ſparrows, and expel them, as ſparrows do the houſe and ſand-martin; well remembering that I have ſeen them ſquabbling together at the entrance of their holes; and the ſparrows up in arms, and much-diſconcerted at theſe intruders. And yet I am aſſured, by a nice obſerver in ſuch matters, that they do collect feathers for their neſts in Andaluſia; and that he has ſhot them with ſuch materials in their mouths.

Swifts, like ſand-martins, carry on the buſineſs of nidification quite in the dark, in crannies of caſtles, and towers, and ſteeples, and upon the tops of the walls of churches under the roof; and therefore cannot be ſo narrowly watched as thoſe ſpecies that build more openly: but, from what I could ever obſerve, they begin neſting about the middle of May; and I have remarked, from eggs taken, that they have ſat hard by the ninth of June. In general they haunt tall buildings, churches, and ſteeples, and breed only in ſuch: yet in this village ſome pairs frequent the loweſt and meaneſt cottages, and educate their young under thoſe thatched roofs. We remember but one inſtance where they breed out of buildings; and that is in the ſides of a deep chalkpit near the town of Odiham, in this county, where we have ſeen many pairs entering the crevices, and ſkimming and ſqueaking round the precipices.

As I have regarded theſe amuſive birds with no ſmall attention, if I ſhould advance ſomething new and peculiar with reſpect to them, and different from all other birds, I might perhaps be cre⯑dited; [181] eſpecially as my aſſertion is the reſult of many years exact obſervation. The fact that I would advance is, that ſwifts tread, or copulate, on the wing: and I would wiſh any nice obſerver, that is ſtartled at this ſuppoſition, to uſe his own eyes, and I think he will ſoon be convinced. In another claſs of animals, viz. the inſect, nothing is ſo common as to ſee the different ſpecies of many genera in conjunction as they fly. The ſwift is almoſt continually on the wing; and as it never ſettles on the ground, on trees, or roofs, would ſeldom find opportunity for amorous rites, was it not enabled to indulge them in the air. If any perſon would watch theſe birds of a fine morning in May, as they are ſailing round at a great height from the ground, he would ſee, every now and then, one drop on the back of another, and both of them ſink down to⯑gether for many fathoms with a loud piercing ſhriek. This I take to be the juncture when the buſineſs of generation is carrying on.

As the ſwift eats, drinks, collects materials for it's neſt, and, as it ſeems, propagates on the wing; it appears to live more in the air than any other bird, and to perform all functions there ſave thoſe of ſleeping and incubation.

This hirundo differs widely from it's congeners in laying invari⯑ably but two eggs at a time, which are milk-white, long, and peaked at the ſmall end; whereas the other ſpecies lay at each brood from four to ſix. It is a moſt alert bird, riſing very early, and retiring to rooſt very late; and is on the wing in the height of ſummer at leaſt ſixteen hours. In the longeſt days it does not withdraw to reſt till a quarter before nine in the evening, being the lateſt of all day birds. Juſt before they retire whole groups of them aſſemble high in the air, and ſqueak, and ſhoot about with wonderful rapidity. But this bird is never ſo much alive as in ſultry thundry weather, when it expreſſes great alacrity, and calls [180] [...] [181] [...] [182] forth all it's powers. In hot mornings ſeveral, getting together in little parties, daſh round the ſteeples and churches, ſqueaking as they go in a very clamorous manner: theſe, by nice obſervers, are ſuppoſed to be males ſerenading their ſitting hens; and not with⯑out reaſon, ſince they ſeldom ſqueak till they come cloſe to the walls or eaves, and ſince thoſe within utter at the ſame time a little inward note of complacency.

When the hen has ſat hard all day, ſhe ruſhes forth juſt as it is almoſt dark, and ſtretches and relieves her weary limbs, and ſnatches a ſcanty meal for a few minutes, and then returns to her duty of incubation. Swifts, when wantonly and cruelly ſhot while they have young, diſcover a little lump of inſects in their mouths, which they pouch and hold under their tongue. In general they feed in a much higher diſtrict than the other ſpecies; a proof that gnats and other inſects do alſo abound to a conſiderable height in the air: they alſo range to vaſt diſtances; ſince loco-motion is no labour to them, who are endowed with ſuch wonderful powers of wing. Their powers ſeem to be in proportion to their leavers; and their wings are longer in proportion than thoſe of almoſt any other bird. When they mute, or caſe themſelves in flight, they raiſe their wings, and make them meet over their backs.

At ſome certain times in the ſummer I had remarked that ſwifts were hawking very low for hours together over pools and ſtreams; and could not help inquiring into the object of their purſuit that induced them to deſcend ſo much below their uſual range. After ſome trouble, I ſound that they were taking phryganeae, ephemerae, and libellulae (cadew-flies, may-flies, and dragon-flies) that were juſt emerged out of their aurelia ſtate. I then no longer wondered that they ſhould be ſo willing to ſtoop for a prey that afforded them ſuch plentiful and ſucculent nouriſhment.

[183] They bring out their young about the middle or latter end of July: but as theſe never become perchers, nor, that ever I could diſcern, are fed on the wing by their dams, the coming forth of the young is not ſo notorious as in the other ſpecies.

On the thirtieth of laſt June I untiled the eaves of an houſe where many pairs build, and found in each neſt only two ſquab, naked pulli: on the eighth of July I repeated the ſame inquiry, and found they had made very little progreſs towards a fledged ſtate, but were ſtill naked and helpleſs. From whence we may conclude that birds whoſe way of life keeps them perpetually on the wing would not be able to quit their neſt till the end of the month. Swallows and martins, that have numerous families, are continually feeding them every two or three minutes; while ſwifts, that have but two young to maintain, are much at their leiſure, and do not attend on their neſts for hours together.

Sometimes they purſue and ſtrike at hawks that come in their way; but not with that vehemence and fury that ſwallows expreſs on the ſame occaſion. They are out all day long in wet days, feed⯑ing about, and diſregarding ſtill rain: from whence two things may be gathered; firſt, that many inſects abide high in the air, even in rain; and next, that the feathers of theſe birds muſt be well preened to reſiſt ſo much wet. Windy, and particularly windy weather with heavy ſhowers, they diſlike; and on ſuch days with⯑draw, and are ſcarce ever ſeen.

There is a circumſtance reſpecting the colour of ſwifts, which ſeems not to be unworthy our attention. When they arrive in the ſpring they are all over of a gloſſy, dark ſoot-colour, except their chins, which are white; but, by being all day long in the ſun and air, they become quite weather-beaten and bleached before they depart, and yet they return gloſſy again in the ſpring. Now, if [184] they purſue the ſun into lower latitudes, as ſome ſuppoſe, in order to enjoy a perpetual ſummer, why do they not return bleached? Do they not rather perhaps retire to reſt for a ſeaſon, and at that juncture moult and change their feathers, ſince all other birds are known to moult ſoon after the ſeaſon of breeding?

Swifts are very anomalous in many particulars, diſſenting from all their congeners not only in the number of their young, but in breeding but once in a ſummer; whereas all the other Britiſh hirundines breed invariably twice. It is paſt all doubt that ſwifts can breed but once, ſince they withdraw in a ſhort time after the flight of their young, and ſome time before their congeners bring out their ſecond broods. We may here remark, that, as ſwifts breed but once in a ſummer, and only two at a time, and the other hirundines twice, the latter, who lay from four to ſix eggs, increaſe at an average five times as faſt as the former.

But in nothing are ſwifts more ſingular than in their early retreat. They retire, as to the main body of them, by the tenth of Auguſt, and ſometimes a few days ſooner: and every ſtraggler invariably withdraws by the twentieth, while their congeners, all of them, ſtay till the beginning of October; many of them all through that month, and ſome occaſionally to the beginning of November. This early retreat is myſterious and wonderful, ſince that time is often the ſweeteſt ſeaſon in the year. But, what is more extraordinary, they begin to retire ſtill earlier in the moſt ſoutherly parts of Andaluſia, where they can be no ways influenced by any defect of heat; or, as one might ſuppoſe, defect of food. Are they regulated in their motions with us by a failure of ſood, or by a propenſity to moult⯑ing, or by a diſpoſition to reſt after ſo rapid a life, or by what? This is one of thoſe incidents in natural hiſtory that not only baffles our ſearches, but almoſt eludes our gueſſes!

[185] Theſe hirundines never perch on trees or roofs, and ſo never congregate with their congeners. They are fearleſs while haunting their neſting places, and are not to be ſcared with a gun; and are often beaten down with poles and cudgels as they ſtoop to go under the eaves. Swifts are much infeſted with thoſe peſts to the genus called hippoboſcae hirundinis; and often wriggle and ſcratch them⯑ſelves, in their flight, to get rid of that clinging annoyance.

Swifts are no ſongſters, and have only one harſh ſcreaming note; yet there are ears to which it is not diſpleaſing, from an agree⯑able aſſociation of ideas, ſince that note never occurs but in the moſt lovely ſummer weather.

They never ſettle on the ground but through accident; and when down can hardly riſe, on account of the ſhortneſs of their legs and the length of their wings: neither can they walk, but only crawl; but they have a ſtrong graſp with their feet, by which they cling to walls. Their bodies being flat they can enter a very narrow crevice; and where they cannot paſs on their bellies they will turn up edgewiſe.

The particular formation of the foot diſcriminates the ſwift from all the Britiſh hirundines; and indeed from all other known birds, the hirundo melba, or great white-bellied ſwift of Gibraltar, excepted; for it is ſo diſpoſed as to carry ‘"omnes quatuor digitos anticos"’ all it's four toes forward; beſides the leaſt toe, which ſhould be the back-toe, conſiſts of one bone alone, and the other three only of two apiece. A conſtruction moſt rare and peculiar, but nicely adapted to the purpoſes in which their feet are employed. This, and ſome peculiarities attending the noſtrils and under mandible, have induced a diſcerning ^h naturaliſt to ſuppoſe that this ſpecies might conſtitute a genus per ſe.

[186] In London a party of ſwifts frequents the Tower, playing and feed⯑ing over the river juſt below the bridge: others haunt ſome of the churches of the Borough next the fields; but do not venture, like the houſe-martin, into the cloſe crowded part of the town.

The Swedes have beſtowed a very pertinent name on this ſwallow, calling it ring ſwala, from the perpetual rings or circles that it takes round the ſcene of it's nidification.

Swifts feed on coleoptera, or ſmall beetles with hard caſes over their wings, as well as on the ſofter inſects; but it does not appear how they can procure gravel to grind their food, as ſwallows do, ſince they never ſettle on the ground. Young ones, over-run with hippoboſcae, are ſometimes found, under their neſts, fallen to the ground; the number of vermin rendering their abode inſupportable any longer. They frequent in this village ſeveral abject cottages; yet a ſucceſſion ſtill haunts the ſame unlikely roofs: a good proof this that the ſame birds return to the ſame ſpots. As they muſt ſtoop very low to get up under theſe humble eaves, cats lie in wait, and ſometimes catch them on the wing.

On the fifth of July, 1775, I again untiled part of a roof over the neſt of a ſwift. The dam ſat in the neſt; but ſo ſtrongly was ſhe affected by natural [...] for her brood, which ſhe ſuppoſed to be in danger, that, regardleſs of her own ſafety, ſhe would not ſtir, but lay ſullenly by them, permitting herſelf to be taken in hand. The ſquab young we brought down and placed on the graſs-plot, where they tumbled about, and were as helpleſs as a new-born child. While we contemplated their naked bodies, their unwieldy diſproportioned abdomina, and their heads, too heavy for their necks to ſupport, we could not but wonder when we reflected that theſe ſhiftleſs beings in a little more than a fortnight would be able to daſh through the air almoſt with the [187] inconceivable ſwiftneſs of a meteor; and perhaps, in their emi⯑gration, muſt traverſe vaſt continents and oceans as diſtant as the equator. So ſoon does Nature advance ſmall birds to their [...], or ſtate of perfection; while the progreſſive growth of men and large quadrupeds is ſlow and tedious!

LETTER XXII. TO THE SAME.

BY means of a ſtraight cottage-chimney I had an opportunity this ſummer of remarking, at my leiſure, how ſwallows aſcend and deſcend through the ſhaft: but my pleaſure, in contemplating the addreſs with which this feat was performed to a conſiderable depth in the chimney, was ſomewhat interrupted by apprehenſions leſt my eyes might undergo the ſame fate with thoſe of Tobit. ⁱ

Perhaps it may be ſome amuſement to you to hear at what times the different ſpecies of hirundines arrived this ſpring in three very diſtant counties of this kingdom. With us the [188] ſwallow was ſeen firſt on April the 4th, the ſwift on April the 24th, the bank-martin on April the 12th, and the houſe-martin not till April the 30th. At South Zele, Devonſhire, ſwallows did not arrive till April the 25th; ſwifts, in plenty, on May the 1ſt; and houſe-martins not till the middle of May. At Blackburn, in Lancaſhire, ſwifts were ſeen April the 28th, ſwallows April the 29th, houſe-martins May the 1ſt. Do theſe different dates, in ſuch diſtant diſtrics, prove any thing for or againſt migration?

A farmer, near Weyhill, fallows his land with two teams of aſſes; one of which works till noon, and the other in the after⯑noon. When theſe animals have done their work, they are penned all night, like ſheep, on the fallow. In the winter they are confined and foddered in a yard, and make plenty of dung.

Linnaeus ſays that hawks ‘"paciſcuntur inducias cum avibus, quamdiu cuculus cuculat:"’ but it appears to me that, during that period, many little birds are taken and deſtroyed by birds of prey, as may be ſeen by their feathers left in lanes and under hedges.

The miſſel-thruſh is, while breeding, fierce and pugnacious, driving ſuch birds as approach its neſt, with great fury, to a diſtance. The Welch call it pen y llwyn, the head or maſter of the coppice. He ſuffers no magpie, jay, or blackbird, to enter the garden where he haunts; and is, for the time, a good guard to the new-ſown legumens. In general he is very ſucceſsful in the defence of his family: but once I obſerved in my garden, that ſeveral magpies came determined to ſtorm the neſt of a miſſel⯑thruſh: the dams defended their manſion with great vigour, and fought reſolutely pro aris & focis; but numbers at laſt prevailed, they tore the neſt to pieces, and ſwallowed the young alive.

[189] In the ſeaſon of nidification the wildeſt birds are comparatively tame. Thus the ring-dove breeds in my fields, though they are continually frequented; and the miſſel-thruſh, though moſt ſhy and wild in the autumn and winter, builds in my garden cloſe to a walk where people are paſſing all day long.

Wall-fruit abounds with me this year; but my grapes, that uſed to be forward and good, are at preſent backward beyond all precedent: and this is not the worſt of the ſtory; for the ſame ungenial weather, the ſame black cold ſolſtice, has injured the more neceſſary fruits of the earth, and diſcoloured and blighted our wheat. The crop of hops promiſes to be very large.

Frequent returns of deafneſs incommode me ſadly, and half diſqualify me for a naturaliſt; for, when thoſe fits are upon me, I loſe all the pleaſing notices and little intimations ariſing from rural ſounds; and May is to me as ſilent and mute with reſpect to the notes of birds, &c. as Auguſt. My eyeſight is, thank God, quick and good; but with reſpect to the other ſenſe, I am, at times, diſabled:

LETTER XXIII. TO THE SAME.

ON September the 21ſt, 1741, being then on a viſit, and intent on field-diverſions, I roſe before daybreak: when I came into the enclofures, I found the ſtubbles and clover-grounds matted all over with a thick coat of cobweb, in the meſhes of which a copious and heavy dew hung ſo plentifully that the whole face of the country ſeemed, as it were, covered with two or three ſetting-nets drawn one over another. When the dogs attempted to hunt, their eyes were ſo blinded and hoodwinked that they could not proceed, but were obliged to lie down and ſcrape the incum⯑brances from their faces with their fore-feet, ſo that, finding my ſport interrupted, I returned home muſing in my mind on the oddneſs of the occurrence.

As the morning advanced the ſun became bright and warm, and the day turned out one of thoſe moſt lovely ones which no ſeaſon but the autumn produces; cloudleſs, calm, ſerene, and worthy of the South of France itſelf.

About nine an appearance very unuſual began to demand our attention, a ſhower of cobwebs falling from very elevated regions, and continuing, without any interruption, till the cloſe of the day. Theſe webs were not ſingle filmy threads, floating in the air in all directions, but perfect flakes or rags; ſome near an [191] inch broad, and five or ſix long, which fell with a degree of velocity that ſhewed they were conſiderably heavier than the atmoſphere.

On every ſide as the obſerver turned his eyes might he behold a continual ſucceſſion of freſh flakes falling into his ſight, and twinkling like ſtars as they turned their ſides towards the ſun.

How far this wonderful ſhower extended would be difficult to ſay; but we know that it reached Bradley, Selborne, and Alresford, three places which lie in a ſort of a triangle, the ſhorteſt of whoſe ſides is about eight miles in extent.

At the ſecond of thoſe places there was a gentleman (for whoſe veracity and intelligent turn we have the greateſt veneration) who obſerved it the moment he got abroad; but concluded that, as ſoon as he came upon the hill above his houſe, where he took his morning rides, he ſhould be higher than this meteor, which he imagined might have been blown, like Thiſtle-down, from the common above: but, to his great aſtoniſhment, when he rode to the moſt elevated part of the down, 300 feet above his fields, he found the webs in appearance ſtill as much above him as before; ſtill deſcending into ſight in a conſtant ſucceſſion, and twinkling in the ſun, ſo as to draw the attention of the moſt incurious.

Neither before nor after was any ſuch fall obſerved; but on this day the flakes hung in the trees and hedges ſo thick, that a dili⯑gent perſon ſent out might have gathered baſkets full.

The remark that I ſhall make on theſe cobweb-like appearances, called goſſamer, is, that, ſtrange and ſuperſtitious as the notions about them were formerly, nobody in theſe days doubts but that they are the real production of ſmall ſpiders, which ſwarm in the fields in fine weather in autumn, and have a power of ſhooting out webs from their tails ſo as to render themſelves buoyant, and [192] lighter than air. But why theſe apterous inſects ſhould that day take ſuch a wonderful aërial excurſino, and why their webs ſhould at once become ſo groſs and material as to be conſiderably more weighty than air, and to deſcend with precipitation, is a matter beyond my ſkill. If I might be allowed to hazard a ſuppoſition, I ſhould imagine that thoſe filmy threads, when firſt ſhot, might be entangled in the riſing dew, and ſo drawn up, ſpiders and all, by a briſk evaporation into the regions where clouds are formed: and if the ſpiders have a power of coiling and thickening their webs in the air, as Dr. Liſter ſays they have, [ſee his Letters to Mr. Ray] then, when they were become heavier than the air, they muſt fall.

Every day in fine weather, in autumn chiefly, do I ſee thoſe ſpiders ſhooting out their webs and mounting aloft: they will go off from your finger if you will take them into your hand. Laſt ſummer one alighted on my book as I was reading in the parlour; and, running to the top of the page, and ſhooting out a web, took it's departure from thence. But what I moſt wondered at was, that it went off with conſiderable velocity in a place where no air was ſtirring; and I am ſure that I did not aſſiſt it with my breath. So that theſe little crawlers ſeem to have, while mounting, ſome loco-motive power without the uſe of wings, and to move in the air faſter than the air itſelf.

LETTER XXIV. TO THE SAME.

THERE is a wonderful ſpirit of ſociality in the brute creation, independent of ſexual attachment: the congregating of grega⯑rious birds in the winter is a remarkable inſtance.

Many horſes, though quiet with company, will not ſtay one minute in a field by themſelves: the ſtrongeſt fences cannot reſtrain them. My neighbour's horſe will not only not ſtay by himſelf abroad, but he will not bear to be left alone in a ſtrange ſtable without diſcovering the utmoſt impatience, and endeavour⯑ing to break the rack and manger with his fore feet. He has been known to leap out at a ſtable-window, through which dung was thrown, after company; and yet in other reſpects is remark⯑ably quiet. Oxen and cows will not fatten by themſelves; but will neglect the fineſt paſture that is not recommended by ſociety. It would be needleſs to inſtance in ſheep, which conſtantly flock together.

But this propenſity ſeems not to be confined to animals of the ſame ſpecies; for we know a doe, ſtill alive, that was brought up from a little ſawn with a dairy of cows; with them it goes a-field, and with them it returns to the yard. The dogs of the houſe take no notice of this deer, being uſed to her; but, if ſtrange dogs come by, a chaſe enſues; while the maſter ſmiles to ſee his favourite ſecurely leading her purſuers over hedge, or [194] gate, or ſtile, till ſhe returns to the cows, who, with fierce lowings and menacing horns, drive the aſſailants quite out of the paſture.

Even great diſparity of kind and ſize does not always prevent ſocial advances and mutual fellowſhip. For a very intelligent and obſervant perſon has aſſured me that, in the former part of his life, keeping but one horſe, he happened alſo on a time to have but one ſolitary hen. Theſe two incongruous animals ſpent much of their time together in a lonely orchard, where they ſaw no creature but each other. By degrees an apparent regard began to take place between theſe two ſequeſtered individuals. The fowl would approach the quadruped with notes of com⯑placency, rubbing herſelf gently againſt his legs: while the horſe would look down with ſatisfaction, and move with the greateſt caution and circumſpection, leſt he ſhould trample on his dimu⯑nitive companion. Thus, by mutual good offices, each ſeemed to conſole the vacant hours of the other: ſo that Milton, when he puts the following ſentiment in the mouth of Adam, ſeems to be ſomewhat miſtaken:

LETTER XXV. TO THE SAME.

WE have two gangs or hordes of gypſies which infeſt the ſouth and weſt of England, and come round in their circuit two or three times in the year. One of theſe tribes calls itſelf by the noble name of Stanley, of which I have nothing particular to ſay; but the other is diſtinguiſhed by an appellative ſomewhat remarkable—As far as their harſh gibberiſh can be underſtood, they ſeem to ſay that the name of their clan is Curleople: now the termination of this word is apparently Grecian: and as Mezeray and the graveſt hiſtorians all agree that theſe vagrants did certainly migrate from Egypt and the Eaſt, two or three centuries ago, and ſo ſpread by degrees over Europe, may not this family-name, a little corrupted, be the very name they brought with them from the Levant? It would be matter of ſome curioſity, could one meet with an intelligent perſon among them, to inquire whether, in their jargon, they ſtill retain any Greek words: the Greek radicals will appear in hand, foot, head, water, earth, &c. It is poſſible that amidſt their cant and corrupted dialect many mutilated remains of their native language might ſtill be diſcovered.

With regard to thoſe peculiar people, the gypſies, one thing is very remarkable, and eſpecially as they came from warmer climates; and that is, that while other beggars lodge in barns, [196] ſtables, and cow-houſes, theſe ſturdy ſavages ſeem to pride them⯑ſelves in braving the ſeverities of winter, and in living ſub dio the whole year round. Laſt September was as wet a month as ever was known; and yet during thoſe deluges did a young gypſy-girl lie-in in the midſt of one of our hop-gardens, on the cold ground, with nothing over her but a piece of a blanket extended on a few hazel-rods bent hoop faſhion, and ſtuck into the earth at each end, in circumſtances too trying for a cow in the ſame condition: yet within this garden there was a large hop-kiln, into the chambers of which ſhe might have retired, had ſhe thought ſhelter an object worthy her attention.

Europe itſelf, it ſeems, cannot ſet bounds to the rovings of theſe vagabonds; for Mr. Bell, in his return from Peking, met a gang of theſe people on the confines of Tartary, who were endeavouring to penetrate thoſe deſerts and try their fortune in China ^k.

Gypſies are called in French, Bohemiens; in Italian and modern Greek, Zingani.

LETTER XXVI. TO THE SAME.

I SHALL make no apology for troubling you with the detail of a very ſimple piece of domeſtic oeconomy, being ſatisfied that you think nothing beneath your attention that tends to utility: the matter alluded to is the uſe of ruſhes inſtead of candles, which I am well aware prevails in many diſtricts beſides this; but as I know there are countries alſo where it does not obtain, and as I have conſidered the ſubject with ſome degree of exactneſs, I ſhall proceed in my humble ſtory, and leave you to judge of the expediency.

The proper ſpecies of ruſh for this purpoſe ſeems to be the juncus effuſus, or common ſoft ruſh, which is to be found in moſt moiſt paſtures, by the ſides of ſtreams, and under hedges. Theſe ruſhes are in beſt condition in the height of ſummer; but may be gathered, ſo as to ſerve the purpoſe well, quite on to autumn. It would be needleſs to add that the largeſt and longeſt are beſt. Decayed labourers, women, and children, make it their buſineſs to procure and prepare them. As ſoon as they are cut they muſt be flung into water, and kept there; for otherwiſe they will dry and ſhrink, and the peel will not run. At firſt a perſon would [198] find it no eaſy matter to diveſt a ruſh of it's peel or rind, ſo as to leave one regular, narrow, even rib from top to bottom that may ſupport the pith: but this, like other feats, ſoon becomes familiar even to children; and we have ſeen an old woman, ſtone-blind, performing this buſineſs with great diſpatch, and ſeldom failing to ſtrip them with the niceſt regularity. When theſe junci are thus far prepared, they muſt lie out on the graſs to be bleached, and take the dew for ſome nights, and afterwards be dried in the ſun.

Some addreſs is required in dipping theſe ruſhes in the ſcalding fat or greaſe; but this knack alſo is to be attained by practice. The careful wife of an induſtrious Hampſhire labourer obtains all her fat for nothing; for ſhe ſaves the ſcummings of her bacon-pot for this uſe; and, if the greaſe abounds with ſalt, ſhe cauſes the ſalt to precipitate to the bottom, by ſetting the ſcummings in a warm oven. Where hogs are not much in uſe, and eſpecially by the ſea-ſide, the coarſer animal-oils will come very cheap. A pound of common greaſe may be procured for four pence; and about ſix pounds of greaſe will dip a pound of ruſhes; and one pound of ruſhes may be bought for one ſhilling: ſo that a pound of ruſhes, medicated and ready for uſe, will coſt three ſhillings. If men that keep bees will mix a little wax with the greaſe, it will give it a conſiſtency, and render it more cleanly, and make the ruſhes burn longer: mutton-ſuet would have the ſame effect.

A good ruſh, which meaſured in length two feet four inches and an half, being minuted, burnt only three minutes ſhort of an hour: and a ruſh ſtill of greater length has been known to burn one hour and a quarter.

Theſe ruſhes give a good clear light. Watch-lights (coated with tallow), it is true, ſhed a diſmal one, ‘"darkneſs viſible;"’ but [199] then the wick of thoſe have two ribs of the rind, or peel, to ſup⯑port the pith, while the wick of the dipped ruſh has but one. The two ribs are intended to impede the progreſs of the flame and make the candle laſt.

In a pound of dry ruſhes, avoirdupois, which I cauſed to be weighed and numbered, we found upwards of one thouſand ſix hundred individuals. Now ſuppoſe each of theſe burns, one with another, only half an hour, then a poor man will purchaſe eight hundred hours of light, a time exceeding thirty-three entire days, for three ſhillings. According to this account each ruſh, before dipping, coſts 1/33 of a farthing, and 1/11 afterwards. Thus a poor family will enjoy 5½ hours of comfortable light for a farthing. An experienced old houſekeeper aſſures me that one pound and an half of ruſhes completely ſupplies his family the year round, ſince working people burn no candle in the long days, becauſe they riſe and go to bed by daylight.

Little farmers uſe ruſhes much in the ſhort days, both morning and evening, in the dairy and kitchen; but the very poor, who are always the worſt oeconomiſts, and therefore muſt continue very poor, buy an halfpenny candle every evening, which, in their blowing open rooms, does not burn much more than two hours. Thus have they only two hours light for their money inſtead of eleven.

While on the ſubject of rural oeconomy, it may not be improper to mention a pretty implement of houſewifery that we have ſeen no where elſe; that is, little neat beſoms which our foreſters make from the ſtalks of the polytricum commune, or great golden maiden-hair, which they call ſilk-wood, and find plenty in the bogs. When this moſs is well combed and dreſſed, and diveſted of it's outer ſkin, it becomes of a beautiful bright-cheſnut colour; and, being [200] ſoft and pliant, is very proper for the duſting of beds, curtains, carpets, hangings, &c. If theſe beſoms were known to the bruſh⯑makers in town, it is probable they might come much in uſe for the purpoſe above-mentioned¹.

LETTER XXVII. TO THE SAME.

WE had in this village more than twenty years ago an idiot boy, whom I well remember, who, from a child, ſhewed a ſtrong propenſity to bees; they were his food, his amuſement, his ſole object. And as people of this caſt have ſeldom more than one point in view, ſo this lad exerted all his few faculties on this one purſuit. In the winter he doſed away his time, within his father's houſe, by the fire ſide, in a kind of torpid ſtate, ſeldom departing from the chimney-corner; but in the ſummer he was all alert, and in queſt of his game in the fields, and on ſunny banks. Honey-bees, humble-bees, and waſps, were his prey wherever he found them: he had no apprehenſions from their ſtings, but would ſeize [201] ſeize them nudis manibus, and at once diſarm them of their weapons, and ſuck their bodies for the ſake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his boſom between his ſhirt and his ſkin with a num⯑ber of theſe captives; and ſometimes would confine them in bottles. He was a very merops apiaſter, or bee-bird; and very injurious to men that kept bees; for he would ſlide into their bee-gardens, and, ſitting down before the ſtools, would rap with his finger on the hives, and ſo take the bees as they came out. He has been known to overturn hives for the ſake of honey, of which he was paſſionately fond. Where metheglin was making he would linger round the tubs and veſſels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran about he uſed to make a humming noiſe with his lips, reſembling the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and ſallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite purſuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, diſcovered no manner of underſtanding. Had his capacity been better, and directed to the ſame object, he had perhaps abated much of our wonder at the feats of a more modern exhibiter of bees: and we may juſtly ſay of him now,

When a tall youth he was removed from hence to a diſtant village, where he died, as I underſtand, before he arrived at man⯑hood.

LETTER XXVIII. TO THE SAME.

IT is the hardeſt thing in the world to ſhake off ſuperſtitious pre⯑judices: they are ſucked in as it were with our mother's milk; and, growing up with us at a time when they take the faſteſt hold and make the moſt laſting impreſſions, become ſo interwoven into our very conſtitutions, that the ſtrongeſt good ſenſe is required to diſengage ourſelves from them. No wonder therefore that the lower people retain them their whole lives through, ſince their minds are not invigorated by a liberal education, and therefore not enabled to make any efforts adequate to the occaſion.

Such a preamble ſeems to be neceſſary before we enter on the ſuperſtitions of this diſtrict, leſt we ſhould be ſuſpected of exag⯑geration in a recital of practices too groſs for this enlightened age.

But the people of Tring, in Hertfordſhire, would do well to re⯑member, that no longer ago than the year 1751, and within twenty miles of the capital, they ſeized on two ſuperannuated wretches, crazed with age, and overwhelmed with infirmities, on a ſuſpicion of witchcraft; and, by trying experiments, drowned them in a horſe⯑pond.

In a farm-yard near the middle of this village ſtands, at this day, a row of pollard-aſhes, which, by the ſeams and long cicatrices down their ſides, manifeſtly ſhew that, in former times, they have been cleft aſunder. Theſe trees, when young and flexible, were ſevered and held open by wedges, while ruptured children, ſtrip⯑ped [203] naked, were puſhed through the apertures, under a perſuaſion that, by ſuch a proceſs, the poor babes would be cured of their infirmity. As ſoon as the operation was over, the tree, in the ſuf⯑fering part, was plaſtered with loam, and carefully ſwathed up. If the parts coaleſced and ſoldered together, as uſually fell out, where the feat was performed with any adroitneſs at all, the party was cured; but, where the cleft continued to gape, the operation, it was ſuppoſed, would prove ineffectual. Having occaſion to enlarge my garden not long ſince, I cut down two or three ſuch trees, one of which did not grow together.

We have ſeveral perſons now living in the village, who, in their childhood, were ſuppoſed to be healed by this ſuperſtitious ceremony, derived down perhaps from our Saxon anceſtors, who practiſed it before their converſion to Chriſtianity.

At the ſouth corner of the Pleſtor, or area, near the church, there ſtood, about twenty-years ago, a very old groteſque hollow pol⯑lard-aſh, which for ages had been looked on with no ſmall vener⯑ation as a ſhrew-aſh. Now a ſhrew-aſh is an aſh whoſe twigs or branches, when gently applied to the limbs of cattle, will immedi⯑ately relieve the pains which a beaſt ſuffers from the running of a ſhrew-mouſe over the part affected: for it is ſuppoſed that a ſhrew-mouſe is of ſo baneful and deleterious a nature, that wherever it creeps over a beaſt, be it horſe, cow, or ſheep, the ſuffering ani⯑mal is afflicted with cruel anguiſh, and threatened with the loſs of the uſe of the limb. Againſt this accident, to which they were continually liable, our provident fore-fathers always kept a ſhrew-aſh at hand, which, when once medicated, would maintain it's virtue for ever. A ſhrew-aſh was made thus^m:—Into the body of the [204] tree a deep hole was bored with an auger, and a poor devoted ſhrew-mouſe was thruſt in alive, and plugged in, no doubt, with ſeveral quaint incantations long ſince forgotten. As the ceremonies neceſſary for ſuch a conſecration are no longer underſtood, all ſuc⯑ceſſion is at an end, and no ſuch tree is known to ſubſiſt in the manor, or hundred.

As to that on the Pleſtor

when he was way-warden, regardleſs of the remonſtrances of the by-ſtanders, who interceded in vain for it's preſervation, urging it's power and efficacy, and alledging that it had been

LETTER XXIX. TO THE SAME.

IN heavy fogs, on elevated ſituations eſpecially, trees are perfect alembics; and no one that has not attended to ſuch matters can imagine how much water one tree will diſtil in a night's time, by condenſing the vapour, which trickles down the twigs and boughs, ſo as to make the ground below quite in a float. In Newton-lane, [205] in October 1775, on a miſty day, a particular oak in leaf dropped ſo faſt that the cart-way ſtood in puddles and the ruts ran with water, though the ground in general was duſty.

In ſome of our ſmaller iſlands in the Weſt-Indies, if I miſtake not, there are no ſprings or rivers; but the people are ſupplied with that neceſſary element, water, merely by the dripping of ſome large tall trees, which, ſtanding in the boſom of a mountain, keep their heads conſtantly enveloped with fogs and clouds, from which they diſpenſe their kindly never-ceaſing moiſture; and ſo render thoſe diſtricts habitable by condenſation alone.

Trees in leaf have ſuch a vaſt proportion more of ſurface than thoſe that are naked, that, in theory, their condenſations ſhould greatly exceeed thoſe that are ſtripped of their leaves; but, as the former imbibe alſo a great quantity of moiſture, it is difficult to ſay which drip moſt: but this I know, that deciduous trees that are entwined with much ivy ſeem to diſtil the greateſt quantity. Ivy⯑leaves are ſmooth, and thick, and cold, and therefore condenſe very faſt; and beſides ever-greens imbibe very little. Theſe facts may furniſh the intelligent with hints concerning what ſorts of trees they ſhould plant round ſmall ponds that they would wiſh to be perennial; and ſhew them how advantageous ſome trees are in pre⯑ference to others.

Trees perſpire profuſely, condenſe largely, and check evapor⯑ation ſo much, that woods are always moiſt; no wonder therefore that they contribute much to pools and ſtreams.

That trees are great promoters of lakes and rivers appears from a well known fact in North-America; for, ſince the woods and foreſts have been grubbed and cleared, all bodies of water are much diminiſhed; ſo that ſome ſtreams, that were very conſiderable a [206] century ago, will not now drive a common millⁿ. Beſides, moſt woodlands, foreſts, and chaſes, with us abound with pools and moraſſes; no doubt for the reaſon given above.

To a thinking mind few phenomena are more ſtrange than the ſtate of little ponds on the ſummits of chalk-hills, many of which are never dry in the moſt trying droughts of ſummer. On chalk-hills I ſay, becauſe in many rocky and gravelly ſoils ſprings uſually break out pretty high on the ſides of elevated grounds and moun⯑tains; but no perſon acquainted with chalky diſtricts will allow that they ever ſaw ſprings in ſuch a ſoil but in vallies and bottoms, ſince the waters of ſo pervious a ſtratum as chalk all lie on one dead level, as well-diggers have aſſured me again and again.

Now we have many ſuch little round ponds in this diſtrict; and one in particular on our ſheep-down, three hundred feet above my houſe; which, though never above three feet deep in the middle, and not more than thirty feet in diameter, and containing perhaps not more than two or three hundred hogſheads of water, yet never is known to fail, though it affords drink for three hundred or four hundred ſheep, and for at leaſt twenty head of large cattle beſide. This pond, it is true, is over-hung with two moderate beeches, that, doubtleſs, at times afford it much ſupply: but then we have others as ſmall, that, without the aid of trees, and in ſpite of evaporation from ſun and wind, and perpetual conſumption by cattle, yet conſtantly maintain a moderate ſhare of water, without overflowing in the wetteſt ſeaſons, as they would do if ſupplied by ſprings. By my journal of May, 1775, it appears that ‘"the ſmall and even conſiderable ponds in the vales are now dried up, while the ſmall ponds on the very tops of hills are but little affected."’ Can this difference be accounted for from evaporation alone, which certainly is more prevalent in bottoms? or rather have not thoſe [207] elevated pools ſome unnoticed recruits, which in the night time counterbalance the waſte of the day; without which the cattle alone muſt ſoon exhauſt them? And here it will be neceſſary to enter more minutely into the cauſe. Dr. Hales, in his Vegetable Statics, ad⯑vances, from experiment, that ‘"the moiſter the earth is the more dew falls on it in a night: and more than a double quantity of dew falls on a ſurface of water than there does on an equal ſurface of moiſt earth."’ Hence we ſee that water, by it's coolneſs, is enabled to aſſimilate to itſelf a large quantity of moiſture nightly by condenſation; and that the air, when loaded with fogs and vapours, and even with copious dews, can alone advance a con⯑ſiderable and never-failing reſource. Perſons that are much abroad, and travel early and late; ſuch as ſhepherds, fiſhermen, &c. can tell what prodigious fogs prevail in the night on elevated downs, even in the hotteſt parts of ſummer; and how much the ſurfaces of things are drenched by thoſe ſwimming vapours, though, to the ſenſes, all the while, little moiſture ſeems to fall.

LETTER XXX. TO THE SAME.

MONSIEUR HERISSANT, a French anatomiſt, ſeems perſuaded that he has diſcovered the reaſon why cuckoos do not hatch their own eggs; the impediment, he ſuppoſes, ariſes from the internal ſtructure of their parts, which incapacitates them for incubation. According to this gentleman, the crop, or craw, of a cuckoo does not lie before the ſternum at the bottom of the neck, as in the gallinae, columbae, &c. but immediately behind it, on and over the bowels, ſo as to make a large protuberance in the belly^o.

Induced by this aſſertion, we procured a cuckoo; and, cutting open the breaſt-bone, and expoſing the inteſtines to ſight, found the crop lying as mentioned above. This ſtomach was large and round, and ſtuffed hard like a pincuſhion with food, which, upon nice examination, we found to conſiſt of various inſects; ſuch as ſmall ſcarabs, ſpiders, and dragon-flies; the laſt of which we have ſeen cuckoos catching on the wing as they were juſt emerging out of the aurelia ſtate. Among this farrago alſo were to be ſeen maggots, and many ſeeds, which belonged either to gooſeberries, currants, cranberries, or ſome ſuch fruit; ſo that theſe birds ap⯑parently [209] ſubſiſt on inſects and fruits: nor was there the leaſt ap⯑pearance of bones, feathers, or fur, to ſupport the idle notion of their being birds of prey.

The ſternum in this bird ſeemed to us to be remarkably ſhort, between which and the anus lay the crop, or craw, and immediately behind that the bowels againſt the back-bone.

It muſt be allowed, as this anatomiſt obſerves, that the crop placed juſt upon the bowels muſt, eſpecially when full, be in a very uneaſy ſituation during the buſineſs of incubation; yet the teſt will be to examine whether birds that are actually known to ſit for certain are not formed in a ſimilar manner. This inquiry I propoſed to myſelf to make with a fern-owl, or goat-ſucker, as ſoon as opportunity offered: becauſe, if their formation proves the ſame, the reaſon for incapacity in the cuckoo will be allowed to have been taken up ſomewhat haſtily.

Not long after a fern-owl was procured, which, from it's habit and ſhape, we ſuſpected might reſemble the cuckoo in it's internal conſtruction. Nor were our ſuſpicions ill-grounded; for, upon the diſſection, the crop, or craw, alſo lay behind the ſternum, immedi⯑ately on the viſcera, between them and the ſkin of the belly. It was bulky, and ſtuffed hard with large phalaenae, moths of ſeveral ſorts, and their eggs, which no doubt had been forced out of thoſe inſects by the action of ſwallowing.

Now as it appears that this bird, which is ſo well known to practiſe incubation, is formed in a ſimilar manner with cuckoos, Monſieur Heriſſant's conjecture, that cuckoos are incapable of incu⯑bation from the diſpoſition of their inteſtines, ſeems to fall to the ground; and we are ſtill at a loſs for the cauſe of that ſtrange and ſingular peculiarity in the inſtance of the cuculus canorus.

[210] We found the caſe to be the ſame with the ring-tail hawk, in reſpect to formation; and, as far as I can recollect, with the ſwift; and probably it is ſo with many more ſorts of birds that are not granivorous.

LETTER XXXI. TO THE SAME.

ON Auguſt the 4th, 1775, we ſurpriſed a large viper, which ſeemed very heavy and bloated, as it lay in the graſs baſking in the ſun. When we came to cut it up, we found that the abdomen was crowded with young, fifteen in number; the ſhorteſt of which meaſured full ſeven inches, and were about the ſize of full-grown earth-worms. This little fry iſſued into the world with the true viper-ſpirit about them, ſhewing great alertneſs as ſoon as diſen⯑gaged from the belly of the dam: they twiſted and wriggled about, and ſet themſelves up, and gaped very wide when touched with a ſtick, ſhewing manifeſt tokens of menace and defiance, though as yet they had no manner of fangs that we could find, even with the help of our glaſſes.

[211] To a thinking mind nothing is more wonderful than that early inſtinct which impreſſes young animals with the notion of the ſitua⯑tion of their natural weapons, and of uſing them properly in their own defence, even before thoſe weapons ſubſiſt or are formed. Thus a young cock will ſpar at his adverſary before his ſpurs are grown; and a calf or a lamb will puſh with their heads before their horns are ſprouted. In the ſame manner did theſe young adders attempt to bite before their fangs were in being. The dam how⯑ever was furniſhed with very formidable ones, which we lifted up (for they fold down when not uſed) and cut them off with the point of our ſciſſars.

There was little room to ſuppoſe that this brood had ever been in the open air before; and that they were taken in for refuge, at the mouth of the dam, when ſhe perceived that danger was approaching; becauſe then probably we ſhould have found them ſomewhere in the neck, and not in the abdomen.

LETTER XXXII. TO THE SAME.

CASTRATION has a ſtrange effect: it emaſculates both man, beaſt, and bird, and brings them to a near reſemblance of the other ſex. Thus eunuchs have ſmooth unmuſcular arms, thighs, and legs; and broad hips, and beardleſs chins, and ſqueaking voices. Gelt-ſtags and bucks have hornleſs heads, like hinds and does. Thus wethers have ſmall horns, like ewes; and oxen large bent horns, and hoarſe voices when they low, like cows: for bulls have ſhort ſtraight horns; and though they mutter and grumble in a deep tremendous tone, yet they low in a ſhrill high key. Capons have ſmall combs and gills, and look pallid about the head, like pullets; they alſo walk without any parade, and hover chickens like hens. Barrow-hogs have alſo ſmall tuſks like ſows.

Thus far it is plain that the deprivation of maſculine vigour puts a ſtop to the growth of thoſe parts or appendages that are looked upon as it's inſignia. But the ingenious Mr. Liſle, in his book on huſbandry, carries it much farther; for he ſays that the loſs of thoſe inſignia alone has ſometimes a ſtrange effect on the ability itſelf: he had a boar ſo fierce and venereous, that, to prevent miſchief, orders were given for his tuſks to be broken off. No ſooner had the beaſt ſuffered this injury than his powers forſook him, and he neglected thoſe females to whom before he was paſſionately attached, and from whom no fences could reſtrain him.

LETTER XXXIII. TO THE SAME.

THE natural term of an hog's life is little known, and the reaſon is plain—becauſe it is neither profitable nor convenient to keep that turbulent animal to the full extent of it's time: however, my neighbour, a man of ſubſtance, who had no occaſion to ſtudy every little advantage to a nicety, kept an half bred Bantam-ſow, who was as thick as ſhe was long, and whoſe belly ſwept on the ground till ſhe was advanced to her ſeventeenth year; at which period ſhe ſhewed ſome tokens of age by the decay of her teeth and the de⯑cline of her fertility.

For about ten years this prolific mother produced two litters in the year of about ten at a time, and once above twenty at a litter; but, as there were near double the number of pigs to that of teats, many died. From long experience in the world this female was grown very ſagacious and artful:—when ſhe found occaſion to converſe with a boar ſhe uſed to open all the intervening gates, and march, by herſelf, up to a diſtant farm where one was kept; and when her purpoſe was ſerved would return by the ſame means. At the age of about fifteen her litters began to be reduced to four or five; and ſuch a litter ſhe exhibited when in her ſatting-pen. She proved, when fat, good bacon, juicy, and tender; the rind, or ſward, was remarkably thin. At a moderate computation ſhe [214] was allowed to have been the fruitful parent of three hundred pigs: a prodigious inſtance of fecundity in ſo large a quadruped! She was killed in ſpring 1775.

LETTER XXXIV. TO THE SAME.

WE have remarked in a former letter how much incongruous animals, in a lonely ſtate, may be attached to each other from a ſpirit of ſociality; in this it may not be amiſs to recount a different motive which has been known to create as ſtrange a fondneſs.

My friend had a little helpleſs leveret brought to him, which the ſervants fed with milk in a ſpoon, and about the ſame time his cat kittened and the young were diſpatched and buried. The hare was ſoon loſt, and ſuppoſed to be gone the way of moſt fond⯑lings, to be killed by ſome dog or cat. However, in about a fortnight, as the maſter was ſitting in his garden in the duſk of the evening, he obſerved his cat, with tail erect, trotting towards him, and calling with little ſhort inward notes of complacency, [215] ſuch as they uſe towards their kittens, and ſomething gamboling after, which proved to be the leveret that the cat had ſupported with her milk, and continued to ſupport with great affection.

Thus was a graminivorous animal nurtured by a carnivorous and predaceous one!

Why ſo cruel and ſanguinary a beaſt as a cat, of the ferocious genus of Feles, the murium leo, as Linnaeus calls it, ſhould be affected with any tenderneſs towards an animal which is it's natural prey, is not ſo eaſy to determine.

This ſtrange affection probably was occaſioned by that deſi⯑derium, thoſe tender maternal feelings, which the loſs of her kittens had awakened in her breaſt; and by the complacency and eaſe ſhe derived to herſelf from the procuring her teats to be drawn, which were too much diſtended with milk, till, from habit, ſhe became as much delighted with this foundling as if it had been her real offspring.

This incident is no bad ſolution of that ſtrange circumſtance which grave hiſtorians as well as the poets aſſert, of expoſed children being ſometimes nurtured by female wild beaſts that pro⯑bably had loſt their young. For it is not one whit more marvellous that Romulus and Remus, in their infant ſtate, ſhould be nurſed by a ſhe-wolf, than that a poor little ſucking leveret ſhould be foſtered and cheriſhed by a bloody grimalkin.

LETTER XXXV. TO THE SAME.

LANDS that are ſubject to frequent inundations are always poor; and probably the reaſon may be becauſe the worms are drowned. The moſt inſignificant inſects and reptiles are of much more con⯑ſequence, and have much more influence in the oeconomy of Na⯑ture, than the incurious are aware of; and are mighty in their effect, from their minuteneſs, which renders them leſs an object of atten⯑tion; and from their numbers and fecundity. Earth-worms, though in appearance a ſmall and deſpicable link in the chain of Nature, yet, if loſt, would make a lamentable chaſm. For, to ſay nothing of half the birds, and ſome quadrupeds which are almoſt entirely ſupport⯑ed by them, worms ſeem to be the great promoters of vegetation, which would proceed but lamely without them, by boring, per⯑forating, and looſening the ſoil, and rendering it pervious to rains and the fibres of plants, by drawing ſtraws and ſtalks of leaves and twigs into it; and, moſt of all, by throwing up ſuch infinite numbers of lumps of earth called worm-caſts, which, being their excrement, is a fine manure for grain and graſs. Worms proba⯑bly provide new ſoil for hills and ſlopes where the rain waſhes the earth away; and they affect ſlopes, probably to avoid being flood⯑ed. Gardeners and farmers expreſs their deteſtation of worms; the former becauſe they render their walks unſightly, and make them much work: and the latter becauſe, as they think, worms eat their [217] green corn. But theſe men would find that the earth without worms would ſoon become cold, hard-bound, and void of fermen⯑tation; and conſequently ſteril: and beſides, in favour of worms, it ſhould be hinted that green corn, plants, and flowers, are not ſo much injured by them as by many ſpecies of coleoptera (ſcarabs), and tipulae (long-legs) in their larva, or grub-ſtate; and by unnoticed myriads of ſmall ſhell-leſs ſnails, called ſlugs, which ſilently and imperceptibly make amazing havoc in the field and garden^q.

Theſe hints we think proper to throw out in order to ſet the in⯑quiſitive and diſcerning to work.

A good monography of worms would afford much entertainment and information at the ſame time, and would open a large and new field in natural hiſtory. Worms work moſt in the ſpring; but by no means lie torpid in the dead months; are out every mild night in the winter, as any perſon may be convinced that will take the pains to examine his graſs-plots with a candle; are hermaphrodites, and much addicted to venery, and conſequently very prolific.

LETTER XXXVI. TO THE SAME.

YOU cannot but remember that the twenty-ſixth and twenty-ſeventh of laſt March were very hot days; ſo fultry that every body complained and were reſtleſs under thoſe ſenſations to which they had not been reconciled by gradual approaches.

This ſudden ſummer-like heat was attended by many ſummer coincidences; for on thoſe two days the thermometer roſe to ſixty-ſix in the ſhade; many ſpecies of inſects revived and came forth; ſome bees ſwarmed in this neighbourhood; the old tortoiſe, near Lewes, in Suſſex, awakened and came forth out of it's dormi⯑tory; and, what is moſt to my preſent purpoſe, many houſe-ſwallows appeared and were very alert in many places, and particularly at Cobham, in Surrey.

But as that ſhort warm period was ſucceeded as well as preceded by harſh ſevere weather, with frequent froſts and ice, and cutting winds, the inſects withdrew, the tortoiſe retired again into the ground, and the ſwallows were ſeen no more until the tenth of April, when, the rigour of the ſpring abating, a ſofter ſeaſon began to prevail.

Again; it appears by my journals for many years paſt that houſe-martins retire, to a bird, about the beginning of October; ſo that a perſon not very obſervant of ſuch matters would conclude that they [219] had taken their laſt farewell: but then it may be ſeen in my diaries alſo that conſiderable flocks have diſcovered themſelves again in the firſt week of November, and often on the fourth day of that month only for one day; and that not as if they were in actual migration, but playing about at their leiſure and feeding calmly, as if no enterprize of moment at all agitated their ſpirits. And this was the caſe in the beginning of this very month; for, on the fourth of November, more than twenty houſe-martins, which, in appearance, had all departed about the ſeventh of October, were ſeen again, for that one morning only, ſporting between my fields and the Hanger, and feaſting on inſects which ſwarmed in that ſheltered diſtrict. The preceding day was wet and bluſtering, but the fourth was dark and mild, and ſoft, the wind at ſouth-weſt, and the ther⯑mometer at 58½; a pitch not common at that ſeaſon of the year. Moreover, it may no the amiſs to add in this place, that whenever the thermometer is above 50 the bat comes flitting out in every autumnal and winter-month.

From all theſe circumſtances laid together, it is obvious that torpid inſects, reptiles, and quadrupeds, are awakened from their profoundeſt ſlumbers by a little untimely warmth; and therefore that nothing ſo much promotes this death-like ſtupor as a defect of heat. And farther, it is reaſonable to ſuppoſe that two whole ſpecies, or at leaſt many individuals of thoſe two ſpecies, of Britiſh hirundines, do never leave this iſland at all, but partake of the ſame benumbed ſtate: for we cannot ſuppoſe that, after a month's abſence, houſe-martins can return from ſouthern regions to appear for one morning in November, or that houſe-ſwallows ſhould leave the diſ⯑tricts of Africa to enjoy, in March, the tranſient ſummer of a couple of days.

LETTER XXXVII. TO THE SAME.

THERE was in this village ſeveral years ago a miſerable pauper, who, from his birth, was afflicted with a leproſy, as far as we are aware of a ſingular kind, ſince it affected only the palms of his hands and the ſoles of his feet. This ſcaly eruption uſually broke out twice in the year, at the ſpring and fall; and, by peeling away, left the ſkin ſo thin and tender that neither his hands or feet were able to perform their functions; ſo that the poor object was half his time on crutches, incapable of employ, and languiſhing in a tireſome ſtate of indolence and inactivity. His habit was lean, lank, and cadaverous. In this ſad plight he dragged on a miſerable exiſtence, a burden to himſelf and his pariſh, which was obliged to ſupport him till he was relieved by death at more than thirty years of age.

The good women, who love to account for every defect in chil⯑dren by the doctrine of longing, ſaid that his mother felt a violent propenſity for oyſters, which ſhe was unable to gratify; and that the black rough ſcurf on his hands and feet were the ſhells of that fiſh. We knew his parents, neither of which were lepers; his father in particular lived to be far advanced in years.

In all ages the leproſy has made dreadful havock among man⯑kind. The Iſraelites ſeem to have been greatly afflicted with it [221] from the moſt remote times; as appears from the peculiar and re⯑peated injunctions given them in the Levitical law^r. Nor was the rancour of this foul diſorder much abated in the laſt period of their commonwealth, as may be ſeen in many paſſages of the New Teſtament.

Some centuries ago this horrible diſtemper prevailed all Europe over; and our forefathers were by no means exempt, as appears by the large proviſion made for objects labouring under this cala⯑mity. There was an hoſpital for female lepers in the dioceſe of Lincoln, a noble one near Durham, three in London and Southwark, and perhaps many more in or near our great towns and cities. Moreover, ſome crowned heads, and other wealthy and charitable perſonages, bequeathed large legacies to ſuch poor people as lan⯑guiſhed under this hopeleſs infirmity.

It muſt therefore, in theſe days, be, to an humane and think⯑ing perſon, a matter of equal wonder and ſatisfaction, when he contemplates how nearly this peſt is eradicated, and obſerves that a leper now is a rare ſight. He will, moreover, when engaged in ſuch a train of thought, naturally inquire for the reaſon. This happy change perhaps may have originated and been continued from the much ſmaller quantity of ſalted meat and fiſh now eaten in theſe kingdoms; from the uſe of linen next the ſkin; from the plenty of better bread; and from the profuſion of fruits, roots, legumes, and greens, ſo common in every family. Three or four centuries ago, before there were any encloſures, ſown-graſſes, field-turnips, or field-carrots, or hay, all the cattle which had grown fat in ſummer, and were not killed for winter-uſe, were turned out ſoon after Michaelmas to ſhift as they could through the [222] dead months; ſo that no freſh meat could be had in winter or ſpring. Hence the marvellous account of the vaſt ſtores of ſalted fleſh found in the larder of the eldeſt Spencer ^s in the days of Edward the Second, even ſo late in the ſpring as the third of May. It was from magazines like theſe that the turbulent barons ſupported in idleneſs their riotous ſwarms of retainers ready for any diſorder or miſchief. But agriculture is now arrived at ſuch a pitch of per⯑fection, that our beſt and fatteſt meats are killed in the winter; and no man need eat ſalted fleſh, unleſs he prefers it, that has money to buy freſh.

One cauſe of this diſtemper might be, no doubt, the quantity of wretched freſh and ſalt fiſh conſumed by the commonalty at all ſeaſons as well as in lent; which our poor now would hardly be perſuaded to touch.

The uſe of linen changes, ſhirts or ſhifts, in the room of ſordid and filthy woollen, long worn next the ſkin, is a matter of neatneſs comparatively modern; but muſt prove a great means of preventing cutaneous ails. At this very time woollen inſtead of linen prevails among the poorer Welch, who are ſubject to foul eruptions.

The plenty of good wheaten bread that now is found among all ranks of people in the ſouth, inſtead of that miſerable ſort which uſed in old days to be made of barley or beans, may con⯑tribute not a little to the ſweetening their blood and correcting their juices; for the inhabitants of mountainous diſtricts, to this day, are ſtill liable to the itch and other cutaneous diſorders, from a wretchedneſs and poverty of diet.

As to the produce of a garden, every middle-aged perſon of obſervation may perceive, within his own memory, both in town [223] and country, how vaſtly the conſumption of vegetables is increaſed. Green-ſtalls in cities now ſupport multitudes in a comfortable ſtate, while gardeners get fortunes. Every decent labourer alſo has his garden, which is half his ſupport, as well as his delight; and common farmers provide plenty of beans, peas, and greens, for their hinds to eat with their bacon; and thoſe few that do not are deſpiſed for their ſordid parſimony, and looked upon as regard⯑leſs of the welfare of their dependants. Potatoes have prevailed in this little diſtrict, by means of premiums, within theſe twenty years only; and are much eſteemed here now by the poor, who would ſcarce have ventured to taſte them in the laſt reign.

Our Saxon anceſtors certainly had ſome ſort of cabbage, becauſe they call the month of February ſprout-cale; but, long after their days, the cultivation of gardens was little attended to. The religious, being men of leiſure, and keeping up a conſtant correſpondence with Italy, were the firſt people among us that had gardens and fruit-trees in any perfection, within the walls of their abbies^t and priories. The barons neglected every purſuit that did not lead to war or tend to the pleaſure of the chaſe.

It was not till gentlemen took up the ſtudy of horticulture them⯑ſelves that the knowledge of gardening made ſuch haſty advances. Lord Cobham, Lord Ila, and Mr. Waller of Beaconsfield, were ſome of the firſt people of rank that promoted the elegant ſcience of ornamenting without deſpiſing the ſuperintendence of the kitchen quarters and fruit walls.

[224] A remark made by the excellent Mr. Ray in his Tour of Europe at once ſurpriſes us, and corroborates what has been advanced above; for we find him obſerving, ſo late as his days, that ‘"the Italians uſe ſeveral herbs for ſallets, which are not yet or have not been but lately uſed in England, viz. ſelleri (celery) which is nothing elſe but the ſweet ſmallage; the young ſhoots whereof, with a little of the head of the root cut off, they eat raw with oil and pepper."’ and farther he adds ‘"curled endive blanched is much uſed beyond ſeas; and, for a raw ſallet, ſeemed to excel lettuce itſelf."’ Now this journey was undertaken no longer ago than in the year 1663.

LETTER XXXVIII. TO THE SAME.

IN a diſtrict ſo diverſified as this, ſo full of hollow vales and hanging woods, it is no wonder that echoes ſhould abound. Many we have diſcovered that return the cry of a pack of dogs, the notes of a hunting-horn, a tunable ring of bells, or the melody of birds, very agreeably: but we were ſtill at a loſs for a polyſyllabical, [225] articulate echo, till a young gentleman, who had parted from his company in a ſummer evening walk, and was calling after them, ſtumbled upon a very curious one in a ſpot where it might leaſt be expected. At firſt he was much ſurpriſed, and could not be per⯑ſuaded but that he was mocked by ſome boy; but, repeating his trials in ſeveral languages, and finding his reſpondent to be a very adroit polyglot, he then diſcerned the deception.

This echo in an evening, before rural noiſes ceaſe, would re⯑peat ten ſyllables moſt articulately and diſtinctly, eſpecially if quick dactyls were choſen. The laſt ſyllables of

were as audibly and intelligibly returned as the firſt: and there is no doubt, could trial have been made, but that at midnight, when the air is very elaſtic, and a dead ſtillneſs prevails, one or two ſyllables more might have been obtained; but the diſtance rendered ſo late an experiment very inconvenient.

Quick dactyls, we obſerved, ſucceeded beſt; for when we came to try it's powers in ſlow, heavy, embaraſſed ſpondees of the ſame number of ſyllables,

we could perceive a return but of four or five.

All echoes have ſome one place to which they are returned ſtronger and more diſtinct than to any other; and that is always the place that lies at right angles with the object of repercuſſion, and is not too near, nor too far off. Buildings, or naked rocks, re⯑echo much more articulately than hanging wood or vales; becauſe in the latter the voice is as it were entangled, and embaraſſed in the covert, and weakened in the rebound.

[226] The true object of this echo, as we found by various experi⯑ments, is the ſtone-built, tiled hop-kiln in Gally-lane, which mea⯑ſures in front 40 feet, and from the ground to the eaves 12 feet. The true centrum phonicum, or juſt diſtance, is one particular ſpot in the King's-field, in the path to Nore-hill, on the very brink of the ſteep balk above the hollow cart way. In this caſe there is no choice of diſtance; but the path, by meer contingency, happens to be the lucky, the identical ſpot, becauſe the ground riſes or falls ſo immediately, if the ſpeaker either retires or advances, that his mouth would at once be above or below the object.

We meaſured this polyſyllabical echo with great exactneſs, and found the diſtance to fall very ſhort of Dr. Plot's rule for diſtinct articulation: for the Doctor, in his hiſtory of Oxfordſhire, allows 120 feet for the return of each ſyllable diſtinctly: hence this echo, which gives ten diſtinct ſyllables, ought to meaſure 400 yards, or 120 feet to each ſyllable; whereas our diſtance is only 258 yards, or near 75 feet, to each ſyllable. Thus our meaſure falls ſhort of the Doctor's, as five to eight: but then it muſt be acknowledged that this candid philoſopher was convinced afterwards, that ſome latitude muſt be admitted of in the diſtance of echoes according to time and place.

When experiments of this ſort are making, it ſhould always be remembered that weather and the time of day have a vaſt in⯑fluence on an echo; for a dull, heavy, moiſt air deadens and clogs the ſound; and hot ſunſhine renders the air thin and weak, and deprives it of all it's ſpringineſs; and a ruffling wind quite defeats the whole. In a ſtill, clear, dewy evening the air is moſt elaſtic; and perhaps the later the hour the more ſo.

[227] Echo has always been ſo amuſing to the imagination, that the poets have perſonified her; and in their hands ſhe has been the occaſion of many a beautiful fiction. Nor need the graveſt man be aſhamed to appear taken with ſuch a phaenomenon, ſince it may become the ſubject of philoſophical or mathematical inquiries.

One ſhould have imagined that echoes, if not entertaining, muſt at leaſt have been harmleſs and inoffenſive; yet Virgil advances a ſtrange notion, that they are injurious to bees. After enumerating ſome probable and reaſonable annoyances, ſuch as prudent owners would wiſh far removed from their bee-gardens, he adds

This wild and fanciful aſſertion will hardly be admitted by the philoſophers of theſe days; eſpecially as they all now ſeem agreed that inſects are not furniſhed with any organs of hearing at all. But if it ſhould be urged, that though they cannot hear yet per⯑haps they may feel the repercuſſions of ſounds, I grant it is poſ⯑ſible they may. Yet that theſe impreſſions are diſtaſteful or hurtful, I deny, becauſe bees, in good ſummers, thrive well in my outlet, where the echoes are very ſtrong: for this village is another Anathoth, a place of reſponſes or echoes. Beſides, it does not ap⯑pear from experiment that bees are in any way capable of being affected by ſounds: for I have often tried my own with a large ſpeaking-trumpet held cloſe to their hives, and with ſuch an exer⯑tion of voice as would have haled a ſhip at the diſtance of a mile, and ſtill theſe inſects purſued their various employments undiſ⯑turbed, and without ſhewing the leaſt ſenſibility or reſentment.

[228] Some time ſince it's diſcovery this echo is become totally ſilent, though the object, or hop-kiln, remains: nor is there any myſtery in this defect; for the field between is planted as an hop-garden, and the voice of the ſpeaker is totally abſorbed and loſt among the poles and entangled foliage of the hops. And when the poles are removed in autumn the diſappointment is the ſame; becauſe a tall quick-ſet hedge, nurtered up for the purpoſe of ſhelter to the hop ground, entirely interrupts the impulſe and repercuſſion of the voice: ſo that till thoſe obſtructions are removed no more of it's garrulity can be expected.

Should any gentleman of fortune think an echo in his park or outlet a pleaſing incident, he might build one at little or no ex⯑penſe. For whenever he had occaſion for a new barn, ſtable, dog⯑kennel, or the like ſtructure, it would be only needful to erect this building on the gentle declivity of an hill, with a like riſing oppo⯑ſite to it, at a few hundred yards diſtance; and perhaps ſucceſs might be the eaſier enſured could ſome canal, lake, or ſtream, intervene. From a ſeat at the centrum phonicum he and his friends might amuſe themſelves ſometimes of an evening with the prattle of this loquacious nymph; of whoſe complacency and decent re⯑ſerve more may be ſaid than can with truth of every individual of her ſex; ſince ſhe is —

P.S. The claſſic reader will, I truſt, pardon the following lovely quotation, ſo finely deſcribing echoes, and ſo poetically accounting for their cauſes from popular ſuperſtition:

LETTER XXXIX. TO THE SAME.

AMONG the many ſingularities attending thoſe amuſing birds the ſwifts, I am now confirmed in the opinion that we have every year the ſame number of pairs invariably; at leaſt the reſult of my in⯑quiry has been exactly the ſame for a long time paſt. The ſwallows and martins are ſo numerous, and ſo widely diſtributed over the village, that it is hardly poſſible to recount them; while the ſwifts, though they do not all build in the church, yet ſo frequently haunt it, and play and rendezvous round it, that they are eaſily enumerated. The number that I conſtantly find are eight pairs; about half of which reſide in the church, and the reſt build in ſome of the loweſt and meaneſt thatched cottages. Now as theſe eight pairs, allowance being made for accidents, breed yearly eight pairs more, what becomes annually of this increaſe; and what determines every ſpring which pairs ſhall viſit us, and re⯑occupy their ancient haunts?

Ever ſince I have attended to the ſubject of ornithology, I have always ſuppoſed that that ſudden reverſe of affection, that ſtrange [...], which immediately ſucceeds in the feathered kind to the moſt paſſionate fondneſs, is the occaſion of an equal diſperſion of birds over the face of the earth. Without this proviſion one favourite diſtrict would be crowded with inhabitants, while others [231] would be deſtitute and forſaken. But the parent birds ſeem to maintain a jealous ſuperiority, and to oblige the young to ſeek for new abodes: and the rivalry of the males, in many kinds, prevents their crowding the one on the other. Whether the ſwallows and houſe-martins return in the ſame exact number annually is not eaſy to ſay, for reaſons given above: but it is apparent, as I have re⯑marked before in my Monographies, that the numbers returning bear no manner of proportion to the numbers retiring.

LETTER XL. TO THE SAME.

THE ſtanding objection to botany has always been, that it is a purſuit that amuſes the fancy and exerciſes the memory, with⯑out improving the mind or advancing any real knowledge: and, where the ſcience is carried no farther than a mere ſyſtematic claſſification, the charge is but too true. But the botaniſt that is deſirous of wiping off this aſperſion ſhould be by no means con⯑tent with a liſt of names; he ſhould ſtudy plants philoſophically, ſhould inveſtigate the laws of vegetation, ſhould examine the powers and virtues of efficacious herbs, ſhould promote their [232] cultivation; and graft the gardener, the planter, and the huſband⯑man, on the phytologiſt. Not that ſyſtem is by any means to be thrown aſide; without ſyſtem the field of Nature would be a pathleſs wilderneſs; but ſyſtem ſhould be ſubſervient to, not the main object of, purſuit.

Vegetation is highly worthy of our attention; and in itſelf is of the utmoſt conſequence to mankind, and productive of many of the greateſt comforts and elegancies of life. To plants we owe timber, bread, beer, honey, wine, oil, linen, cotton, &c. what not only ſtrengthens our hearts, and exhilerates our ſpirits, but what ſecures us from inclemencies of weather and adorns our per⯑ſons. Man, in his true ſtate of nature, ſeems to be ſubſiſted by ſpontaneous vegetation: in middle climes, where graſſes prevail, he mixes ſome animal food with the produce of the field and gar⯑den: and it is towards the polar extremes only that, like his kin⯑dred bears and wolves, he gorges himſelf with fleſh alone, and is driven, to what hunger has never been known to compel the very beaſts, to prey on his own ſpecies.^u

The productions of vegetation have had a vaſt influence on the commerce of nations, and have been the great promoters of navi⯑gation, as may be ſeen in the articles of ſugar, tea, tobacco, opium, ginſeng, betel, paper, &c. As every climate has it's peculiar pro⯑duce, our natural wants bring on a mutual intercourſe; ſo that by means of trade each diſtant part is ſupplied with the growth of every latitude. But, without the knowledge of plants and their culture, we muſt have been content with our hips and haws, with⯑out enjoying the delicate fruits of India and the ſalutiferous drugs of Peru.

[233] Inſtead of examining the minute diſtinctions of every various ſpecies of each obſcure genus, the botaniſt ſhould endeavour to make himſelf acquainted with thoſe that are uſeful. You ſhall ſee a man readily aſcertain every herb of the field, yet hardly know wheat from barley, or at leaſt one ſort of wheat or barley from another.

But of all ſorts of vegetation the graſſes ſeem to be moſt ne⯑glected; neither the farmer nor the grazier ſeem to diſtinguiſh the annual from the perennial, the hardy from the tender, nor the ſucculent and nutritive from the dry and juiceleſs.

The ſtudy of graſſes would be of great conſequence to a norther⯑ly, and grazing kingdom. The botaniſt that could improve the ſwerd of the diſtrict where he lived would be an uſeful member of ſociety: to raiſe a thick turf on a naked ſoil would be worth volumes of ſyſtematic knowledge; and he would be the beſt com⯑monwealth's man that could occaſion the growth of ‘"two blades of graſs where one alone was ſeen before."’

LETTER XLI. TO THE SAME.

IN a diſtrict ſo diverſified with ſuch a variety of hill and dale, aſpects, and ſoils, it is no wonder that great choice of plants ſhould be found. Chalks, clays, ſands, ſheep-walks and downs, bogs, heaths, woodlands, and champaign fields, cannot but furniſh an ample Flora. The deep rocky lanes abound with filices, and the paſtures and moiſt woods with fungi. If in any branch of botany we may ſeem to be wanting, it muſt be in the large aquatic plants, which are not to be expected on a ſpot far removed from rivers, and lying up amidſt the hill country at the ſpring heads. To enumerate all the plants that have been diſcovered within our limits would be a needleſs work; but a ſhort liſt of the more rare, and the ſpots where they are to be found, may be neither unac⯑ceptable nor unentertaining:—

• Helleborus foetidus, ſtinking hellebore, bear's foot, or ſetterworth, all over the High-wood and Coney-croft-hanger: this continues a great branching plant the winter through, bloſſoming about January, and is very ornamental in ſhady walks and ſhrubberies. The good women give the leaves powdered to children troubled with worms; but it is a violent remedy, and ought to be adminiſtered with caution.
• [235] Helleborus viridis, green hellebore,—in the deep ſtony lane on the left hand juſt before the turning to Norton-farm, and at the top of Middle Dorton under the hedge: this plant dies down to the ground early in autumn, and ſprings again about February, flowering almoſt as ſoon as it appears above ground.
• Vaccinium oxycoccos, creeping bilberries, or cranberries,—in the bogs of Bin's-pond;
• Vaccinium myrtillus, whortle, or bleaberries,—on the dry hillocks of Woolmer-foreſt;
• Droſera rotundifolia, round-leaved ſundew. In the bogs of Bin's-pond.
• — longifolia, long-leaved ditto. In the bogs of Bin's-pond.
• Comarum paluſtre, purple comarum, or marſh cinque foil,—in the bogs of Bin's-pond;
• Hypericum androſaemum, Tutſan, St. John's Wort,—in the ſtony, hollow lanes;
• Vinca minor, leſs periwinkle,—in Selborne-hanger and Shrub-wood;
• Monotropa hypopithys, yellow monotropa, or birds' neſt,—in Sel⯑borne-hanger under the ſhady beeches, to whoſe roots it ſeems to be paraſitical—at the north-weſt end of the Hanger;
• Chlora perfoliata, Blackſtonia perfoliata, Hudſoni, perfoliated yellow⯑wort,—on the banks in the King's-field;
• Paris quadrifolia, herb Paris, true-love, or one-berry,—in the Church-litten-coppice;
• Chryſoſplenium oppoſitifolium, oppoſite golden ſaxifrage,—in the dark and rocky hollow lanes;
• Gentiana amarella, autumnal gentian, or fellwort,—on the Zig⯑zag and Hanger;
• [236] Lathraea ſquammaria, tooth-wort,—in the Church-litten-coppice under ſome hazels near the foot-bridge, in Trimming's garden hedge, and on the dry wall oppoſite Grange-yard;
• Dipſacus piloſus, ſmall teaſel,—in the Short and Long Lith.
• Lathyrus ſylveſtris, narrow-leaved, or wild lathyrus,—in the buſhes at the foot of the Short Lith, near the path;
• Ophrys ſpiralis, ladies traces,—in the Long Lith, and towards the ſouth-corner of the common;
• Ophrys nidus avis, birds' neſt ophrys,—in the Long Lith under the ſhady beeches among the dead leaves; in Great Dorton among the buſhes, and on the Hanger plentifully;
• Serapias latifolia, helleborine,—in the High-wood under the ſhady beeches;
• Daphne laureola, ſpurge laurel,—in Selborne-Hanger and the High-wood;
• Daphne mezereum, the mezereon,—in Selborne-Hanger among the ſhrubs at the ſouth-eaſt end above the cottages.
• Lycoperdon tuber, truffles,—in the Hanger and High-wood.
• Sambucus ebulus, dwarf elder, walwort, or danewort,—among the rubbiſh and ruined foundations of the Priory.

LETTER XLII. TO THE SAME.

A GOOD ornithologiſt ſhould be able to diſtinguiſh birds by their air as well as by their colours and ſhape; on the ground as well as on the wing, and in the buſh as well as in the hand. For, though it muſt not be ſaid that every ſpecies of birds has a manner peculiar to itſelf, yet there is ſomewhat in moſt genera at leaſt, that at firſt ſight diſcriminates them, and enables a judicious obſerver to pronounce upon them with ſome certainty. Put a bird in motion

Thus kites and buzzards ſail round in circles with wings expand⯑ed and motionleſs; and it is from their gliding manner that the former are ſtill called in the north of England gleads, from the Saxon verb glidan, to glide. The keſtrel, or wind-hover, has a peculiar mode of hanging in the air in one place, his wings all the while being briſkly agitated. Hen-harriers ſly low over heaths or fields of corn, and beat the ground regularly like a pointer or ſetting-dog. Owls move in a buoyant manner, as if lighter than the air; they ſeem to want ballaſt. There is a peculiarity belonging to ravens that muſt draw the attention even of the moſt incurious—they ſpend all [238] their leiſure time in ſtriking and cuffing each other on the wing in a kind of playful ſkirmiſh; and, when they move from one place to another, frequently turn on their backs with a loud croak, and ſeem to be falling to the ground. When this odd geſture betides them, they are ſcratching themſelves with one foot, and thus loſe the center of gravity. Rooks ſometimes dive and tumble in a frolickſome manner; crows and daws ſwagger in their walk; wood-peckers ſly volatu undoſo, opening and cloſing their wings at every ſtroke, and ſo are always riſing or falling in curves. All of this genus uſe their tails, which incline downward, as a ſupport while they run up trees. Parrots, like all other hooked-clawed birds, walk aukwardly, and make uſe of their bill as a third foot, climbing and deſcending with ridiculous caution. All the gallinae parade and walk gracefully, and run nimbly; but fly with dif⯑ficulty, with an impetuous whirring, and in a ſtraight line. Mag⯑pies and jays flutter with powerleſs wings, and make no diſpatch; herons ſeem incumbered with too much ſail for their light bodies; but theſe vaſt hollow wings are neceſſary in carrying burdens, ſuch as large fiſhes, and the like; pigeons, and particularly the ſort called ſmiters, have a way of claſhing their wings the one againſt the other over their backs with a loud ſnap; another variety called tumblers turn themſelves over in the air. Some birds have move⯑ments peculiar to the ſeaſon of love: thus ring-doves, though ſtrong and rapid at other times, yet in the ſpring hang about on the wing in a toying and playful manner; thus the cock-ſnipe, while breed⯑ing, forgetting his former flight, fans the air like the wind-hover; and the green-finch in particular exhibits ſuch languiſhing and faultering geſtures as to appear like a wounded and dying bird; the king-fiſher darts along like an arrow; fern-owls, or goat-ſuckers, glance in the duſk over the tops of trees like a meteor; ſtarlings [239] as it were ſwim along, while miſſel-thruſhes uſe a wild and deſul⯑tory flight; ſwallows ſweep over the ſurface of the ground and water, and diſtinguiſh themſelves by rapid turns and quick evolu⯑tions; ſwifts daſh round in circles; and the bank-martin moves with frequent vacillations like a butterfly. Moſt of the ſmall birds fly by jerks, riſing and falling as they advance. Moſt ſmall birds hop; but wagtails and larks walk, moving their legs alternately. Skylarks riſe and fall perpendicularly as they ſing; woodlarks hang poiſed in the air; and titlarks riſe and fall in large curves, ſinging in their deſcent. The white-throat uſes odd jerks and geſticulations over the tops of hedges and buſhes. All the duck-kind waddle; divers and auks walk as if fettered, and ſtand erect on their tails: theſe are the compedes of Linnaeus. Geeſe and cranes, and moſt wild-fowls, move in figured flights, often changing their poſition. The ſecondary remiges of Tringae, wild-ducks, and ſome others, are very long, and give their wings, when in motion, an hooked appear⯑ance. Dabchicks, moor-hens, and coots, fly erect, with their legs hanging down, and hardly make any diſpatch; the reaſon is plain, their wings are placed too forward out of the true center of gravity; as the legs of auks and divers are ſituated too backward.

LETTER XLIII. TO THE SAME.

FROM the motion of birds, the tranſition is natural enough to their notes and language, of which I ſhall ſay ſomething. Not that I would pretend to underſtand their language like the vizier; who, by the recital of a converſation which paſſed between two owls, reclaimed a ſultan,^x before delighting in conqueſt and de⯑vaſtation; but I would be thought only to mean that many of the winded tribes have various ſounds and voices adapted to ex⯑preſs their various paſſions, wants, and feelings; ſuch as anger, fear, love, hatred, hunger, and the like. All ſpecies are not equally eloquent; ſome are copious and fluent as it were in their utterance, while others are confined to a few important ſounds: no bird, like the fiſh kind, is quite mute, though ſome are rather ſilent. The language of birds is very ancient, and, like other ancient modes of ſpeech, very elliptical; little is ſaid, but much is meant and underſtood.

The notes of the eagle-kind are ſhrill and piercing; and about the ſeaſon of nidification much diverſified, as I have been often aſſured by a curious obſerver of Nature, who long reſided at Gibraltar, where eagles abound. The notes of our hawks much reſemble thoſe of the king of birds. Owls have very expreſſive notes; they hoot in a fine vocal ſound, much reſembling the vox [241] Lumana, and reducible by a pitch-pipe to a muſical key. This note ſeems to expreſs complacency and rivalry among the males: they uſe alſo a quick call and an horrible ſcream; and can ſnore and hiſs when they mean to menace. Ravens, beſides their loud croak, can exert a deep and ſolemn note that makes the woods to echo; the amorous ſound of a crow is ſtrange and ridiculous; rooks, in the breeding ſeaſon, attempt ſometimes in the gaiety of their hearts to ſing, but with no great ſucceſs; the parrot-kind have many modulations of voice, as appears by their aptitude to learn human ſounds; doves coo in an amorous and mournful manner, and are emblems of deſpairing lovers; the woodpecker ſets up a ſort of loud and hearty laugh; the fern-owl, or goat-ſucker, from the duſk till day-break, ſerenades his mate with the clattering of caſtanets. All the tuneful paſſeres expreſs their complacency by ſweet modulations, and a variety of me⯑lody. The ſwallow, as has been obſerved in a former letter, by a ſhrill alarm beſpeaks the attention of the other hirundines, and bids them be aware that the hawk is at hand. Aquatic and gre⯑garious birds, eſpecially the nocturnal, that ſhift their quarters in the dark, are very noiſy and loquacious; as cranes, wild-geeſe, wild-ducks, and the like: their perpetual clamour prevents them from diſperſing and loſing their companions.

In ſo extenſive a ſubject, ſketches and outlines are as much as can be expected; for it would be endleſs to inſtance in all the infinite variety of the feathered nation. We ſhall therefore confine the remainder of this letter to the few domeſtic fowls of our yards, which are moſt known, and therefore beſt underſtood. And firſt the peacock, with his gorgeous train, demands our attention; but, like moſt of the gaudy birds, his notes are grating and ſhocking to the car: the yelling of cats, and the braying of an aſs, are not [242] more diſguſtful. The voice of the gooſe is trumpet-like, and clanking; and once ſaved the Capitol at Rome, as grave hiſtorians aſſert: the hiſs alſo of the gander is formidable and full of menace, and ‘"protective of his young."’ Among ducks the ſexual diſ⯑tinction of voice is remarkable; for, while the quack of the female is loud and ſonorous, the voice of the drake is inward and harſh, and feeble, and ſcarce diſcernible. The cock turkey ſtruts and gobbles to his miſtreſs in a moſt uncouth manner; he hath alſo a pert and petulant note when he attacks his adverſary. When a hen turkey leads forth her young brood ſhe keeps a watchful eye; and if a bird of prey appear, though ever ſo high in the air, the careful mother announces the enemy with a little inward moan, and watches him with a ſteady and attentive look; but, if he approach, her note becomes earneſt and alarming, and her outcries are redoubled.

No inhabitants of a yard ſeem poſſeſſed of ſuch a variety of expreſſion and ſo copious a language as common poultry. Take a chicken of four or five days old, and hold it up to a window where there are flies, and it will immediately ſeize it's prey, with little twitterings of complacency; but if you tender it a waſp or a bee, at once it's note becomes harſh, and expreſſive of diſapprobation and a ſenſe of danger. When a pullet is ready to lay ſhe intimates the event by a joyous and eaſy ſoft note. Of all the occurrences of their life that of laying ſeems to be the moſt important; for no ſooner has a hen diſburdened herſelf, than ſhe ruſhes forth with a clamorous kind of joy, which the cock and the reſt of his miſtreſſes immediately adopt. The tumult is not confined to the family concerned, but catches from yard to yard, and ſpreads to every homeſtead within hearing, till at laſt the whole village is in an uproar. As ſoon as a hen becomes a mother [243] her new relation demands a new language; ſhe then runs clocking and ſcreaming about, and ſeems agitated as if poſſeſſed. The father of the flock has alſo a conſiderable vocabulary; if he finds food, he calls a favourite concubine to partake; and if a bird of prey paſſes over, with a warning voice he bids his family beware. The gallant chanticleer has, at command, his amorous phraſes and his terms of defiance. But the ſound by which he is beſt known is his crowing: by this he has been diſtinguiſhed in all ages as the countryman's clock or larum, as the watchman that proclaims the diviſions of the night. Thus the poet elegantly ſtyles him:

A neighbouring gentleman one ſummer had loſt moſt of his chickens by a ſparrow-hawk, that came gliding down between a faggot pile and the end of his houſe to the place where the coops ſtood. The owner, inwardly vexed to ſee his flock thus dimi⯑niſhing, hung a ſetting net adroitly between the pile and the houſe, into which the caitif daſhed, and was entangled. Reſentment ſuggeſted the law of retaliation; he therefore clipped the hawk's wings, cut off his talons, and, fixing a cork on his bill, threw him down among the brood-hens. Imagination cannot paint the ſcene that enſued; the expreſſions that fear, rage, and revenge, inſpired, were new, or at leaſt ſuch as had been unnoticed before: the exaſperated matrons upbraided, they execrated, they inſulted, they triumphed. In a word, they never deſiſted from buffering their adverſary till they had torn him in an hundred pieces.

LETTER XLIV. TO THE SAME.

GENTLEMEN who have outlets might contrive to make orna⯑ment ſubſervient to utility: a pleaſing eye-trap might alſo contri⯑bute to promote ſcience: an obeliſk in a garden or park might be both an embelliſhment and an heliotrope.

Any perſon that is curious, and enjoys the advantage of a good horizon, might, with little trouble, make two heliotropes; the one for the winter, the other for the ſummer ſolſtice: and theſe two erections might be conſtructed with very little expenſe; for two pieces of timber frame-work, about ten or twelve feet high, and four feet broad at the baſe, and cloſe lined with plank, would anſwer the purpoſe.

The erection for the former ſhould, if poſſible, be placed within ſight of ſome window in the common ſitting parlour; be⯑cauſe men, at that dead ſeaſon of the year, are uſually within doors at the cloſe of the day; while that for the latter might be fixed for any given ſpot in the garden or outlet: whence the owner might contemplate, in a fine ſummer's evening, the utmoſt extent that the ſun makes to the northward at the ſeaſon of the longeſt [245] days. Now nothing would be neceſſary but to place theſe two objects with ſo much exactneſs, that the weſterly limb of the ſun, at ſetting, might but juſt clear the winter heliotrope to the weſt of it on the ſhorteſt day; and that the whole diſc of the ſun, at the longeſt day, might exactly at ſetting alſo clear the ſummer heliotrope to the north of it.

By this ſimple expedient it would ſoon appear that there is no ſuch thing, ſtrictly ſpeaking, as a ſolſtice; for, from the ſhorteſt day, the owner would, every clear evening, ſee the diſc advancing, at it's ſetting, to the weſtward of the object; and, from the longeſt day, obſerve the ſun retiring backwards every evening at it's ſet⯑ing, towards the object weſtward, till, in a few nights, it would ſet quite behind it, and ſo by degrees to the weſt of it: for when the ſun comes near the ſummer ſolſtice, the whole diſc of it would at firſt ſet behind the object; after a time the northern limb would firſt appear, and ſo every night gradually more, till at length the whole diameter would ſet northward of it for about three nights; but on the middle night of the three, ſenſibly more remote than the former or following. When beginning it's receſs from the ſummer tropic, it would continue more and more to be hidden every night, till at length it would deſcend quite behind the object again; and ſo nightly more and more to the weſtward.

LETTER XLV. TO THE SAME.

WHEN I was a boy I uſed to read, with aſtoniſhment and im⯑plicit aſſent, accounts in Baker's Chronicle of walking hills and travelling mountains. John Philips, in his Cyder, alludes to the credit that was given to ſuch ſtories with a delicate but quaint vein of humour peculiar to the author of the Splendid Shilling.

But, when I came to conſider better, I began to ſuſpect that though our hills may never have journeyed far, yet that the ends of many of them have ſlipped and fallen away at diſtant periods, leaving the cliffs bare and abrupt. This ſeems to have been the caſe with Nore and Whetham Hills; and eſpecially with the ridge between Harteley Park and Word-le-ham, where the ground has ſlid into vaſt ſwellings and furrows; and lies ſtill in ſuch romantic [247] confuſion as cannot be accounted for from any other cauſe. A ſtrange event, that happened not long ſince, juſtifies our ſuſ⯑picions; which, though it befell not within the limits of this pariſh, yet as it was within the hundred of Selborne, and as the circumſtances were ſingular, may fairly claim a place in a work of this nature.

The months of January and February, in the year 1774, were re⯑markable for great melting ſnows and vaſt gluts of rain; ſo that by the end of the latter month the land-ſprings, or lavants, began to prevail, and to be near as high as in the memorable winter of 1764. The beginning of March alſo went on in the ſame tenor; when, in the night between the 8th and 9th of that month, a conſiderable part of the great woody hanger at Hawkley was torn from it's place, and fell down, leaving a high free-ſtone cliff naked and bare, and reſembling the ſteep ſide of a chalk-pit. It appears that this huge fragment, being perhaps ſapped and undermined by waters, foundered, and was ingulfed, going down in a per⯑pendicular direction; for a gate which ſtood in the field, on the top of the hill, after ſinking with it's poſts for thirty or forty feet, remained in ſo true and upright a poſition as to open and ſhut with great exactneſs, juſt as in it's firſt ſituation. Several oaks alſo are ſtill ſtanding, and in a ſtate of vegetation, after taking the ſame deſperate leap. That great part of this prodi⯑gious maſs was abſorbed in ſome gulf below, is plain alſo from the inclining ground at the bottom of the hill, which is free and unincumbered; but would have been buried in heaps of rubbiſh, had the fragment parted and fallen forward. About an hundred yards from the foot of this hanging coppice ſtood a cottage by the ſide of a lane; and two hundred yards lower, on the other ſide of the lane, was a farm-houſe, in which lived a labourer and [246] [...] [247] [...] [248] his family; and, juſt by, a ſtout new barn. The cottage was inhabited by an old woman and her ſon, and his wife. Theſe people in the evening, which was very dark and tempeſtuous, obſerved that the brick floors of their kitchens began to heave and part; and that the walls ſeemed to open, and the roofs to crack: but they all agree that no tremor of the ground, indicating an earthquake, was ever felt; only that the wind continued to make a moſt tremen⯑dous roaring in the woods and hangers. The miſerable inhabi⯑tants, not daring to go to bed, remained in the utmoſt ſolicitude and confuſion, expecting every moment to be buried under the ruins of their ſhattered edifices. When day-light came they were at leiſure to contemplate the devaſtations of the night: they then found that a deep rift, or chaſm, had opened under their houſes, and torn them, as it were, in two; and that one end of the barn had ſuffered in a ſimilar manner; that a pond near the cottage had undergone a ſtrange reverſe, becoming deep at the ſhallow end, and ſo vice verſa; that many large oaks were removed out of their perpendicular, ſome thrown down, and ſome fallen into the heads of neighbouring trees; and that a gate was thruſt forward, with it's hedge, full ſix feet, ſo as to require a new track to be made to it. From the foot of the cliff the general courſe of the ground, which is paſture, inclines in a moderate deſcent for half a mile, and is interſperſed with ſome hillocks, which were rifted, in every direction, as well towards the great woody hanger, as from it. In the firſt paſture the deep clefts began; and running acroſs the lane, and under the buildings, made ſuch vaſt ſhelves that the road was impaſſable for ſome time; and ſo over to an arable field on the other ſide, which was ſtrangely torn and diſ⯑ordered. The ſecond paſture field, being more ſoft and ſpringy, was protruded forward without many fiſſures in the turf, which [249] was raiſed in long ridges reſembling graves, lying at right angles to the motion. At the bottom of this encloſure the ſoil and turf roſe many feet againſt the bodies of ſome oaks that obſtructed their farther courſe and terminated this awful commotion.

The perpendicular height of the precipice, in general, is twenty-three yards; the length of the lapſe, or ſlip, as ſeen from the fields below, one hundred and eighty-one; and a partial fall, concealed in the coppice, extends ſeventy yards more: ſo that the total length of this fragment that fell was two hundred and fifty-one yards. About fifty acres of land ſuffered from this violent convulſion; two houſes were entirely deſtroyed; one end of a new barn was left in ruins, the walls being cracked through the very ſtones that compoſed them; a hanging coppice was changed to a naked rock; and ſome graſs grounds and an arable field ſo broken and rifted by the chaſms as to be rendered, for a time, neither fit for the plough or ſafe for paſturage, till conſiderable labour and expenſe had been beſtowed in levelling the ſurface and filling in the gaping fiſſures.

LETTER XLVI. TO THE SAME.

THERE is a ſteep abrupt paſture field interſperſed with furze cloſe to the back of this village, well known by the name of the Short Lirhe, conſiſting of a rocky dry ſoil, and inclining to the afternoon ſun. This ſpot abounds with the gryllus campeſtris, or field-cricket; which, though frequent in theſe parts, is by no means a common inſect in many other counties.

As their cheerful ſummer cry cannot but draw the attention of a naturaliſt, I have often gone down to examine the oeconomy of theſe grylli, and ſtudy their mode of life: but they are ſo ſhy and cautious that it is no eaſy matter to get a ſight of them; for, feeling a perſon's footſteps as he advances, they ſtop ſhort in the midſt of their ſong, and retire backward nimbly into their burrows, where they lurk till all ſuſpicion of danger is over.

At firſt we attempted to dig them out with a ſpade, but without any great ſucceſs; for either we could not get to the bottom of the hole, which often terminated under a great ſtone; or elſe, in breaking up the ground, we inadvertently ſqueezed the poor in⯑ſect to death. Out of one ſo bruiſed we took a multitude of eggs, [251] which were long and narrow, of a yellow colour, and covered with a very tough ſkin. By this accident we learned to diſtinguiſh the male from the female; the former of which is ſhining black, with a golden ſtripe acroſs his ſhoulders; the latter is more duſky, more capacious about the abdomen, and carries a long ſword-ſhaped weapon at her tail, which probably is the inſtrument with which ſhe depoſits her eggs in crannies and ſafe receptacles.

Where violent methods will not avail, more gentle means will often ſucceed; and ſo it proved in the preſent caſe; for, though a ſpade be too boiſterous and rough an implement, a pliant ſtalk of graſs, gently inſinuated into the caverns, will probe their wind⯑ings to the bottom, and quickly bring out the inhabitant; and thus the humane inquirer may gratify his curioſity without injur⯑ing the object of it. It is remarkable that, though theſe inſects are furniſhed with long legs behind, and brawny thighs for leap⯑ing, like graſshoppers; yet when driven from their holes they ſhew no activity, but crawl along in a ſhiftleſs manner, ſo as eaſily to be taken: and again, though provided with a curious apparatus of wings, yet they never exert them when there ſeems to be the greateſt occaſion. The males only make that ſhrilling noiſe perhaps out of rivalry and emulation, as is the caſe with many animals which exert ſome ſprightly note during their breeding time: it is raiſed by a briſk friction of one wing againſt the other. They are ſolitary beings, living ſingly male or female, each as it may happen; but there muſt be a time when the ſexes have ſome intercourſe, and then the wings may be uſeful perhaps during the hours of night. When the males meet they will ſight ſiercely, as I found by ſome which I put into the crevices of a dry ſtone wall, where I ſhould have been glad to have made them ſettle. For though they ſeemed diſtreſſed by being taken out of their know⯑ledge, [252] yet the firſt that got poſſeſſion of the chinks would ſeize on any that were obtruded upon them with a vaſt row of ſerrated fangs. With their ſtrong jaws, toothed like the ſhears of a lobſter's claws, they perforate and round their curious regular cells, having no fore-claws to dig, like the mole-cricket. When taken in hand I could not but wonder that they never offered to defend them⯑ſelves, though armed with ſuch formidable weapons. Of ſuch herbs as grow before the mouths of their burrows they eat indiſcrimi⯑nately; and on a little platform, which they make juſt by, they drop their dung; and never, in the day time, ſeem to ſtir more than two or three inches from home. Sitting in the entrance of their caverns they chirp all night as well as day from the middle of the month of May to the middle of July; and in hot weather, when they are moſt vigorous, they make the hills echo; and, in the ſtiller hours of darkneſs, may be heard to a conſiderable diſtance. In the beginning of the ſeaſon their notes are more faint and in⯑ward; but become louder as the ſummer advances, and ſo die away again by degrees.

Sounds do not always give us pleaſure according to their ſweet⯑neſs and melody; nor do harſh ſounds always diſpleaſe. We are more apt to be captivated or diſguſted with the aſſociations which they promote, than with the notes themſelves. Thus the ſhrilling of the field-cricket, though ſharp and ſtridulous, yet marvellouſly delights ſome hearers, filling their minds with a train of ſummer ideas of every thing that is rural, verdurous, and joyous.

About the tenth of March the crickets appear at the mouths of their cells, which they then open and bore, and ſhape very ele⯑gantly. All that ever I have ſeen at that ſeaſon were in their pupa ſtate, and had only the rudiments of wings, lying under a ſkin or [253] coat, which muſt be caſt before the inſect can arrive at it's perfect ſtate^y; from whence I ſhould ſuppoſe that the old ones of laſt year do not always ſurvive the winter. In Auguſt their holes begin to be obliterated, and the inſects are ſeen no more till ſpring.

Not many ſummers ago I endeavoured to tranſplant a colony to the terrace in my garden, by boring deep holes in the ſloping turf. The new inhabitants ſtayed ſome time, and fed and ſung; but wandered away by degrees, and were heard at a farther diſ⯑tance every morning; ſo that it appears that on this emergency they made uſe of their wings in attempting to return to the ſpot from which they were taken.

One of theſe crickets, when confined in a paper cage and ſet in the ſun, and ſupplied with plants moiſtened with water, will feed and thrive, and become ſo merry and loud as to be irkſome in the ſame room where a perſon is ſitting: if the plants are not wetted it will die.

LETTER XLVII. TO THE SAME.

WHILE many other inſects muſt be ſought after in fields and woods, and waters, the gryllus domeſticus, or houſe-cricket, reſides al⯑together within our dwellings, intruding itſelf upon our notice whether we will or no. This ſpecies delights in new-built houſes, being, like the ſpider, pleaſed with the moiſture of the walls; and beſides, the ſoftneſs of the mortar enables them to burrow and mine between the joints of the bricks or ſtones, and to open communications from one room to another. They are particularly fond of kitchens and bakers' ovens, on account of their perpe⯑tual warmth.

Tender inſects that live abroad either enjoy only the ſhort period of one ſummer, or elſe doze away the cold uncom⯑fortable months in profound ſlumbers; but theſe, reſiding as it were in a torrid zone, are always alert and merry: a good Chriſtmas fire is to them like the heats of the dog-days. Though they are frequently heard by day, yet is their natural time of motion only in the night. As ſoon as it grows duſk, the chirping increaſes, and they come running forth, and are from the ſize of a flea to that of their full ſtature. As one ſhould ſuppoſe, from the [255] burning atmoſphere which they inhabit, they are a thirſty race, and ſhew a great propenſity for liquids, being found frequently drowned in pans of water, milk, broth, or the like. Whatever is moiſt they affect; and therefore often gnaw holes in wet woollen ſtockings and aprons that are hung to the fire: they are the houſewife's barometer, foretelling her when it will rain; and are prognoſtic ſometimes, ſhe thinks, of ill or good luck; of the death of a near relation, or the approach of an abſent lover. By being the conſtant companions of her ſolitary hours they naturally become the objects of her ſuperſtition. Theſe crickets are not only very thirſty, but very voracious; for they will eat the ſcummings of pots, and yeaſt, ſalt, and crumbs of bread; and any kitchen offal or ſweepings. In the ſummer we have ob⯑ſerved them to fly, when it became duſk, out of the windows, and over the neighbouring roofs. This feat of activity accounts for the ſudden manner in which they often leave their haunts, as it does for the method by which they come to houſes where they were not known before. It is remarkable, that many ſorts of inſects ſeem never to uſe their wings but when they have a mind to ſhift their quarters and ſettle new colonies. When in the air they move ‘"volatu undoſo,"’ in waves or curves, like wood-peckers, opening and ſhutting their wings at every ſtroke, and ſo are always riſing or ſinking.

When they increaſe to a great degree, as they did once in the houſe where I am now writing, they become noiſome peſts, ſlying into the candles, and daſhing into people's faces; but may be blaſted and deſtroyed by gunpowder diſcharged into their cre⯑vices and crannies. In families, at ſuch times, they are, like Pharaoh's plague of frogs,—‘"in their bedchambers, and upon their beds, and in their ovens, and in their kneading⯑troughs^z."’ [256] Their ſhrilling noiſe is occaſioned by a briſk attrition of their wings. Cats catch hearth-crickets, and, playing with them as they do with mice, devour them. Crickets may be deſtroyed, like waſps, by phials half filled with beer, or any liquid, and ſet in their haunts; for, being always eager to drink, they will crowd in till the bottles are full.

LETTER XLVIII. TO THE SAME.

HOW diverſified are the modes of life not only of incongruous but even of congenerous animals; and yet their ſpecific diſtinc⯑tions are not more various than their propenſities. Thus, while the field-cricket delights in ſunny dry banks, and the houſe-cricket rejoices amidſt the glowing heat of the kitchen hearth or oven, the gryllus gryllo talpa (the mole-cricket), haunts moiſt meadows, and frequents the ſides of ponds and banks of ſtreams, performing all it's functions in a ſwampy wet ſoil. With a pair of fore-feet, curiouſly adapted to the purpoſe, it burrows and works under ground like the mole, raiſing a ridge as it proceeds, but ſeldom throwing up hillocks.

[257] As mole-crickets often infeſt gardens by the ſides of canals, they are unwelcome gueſts to the gardener, raiſing up ridges in their ſubterraneous progreſs, and rendering the walks unſightly. If they take to the kitchen quarters, they occaſion great damage among the plants and roots, by deſtroying whole beds of cab⯑bages, young legumes, and flowers. When dug out they ſeem very ſlow and helpleſs, and make no uſe of their wings by day; but at night they come abroad, and make long excurſions, as I have been convinced by finding ſtragglers, in a morning, in improbable places. In fine weather, about the middle of April, and juſt at the cloſe of day, they begin to ſolace themſelves with a low, dull, jarring note, continued for a long time without interruption, and not unlike the chattering of the fern-owl, or goat-ſucker, but more inward.

About the beginning of May they lay their eggs, as I was once an eye-witneſs: for a gardener at an houſe, where I was on a viſit, happening to be mowing, on the 6th of that month, by the ſide of a canal, his ſcythe ſtruck too deep, pared off a large piece of turf, and laid open to view a curious ſcene of domeſtic oeconomy:

There were many caverns and winding paſſages leading to a kind of chamber, neatly ſmoothed and rounded, and about the ſize of a moderate ſnuff-box. Within this ſecret nurſery were depoſited near an hundred eggs of a dirty yellow colour, and enveloped in a tough ſkin, but too lately excluded to contain any rudiments of young, being full of a viſcous ſubſtance. The eggs [258] lay but ſhallow, and within the influence of the ſun, juſt under a little heap of freſh-mowed mould, like that which is raiſed by ants.

When mole-crickets fly they move ‘"curſu undoſo,"’ riſing and falling in curves, like the other ſpecies mentioned before. In different parts of this kingdom people call them fen-crickets, churr⯑worms, and eve-churrs, all very appoſite names.

Anatomiſts, who have examined the inteſtines of theſe inſects, aſtoniſh me with their accounts; for they ſay that, from the ſtructure, poſition, and number of their ſtomachs, or maws, there ſeems to be good reaſon to ſuppoſe that this and the two former ſpecies ruminate or chew the cud like many quadrupeds!

LETTER XLIX. TO THE SAME.

IT is now more than forty years that I have paid ſome attention to the ornithology of this diſtrict, without being able to exhauſt the ſubject: new occurrences ſtill ariſe as long as any inquiries are kept alive.

In the laſt week of laſt month five of thoſe moſt rare birds, too uncommon to have obtained an Engliſh name, but known to natu⯑raliſts []

[259] by the terms of himantopus, or loripes, and charadrius himan⯑topus, were ſhot upon the verge of Frinſham-pond, a large lake be⯑longing to the Biſhop of Wincheſter, and lying between Woolmer-foreſt, and the town of Farnham, in the county of Surrey. The pond keeper ſays there were three brace in the ſlock; but that, after he had ſatisfied his curioſity, he ſuffered the ſixth to remain unmo⯑leſted. One of theſe ſpecimens I procured, and found the length of the legs to be ſo extraordinary, that, at firſt ſight, one might have ſuppoſed the ſhanks had been faſtened on to impoſe on the credulity of the beholder: they were legs in caricatura; and had we ſeen ſuch proportions on a Chineſe or Japan ſcreen we ſhould have made large allowances for the fancy of the draughtſman. Theſe birds are of the plover family, and might with propriety be called the ſtilt plovers. Briſſon, under that idea, gives them the appoſite name of l'echaſſe. My ſpecimen, when drawn and ſtuffed with pepper, weighed only four ounces and a quarter, though the naked part of the thigh meaſured three inches and an half, and the legs four inches and an half. Hence we may ſafely aſſert that theſe birds exhibit, weight for inches, incomparably the greateſt length of legs of any known bird. The flamingo, for inſtance, is one of the moſt long legged birds, and yet it bears no manner of proportion to the himantopus; for a cock flamingo weighs, at an average, about four pounds avoirdupois; and his legs and thighs meaſure uſually about twenty inches. But four pounds are fifteen times and a fraction more than four ounces, and one quarter; and if four ounces and a quarter have eight inches of legs, four pounds muſt have one hundred and twenty inches and a fraction of legs; viz. ſomewhat more than ten feet; ſuch a monſtrous proportion as the world never ſaw! If you ſhould try the experiment in ſtill larger birds the diſparity would ſtill increaſe. It muſt be matter of great [260] curioſity to ſee the ſtilt plover move; to obſerve how it can wield ſuch a length of lever with ſuch feeble muſcles as the thighs ſeem to be furniſhed with. At beſt one ſhould expect it to be but a bad walker: but what adds to the wonder is, that it has no back toe. Now without that ſteady prop to ſupport it's ſteps it muſt be liable, in ſpeculation, to perpetual vacillations, and ſeldom able to preſerve the true center of gravity.

The old name of himantopus is taken from Pliny; and, by an aukward metaphor, implies that the legs are as ſlender and pliant as if cut out of a thong of leather. Neither Willughby nor Ray, in all their curious reſearches, either at home or abroad, ever ſaw this bird. Mr. Pennant never met with it in all Great-Britain, but obſerved it often in the cabinets of the curious at Paris. Haſſelquiſt ſays that it migrates to Egypt in the autumn: and a moſt accurate obſerver of Nature has aſſured me that he has found it on the banks of the ſtreams in Andaluſia.

Our writers record it to have been found only twice in Great-Britain. From all theſe relations it plainly appears that theſe long legged plovers are birds of South Europe, and rarely viſit our iſland; and when they do are wanderers and ſtragglers, and impelled to make ſo diſtant and northern an excurſion from motives or ac⯑cidents for which we are not able to account. One thing may fairly be deduced, that theſe birds come over to us from the con⯑tinent, ſince nobody can ſuppoſe that a ſpecies not noticed once in an age, and of ſuch a remarkable make, can conſtantly breed un⯑obſerved in this kingdom.

LETTER L. TO THE SAME.

THE old Suſſex tortoiſe, that I have mentioned to you ſo often, is become my property. I dug it out of it's winter dormitory in March laſt, when it was enough awakened to expreſs it's reſentments by hiſſing; and, packing it in a box with earth, carried it eighty miles in poſt-chaiſes. The rattle and hurry of the journey ſo per⯑fectly rouſed it that, when I turned it out on a border, it walked twice down to the bottom of my garden; however, in the even⯑ing, the weather being cold, it buried itſelf in the looſe mould, and continues ſtill concealed.

As it will be under my eye, I ſhall now have an opportunity of enlarging my obſervations on it's mode of life, and propenſities; and perceive already that, towards the time of coming forth, it opens a breathing place in the ground near it's head, requiring, I conclude, a freer reſpiration as it becomes more alive. This creature not only goes under the earth from the middle of November to the middle of April, but ſleeps great part of the ſummer; for it goes to bed in the longeſt days at four in the afternoon, and often does not ſtir in the morning till late. Be⯑ſides, it retires to reſt for every ſhower; and does not move at all in wet days.

[262] When one reflects on the ſtate of this ſtrange being, it is a matter of wonder to find that Providence ſhould beſtow ſuch a profuſion of days, ſuch a ſeeming waſte of longevity, on a reptile that appears to reliſh it ſo little as to ſquander more than two thirds of it's exiſtence in a joyleſs ſtupor, and be loſt to all ſenſation for months together in the profoundeſt of ſlumbers.

While I was writing this letter, a moiſt and warm afternoon, with the thermometer at 50, brought forth troops of ſhell-ſnails; and, at the ſame juncture, the tortoiſe heaved up the mould and put out it's head; and the next morning came forth, as it were raiſed from the dead; and walked about till four in the afternoon. This was a curious coincidence! a very amuſing occurrence! to ſee ſuch a ſimilarity of feelings between the two [...]! for ſo the Greeks called both the ſhell-ſnail and the tortoiſe.

Summer birds are, this cold and backward ſpring, unuſually late: I have ſeen but one ſwallow yet. This conformity with the weather convinces me more and more that they ſleep in the winter.

LETTER LI. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE now read your miſcellanies through with much care and ſatisfaction; and am to return you my beſt thanks for the honour⯑able mention made in them of me as a naturaliſt, which I wiſh I may deſerve.

In ſome former letters I expreſſed my ſuſpicions that many of the houſe-martins do not depart in the winter far from this village. I therefore determined to make ſome ſearch about the ſouth-eaſt end of the hill, where I imagined they might ſlumber out the uncomfortable months of winter. But ſuppoſing that the exami⯑nation would be made to the beſt advantage in the ſpring, and obſerving that no martins had appeared by the 11th of April laſt; on that day I employed ſome men to explore the ſhrubs and cavi⯑ties of the ſuſpected ſpot. The perſons took pains, but without any ſucceſs; however, a remarkable incident occurred in the midſt of our purſuit—while the labourers were at work a houſe-martin, the firſt that had been ſeen this year, came down the village in the ſight of ſeveral people, and went at once into a neſt, where it ſtayed a ſhort time, and then flew over the houſes; for ſome days after no martins were obſerved, not till the 16th of April, and then only a pair. Martins in general were remarkably late this year.

LETTER LII. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE juſt met with a circumſtance reſpecting ſwifts, which furniſhes an exception to the whole tenor of my obſervations ever ſince I have beſtowed any attention on that ſpecies of hirun⯑dines. Our ſwifts, in general, withdrew this year about the firſt day of Auguſt, all ſave one pair, which in two or three days was reduced to a ſingle bird. The perſeverance of this individual made me ſuſpect that the ſtrongeſt of motives, that of an attach⯑to her young, could alone occaſion ſo late a ſtay. I watched therefore till the twenty-fourth of Auguſt, and then diſcovered that, under the eaves of the church, ſhe attended upon two young, which were fledged, and now put out their white chins from a crevice. Theſe remained till the twenty-ſeventh, looking more alert every day, and ſeeming to long to be on the wing. After this day they were miſſing at once; nor could I ever obſerve them with their dam courſing round the church in the act of learning to fly, as the firſt broods evidently do. On the thirty-firſt I cauſed the eaves to be ſearched, but we found in the neſt only two callow, dead, ſtinking ſwifts, on which a ſecond neſt had been formed. This double neſt was full of the black ſhining caſes of the hippoboſcae hirundinis.

The following remarks on this unuſual incident are obvious. The firſt is, that though it may be diſagreeable to ſwifts to remain [265] beyond the beginning of Auguſt, yet that they can ſubſiſt longer is undeniable. The ſecond is, that this uncommon event, as it was owing to the loſs of the firſt brood, ſo it corroborates my former remark, that ſwifts breed regularly but once; ſince, was the contrary the caſe, the occurrence above could neither be new nor rare.

P.S. One ſwift was ſeen at Lyndon, in the county of Rutland, in 1782, ſo late as the third of September.

LETTER LIII. TO THE SAME.

AS I have ſometimes known you make inquiries about ſeveral kinds of inſects, I ſhall here ſend you an account of one ſort which I little expected to have found in this kingdom. I had often obſerved that one particular part of a vine growing on the walls of my houſe was covered in the autumn with a black duſt⯑like appearance, on which the flies fed eagerly; and that the ſhoots and leaves thus affected did not thrive; nor did the fruit ripen. To this ſubſtance I applied my glaſſes; but could not diſcover that it had any thing to do with animal life, as I at firſt expected: but, upon a cloſer examination behind the larger [266] boughs, we were ſurpriſed to find that they were coated over with huſky ſhells, from whoſe ſides proceeded a cotton-like ſubſtance, ſurrounding a multitude of eggs. This curious and uncommon production put me upon recollecting what I have heard and read concerning the coccus vitis viniferae of Linnaeus, which, in the ſouth of Europe, infeſts many vines, and is an horrid and loathſome peſt. As ſoon as I had turned to the accounts given of this inſect, I ſaw at once that it ſwarmed on my vine; and did not appear to have been at all checked by the preceding winter, which had been un⯑commonly ſevere.

Not being then at all aware that it had any thing to do with England, I was much inclined to think that it came from Gibraltar among the many boxes and packages of plants and birds which I had formerly received from thence; and eſpecially as the vine infeſted grew immediately under my ſtudy-window, where I uſually kept my ſpecimens. True it is that I had received nothing from thence for ſome years: but as inſects, we know, are con⯑veyed from one country to another in a very unexpected manner, and have a wonderful power of maintaining their exiſtence till they fall into a nidus proper for their ſupport and increaſe, I cannot but ſuſpect ſtill that theſe cocei came to me originally from Andaluſia. Yet, all the while, candour obliges me to confeſs that Mr. Lightfoot has written me word that he once, and but once, ſaw theſe inſects on a vine at Weymouth in Dorſetſhire; which, it is here to be obſerved, is a ſea-port town to which the coccus might be conveyed by ſhipping.

As many of my readers may poſſibly never have heard of this ſtrange and unuſual inſect, I ſhall here tranſcribe a paſſage from a natural hiſtory of Gibraltar, written by the Reverend John White, late vicar of Blackburn in Lancaſhire, but not yet publiſhed:—

[267] ‘"In the year 1770 a vine, which grew on the eaſt-ſide of my houſe, and which had produced the fineſt crops of grapes for years paſt, was ſuddenly overſpread on all the woody branches with large lumps of a white fibrous ſubſtance reſembling ſpiders webs, or rather raw cotton. It was of a very clammy quality, ſticking faſt to every thing that touched it, and capable of being ſpun into long threads. At firſt I ſuſpected it to be the product of ſpiders, but could find none. Nothing was to be ſeen con⯑nected with it but many brown oval huſky ſhells, which by no means looked like inſects, but rather reſembled bits of the dry bark of the vine. The tree had a plentiful crop of grapes ſet, when this peſt appeared upon it; but the fruit was manifeſtly injured by this foul incumbrance. It remained all the ſummer, ſtill increaſing, and loaded the woody and bearing branches to a vaſt degree. I often pulled off great quantities by handfuls; but it was ſo ſlimy and tenacious that it could by no means be cleared. The grapes never filled to their natural perfection, but turned watery and vapid. Upon peruſing the works after⯑wards of M. de Reaumur, I found this matter perfectly deſcribed and accounted for. Thoſe huſky ſhells, which I had obſerved, were no other than the female coccus, from whoſe ſides this cotton-like ſubſtance exſudes, and ſerves as a covering and ſecurity for their eggs."’

To this account I think proper to add, that, though the female cocci are ſtationary, and ſeldom remove from the place to which they ſtick, yet the male is a winged inſect; and that the black duſt which I ſaw was undoubtedly the excrement of the females, which is eaten by ants as well as flies. Though the utmoſt ſeverity of our winter did not deſtroy theſe inſects, yet the attention of the gardener in a ſummer or two has entirely relieved my vine from this filthy annoyance.

[268] As we have remarked above that inſects are often conveyed from one country to another in a very unaccountable manner, I ſhall here mention an emigration of ſmall aphides, which was obſerved in the village of Selborne no longer ago than Auguſt the 1ſt, 1785.

At about three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, which was very hot, the people of this village were ſurpriſed by a ſhower of aphides, or ſmother-flies, which fell in theſe parts. Thoſe that were walking in the ſtreet at that juncture found themſelves covered with theſe inſects, which ſettled alſo on the hedges and gardens, blackening all the vegetables where they alighted. My annuals were diſcoloured with them, and the ſtalks of a bed of onions were quite coated over for ſix days after. Theſe armies were then, no doubt, in a ſtate of emigration, and ſhifting their quarters; and might have come, as far as we know, from the great hop-plantations of Kent or Suſſex, the wind being all that day in the eaſterly quarter. They were obſerved at the ſame time in great clouds about Farnham, and all along the vale from Farnham to Alton ^a.

LETTER LIV. TO THE SAME.

WHEN I happen to viſit a family where gold and ſilver fiſhes are kept in a glaſs bowl, I am always pleaſed with the occurrence, becauſe it offers me an opportunity of obſerving the actions and propenſities of thoſe beings with whom we can be little acquainted in their natural ſtate. Not long ſince I ſpent a fortnight at the houſe of a friend where there was ſuch a vivary, to which I paid no ſmall attention, taking every occaſion to remark what paſſed within it's narrow limits. It was here that I firſt obſerved the manner in which fiſhes die. As ſoon as the creature ſickens, the head ſinks lower and lower, and it ſtands as it were on it's head; till, getting weaker, and loſing all poiſe, the tail turns over, and at laſt it floats on the ſurface of the water with it's belly uppermoſt. The reaſon why fiſhes, when dead, ſwim in that manner is very obvious; becauſe, when the body is no longer balanced by the fins of the belly, the broad muſcular back preponderates by it's own gravity, and turns the belly uppermoſt, as lighter from it's being a cavity, and becauſe it contains the ſwimming-bladders, which contribute to render it buoyant. Some that delight in gold and ſilver fiſhes have adopted a notion that they need no aliment. True it is that they will ſubſiſt for a long time without any apparent food but what they can collect from pure water frequently changed; yet they muſt draw ſome ſupport from animalcula, and other [270] nouriſhment ſupplied by the water; becauſe, though they ſeem to eat nothing, yet the conſequences of eating often drop from them. That they are beſt pleaſed with ſuch jejune diet may eaſily be confuted, ſince if you toſs them crumbs they will ſeize them with great readineſs, not to ſay greedineſs: however, bread ſhould be given ſparingly, leſt, turning ſour, it corrupt the water. They will alſo feed on the water-plant called lemna (duck's meat), and alſo on ſmall fry.

When they want to move a little they gently protrude themſelves with their pinnae pectorales; but it is with their ſtrong muſcular tails only that they and all fiſhes ſhoot along with ſuch inconceivable rapidity. It has been ſaid that the eyes of fiſhes are immoveable: but theſe apparently turn them forward or backward in their ſockets as their occaſions require. They take little notice of a lighted candle, though applied cloſe to their heads, but flounce and ſeem much frightened by a ſudden ſtroke of the hand againſt the ſupport whereon the bowl is hung; eſpecially when they have been motionleſs, and are perhaps aſleep. As fiſhes have no eye⯑lids, it is not eaſy to diſcern when they are ſleeping or not, be⯑cauſe their eyes are always open.

Nothing can be more amuſing than a glaſs bowl containing ſuch fiſhes: the double refractions of the glaſs and water repreſent them, when moving, in a ſhifting and changeable variety of dimenſions, ſhades, and colours; while the two mediums, aſſiſted by the concavo-convex ſhape of the veſſel, magnify and diſtort them vaſtly; not to mention that the introduction of another element and it's inhabitants into our parlours engages the fancy in a very agreeable manner.

[271] Gold and ſilver fiſhes, though originally natives of China and Japan, yet are become ſo well reconciled to our climate as to thrive and multiply very faſt in our ponds and ſtews. Linnaeus ranks this ſpecies of fiſh under the genus of cyprinus, or carp, and calls it cyprinus auratus.

Some people exhibit this ſort of fiſh in a very fanciful way; for they cauſe a glaſs bowl to be blown with a large hollow ſpace within, that does not communicate with it. In this cavity they put a bird occaſionally; ſo that you may ſee a goldfinch or a linnet hopping as it were in the midſt of the water, and the fiſhes ſwimming in a circle round it. The ſimple exhibition of the fiſhes is agreeable and pleaſant; but in ſo complicated a way becomes whimſical and unnatural, and liable to the objection due to him,

LETTER LV. TO THE SAME.

I THINK I have obſerved before that much the moſt conſiderable part of the houſe-martins withdraw from hence about the firſt week in October; but that ſome, the latter broods I am now convinced, linger on till towards the middle of that month: and that at times, once perhaps in two or three years, a flight, for one day only, has ſhown itſelf in the firſt week in November.

Having taken notice, in October 1780, that the laſt flight was numerous, amounting perhaps to one hundred and fifty; and that the ſeaſon was ſoft and ſtill; I was reſolved to pay uncommon attention to theſe late birds; to find, if poſſible, where they rooſt⯑ed, and to determine the preciſe time of their retreat. The mode of life of theſe latter hirundines is very favourable to ſuch a deſign; for they ſpend the whole day in the ſheltered diſtrict, between me and the Hanger, ſailing about in a placid, eaſy manner, and feaſting on thoſe inſects which love to haunt a ſpot ſo ſecure from ruffling winds. As my principal object was to diſ⯑cover the place of their rooſting, I took care to wait on them before they retired to reſt, and was much pleaſed to find that, for ſeveral evenings together, juſt at a quarter paſt five in the afternoon, they all ſcudded away in great haſte towards the ſouth⯑eaſt, and darted down among the low ſhrubs above the cottages at the end of the hill. This ſpot in many reſpects ſeems to be well calculated for their winter reſidence: for in many parts it is as [273] ſteep as the roof of any houſe, and therefore ſecure from the annoyances of water; and it is moreover clothed with beechen ſhrubs, which, being ſtunted and bitten by ſheep, make the thickeſt covert imaginable; and are ſo entangled as to be impervious to the ſmalleſt ſpaniel: beſides, it is the nature of underwood beech never to caſt it's leaf all the winter; ſo that, with the leaves on the ground and thoſe on the twigs, no ſhelter can be more com⯑plete. I watched them on to the thirteenth and fourteenth of October, and found their evening retreat was exact and uniform; but after this they made no regular appearance. Now and then a ſtraggler was ſeen; and, on the twenty-ſecond of October, I obſerved two in the morning over the village, and with them my remarks for the ſeaſon ended.

From all theſe circumſtances put together, it is more than pro⯑bable that this lingering flight, at ſo late a ſeaſon of the year, never departed from the iſland. Had they indulged me that autumn with a November viſit, as I much deſired, I preſume that, with proper aſſiſtants, I ſhould have ſettled the matter paſt all doubt; but though the third of November was a ſweet day, and in appear⯑ance exactly ſuited to my wiſhes, yet not a martin was to be ſeen; and ſo I was forced, reluctantly, to give up the purſuit.

I have only to add that were the buſhes, which cover ſome acres, and are not my own property, to be grubbed and carefully examined, probably thoſe late broods, and perhaps the whole aggregate body of the houſe-martins of this diſtrict, might be found there, in different ſecret dormitories; and that, ſo far from withdrawing into warmer climes, it would appear that they never depart three hundred yards from the village.

LETTER LVI. TO THE SAME.

THEY who write on natural hiſtory cannot too frequently advert to inſtinct, that wonderful limited faculty, which, in ſome inſtances, raiſes the brute creation as it were above reaſon, and in others leaves them ſo far below it. Philoſophers have defined inſtinct to be that ſecret influence by which every ſpecies is impelled naturally to purſue, at all times, the ſame way or track, without any teach⯑ing or example; whereas reaſon, without inſtruction, would often vary and do that by many methods which inſtinct effects by one alone. Now this maxim muſt be taken in a qualified ſenſe; for there are inſtances in which inſtinct does vary and conform to the circumſtances of place and convenience.

It has been remarked that every ſpecies of bird has a mode of nidification peculiar to itſelf; ſo that a ſchool-boy would at once pronounce on the ſort of neſt before him. This is the caſe among fields and woods, and wilds; but, in the villages round London, where moſſes and goſſamer, and cotton from vegetables, are hardly to be found, the neſt of the chaffinch has not that elegant finiſhed appearance, nor is it ſo beautifully ſtudded with lichens, as in a more rural diſtrict: and the wren is obliged to conſtruct it's houſe with ſtraws and dry graſſes, which do not give it that rotundity and compactneſs ſo remarkable in the edifices of that little architect. Again, the regular neſt of the houſe-martin is [275] hemiſpheric; but where a rafter, or a joiſt, or a cornice, may happen to ſtand in the way, the neſt is ſo contrived as to conform to the obſtruction, and becomes flat or oval, or compreſſed.

In the following inſtances inſtinct is perfectly uniform and con⯑ſiſtent. There are three creatures, the ſquirrel, the field-mouſe, and the bird called the nut-batch, (ſitta Europaea), which live much on hazle⯑nuts; and yet they open them each in a different way. The firſt, after raſping off the ſmall end, ſplits the ſhell in two with his long fore-teeth, as a man does with his knife; the ſecond nibbles a hole with his teeth, ſo regular as if drilled with a wimble, and yet ſo ſmall that one would wonder how the kernel can be extracted through it; while the laſt picks an irregular ragged hole with it's bill: but as this artiſt has no paws to hold the nut firm while he pierces it, like an adroit workman, he fixes it, as it were in a vice, in ſome cleft of a tree, or in ſome crevice; when, ſtanding over it, he perforates the ſtubborn ſhell. We have often placed nuts in the chink of a gate-poſt where nut-hatches have been known to haunt, and have always found that thoſe birds have readily pene⯑trated them. While at work they make a rapping noiſe that may be heard at a conſiderable diſtance.

You that underſtand both the theory and practical part of muſic may beſt inform us why harmony or melody ſhould ſo ſtrangely affect ſome men, as it were by recollection, for days after a concert is over. What I mean the following paſſage will moſt readily explain:

‘"Praehabebat porrò vocibus humanis, inſtrumentiſque har⯑monicis muſicam illam avium: non quod aliâ quoque non delectaretur; ſed quod ex muſicâ humanâ relinqueretur in animo continens quaedam, attentionemque et ſomnum con⯑turbans agitatio; dum aſcenſus, exſcenſus, tenores, ac muta⯑tiones [276] illae ſonorum, et conſonantiarum euntque, redeuntque per phantaſiam:—cum nihil tale relinqui poſſit ex modu⯑lationibus avium, quae, quod non ſunt perinde a nobis imitabiles, non poſſunt perinde internam facultatem com⯑movere."’ Gaſſendus in Vitâ Peireſkii.

This curious quotation ſtrikes me much by ſo well repreſenting my own caſe, and by deſcribing what I have ſo often felt, but never could ſo well expreſs. When I hear fine muſic I am haunted with paſſages therefrom night and day; and eſpecially at firſt waking, which, by their importunity, give me more un⯑eaſineſs than pleaſure: elegant leſſons ſtill teaſe my imagination, and recur irreſiſtibly to my recollection at ſeaſons, and even when I am deſirous of thinking of more ſerious matters.

LETTER LVII. TO THE SAME.

A RARE, and I think a new, little bird frequents my garden, which I have great reaſon to think is the pettichaps: it is common in ſome parts of the kingdom; and I have received formerly ſeveral dead ſpecimens from Gibraltar. This bird much reſembles the white-throat, but has a more white or rather ſilvery breaſt and belly; is reſtleſs and active, like the willow-wrens, and hops from bough to bough, examining every part for food; it alſo runs up the ſtems of the crown-imperials, and, putting it's head into the bells of thoſe flowers, ſips the liquor which ſtands in the nectarium of each petal. Sometimes it feeds on the ground like the hedge-ſparrow, by hopping about on the graſs-plots and mown walks.

One of my neighbours, an intelligent and obſerving man, in⯑forms me that, in the beginning of May, and about ten minutes before eight o'clock in the evening, he diſcovered a great cluſter of houſe-ſwallows, thirty at leaſt he ſuppoſes, perching on a willow that hung over the verge of James Knight's upper-pond. His attention was firſt drawn by the twittering of theſe birds, which ſat motionleſs in a row on the bough, with their heads all one way, and, by their weight, preſſing down the twig ſo that it nearly touched the water. In this ſituation he watched them till he could ſee no longer. Repeated accounts of this ſort, ſpring and fall, induce us greatly to ſuſpect that houſe-ſwallows have ſome ſtrong [278] attachment to water, independent of the matter of food; and, though they may not retire into that element, yet they may con⯑ceal themſelves in the banks of pools and rivers during the uncom⯑fortable months of winter.

One of the keepers of Woolmer-foreſt ſent me a peregrine-falcon, which he ſhot on the verge of that diſtrict as it was devouring a wood-pigeon. The falco peregrinus, or haggard falcon, is a noble ſpecies of hawk ſeldom ſeen in the ſouthern counties. In winter 1767 one was killed in the neighbouring pariſh of Faringdon, and ſent by me to Mr. Pennant into North-Wales ^b. Since that time I have met with none till now. The ſpecimen mentioned above was in fine preſervation, and not injured by the ſhot: it meaſured forty-two inches from wing to wing, and twenty-one from beak to tail, and weighed two pounds and an half ſtanding weight. This ſpecies is very robuſt, and wonderfully formed for rapine: it's breaſt was plump and muſcular; it's thighs long, thick, and brawny; and it's legs remarkably ſhort and well ſet: the feet were armed with moſt formidable, ſharp, long talons: the eye⯑lids and cere of the bill were yellow; but the irides of the eyes duſky; the beak was thick and hooked, and of a dark colour, and had a jagged proceſs near the end of the upper mandible on each ſide: it's tail, or train, was ſhort in proportion to the bulk of it's body: yet the wings, when cloſed, did not extend to the end of the train. From it's large and fair proportions it might be ſuppoſed to have been a female; but I was not permitted to cut open the ſpecimen. For one of the birds of prey, which are uſually lean, this was in high caſe: in it's craw were many barley⯑corns, which probably came from the crop of the wood-pigeon, on [279] which it was feeding when ſhot: for voracious birds do not eat grain; but, when devouring their quarry, with undiſtinguiſhing vehemence ſwallow bones and feathers, and all matters, indiſ⯑criminately. This falcon was probably driven from the mountains of North Wales or Scotland, where they are known to breed, by rigorous weather and deep ſnows that had lately fallen.

LETTER LVIII. TO THE SAME.

MY near neighbour, a young gentleman in the ſervice of the Eaſt-India Company, has brought home a dog and a bitch of the Chineſe breed from Canton; ſuch as are fattened in that country for the purpoſe of being eaten: they are about the ſize of a moderate ſpaniel; of a pale yellow colour, with coarſe briſtling hairs on their backs; ſharp upright ears, and peaked heads, which give them a very fox-like appearance. Their hind legs are unuſually ſtraight, without any bend at the hock or ham, to ſuch a degree as to give them an aukward gait when they trot. When they are in motion their tails are curved high over their backs like thoſe of ſome hounds, and have a bare place each on the outſide from the tip midway, that does not ſeem to be matter of [280] accident, but ſomewhat ſingular. Their eyes are jet-black, ſmall, and piercing; the inſides of their lips and mouths of the ſame colour, and their tongues blue. The bitch has a dew-claw on each hind leg; the dog has none. When taken out into a field the bitch ſhowed ſome diſpoſition for hunting, and dwelt on the ſcent of a covey of partridges till ſhe ſprung them, giving her tongue all the time. The dogs in South America are dumb; but theſe bark much in a ſhort thick manner, like foxes; and have a ſurly, ſavage demeanour like their anceſtors, which are not domeſticated, but bred up in ſties, where they are fed for the table with rice-meal and other farinaceous food. Theſe dogs, having been taken on board as ſoon as weaned, could not learn much from their dam; yet they did not reliſh fleſh when they came to England. In the iſlands of the pacific ocean the dogs are bred up on vegetables, and would not eat fleſh when offered them by our circumnavigators.

We believe that all dogs, in a ſtate of nature, have ſharp, upright fox-like ears; and that hanging ears, which are eſteemed ſo graceful, are the effect of choice breeding and cultivation. Thus, in the Travels of Yſbrandt Ides from Muſcovy to China, the dogs which draw the Tartars on ſnow-ſledges near the river Oby are engraved with prick-ears, like thoſe from Canton. The Kamſchat⯑dales alſo train the ſame ſort of ſharp-eared peak-noſed dogs to draw their ſledges; as may be ſeen in an elegant print engraved for Captain Cook's laſt voyage round the world.

Now we are upon the ſubject of dogs, it may not be impertinent to add, that ſpaniels, as all ſporſmen know, though they hunt partridges and pheaſants as it were by inſtinct, and with much delight and alacrity, yet will hardly touch their bones when offered as food; nor will a mongrel dog of my own, though he [281] is remarkable for finding that ſort of game. But, when we came to offer the bones of partridges to the two Chineſe dogs, they de⯑voured them with much greedineſs, and licked the platter clean.

No ſporting dogs will fluſh woodcocks till inured to the ſcent and trained to the ſport, which they then purſue with vehemence and tranſport; but then they will not touch their bones, but turn from them with abhorrence, even when they are hungry.

Now, that dogs ſhould not be fond of the bones of ſuch birds as they are not diſpoſed to hunt is no wonder; but why they reject and do not care to eat their natural game is not ſo eaſily accounted for, ſince the end of hunting ſeems to be, that the chaſe purſued ſhould be eaten. Dogs again will not devour the more rancid water-fowls, nor indeed the bones of any wild-fowls; nor will they touch the foetid bodies of birds that feed on offal and garbage: and indeed there may be ſomewhat of providential inſtinct in this circumſtance of diſlike; for vultures^c, and kites, and ravens, and crows, &c. were intended to be meſſmates with dogs^d over their carrion; and ſeem to be appointed by Nature as fellow-ſcavengers to remove all cadaverous nuiſances from the face of the earth.

LETTER LIX. TO THE SAME.

THE foſſil wood buried in the bogs of Wolmer-foreſt is not yet all exhauſted; for the peat-cutters now and then ſtumble upon a log. I have juſt ſeen a piece which was ſent by a labourer of Oakhanger to a carpenter of this village; this was the but-end of a ſmall oak, about five feet long, and about five inches in diameter. It had apparently been ſevered from the ground by an axe, was very ponderous, and as black as ebony. Upon aſking the carpenter for what purpoſe he had procured it; he told me that it was to be ſent to his brother, a joiner at Farnham, who was to make uſe of it in cabinet work, by inlaying it along with whiter woods.

Thoſe that are much abroad on evenings after it is dark, in ſpring and ſummer, frequently hear a nocturnal bird paſſing by on the wing, and repeating often a ſhort quick note. This bird I have remarked myſelf, but never could make out till lately. I am aſſured now that it is the Stone-curlew, (charadrius oedicnemus). Some of them paſs over or near my houſe almoſt every evening after it is dark, from the uplands of the hill and North field, away down towards Dorton; where, among the ſtreams and meadows, they find a greater plenty of food. Birds that fly by night are obliged to be noiſy; their notes often repeated become ſignals or watch-words to keep them together, that they may not ſtray or loſe each the other in the dark.

[283] The evening proceedings and manoeuvres of the rooks are cu⯑rious and amuſing in the autumn. Juſt before duſk they return in long ſtrings from the foraging of the day, and rendezvous by thouſands over Selborne-down, where they wheel round in the air, and ſport and dive in a playful manner, all the while exerting their voices, and making a loud cawing, which, being blended and ſoftened by the diſtance that we at the village are below them, becomes a confuſed noiſe or chiding; or rather a pleaſing mur⯑mur, very engaging to the imagination, and not unlike the cry of a pack of hounds in hollow, echoing woods, or the ruſhing of the wind in tall trees, or the tumbling of the tide upon a pebbly ſhore. When this ceremony is over, with the laſt gleam of day, they retire for the night to the deep beechen woods of Tiſted and Ropley. We remember a little girl who, as ſhe was going to bed, uſed to remark on ſuch an occurrence, in the true ſpirit of phyſico-theology, that the rooks were ſaying their prayers; and yet this child was much too young to be aware that the ſcriptures have ſaid of the Deity—that ‘"he feedeth the ravens who call upon him."’

LETTER LX. TO THE SAME.

IN reading Dr. Huxham's Obſervationes de Aēre, &c. written at Ply⯑mouth, I find by thoſe curious and accurate remarks, which con⯑tain an account of the weather from the year 1727 to the year 1748, incluſive, that though there is frequent rain in that diſtrict of Devonſhire, yet the quantity falling is not great; and that ſome years it has been very ſmall: for in 1731 the rain meaſured only 17^inch.—266^thou. and in 1741, 20—354; and again, in 1743 only 20—908. Places near the ſea have frequent ſcuds, that keep the atmoſphere moiſt, yet do not reach far up into the country; making thus the maritime ſituations appear wet, when the rain is not conſiderable. In the wetteſt years at Plymouth the Doctor meaſured only once 36; and again once, viz. 1734, 37—114: a quantity of rain that has twice been exceeded at Selborne in the ſhort period of my obſervations. Dr. Huxham remarks that fre⯑quent ſmall rains keep the air moiſt; while heavy ones render it more dry, by beating down the vapours. He is alſo of opinion that the dingy, ſmoky appearance in the ſky, in very dry ſeaſons, ariſes from the want of moiſture ſufficient to let the light through, and render the atmoſphere tranſparent; becauſe he had obſerved ſeveral bodies more diaphanous when wet than dry; and did never recollect that the air had that look in rainy ſeaſons.

[285] My friend, who lives juſt beyond the top of the down, brought his three ſwivel guns to try them in my outlet, with their muzzles towards the Hanger, ſuppoſing that the report would have had a great effect; but the experiment did not anſwer his expectation. He then removed them to the Alcove on the Hanger; when the ſound, ruſhing along the Lythe and Comb-wood, was very grand: but it was at the Hermitage that the echoes and repercuſſions de⯑lighted the hearers; not only filling the Lythe with the roar, as if all the beeches were tearing up by the roots; but, turning to the left, they pervaded the vale above Combwood-ponds; and after a pauſe ſeemed to take up the craſh again, and to extend round Harteley-hangers, and to die away at laſt among the coppices and coverts of Ward-le-ham. It has been remarked before that this diſtrict is an anathoth, a place of reſponſes or echoes, and there⯑fore proper for ſuch experiments: we may farther add that the pauſes in echoes, when they ceaſe and yet are taken up again, like the pauſes in muſic, ſurpriſe the hearers, and have a fine effect on the imagination.

The gentleman abovementioned has juſt fixed a barometer in his parlour at Newton Valence. The tube was firſt filled here (at Selborne) twice with care, when the mercury agreed and ſtood exactly with my own; but, being filled again twice at Newton, the mercury ſtood, on account of the great elevation of that houſe, three-tenths of an inch lower than the barometers at this village, and ſo continues to do, be the weight of the atmoſphere what it may. The plate of the barometer at Newton is figured as low as 27; becauſe in ſtormy weather the mercury there will ſome⯑times deſcend below 28. We have ſuppoſed Newton-houſe to ſtand two hundred feet higher than this houſe: but if the rule holds good, which ſays that mercury in a barometer ſinks one-tenth [286] of an inch for every hundred feet elevation, then the Newton barometer, by ſtanding three-tenths lower than that of Selborne, proves that Newton-houſe muſt be three hundred feet higher than that in which I am writing, inſtead of two hundred.

It may not be impertinent to add, that the barometers at Sel⯑borne ſtand three-tenths of an inch lower than the barometers at South Lambeth: whence we may conclude that the former place is about three hundred feet higher than the latter; and with good, reaſon becauſe the ſtreams that riſe with us run into the Thames at Weybridge, and ſo to London. Of courſe therefore there muſt be lower ground all the way from Selborne to South Lambeth; the diſtance between which, all the windings and indentings of the ſtreams conſidered, cannot be leſs than an hundred miles.

LETTER LXI. TO THE SAME.

SINCE the weather of a diſtrict is undoubtedly part of it's natural hiſtory, I ſhall make no further apology for the four following letters, which will contain many particulars concerning ſome of the great froſts and a few reſpecting ſome very hot ſummers, that have diſtinguiſhed themſelves from the reſt during the courſe of my obſervations.

As the froſt in January 1768 was, for the ſmall time it laſted, the moſt ſevere that we had then known for many years, and was remarkably injurious to ever-greens, ſome account of it's rigour, and reaſon of it's ravages, may be uſeful, and not unacceptable to perſons that delight in planting and ornamenting; and may particularly become a work that profeſſes never to loſe ſight of utility.

For the laſt two or three days of the former year there were conſiderable falls of ſnow, which lay deep and uniform on the ground without any drifting, wrapping up the more humble vegetation in perfect ſecurity. From the firſt day to the fifth of the new year more ſnow ſucceeded; but from that day the air became entirely clear; and the heat of the ſun about noon had a conſiderable influence in ſheltered ſituations.

[288] It was in ſuch an aſpect that the ſnow on the author's ever⯑greens was melted every day, and frozen intenſely every night; ſo that the lauruſtines, bays, laurels, and arbutuſes looked, in three or four days, as if they had been burnt in the fire; while a neigh⯑bour's plantation of the ſame kind, in a high cold ſituation, where the ſnow was never melted at all, remained uninjured.

From hence I would infer that it is the repeated melting and freezing of the ſnow that is ſo fatal to vegetation, rather than the ſeverity of the cold. Therefore it highly behoves every planter, who wiſhes to eſcape the cruel mortification of loſing in a few days the labour and hopes of years, to beſtir himſelf on ſuch emer⯑gencies; and, if his plantations are ſmall, to avail himſelf of mats, cloths, peaſe-haum, ſtraw, reeds, or any ſuch covering, for a ſhort time; or, if his ſhrubberies are extenſive, to ſee that his people go about with prongs and forks, and carefully diſlodge the ſnow from the boughs: ſince the naked foliage will ſhift much better for itſelf, than where the ſnow is partly melted and frozen again.

It may perhaps appear at firſt like a paradox; but doubtleſs the more tender trees and ſhrubs ſhould never be planted in hot aſpects; not only for the reaſon aſſigned above, but alſo becauſe, thus circumſtanced, they are diſpoſed to ſhoot earlier in the ſpring, and to grow on later in the autumn, than they would otherwiſe do, and ſo are ſufferers by lagging or early froſts. For this reaſon alſo plants from Siberia will hardly endure our climate; becauſe, on the very firſt advances of ſpring, they ſhoot away, and ſo are cut off by the ſevere nights of March or April.

Dr. Fothergill and others have experienced the ſame inconvenience with reſpect to the more tender ſhrubs from North-America; which they therefore plant under north-walls. There ſhould alſo perhaps [289] be a wall to the eaſt to defend them from the piercing blaſts from that quarter.

This obſervation might without any impropriety be carried into animal life; for diſcerning bee-maſters now find that their hives ſhould not in the winter be expoſed to the hot ſun, becauſe ſuch unſeaſonable warmth awakens the inhabitants too early from their ſlumbers; and, by putting their juices into motion too ſoon, ſubjects them afterwards to inconveniencies when rigorous weather returns.

The coincidents attending this ſhort but intenſe froſt were, that the horſes fell ſick with an epidemic diſtemper, which injured the winds of many, and killed ſome; that colds and coughs were general among the human ſpecies; that it froze under people's beds for ſeveral nights; that meat was ſo hard frozen that it could not be ſpitted, and could not be ſecured but in cellars; that ſeveral redwings and thruſhes were killed by the froſt; and that the large titmouſe continued to pull ſtraws lengthwiſe from the eaves of thatched houſes and barns in a moſt adroit manner, for a purpoſe that has been explained already^d.

On the 3d of January Benjamin Martin's thermometer within doors, in a cloſe parlour where there was no fire, fell in the night to 20, and on the 4th to 18, and on the 7th to 17½, a degree of cold which the owner never ſince ſaw in the ſame ſituation; and he regrets much that he was not able at that juncture to attend his inſtrument abroad. All this time the wind continued north and north-eaſt; and yet on the 8th rooſt-cocks, which had been ſilent, began to ſound their clarions, and crows to clamour, as prognoſtic of milder weather; and, moreover, moles began to [288] [...] [289] [...] [290] heave and work, and a manifeſt thaw took place. From the latter circumſtance we may conclude that thaws often originate under ground from warm vapours which ariſe; elſe how ſhould ſubter⯑raneous animals receive ſuch early intimations of their approach. Moreover, we have often obſerved that cold ſeems to deſcend from above; for, when a thermometer hangs abroad in a froſty night, the intervention of a cloud ſhall immediately raiſe the mercury ten degrees; and a clear ſky ſhall again compel it to deſcend to it's former gage.

And here it may be proper to obſerve, on what has been ſaid above, that though froſts advance to their utmoſt ſeverity by ſome⯑what of a regular gradation, yet thaws do not uſually come on by as regular a declenſion of cold; but often take place immediately from intenſe freezing; as men in ſickneſs often mend at once from a paroxyſm.

To the great credit of Portugal laurels and American junipers, be it remembered that they remained untouched amidſt the general havock: hence men ſhould learn to ornament chiefly with ſuch trees as are able to withſtand accidental ſeverities, and not ſubject themſelves to the vexation of a loſs which may befall them once perhaps in ten years, yet may hardly be recovered through the whole courſe of their lives.

As it appeared afterwards the ilexes were much injured, the cypreſſes were half deſtroyed, the arbutuſes lingered on, but never recovered; and the bays, lauruſtines, and laurels, were killed to the ground; and the very wild hollies, in hot aſpects, were ſo much affected that they caſt all their leaves.

By the 14th of January the ſnow was entirely gone; the turnips emerged not damaged at all, ſave in ſunny places; the wheat looked delicately, and the garden plants were well preſerved; [291] for ſnow is the moſt kindly mantle that infant vegetation can be wrapped in: were it not for that friendly meteor no vegetable life could exiſt at all in northerly regions. Yet in Sweden the earth in April is not diveſted of ſnow for more than a fortnight before the face of the country is covered with flowers.

LETTER LXI. TO THE SAME.

THERE were ſome circumſtances attending the remarkable froſt in January 1776 ſo ſingular and ſtriking, that a ſhort detail of them may not be unacceptable.

The moſt certain way to be exact will be to copy the paſſages from my journal, which were taken from time to time as things occurred. But it may be proper previouſly to remark that the firſt week in January was uncommonly wet, and drowned with vaſt rains from every quarter: from whence may be inferred, as there is great reaſon to believe is the caſe, that intenſe froſts ſeldom take place till the earth is perfectly glutted and chilled with water^f; and hence dry autumns are ſeldom followed by rigorous winters.

[262] January 7th.—Snow driving all the day, which was followed by froſt, ſleet, and ſome ſnow, till the 12th, when a prodigious maſs overwhelmed all the works of men, drifting over the tops of the gates and filling the hollow lanes.

On the 14th the writer was obliged to be much abroad; and thinks he never before or ſince has encountered ſuch rugged Siberian weather. Many of the narrow roads were now filled above the tops of the hedges; through which the ſnow was driven into moſt romantic and groteſque ſhapes, ſo ſtriking to the imagi⯑nation as not to be ſeen without wonder and pleaſure. The poultry dared not to ſtir out of their rooſting places; for cocks and hens are ſo dazzled and confounded by the glare of ſnow that they would ſoon periſh without aſſiſtance. The hares alſo lay ſullenly in their ſeats, and would not move till compelled by hunger; being conſcious, poor animals, that the drifts and heaps treacherouſly betray their footſteps, and prove fatal to numbers of them.

From the 14th the ſnow continued to increaſe, and began to ſtop the road waggons and coaches, which could no longer keep on their regular ſtages; and eſpecially on the weſtern roads, where the fall appears to have been deeper than in the ſouth. The company at Bath, that wanted to attend the Queen's birth-day, were ſtrangely incommoded: many carriages of perſons, who got in their way to town from Bath as far as Marlborough, after ſtrange embarraſſments, here met with a ne plus ultra. The ladies fretted, and offered large rewards to labourers if they would ſhovel them a track to London: but the relentleſs heaps of ſnow were too bulky to be removed; and ſo the 18th paſſed over, leaving the company in very uncomfortable circumſtances at the Caſtle and other inns.

[293] On the 20th the ſun ſhone out for the firſt time ſince the froſt began; a circumſtance that has been remarked before much in favour of vegetation. All this time the cold was not very intenſe, for the thermometer ſtood at 29, 28, 25, and there⯑about; but on the 21ſt it deſcended to 20. The birds now began to be in a very pitiable and ſtarving condition. Tamed by the ſeaſon, ſky-larks ſettled in the ſtreets of towns, becauſe they ſaw the ground was bare; rooks frequented dunghills cloſe to houſes; and crows watched horſes as they paſſed, and greedily devoured what dropped from them; hares now came into men's gardens, and, ſcraping away the ſnow, devoured ſuch plants as they could find.

On the 22d the author had occaſion to go to London through a ſort of Laplandian-ſcene, very wild and groteſque indeed. But the metropolis itſelf exhibited a ſtill more ſingular appearance than the country; for, being bedded deep in ſnow, the pavement of the ſtreets could not be touched by the wheels or the horſes' feet, ſo that the carriages ran about without the leaſt noiſe. Such an exemption from din and clatter was ſtrange, but not pleaſant; it ſeemed to convey an uncomfortable idea of deſolation:

On the 27th much ſnow fell all day, and in the evening the froſt became very intenſe. At South Lambeth, ſor the four following nights, the thermometer fell to 11, 7, 6, 6; and at Selborne to 7, 6, 10; and on the 31ſt of January, juſt before ſun-riſe, with rime on the trees and on the tube of the glaſs, the quickſilver ſunk exactly to zero, being 32 degrees below the freezing point: but by eleven in the morning, though in the [294] ſhade, it ſprung up to 16½^g.—a moſt unuſual degree of cold this for the ſouth of England! During theſe four nights the cold was ſo penetrating that it occaſioned ice in warm chambers and under beds; and in the day the wind was ſo keen that perſons of robuſt conſtitutions could ſcarcely endure to face it. The Thames was at once ſo frozen over both above and below bridge that crowds ran about on the ice. The ſtreets were now ſtrangely encumbered with ſnow, which crumbled and trod duſty; and, turning grey, re⯑ſembled bay-ſalt: what had fallen on the roofs was ſo perfectly dry that, from firſt to laſt, it lay twenty-ſix days on the houſes in the city; a longer time than had been remembered by the oldeſt houſekeepers living. According to all appearances we might now have expected the continuance of this rigorous weather for weeks to come, ſince every night increaſed in ſeverity; but be⯑hold, without any apparent cauſe, on the 1ſt of February a thaw took place, and ſome rain followed before night; making good the obſervation above, that froſts often go off as it were at once, without any gradual declenſion of cold. On the 2d of February the thaw perſiſted; and on the 3d ſwarms of little inſects were friſking and ſporting in a court-yard at South Lambeth, as if they had felt no froſt. Why the juices in the ſmall bodies and ſmaller limbs of ſuch minute beings are not frozen is a matter of curious inquiry.

Severe froſts ſeem to be partial, or to run in currents; for, at the ſame juncture, as the author was informed by accurate corre⯑ſpondents, [295] at Lyndon, in the county of Rutland, the thermometer ſtood at 19; at Blackburn, in Lancaſhire, at 19; and at Mancheſter at 21, 20, and 18. Thus does ſome unknown circumſtance ſtrangely overbalance latitude, and render the cold ſometimes much greater in the ſouthern than the northern parts of this kingdom.

The conſequences of this ſeverity were, that in Hampſhire, at the melting of the ſnow, the wheat looked well, and the turnips came forth little injured. The laurels and lauruſtines were ſome⯑what damaged, but only in hot aſpects. No evergreens were quite deſtroyed; and not half the damage ſuſtained that befell in January 1768. Thoſe laurels that were a little ſcorched on the ſouth-ſides were perfectly untouched on their north-ſides. The care taken to ſhake the ſnow day by day from the branches ſeemed greatly to avail the author's evergreens. A neighbour's laurel⯑hedge, in a high ſituation, and facing to the north, was perfectly green and vigorous; and the Portugal laurels remained unhurt.

As to the birds, the thruſhes and blackbirds were moſtly de⯑ſtroyed; and the partridges, by the weather and poachers, were ſo thinned that few remained to breed the following year.

LETTER LXII. TO THE SAME.

AS the froſt in December 1784 was very extraordinary, you, I truſt, will not be diſpleaſed to hear the particulars; and eſpecially when I promiſe to ſay no more about the ſeverities of winter after I have finiſhed this letter.

The firſt week in December was very wet, with the barometer very low. On the 7th, with the barometer at 28—five tenths, came on a vaſt ſnow, which continued all that day and the next, and moſt part of the following night; ſo that by the morning of the 9th the works of men were quite overwhelmed, the lanes filled ſo as to be impaſſable, and the ground covered twelve or fifteen inches without any drifting. In the evening of the 9th the air began to be ſo very ſharp that we thought it would be curious to attend to the motions of a thermometer: we therefore hung out two; one made by Martin and one by Dollond, which ſoon began to ſhew us what we were to expect; for, by ten o'clock, they fell to 21, and at eleven to 4, when we went to bed. On the 10th, in the morning, the quickſilver of Dollond's glaſs was down to half a degree below zero; and that of Martin's, which was abſurdly graduated only to four degrees above zero, ſunk quite into the braſs guard of the ball; ſo that when the weather became moſt intereſting this was uſeleſs. On the 10th, at eleven at night, though the air was perfectly ſtill, Dollond's glaſs went down [297] to one degree below zero! This ſtrange ſeverity of the weather made me very deſirous to know what degree of cold there might be in ſuch an exalted and near ſituation as Newton. We had therefore, on the morning of the 10th, written to Mr. —, and entreated him to hang out his thermometer, made by Adams; and to pay ſome attention to it morning and evening; expecting wonderful phaenomena, in ſo elevated a region, at two hundred feet or more above my houſe. But, behold! on the 10th, at eleven at night, it was down only to 17, and the next morning at 22, when mine was at ten! We were ſo diſturbed at this unexpected reverſe of com⯑parative local cold, that we ſent one of my glaſſes up, thinking that of Mr. — muſt, ſome how, be wrongly conſtructed. But, when the inſtruments came to be confronted, they went exactly together: ſo that, for one night at leaſt, the cold at Newton was 18 degrees leſs than at Selborne; and, through the whole froſt, 10 or 12 degrees; and indeed, when we came to obſerve conſequences, we could readily credit this; for all my lauruſtines, bays, ilexes, arbutuſes, cypreſſes, and even my Portugal laurels ^h, and (which occaſions more regret) my fine ſloping laurel-hedge, were ſcorched up; while, at Newton, the ſame trees have not loſt a leaf!

We had ſteady froſt on to the 25th, when the thermometer in the morning was down to 10 with us, and at Newton only to 21. Strong froſt continued till the 31ſt, when ſome tendency to thaw was obſerved; and, by January the 3d, 1785, the thaw was con⯑firmed, and ſome rain fell.

[298] A circumſtance that I muſt not omit, becauſe it was new to us, is, that on Friday, December the 10th, being bright ſun-ſhine, the air was full of icy ſpiculae, floating in all directions, like atoms in a ſun-beam let into a dark room. We thought them at firſt particles of the rime falling from my tall hedges; but were ſoon convinced to the contrary, by making our obſervations in open places where no rime could reach us. Were they watery particles of the air frozen as they floated; or were they evaporations from the ſnow frozen as they mounted?

We were much obliged to the thermometers for the early in⯑formation they gave us; and hurried our apples, pears, onions, potatoes, &c. into the cellar, and warm cloſets; while thoſe who had not, or neglected ſuch warnings, loſt all their ſtore of roots and fruits, and had their very bread and cheeſe frozen.

I muſt not omit to tell you that, during thoſe two Siberian days, my parlour-cat was ſo electric, that had a perſon ſtroked her, and been properly inſulated, the ſhock might have been given to a whole circle of people.

I forgot to mention before, that, during the two ſevere days, two men, who were tracing hares in the ſnow, had their feet frozen; and two men, who were much better employed, had their fingers ſo affected by the froſt, while they were thraſhing in a barn, that a mortification followed, from which they did not recover for many weeks.

This froſt killed all the furze and moſt of the ivy, and in many places ſtripped the hollies of all their leaves. It came at a very early time of the year, before old November ended; and yet may be allowed from it's effects to have exceeded any ſince 1739-40.

LETTER LXIII. TO THE SAME.

As the effects of heat are ſeldom very remarkable in the northerly climate of England, where the ſummers are often ſo defective in warmth and ſun-ſhine as not to ripen the fruits of the earth ſo well as might be wiſhed, I ſhall be more conciſe in my account of the ſeverity of a ſummer ſeaſon, and ſo make a little amends for the prolix account of the degrees of cold, and the inconveniences that we ſuffered from ſome late rigorous winters.

The ſummers of 1781 and 1783 were unuſually hot and dry; to them therefore I ſhall turn back in my journals, without re⯑curring to any more diſtant period. In the former of theſe years my peach and nectarine-trees ſuffered ſo much from the heat that the rind on the bodies was ſcalded and came off; ſince which the trees have been in a decaying ſtate. This may prove a hint to aſſiduous gardeners to fence and ſhelter their wall-trees with mats or boards, as they may eaſily do, becauſe ſuch annoyance is ſeldom of long continuance. During that ſummer alſo, I obſerved that my apples were coddled, as it were, on the trees; ſo that they had no quickneſs of flavour, and would not keep in the winter. This circumſtance put me in mind of what I have heard travellers aſſert, that they never ate a good apple or apricot in the ſouth of Europe, [300] where the heats were ſo great as to render the juices vapid and inſipid.

The great peſts of a garden are waſps, which deſtroy all the finer fruits juſt as they are coming into perfection. In 1781 we had none; in 1783 there were myriads; which would have de⯑voured all the produce of my garden, had not we ſet the boys to take the neſts, and caught thouſands with hazel-twigs tipped with bird-lime: we have ſince employed the boys to take and deſtroy the large breeding waſps in the ſpring. Such expedients have a great effect on theſe marauders, and will keep them under. Though waſps do not abound but in hot ſummers, yet they do not prevail in every hot ſummer, as I have inſtanced in the two years above⯑mentioned.

In the ſultry ſeaſon of 1783 honey-dews were ſo frequent as to deface and deſtroy the beauties of my garden. My honeyſuckles, which were one week the moſt ſweet and lovely objects that the eye could behold, became the next the moſt loathſome; being enveloped in a viſcous ſubſtance, and loaded with black aphides, or ſmother-flies. The occaſion of this clammy appearance ſeems to be this, that in hot weather the effluvia of flowers in fields and meadows and gardens are drawn up in the day by a briſk evapora⯑tion, and then in the night fall down again with the dews, in which they are entangled; that the air is ſtrongly ſcented, and therefore impregnated with the particles of flowers in ſummer weather, our ſenſes will inform us; and that this clammy ſweet ſubſtance is of the vegetable kind we may learn from bees, to whom it is very grateful: and we may be aſſured that it falls in the night, becauſe it is always firſt ſeen in warm ſtill mornings.

[301] On chalky and ſandy ſoils, and in the hot villages about London, the thermometer has been often obſerved to mount as high as 83 or 84; but with us, in this hilly and woody diſtrict, I have hardly ever ſeen it exceed 80; nor does it often arrive at that pitch. The reaſon, I conclude, is, that our denſe clayey ſoil, ſo much ſhaded by trees, is not ſo eaſily heated through as thoſe above⯑mentioned: and, beſides, our mountains cauſe currents of air and breezes; and the vaſt effluvia from our woodlands temper and moderate our heats.

LETTER LXIV. TO THE SAME.

THE ſummer of the year 1783 was an amazing and portentous one, and full of horrible phaenomena; for, beſides the alarming meteors and tremendous thunder-ſtorms that affrighted and diſ⯑treſſed the different counties of this kingdom, the peculiar haze, or ſmokey fog, that prevailed for many weeks in this iſland, and in every part of Europe, and even beyond it's limits, was a moſt extraordinary appearance, unlike any thing known within the memory of man. By my journal I find that I had noticed this ſtrange occurrence from June 23 to July 20 incluſive, during which period the wind varied to every quarter without making any alter⯑ation [302] in the air. The ſun, at noon, looked as blank as a clouded moon, and ſhed a ruſt-coloured ferruginous light on the ground, and floors of rooms; but was particularly lurid and blood-coloured at riſing and ſetting. All the time the heat was ſo intenſe that butchers' meat could hardly be eaten on the day after it was killed; and the flies ſwarmed ſo in the lanes and hedges that they rendered the horſes half frantic, and riding irkſome. The country people began to look with a ſuperſtitious awe at the red, louring aſpect of the ſun; and indeed there was reaſon for the moſt enlightened perſon to be apprehenſive; for, all the while, Calabria and part of the iſle of Sicily, were torn and convulſed with earth⯑quakes; and about that juncture a volcano ſprung out of the ſea on the coaſt of Norway. On this occaſion Milton's noble ſimile of the ſun, in his firſt book of Paradiſe Loſt, frequently occurred to my mind; and it is indeed particularly applicable, becauſe, towards the end, it alludes to a ſuperſtitious kind of dread, with which the minds of men are always impreſſed by ſuch ſtrange and unuſual phaenomena.

LETTER LXV. TO THE SAME.

WE are very ſeldom annoyed with thunder-ſtorms: and it is no leſs remarkable than true, that thoſe which ariſe in the ſouth have hardly been known to reach this village; for, before they get over us, they take a direction to the eaſt or to the weſt, or ſometimes divide into two, and go in part to one of thoſe quarters, and in part to the other; as was truly the caſe in ſummer 1783, when, though the country round was continually haraſſed with tempeſts, and often from the ſouth, yet we eſcaped them all; as appears by my journal of that ſummer. The only way that I can at all account for this fact—for ſuch it is—is that, on that quarter, between us and the ſea, there are continual mountains, hill behind hill, ſuch as Nore-hill, the Barnet, Butſer-bill, and Ports-down, which ſome how divert the ſtorms, and give them a different direction. High promontories, and elevated grounds, have always been obſerved to attract clouds and diſarm them of their miſ⯑chievous contents, which are diſcharged into the trees and ſummits as ſoon as they come in contact with thoſe turbulent meteors; while the humble vales eſcape, becauſe they are ſo far beneath them.

But, when I ſay I do not remember a thunder-ſtorm from the ſouth, I do not mean that we never have ſuffered from thunder⯑ſtorms [304] at all; for on June 5th, 1784, the thermometer in the morning being at 64, and at noon at 70, the barometer at 29—ſix tenths one-half, and the wind north, I obſerved a blue miſt, ſmelling ſtrongly of ſulphur, hanging along our ſloping woods, and ſeem⯑ing to indicate that thunder was at hand. I was called in about two in the afternoon, and ſo miſſed ſeeing the gathering of the clouds in the north; which they who were abroad aſſured me had ſome⯑thing uncommon in it's appearance. At about a quarter after two the ſtorm began in the pariſh of Hartley, moving ſlowly from north to ſouth; and from thence it came over Norton-farm, and ſo to Grange-farm, both in this pariſh. It began with vaſt drops of rain, which were ſoon ſucceeded by round hail, and then by convex pieces of ice, which meaſured three inches in girth. Had it been as extenſive as it was violent, and of any continuance (for it was very ſhort), it muſt have ravaged all the neighbourhood. In the pariſh of Hartley it did ſome damage to one farm; but Norton, which lay in the center of the ſtorm, was greatly injured; as was Grange, which lay next to it. It did but juſt reach to the middle of the village, where the hail broke my north windows, and all my garden-lights and hand-glaſſes, and many of my neigh⯑bours' windows. The extent of the ſtorm was about two miles in length and one in breadth. We were juſt ſitting down to dinner; but were ſoon diverted from our repaſt by the clattering of tiles and the jingling of glaſs. There fell at the ſame time prodigious torrents of rain on the farms above-mentioned, which occaſioned a flood as violent as it was ſudden; doing great damage to the meadows and fallows, by deluging the one and waſhing away the ſoil of the other. The hollow lane towards Alton was ſo torn and diſordered as not to be paſſable till mended, rocks being removed that weighed 200 weight. Thoſe that ſaw the effect which the [305] great hail had on ponds and pools ſay that the daſhing of the water made an extraordinary appearance, the froth and ſpray ſtanding up in the air three feet above the ſurface. The ruſhing and roaring of the hail, as it approached, was truly tremendous.

Though the clouds at South Lambeth, near London, were at that juncture thin and light, and no ſtorm was in ſight, nor within hearing, yet the air was ſtrongly electric; for the bells of an electric machine at that place rang repeatedly, and fierce ſparks were diſcharged.

When I firſt took the preſent work in hand I propoſed to have added an Annus Hiſtorico-naturalis, or The Natural Hiſtory of the Twelve Months of the Year; which would have compriſed many incidents and occurrences that have not fallen in my way to be mentioned in my ſeries of letters;—but, as Mr. Aikin of Warrington has lately publiſhed ſomewhat of this ſort, and as the length of my correſpondence has ſufficiently put your patience to the teſt, I ſhall here take a reſpectful leave of you and natural hiſtory together;