The Book of Curiosities (part 3 of 6)

The Book of Curiosities (part 3 of 6)

We shall now introduce THE EGYPTIAN VULTURE.--The appearance of this bird is as horrid as can well be imagined. The face is naked and wrinkled; the eyes are large and black; the beak black and hooked; the talons large, and extended, ready for prey; and the whole body polluted with filth: these are qualities enough to make the beholder shudder with horror. Notwithstanding this, the inhabitants of Egypt cannot be thankful enough to Providence for this bird. All the places round Cairo are filled with the dead bodies of asses and camels, and thousands of these birds fly about and devour the carcases before they putrefy, and fill the air with noxious exhalations. The inhabitants of Egypt say, (and after them Maillet, in his description of Egypt,) that they yearly follow the caravan to Mecca, and devour the filth of the slaughtered beasts, and the carcases of the camels which die on the journey. They do not fly high, nor are they afraid of men. If one of them is killed, all the rest surround it in the same manner as do the Royston crows; they do not quit the places they frequent, though frightened by the explosion of a gun, but immediately return.

THE SECRETARY VULTURE.--This is a most singular species, being particularly remarkable from the great length of its legs, which at first sight would induce us to think it belonged to waders: but the characters of the vulture are so strongly marked throughout, as to leave no doubt to which class it belongs. This bird, when standing erect, is full three feet from the top of the head to the ground. The bill is black, sharp, and crooked, like that of an eagle; the head, neck, breast, and upper parts of the body, are of a bluish ash-colour; the legs are very long, stouter than those of a heron, and of a brown colour; claws shortish, but crooked, not very sharp, and of a black colour. From behind the head spring a number of long feathers, which hang loose behind, like a pendent crest; these feathers rise by pairs, and are longer as they are lower down on the neck; this crest, the bird can erect or depress at pleasure; it is of a dark colour, almost black; the webs are equal on both sides, and rather curled, and the feathers, when erected, somewhat incline towards the neck; the two middle feathers of the tail are twice as long as any of the rest. This singular species inhabits the internal parts of Africa, and is frequently seen at the Cape of Good Hope. It is also met with in the Philippine islands. As to the manners of this bird, it is on all hands allowed that it principally feeds on rats, lizards, snakes, and the like; and that it will become familiar; whence Sonnerat is of opinion, that it might be made useful in some of our colonies, if encouraged, towards the destruction of those pests. They call it at the Cape of Good Hope, flang-eater, i. e. snake-eater. A great peculiarity belongs to it, perhaps observed in no other, which is, the faculty of striking forwards with its legs, never backwards. Dr. Solander saw one of these birds take up a snake, small tortoise, or such like, in its claws; when, dashing it against the ground with great violence, if the victim were not killed at first, it repeated the operation till that end was answered; after which it ate it up quietly. Dr. J. R. Forster mentioned a further circumstance, which he says was supposed to be peculiar to this bird,--that should it by any accident break the leg, the bone would never unite again.

The curious reader will be interested by the following singular particulars respecting THE STORK.--The veneration shewn by the Germans for storks, is a very remarkable superstition. The houses which these birds light upon, are considered as under the special favour of Heaven. It is usual to contrive a small flat square spot on the top of the roof, for them to rest upon, and build their nests. Catholic curates, as well as Protestant ministers, endeavour to allure them to their churches. "I observed (says a French traveller) four or five steeples dignified by such visitors. There are people so lucky as to attract some of them into their poultry-yard, where they stalk about with the hens, but without yielding up any particle of their freedom. Were any one to kill a stork, he would be pursued like an Egyptian of old for killing an ibis, or for fricaseeing a cat."

In a fire, by which the town of Delft in Holland was burnt to ashes, a stork, which had built her nest upon a chimney, strove all she could to save her little ones: she was seen spreading her wings around them, to keep off the sparks and burning embers. Already the flame began to seize upon her, but, unmindful of herself, she cared only for her offspring, bemoaning their loss, and at length fell a prey to the fire, under the eyes of a sympathizing crowd; prefering death with the pledges of her love, to life without them. This interesting anecdote was celebrated by a Flemish poet, who lived in 1503, in an effusion bearing the title of the "Stork of Delft; or, the Model of Maternal Love."

THE GREAT PELICAN.--This bird is sometimes of the weight of twenty-five pounds, and of the width, between the extreme points of the wings, of fifteen feet; the skin, between the sides of the upper mandible, is extremely dilatable, reaching more than half a foot down the neck, and capable of containing many quarts of water. The skin is often used by sailors for tobacco-pouches, and has been occasionally converted into ladies' elegant work bags. About the Caspian and Black seas, these birds are very numerous; and they are chiefly to be found in the warmer regions, inhabiting almost every country of Africa. They build in the small isles of lakes, far from the habitations of man. The nest is a foot and a half in diameter; and the female, if molested, will remove her eggs into the water till the cause of annoyance is removed, and then return them to her nest of reeds and grass. These birds, though living principally upon fish, often build in the midst of deserts, where that element is rarely to be found. They are extremely dexterous in diving for their prey, and, after having filled their pouch, will retire to some rock, and swallow what they have taken at their leisure. They are said to unite with other birds in the pursuit of fish. The pelicans dive, and drive the fish into the shallows; the cormorants assist by flapping their wings on the surface, and, forming a crescent, perpetually contracting, they at length accomplish their object, and compel vast numbers into creeks and shallows, where they gratify their voracity with perfect ease, and to the most astonishing excess.

Another curiosity is, THE BIRD OF PARADISE.--In natural history, a genus of birds of the order Picæ. Generic character: bill covered at the base with downy feathers; nostrils covered by the feathers; tail of ten feathers, two of them, in some species, very long; legs and feet very large and strong. These birds chiefly inhabit North Guinea, whence they emigrate in the dry season to the neighbouring islands. Their feathers are used in these countries as ornaments for the head-dress; and the Japanese, Chinese, and Persians, import them for the same purpose. The rich and great among the latter attach these brilliant collections of plumage, not only to their own turbans, but to the housings and harnesses of their horses. They are found only within a few degrees of the equator. Gmelin enumerates twelve species, and Latham eight. P. apoda, or the greater Paradise bird, is about as large as a thrush. They pass in companies of thirty or forty together, headed by one whose flight is higher than that of the rest. They are often distressed by means of their long feathers, in sudden shiftings of the wind, and unable to proceed in their flight; are easily taken by the natives, who catch them with bird-lime, and shoot them with blunted arrows. They are sold at Aroo for an iron nail each, and at Banda for half a rix-dollar. Their food is not ascertained, and they cannot be kept alive in confinement. The smaller bird of Paradise is supposed, by Latham, to be a mere variety of the above. It is found only in the Papuan islands, where it is caught by the natives often by the hand, and exenterated and seared with a hot iron in the inside, and then put into the hollow of a bamboo, to secure its plumage from injury.

The following account of the curiosities of THE OSTRICH, is taken from Lichtenstein's Travels in South Africa, vol. II.--"The habits of the ostrich are so remarkable, and have been so imperfectly described by travellers in general, that I cannot forbear bringing together here all the knowledge I acquired upon the subject, both in this and subsequent journeys. I have noticed, on a former occasion, a large flock of ostriches, which we met in the neighbourhood of Komberg. In that country, the drought and heat sometimes compel these gigantic birds to leave the plains, and then they pursue their course together in large flocks to the heights, where they find themselves more commodiously lodged. At the time of sitting, there are seldom more than four or five seen together, of which only one is a cock, the rest are hens. These hens lay their eggs all together in the same nest, which is nothing more than a round cavity made in the clay, of such a size as to be covered by one of the birds, when sitting upon it. A sort of wall is scraped up round with their feet, against which the eggs in the outermost circle rest. Every egg stands upon its point in the nest, that the greatest possible number may be stowed within the space. When ten or twelve eggs are laid, they begin to sit, the hens taking their turns, and relieving each other during the day; at night the cock alone sits, to guard the eggs against the jackals and wild cats, who will run almost any risk to procure them. Great numbers of these smaller beasts of prey have often been found crushed to death about the nests; a proof that the ostrich does not fight with them, but knows very well how to conquer them at once by her own resistless power; for it is certain, that a stroke of her large foot trampling upon them, is enough to crush any such animal.

"The hens continue to lay during the time they are sitting, and that, not only till the nest is full, which happens when about thirty eggs are laid, but for some time after. The eggs laid after the nest is filled are deposited round about it, and seem designed by nature to satisfy the cravings of the above-mentioned enemies, since they very much prefer the new-laid eggs to those which have been brooded. But they seem also to have a more important designation, that is, to assist in the nourishment of the young birds. These, when first hatched, are as large as a common pullet, and since their tender stomachs cannot digest the hard food eaten by the old ones, the spare eggs serve as their first nourishment. The increase of the ostrich race would be incalculable, had they not so many enemies, by which great numbers of the young are destroyed after they quit the nest.

"The ostrich is a very prudent, wary creature, which is not easily ensnared in the open field, since it sees to a very great distance, and takes to flight upon the least idea of danger. For this reason the quaggas generally attach themselves, as it were instinctively, to a troop of ostriches, and fly with them, without the least idea that they are followed. Xenophon relates, that the army of Cyrus met ostriches and wild asses together, in the plains of Syria.

"The ostriches are particularly careful to conceal, if possible, the places where their nests are made. They never go directly to them, but run round in a circle at a considerable distance before they attempt to approach the spot. On the contrary, they always run directly up to the springs where they drink, and the impressions they make on the ground, in the desolate places they inhabit, are often mistaken for the footsteps of men. The females, in sitting, when they are to relieve each other, either both remove awhile to a distance from the nest, or change so hastily, that any one who might by chance be spying about, could never see both at once. In the day-time, they occasionally quit the nest entirely, and leave the care of warming the eggs to the sun alone. If at any time they find that the place of their nest is discovered, that either a man or a beast of prey has been at it, and has disturbed the arrangement of the eggs, or taken any away, they immediately destroy the nest themselves, break all the eggs to pieces, and seek out some other spot to make a new one. When the colonist therefore finds a nest, he contents himself with taking one or two of the spare eggs that are lying near, observing carefully to smooth over any footsteps which may have been made, so that they may not be perceived by the birds. Thus visits to the nest may be often repeated, and it may be converted into a storehouse of very pleasant food, where, every two or three days, as many eggs may be procured as are wanted to regale the whole household.

"An ostrich's egg weighs commonly near three pounds, and is considered as equal in its square contents to twenty-four hen's eggs. The yolk has a very pleasant flavour, yet, it must be owned, not the delicacy of a hen's egg. It is so nourishing and so soon satisfies, that no one can eat a great deal at once. Four very hungry persons would be requisite to eat a whole ostrich's egg; and eight Africans, who are used to so much harder living, might make a meal of it. These eggs will keep for a very long time: they are often brought to the Cape Town, where they are sold at the price of half a dollar each.

"In the summer months of July, August, and September, the greatest number of ostriches' nests are to be found; but the feathers, which are always scattered about the nest at the time of sitting, are of very little value. I have, however, at all times of the year, found nests with eggs that have been brooded: the contrasts of the seasons being much less forcible in this part of the world than in Europe, the habits of animals are consequently much less fixed and regular. The ostrich sits from thirty-six to forty days before the young are hatched.

"It is well known that the male alone furnishes the beautiful white feathers which have for so long a time been a favourite ornament in the head-dress of our European ladies. They are purchased from the people who collect them, for as high as three or four shillings each; they are, however, given at a lower price, in exchange for European wares and clothing. Almost all the colonists upon the borders have a little magazine of these feathers laid by, and when they would make a friendly present to a guest, it is generally an ostrich's feather. Few of them are, however, prepared in such a manner as to be wholly fit for the use of the European dealers. The female ostriches are entirely black, or rather, in their youth, of a very dark gray, but have no white feathers in the tail. In every other respect, the colour excepted, their feathers are as good as those of the males. It is very true, as Mr. Barrow says, that small stones are sometimes found in the ostrich's eggs; it is not, however, very common; and, among all that I ever saw opened, I never met with one."

We must not omit to give some account of THE MOCKING-BIRD OF AMERICA.--Those who have not heard the mocking-bird, can have no conception of his great superiority of song: he seems the merryandrew among birds, and the most serious and laboured efforts of the best performers appear to him only sport: he performs an antic dance to the sound of his own music; like jack-pudding, too, he seems to make game of his audience, for often, when he has secured the attention by the most delightful warblings, he will stop suddenly, and surprise them by the quack of a duck, the hiss of a goose, the monstrous note of the whip-poor-will, or any other unexpected sound: he possesses also the power of a ventriloquist, in being able to deceive his hearers as to the direction of the sound. When he is not seen, and while his listeners are looking for the enchanter on the roof of their own houses, he is perhaps playing his antic tricks on the chimney-top of some house at a considerable distance. When, however, there are no spectators during the stillness of night, he lays aside his frolic, and pours his "love-laboured songs;" and surely, if there is fascination in sweet sounds, it must be in the song of this delightful bird, perched on the chimney-top, or on some tree near to the dwelling of man. He seems never to tire.

The next subject of curiosity is THE SOCIAL GROSBEAK.--This bird inhabits the interior country of the Cape of Good Hope, where it was discovered by Mr. Paterson. These birds live together in large societies, and their mode of nidification is extremely uncommon. They build in a species of mimosa, which grows to an uncommon size, and which they seem to select for that purpose, as well on account of its ample head, and the great strength of its branches, calculated to admit and to support the extensive buildings which they have to erect, as for the tallness and smoothness of its trunk, which their great enemies, the serpent tribe, are unable to climb.

The method in which the nests themselves are fabricated, is highly curious. In the one described by Mr. Paterson, there could be no less a number (he says) than from eight hundred to a thousand, residing under the same roof. He calls it a roof, because it perfectly resembles that of a thatched house; and the ridge forms an angle so acute and so smooth, projecting over the entrance of the nest below, that it is impossible for any reptile to approach them. The industry of these birds is almost equal, in his opinion, to that of the bee: throughout the day they appear to be busily employed in carrying a fine species of grass, which is the principal material they employ for the purpose of erecting this extraordinary work, as well as for additions and repairs.--"Though my short stay in the country was not sufficient to satisfy me, by ocular proof, that they added to their nest as they annually increased in numbers, still, from the many trees which I have seen borne down with the weight, and others which I have observed with their boughs completely covered over, it would appear, that this is really the case; when the tree, which is the support of this aërial city, is obliged to give way to the increase of weight, it is obvious they are no longer protected, and are under the necessity of building in other trees.

"One of these deserted nests I had the curiosity to break down, so as to inform myself of the internal structure of it, and found it equally ingenious with that of the external. There many entrances, each of which forms a regular street, with nests on both sides, at about two inches distant from each other. The grass with which they build, is called, the Boshman's grass; and I believe the seed of it to be their principal food; though, on examining their nests, I found the wings and legs of different insects. From every appearance, the nest which I dissected had been inhabited for many years; and some parts of it were much more complete than others: this therefore I conceive nearly to amount to a proof, that the animals added to it at different times, as they found necessary from the increase of the family, or rather of the nation or community."

THE BENGAL GROSBEAK.--This is an Indian bird, and is thus described by Mr. Latham. "This little bird (called bayà, in Hindu; berbera, in Sanscrit; bábùi, in the dialect of Bengal; cíbù, in Persian; and tenauwit, in Arabic, from its remarkably pendent nest) is rather larger than a sparrow, with yellow brown plumage, a yellowish head and feet, a light coloured breast, and a conic beak, very thick in proportion to his body. This bird is exceedingly common in Hindostan; he is astonishingly sensible, faithful, and docile, never voluntarily deserting the place where his young were hatched, but not averse, like most other birds, to the society of mankind, and easily taught to perch on the hand of his master. In a state of nature, he generally builds his nest on the highest tree that he can find, especially on the palmyra, or on the Indian fig-tree, and he prefers that which happens to overhang a well or rivulet: he makes it of grass, which he weaves like cloth, and shapes like a large bottle, suspending it firmly on the branches, but so as to rock with the wind, and placing it with its entrance downwards, to secure it from birds of prey. His nest usually consists of two or three chambers; and it is the popular belief that he lights them with fire-flies, which he catches alive at night, and confines with moist clay or cow-dung. That such flies are often found in his nest, where pieces of cow-dung are also stuck, is indubitable: but as their light could be of little use to him, it seems probable that he only feeds on them. He may be taught with ease to fetch any small thing that his master points out to him: it is an attested fact, that if a ring be dropped into a deep well, and a signal be given to him, he will fly down with amazing celerity, catch the ring before it touches the water, and bring it up with apparent exultation; and it is asserted, that if a house or any other place be shewn to him once or twice, he will carry a note thither immediately on a proper signal.

"One instance of his docility, I can myself mention with confidence, having often been an eye-witness of it. The young Hindoo women at Benares, and in other places, wear very thin plates of gold, called ticas, slightly fixed by way of ornament between their eye-brows; and when they pass through the streets, it is not uncommon for the youthful libertines, who amuse themselves with training bayas, to give them a signal, which they understand, and send them to pluck the pieces of gold from the foreheads of their mistresses, which they bring in triumph to the lovers. The baya feeds naturally on grasshoppers and other insects, but will subsist, when tame, on pulse macerated in water: his flesh is warm and drying, and easy of digestion. The female lays many beautiful eggs, resembling large pearls; the white of them, when boiled, is transparent, and the flavour is exquisitely delicate. When many bayas are assembled on a high tree, they make a lively din, but it is rather chirping than singing; their want of musical talents is, however, amply supplied by their wonderful sagacity, in which they are not excelled by any feathered inhabitant of the forest."

Another subject of acknowledged curiosity is, THE HUMMING BIRD.--There are sixty species enumerated by Latham, and Gmelin has sixty-five. The birds of this genus are the smallest of all birds. These diminutive creatures subsist on the juices of flowers, which they extract, like bees, while on the wing, fluttering over their delicate repast, and making a considerable humming sound, from which they derive their designation. They are gregarious, and build their nests with great neatness and elegance, lining them with the softest materials they can possibly procure.

The red-throated humming-bird is rather more than three inches long, and is frequent in various parts of North America. Its plumage is highly splendid and varying; it extracts the nectar of flowers, particularly those of a long tube, like the convolvulus or tulip. They will suffer themselves to be approached very near, but on observing an effort to seize them, dart off with the rapidity of an arrow. A flower is frequently the subject of bitter conflict between two of these birds; they will often enter an open window, and, after a short contest, retire. They sometimes soar perpendicularly to a considerable height, with a violent scream. If a flower which they enter furnishes them with no supply, they pluck it, as it were in punishment and revenge, from its stalk. They have been kept alive in cages for several weeks, but soon perish for want of the usual food, for which no adequate substitute has yet been found. Latham, however, mentions a curious circumstance of their being preserved alive by Captain Davies for four months, by the expedient of imitating tubular flowers with paper appropriately painted, and filling the bottom of the tubes with sugar and water as often as they were emptied. They then took their nourishment in the same manner as when unconfined, and soon appeared familiarized and happy. They build on the middle of the branch of a tree, and lay two eggs in an extremely small and admirably constructed nest.

The smallest of all the species is said, when just killed, to weigh no more than twenty grains. Its total length is an inch and a quarter. It is found in the West Indies and South America, and is exceeded both in weight and magnitude by several species of bees.

We shall close this chapter with an account of THE GOLDEN EAGLE.--This bird weighs above twelve pounds, and is about three feet long, the wings, when extended, measuring seven feet four inches. The sight and sense of smelling are very acute; the head and neck are clothed with narrow, sharp-pointed feathers, of a deep brown colour, bordered with tawny; the hind part of the head is of bright rust colour. These birds are very destructive to fawns, lambs, kids, and all kinds of game, particularly in the breeding season, when they bring a vast quantity of prey to their young. Smith, in his History of Kerry, relates, that a poor man in that country got a comfortable subsistence for his family, during a summer of famine, out of an eagle's nest, by robbing the eaglets of the food the old ones brought, whose attendance he protracted beyond the natural time, by clipping the wings and retarding the flight of the former. It is very unsafe to leave infants in places where eagles frequent; there having been instances in Scotland of two being carried off by them; but, fortunately, the thefts were discovered in time, and the children were restored unhurt out of the eagles' nests. In order to extirpate these pernicious birds, there is a law in the Orkney isles, which entitles every person that kills an eagle to a hen out of every house in the parish where it was killed. Eagles seem to give the preference to the carcases of dogs and cats. People who make it their business to kill those birds, lay one of these carcases by way of bait; and then conceal themselves within gun-shot. They fire the instant the eagle alights; for she that moment looks about before she begins to prey. Yet, quick as her sight may be, her sense of hearing seems still more exquisite. If hooded crows or ravens happen to be nearer the carrion, and resort to it first, and give a single croak, the eagle instantly repairs to the spot. These eagles are remarkable for their longevity, and for sustaining a long abstinence from food. Mr. Keysler relates, that an eagle died at Vienna after a confinement of 104 years. This pre-eminent length of days is alluded to by the Psalmist, "Thy youth is renewed like the eagle's."

One of this species, which was nine years in the possession of Owen Holland, Esq. of Conway, lived thirty-two years with the gentleman who made him a present of it; but what its age was, when the latter received it from Ireland, is unknown. The same bird also furnishes us with a proof of the truth of the other remark; having once, through the neglect of servants, endured hunger for twenty-one days without any sustenance whatever.

Here it is proper to take notice of a very singular variety of the Golden Eagle, described by Mr. Bruce, in his Travels in Abyssinia; for, whether it properly belongs to this species or not, we do not find that it has been, as yet, either arranged under any other, or ranked as a different genus, (which indeed it appears to be,) by Mr. Kerr, or any other ornithologist. Mr. Bruce says, it is not only the largest of the eagle kind, but the largest bird that flies. By the natives it is vulgarly called abon duchem, or, father long-beard. It is not an object of any chase, nor stands in need of any stratagem to bring it within reach. Upon the highest top of mount Lamalmon, while Mr. Bruce's servants were refreshing themselves after their toilsome ascent, and enjoying the pleasure of a most delightful climate, eating their dinner in the open air, with several large dishes of boiled goat's flesh before them, this eagle suddenly made its appearance; he did not stoop rapidly from a height, but came flying slowly along the ground, and sat down close to the meat, within the ring the men had made around it. A great shout, or rather cry of distress, which they raised, made the bird stand for a minute as if to recollect himself; but while the servants ran for their lances and shields, his attention was fully fixed upon the flesh. He put his foot into the pan, where was a large piece in water nearly boiling; but feeling the smart, he withdrew it, and forsook the piece which he held. There were two large pieces, a leg and a shoulder, lying on a wooden platter: into these he struck his claws, and carried them off, skimming slowly along the ground, as he had come, till he disappeared behind a cliff. But being observed, at his departure, to look wistfully at the large piece which remained in the warm water, it was concluded that he would soon return; in expectation of which, Mr. Bruce loaded a rifle gun with ball, and sat down close to the platter by the meat. It was not many minutes before he came; and a prodigious shout was raised by the attendants, "He is coming, he is coming!" enough to have discouraged a less courageous animal. Whether he was not quite so hungry as at his first visit, or suspecting something from Mr. Bruce's appearance, he made a small turn, and sat down about ten yards from him, the pan with the meat being between them. In this situation Mr. Bruce fired, and shot him with the ball through the middle of his body, about two inches below the wing, so that he lay down upon the grass without a single flutter. Upon laying hold of his monstrous carcase, our author was not a little surprised at seeing his hands covered and tinged with yellow dust. Upon turning him upon his belly, and examining the feathers of his back, they produced a brown dust, the colour of the feathers there. The dust was not in small quantities, for, upon striking his breast, the yellow powder flew in a greater quantity than from a hair-dresser's powder-puff. The feathers of the belly and breast, which were of a gold colour, did not appear to have any thing extraordinary in their formation, but the large feathers in the shoulders and wings seemed apparently to be fine tubes, which, upon pressure, scattered the brown dust upon the finer part of the feathers. Upon the side of the wing, the ribs, or hard part of the feather, seemed to be bare, as if worn, or, in our author's opinion, were rather renewing themselves, having before failed in their function. What the reason is of this extraordinary provision of nature, Mr. Bruce does not attempt to determine. But as it is an unusual one, it is probably meant, he thinks, for a defence against the climate in favour of those birds, which live in those almost inaccessible heights of a country, doomed even in its lower parts to several months' of excessive rain.

This bird, from wing to wing, was eight feet four inches; and from the tip of his tail to the point of his beak, four feet seven inches. He was remarkably short in the legs, being only four inches from the foot to the junction of the leg with the thigh; and from that to the body six inches. The thickness of his thigh was little less than four inches; it was extremely muscular, and covered with flesh. His middle claw was about two inches and a half long, not very sharp at the point, but extremely strong. From the root of the bill to the point was three inches and a quarter, and one inch and three-quarters in breadth at the root. A forked brush of strong hair, divided at the point into two, proceeded from the cavity of his lower jaw at the beginning of his throat. His eye was remarkably small in proportion to his bulk, the aperture being scarcely half an inch. The crown of his head, and the front, where the bill and skull joined, were bald.

CHAP. XX.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING BIRDS.--(Continued.)

The Cuckoo--The Cormorant--The Great Bustard--The Alarm-Bird--The Carrier, or Courier, Pigeon--The Wild Pigeon, its multiplying Power--Singular Bird, inhabiting a Volcano in Guadaloupe--Curious Adventure of an Owl--Curious Facts in Natural History--The Chick in the Egg.

THE CUCKOO.--We shall introduce this curious bird, with the following well-known beautiful piece of poetry:--

Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood, Attendant on the spring! Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear: Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flow'rs, When heaven is fill'd with music sweet Of birds among the bow'rs.

The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood, To pull the flow'rs so gay, Starts, thy curious voice to hear, And imitates thy lay.

Soon as the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fly'st thy vocal vale, An annual guest, in other lands, Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bow'r is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year!

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee; We'd make, with social wing Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring.

This bird is described, in natural history, as a genus of the order of Picæ. Generic character: bill smooth, somewhat bending and weak; nostrils surrounded by a small rim; tongue short and arrowed; toes, two forward and two backward; tail wedge-formed, of ten soft feathers. Gmelin enumerates fifty-five species, and Latham forty-six. The following are the most general characteristics of the Cuckoo:--

This bird is about fourteen inches long. It is found in Europe, Asia, and Africa. Its food consists of insects and the larvæ of moths, but when domesticated, which it may be without much difficulty, it will eat bread, fruits, eggs, and even flesh. When fattened, it is said to be excellent for the table. It is in this country a bird of passage, appearing first about the middle of April, and cheering the vicinity of its habitation with that well-known note, with which so many exquisite ideas and feelings are associated. This note is used only by the male bird, and this is the intimation of love. It has been heard, (though very rarely,) like the song of the nightingale, in the middle of the night. About the close of June this note ceases, but the cuckoo remains in England till towards the end of September. It is imagined sometimes to continue in the country for the whole of the year, as it has occasionally been seen here so early as February. Cuckoos are supposed to winter in Africa, as they are seen twice a year in the island of Malta.

With the history of these birds have been blended much fable and superstition; their manners, however, are unquestionably very curious; and fable in this, as in many other cases, is in a great degree connected with fact. It is almost universally agreed by naturalists, that the cuckoo does not hatch its own eggs, but deposits them in the nest of some other bird. Buffon mentions the names of twenty birds, or more, on which the cuckoo passes this fraud. Those most frequently duped by it, however, in this manner, are the yellow-hammer, the water-wagtail, and the hedge-sparrow; and of these three, by far more than the other two, the hedge-sparrow. The most minute and attentive examiner into this extraordinary peculiarity, is Mr. Edward Jenner; from whose observations on this interesting subject we shall select a few of the most important.

He states, that the hedge-sparrow is generally four or five days in completing her number of eggs, during which time the cuckoo finds an opportunity of introducing one of its own into the nest, leaving the future management of it to the hedge-sparrow; and that, though it frequently occurs that the latter is much discomposed by this intrusion, and several of the eggs are injured by her, and obliged to be removed from the nest, yet the egg of the cuckoo is never of this number. When the usual time of incubation is completed, and the young sparrows and cuckoo are disengaged from the eggs, the former are ejected from the nest, and the stranger obtains exclusive possession. A nest, built in a situation extremely convenient for minute observation, fell under the particular examination of this gentleman, and was found on the first day to contain a cuckoo's and three hedge-sparrows' eggs. On the day following, he observed a young cuckoo and a hedge-sparrow, and as he could distinctly perceive every thing passing, he was resolved to watch the events which might take place. He soon, with extreme surprise, saw the young cuckoo, hatched only the day before, exerting itself with its rump and wings to take the young sparrow on its back, which it actually accomplished, and then climbed backwards with its burden to the verge of the nest, from which, with a sudden jerk, it clearly threw off its load; after which it dropped back into the nest, having first, however, felt about with the extremities of its wings, as if to ascertain whether the clearance were completely effected. Several eggs were afterwards put in to the young usurper, which were all similarly disposed of.--He observes, that in another instance, two cuckoos and a hedge-sparrow were hatched in the same nest, and one hedge-sparrow's egg remained unhatched. Within a few hours, a conflict began between the two cuckoos for the possession of the nest, which was conducted with extreme spirit and vigour, and in which each appeared occasionally to have the advantage, lifting its adversary to the very brink of the nest, and then, from exhaustion of strength, sinking with it again to the bottom. These vicissitudes of success were repeated and reiterated; but towards the close of the following day, the contest was decided by one of them, which was rather the larger of the two, completely expelling his rival; after which, the egg and the young hedge-sparrow were dislodged with extreme facility. The infant conqueror was brought up by the step-mother with the most assiduous affection. The sagacity of the female cuckoo appears not inconsiderable, in her introducing her egg into the nests of birds whose young are inferior in size and strength to the young cuckoo, and which the latter is consequently able to exclude without difficulty from its usurped dominions.

We shall now call the reader's attention to THE CORMORANT.--This bird, which is nearly as large as a goose, is found in many places both of the old and the new world; it is to be met with in the northern parts of this island, and one of them, not very long since, was shot while perched on the castle of Carlisle. These birds are shy and crafty, but frequently eat to so great an excess, as to induce a species of lethargy, in which they are caught by nets thrown over them without their making an effort to escape. They are trained by the Chinese to fish for them. By a ring placed round their necks, they are prevented from swallowing what they take, and, when their pouches are filled, they unload them, and at the command of their owners, renew their divings. Two will sometimes be seen combining their efforts to secure a fish too large for the management of one only. When their work is finished to the employer's satisfaction, the birds have a full allotment of the spoil, for their reward and encouragement. In Macao, also, these birds are thus domesticated, taking extreme delight in the exercise, and constituting a source of very considerable profit to their owners. They were formerly trained, and used in the same manner in England; and Charles I. had an officer of his household, called master of the cormorants.

The next curiosity among birds which we shall introduce, is, THE GREAT BUSTARD.--This bird is found in the plains of Europe, Asia, and Africa, but it has never been observed in the New Continent. In England, it is occasionally met with on Salisbury Plain, and on the wolds of Yorkshire, and formerly it was not uncommonly seen in flocks of forty or fifty. It is the largest of British land birds, weighing often twenty-five or thirty pounds. It runs with great rapidity, so as to escape the pursuit of common dogs, but falls speedily a victim to the greyhound, which often overtakes it before it has power to commence its flight, the preparation for which, in this bird, is slow and laborious. The female lays her eggs on the bare ground, never more than two in number, in a hole scratched by her for the purpose, and if these are touched or soiled during her occasional absence, she immediately abandons them. The male is distinguished by a large pouch, beginning under the tongue, and reaching to the breast, capable of holding, according to Linnæus, seven quarts of water. This is sometimes useful to the female during incubation, and to the young before they quit their nest; and it has been observed to be eminently advantageous to the male bird himself, who, on being attacked by birds of prey, has often discomfited his enemies by the sudden and violent discharge of water upon them. These birds are solitary and shy, and feed principally upon grasses, worms, and grain. They were formerly much hunted with dogs, and considered as supplying no uninteresting diversion. They swallow stones, pieces of metal, and other hard substances. Buffon states, that one was opened by the academicians of France, which contained in its stomach ninety doubloons, and various stones, all highly smoothed by the attrition of the stomach.

The following deserves to be ranked among the curiosities of the feathered tribe; THE ALARM-BIRD.--Near the Coppermine River, which falls into Hudson's Bay, live a tribe of Indians, who traverse the immense and dreary solitudes that surround them, in pursuit of deer or other game, from which they derive their only subsistence. The animals, however, taught by experience to shun the haunts of men, and instinctively led to conceal themselves in the most sequestered spots, would with difficulty be discovered, were it not for one of the winged tribe of the owl genus, called the alarm-bird.

No sooner does this bird descry man or beast, than it directs its flight towards them, and, hovering over them, forms gyrations round their head. Should two objects at once arrest its attention, it flies from one to the other alternately, with a loud screaming, resembling the crying of a child; and in this manner it will follow travellers, or attend a herd of deer, for the space of a day.

By means of this guide, whose qualities so well correspond with its name, the Copper Indians are apprised of the approach of strangers, or directed to the herds of deer and musk-oxen, which otherwise they would frequently miss. Is it to be wondered at, then, that they hold the alarm-bird in the highest veneration? It seems, indeed, to have been intended by Providence for the solace and friend of the miserable inhabitants of those wild and sterile regions; and will furnish a new evidence of that superintending care which watches over all.

The Cuculus Indicator, so celebrated in the warmer climates for detecting the treasures of the bees, in the deep recesses of the woods, within the hollow trunks of trees, has, or may be thought to have, a view and an object in its services. It feels the want of human assistance, to enable it to enjoy the fruits of its discoveries, and therefore instinctively calls for it, in hopes of being recompensed with a share of the honey, which, we are told, the natives readily allow it; but the alarm-bird appears perfectly disinterested in its labours, it answers no purpose of its own, and therefore may be considered as one of the bounties of Heaven, to a people and a country almost shut out from the participation of the common blessings of life. It confers benefits without the prospect of a reward; and, for this reason, is entitled to the greater regard.

To contemplate the various animals that are dispersed over the globe, and the various blessings and advantages of different climates, will naturally lead us to the Source and Dispenser of all; and though some parts of the works of Creation are more conspicuously beneficial, and cannot escape the most common observer, yet we may, from analogy and reason, conceive that nothing was made in vain.

A subject of great curiosity, and pleasing admiration, is, THE CARRIER, or, COURIER PIGEON.--These birds, though carried, hoodwinked, twenty, thirty, or even a hundred miles, will find their way in a very little time to the place where they were bred. They are trained to this service in Turkey and Persia; and are carried first, while young, short flights of half a mile, afterwards more, till at length they will return from the farthest part of the kingdom. Every bashaw has a basket of these pigeons bred in the seraglio, which from a distance, upon any emergent occasion, (as an insurrection, or the like,) he dispatches, with letters braced under their wings, to the seraglio; which proves a more speedy method, as well as a more safe one, than any other: he sends out more than one pigeon, however, for fear of accidents. Lithgow assures us, that one of these birds will carry a letter from Babylon to Aleppo, which is thirty days' journey, in forty-eight hours. This practice is very ancient: Hirtius and Brutus, at the siege of Modena, held a correspondence by pigeons; and Ovid tells us, that Taurosthenes, by a pigeon stained with purple, gave notice to his father of his victory at the Olympic games, sending it to him at Ægina. In modern times, the most noted were the pigeons of Aleppo, which served as couriers at Alexandretta and Bagdad. But this use of them has been laid aside for the last thirty or forty years, because the Curd robbers killed the pigeons. The manner of sending advice by them, was this: they took pairs which had young ones, and carried them on horseback to the place whence they wished them to return, taking care to let them have a full view. When the news arrived, the correspondent tied a billet to the pigeon's foot, and let her loose. The bird, impatient to see its young, flew off like lightning, and arrived at Aleppo in ten hours from Alexandretta, and in two days from Bagdad. It was easy for them to find their way back, as Aleppo may be discovered at an immense distance. This pigeon has nothing peculiar in its form, except its nostrils, which, instead of being smooth and even, are swelled and rough.

It is presumed it will not be out of place to insert the following curious particulars respecting the MULTIPLYING POWER OF THE WILD PIGEON.--The following account is extracted from Janson's Stranger in America. Mr. Richard Hazen, a land-surveyor, who, in 1741, drew the line which divides Massachusetts from Vermont, gives an interesting account of the multiplying power of nature in the wild pigeon: "For three miles together, (says he,) the pigeons' nests were so thick, that five hundred might be reckoned on beech-trees at one time, and, could they have been counted on the hemlocks as well, he did not doubt that five thousand might be seen at one turn round. Twenty-five nests were frequently found in one beech-tree, in New England. The earth was covered with these trees and with hemlocks, thus loaded with the nests of pigeons. For one hundred acres together, the ground was covered with their dung, to the depth of two inches. Their noise in the evening was extremely troublesome, and so great, that the traveller could not get any sleep where their nests abounded. About an hour before sun-rise they rose in such quantities as to darken the air. When the young pigeons were grown to a proper size, it was common for the first settlers to cut down the trees, and gather a horse-load in a few minutes. The markets at this season, even at Philadelphia, are often overstocked with them; a score of them have lately been purchased for sixpence. But as the land becomes settled, they retire into the back forests, where they are at this day in equal numbers! In North Carolina, wild pigeons or doves pass over the country in such numbers as to darken the air, devouring all kinds of grain in their progress. A large musket, loaded with small shot, fired among them, has killed scores; and boys knock them down with sticks and stones. I did not see this destructive phenomenon; but was credibly informed at Edenton, that it occurs once in seven, and sometimes in ten years. During my residence in that state, I cut holes in the top of my barn, and, by placing food on the roof, soon enticed about half a dozen from the adjacent woods. In a short time they became domesticated, and fed with the fowl, affording a constant and an agreeable food. When I left my residence, they had, notwithstanding the use I made of the young ones, increased to many scores. They grew so familiar, that they would watch my appearance in the morning, and perch upon me, in hopes of obtaining food, with which it was my practice to supply them. They distinguished me from my domestics, whom they would not suffer to approach them. They would permit me to go into their dovecot, without retreating; but the dam would often oppose my taking her young ones."

The following account of A SINGULAR BIRD INHABITING A VOLCANO IN GUADALOUPE, is taken from a respectable source.

Father Dutertre, in his Description of Guadaloupe, the best and most beautiful, in his opinion, of all the Leeward islands, speaks of an extraordinary bird which inhabits its volcanic mountain, called La Souffriere. This creature, called the Devil by the inhabitants, on account of its deformity, is both a night and sea bird. During the day, its vision appears to be indistinct, and it takes refuge near the top of the mountain, where it has its nest in the ground, and where it hatches its eggs. During the night, it flies about, and goes to prey on fish. Its flesh is so delicate, (adds Father Dutertre,) that no huntsman returns from the Souffriere without ardently desiring to have a dozen of these birds suspended at his neck. Labat, the colleague of Dutertre, confirms and adds to the account of the latter. "The bird called the Devil, of La Souffriere, has (he says) membranes at his feet like a duck, and claws like a bird of prey, a sharp and curved beak, large eyes, which cannot bear the light of day, or discern almost any object, so that when surprised in the day-time, at a distance from his nest, he runs against every thing in his way, and falls to the ground; but during the night he is active in extracting his prey from the sea." He adds, that "he is a bird of passage, and is considered a kind of petrel. I have taken pleasure in occasionally observing fishermen catch fish during the night by the light of a straw torch; but here we have a sea-bird of much greater ingenuity, which fishes by the light of a volcano, and hatches his eggs by the warmth of its sulphureous discharge."

The following story is recorded in history as a fact, under the title of A CURIOUS ADVENTURE OF AN OWL.

In a council held at Rome by Pope John XXIII. at the first session, happened the Adventure of the Owl.--"After the mass of the Holy Ghost, all being seated, and John sitting on his throne, suddenly a frightful owl came screaming out of his hole, and placed himself just before the pope, staring earnestly upon him. The arrival of this nocturnal bird in the day-time, caused many speculations: some took it for an ill omen, and were terrified; others smiled, and whispered to each other. As to the Pope, he blushed, was in a sweat, arose, and brake up the assembly. But at the next session, the owl took his place again, fixing his eyes upon John; who was more dismayed than before, and ordered the bird to be driven away. A pleasant sight it was, to behold the prelates occupied in hunting him, for he would not decamp! At last they killed him, as an incorrigible heretic, by throwing their canes at him."--Jortin's Ecclesiastical History, vol. v. p. 485, 486.

We shall next record some CURIOUS FACTS IN NATURAL HISTORY.--We often meet in our aviaries with what are called mule canary birds, that is, the offspring of the gray linnet and the canary. "In the country, where the domestic fowls are accustomed to wander to a considerable distance from the farm-yard, I believe it is no uncommon occurrence for a chicken to make its appearance, that is evidently the offspring of the partridge and common hen. Indeed, I am inclined to think that the breed between fowls of the same genus are oftener crossed than we are aware of."

It is a common practice in the country, to set a hen, as it is called, with ducks' eggs; and the agony which she suffers, when she sees her young charge first take to their natural element, the water, has often been observed with sympathy. The following anecdote may be relied upon, as the circumstance was observed by a gentleman of science:--

A hen, which was employed to hatch some ducks' eggs in the neighbourhood of a dyer's mill, where there was a small pond, was observed to exhibit the usual symptoms of terror and alarm when the ducklings first took to the water; but by degrees she became quite reconciled to their habits, and was accustomed to enjoy herself, in great quietness, on the banks, while they gamboled in the pool. For two or three years she uniformly brought out ducklings, and at last, as regularly led them to the water as their natural dam would have done.

In the course of time, however, she brought out a brood of chickens. These she immediately led to the side of the pool also; but, on finding they did not enter the water, she became quite uneasy, invited them close to it, made every motion for them to enter it, flew over the pond, and then called them to follow, but all to no purpose. When she found that nothing would entice them to enter the water, she actually seized upon one or two of them, and threw them into it; and, if she had not been prevented, it is believed she would have drowned her whole progeny. This shews how much the native habits, even of fowls, may be changed by circumstances; and proves, in some degree, the existence of memory without judgment in the feathered tribes.

Some years ago, a farmer in the lower district of Annandale, took it into his head to rob a wild duck of her eggs, and to place them under one of his tame ducks, that was sitting at that time. The young brood (twelve in number) came into the world at the usual period, but one only continued with her stepdame. This extraordinary bird, however, never perfectly acquired the habits or dispositions of her new sisterhood: she never would associate with the tame drakes, but every spring left the farm-yard, and proceeded to the wilds in quest of mates; and, what was remarkably singular, she seemed to have a malicious pleasure in leading them into a snare, and was at great pains to draw them into such situations as admitted of their being easily shot, or otherwise destroyed. She always hatched her young in a peat moss, at some distance from the house, but never failed to bring them to the farm-yard, as soon as they were able to follow her. When this duck was about four years old, the owner was visited by a kinsman from Fife, who was so much taken up with her, that he begged for, and obtained her, as a present. She was put into a cage, and by him conveyed to his house near Kinross. She was kept in confinement for a night and a day; when, seeming perfectly contented, she was let out into the yard, where she set about adjusting herself for some time; she then suddenly took wing, and in the course of a few hours was among her old companions in Annandale. She was a second time conveyed to Fife, and her wings clipped.

She continued perfectly happy, to appearance, till her feathers grew, when she again bade her new friends farewell. She was shot in the neighbourhood of Biggar, by a gentleman, who communicated the circumstance to the owner, whose name he learned from the collar that was found about her neck, containing his name and place of abode.

FORMATION OF THE CHICK IN THE EGG.--Scarcely has the hen sat upon the eggs twelve hours, before some lineaments of the head and body of the chick are discernible in the embryo; at the end of the second day, the heart begins to beat, but no blood is to be seen. In forty-eight hours we may distinguish two vesicles with blood, the pulsation of which is evident; one of them is the left ventricle, the other, the root of the great artery; soon after, one of the auricles of the heart is perceptible, in which pulsation may be remarked as well as in the ventricle. So early as the seventh hour, the wings may be distinguished, and on the head two globules for the brain, one for the beak, and two others for the front and hind part of the head. Towards the end of the fourth day, the two auricles, now distinctly visible, approach nearer the heart than they did before. About the fifth day the liver may be perceived; at the end of one hundred and thirty-eight hours, the lungs and stomach become visible; and in a few hours more, the intestines, veins, and upper jaw. On the seventh day, the brain begins to assume a more consistent form. One hundred and ninety hours after incubation, the beak opens, and flesh appears on the breast. In two hundred and ten, the ribs are formed, and the gall bladder is visible. The bile, in a few hours more, is seen of a green colour; and if the chick be separated from its coverings, it will be seen to move. The feathers begin to shoot towards the two hundred and fortieth hour, and at the same time the skull becomes cartilaginous; in twenty-four hours more, the eyes appear; at the two hundred and eighty-eighth, the ribs are perfected; and at the three hundred and thirty-first, the lungs, the stomach, and the breast, assume their natural appearance. On the eighteenth day of incubation, the first faint piping of the chick is heard. It then continually increases in size and in strength till it emerges from its prison.

By so many different gradations does the adorable wisdom of God conduct these creatures into life; all their progressive evolutions are arranged with order, and there are none without sufficient cause. If the liver is always formed on the fifth day, it is from the preceding state of the chick. No part of its body could appear sooner or later, without some injury to the embryo, and each of its members appears at the most convenient moment. The wise and invariable order in the production of this little body, is evidently the work of supernal power; and we shall be more convinced of it, if we consider the manner in which the chick is formed from the parts which compose the egg.

How admirable is that principle of life, the source of a new being, contained in the egg; all the parts of the animal being invisible till they become developed by warmth! What a wonderful order and regularity is observed in this amazing process,--the same evolutions taking place at once in twenty eggs! Neither does changing the position of the egg at all injure the embryo, or retard the formation of the chick; which, at the time when it breaks the shell, is found to be heavier than the whole egg was at first. These, however admirable, are far from being all the wonders displayed in the progress of incubation. The microscope, and the penetrating investigations of the curious, have only discovered what comes more immediately under the observation of our senses; whilst the discovery of many things remains for those who are to follow us, or perhaps they may never be known in this state of our existence. Much might be asked concerning the mystery connected with the formation of animal bodies, which at present is impenetrable to our researches; but let not this discourage us; let us only endeavour to improve, and make a good use of, the little knowledge we are permitted to acquire, and we shall have a sufficiency to discover at every step the wisdom and power of God, and enough to employ for the benefit of our fellow-creatures.

CHAP. XXI.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING BIRDS.--(Concluded.)

Birds' Nests--Migration of Birds--Curious Method of Bird-Catching in the Faro Isles--Song of Birds.

BIRDS' NESTS.

----------It wins my admiration, To view the structure of that little work, A bird's nest: mark it well within, without; No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join! his little beak was all; And yet how neatly finish'd! Hurdis.

The structure of Bird's Nests discovers to us many curious objects, which cannot be uninteresting to the reflecting mind. And who does not admire those little regular edifices composed of so many different materials, collected and arranged with so much pains and skill, and constructed with so much industry, elegance, and neatness, with no other tools than a bill and two feet? That men can erect great buildings according to certain rules of art, is not surprising, when we consider that they enjoy the reasoning faculty, and that they possess tools and instruments of various kinds, to facilitate their work; but that a delicate little bird, in want of almost every thing necessary for such an undertaking, with only its bill and claws, should know how to combine so much skill, regularity of form, and solidity of composition, in constructing its nest, is truly wonderful, and never enough to be admired. We shall therefore consider it more minutely.

Nothing is more curious than the nest of a goldfinch or a chaffinch. The inside of it is lined with cotton, wool, and fine silky threads, while the outside is interwoven with thick moss; and that the nest may be less remarkable, and less exposed to the eye of observers, the colour of the moss resembles that of the bark of the tree, or of the hedge, where the nest is built. In some nests, the hair, the down, and the straws, are curiously laid across each other, and interwoven together. There are others, all the parts of which are neatly joined and fastened together by a thread which the bird makes of flax, horse or cow hair, and often of spiders' webs. Other birds, as the blackbird and the lapwing, after having constructed their nest, plaster the outside with a thin coating of mortar, which cements and binds together all the lower parts, and which, with the help of some cow-hair or moss, stuck to it whilst the plaster is wet, keeps it compact and warm. The nests of swallows are differently constructed from the rest. They use neither sticks, straws, nor strings; but they compose a sort of cement, with which they make themselves nests, perfectly neat, secure, and convenient. To moisten the dust of which they form their nests, they frequently skim over the surface of some lake or river, and, dipping their breasts into the water, shake their wet feathers upon the dust till it is sufficiently moist, and then knead it up into a kind of clay with their bills.

But the nests most worthy of our admiration are those of certain Indian birds, which suspend them with great art from the branches of trees, that they may be secure from the pursuit of several animals and insects. In general, each species of bird has a peculiar mode of fixing its nest; some build them on houses, others in trees, some in the grass, others on the ground, and always in that way which is most adapted for the rearing of their young, and the preservation of their species. Such, therefore, is the wonderful instinct of birds, even in the structure and disposition of their nests alone, that we may safely conclude they cannot be mere machines. But is it not also apparent, that in all their works they propose to themselves certain ends? They construct their nests hollow, forming the half of a sphere, that the heat may be more concentric. The nest is covered without by substances more or less coarse, not only to serve as a foundation, but to prevent the wind and insects from entering. Within, it is lined with the most delicate materials, such as wool and feathers, that the nestlings may be soft and warm. Is it not something nearly approaching to reason, which teaches the bird to place its nest in such a manner as to be sheltered from rain, and out of the reach of destructive animals? Where have they learned that they are to produce eggs, which will require a nest to prevent them from being broken, and to keep them in the necessary temperature? that the heat would not be sufficiently concentrated if the nest were larger; and that, if it were smaller, all the young ones could not be contained in it? Who has taught them not to mistake the time, but to calculate so exactly, that the eggs are not laid before the nest is finished? These questions have never been satisfactorily answered, neither can this mystery in nature be clearly explained; all we can do is, to refer it to an instinct, which some animals seem to possess in a manner almost equal to reason: and instinct to them is much more happy and beneficial than reason would be; for they seem to enjoy all the sweets of life without their moments being imbittered by the consideration of their inferior rank in the creation, and without the pain of anticipating evil.

The following account is principally abridged from that very interesting work, The Contemplative Philosopher. The present compiler acknowledges his obligations to that work on many occasions, and gives it his warmest recommendations to the public.

MIGRATION OF BIRDS.--The migration of birds has been justly considered as one of the most wonderful exhibitions of nature. This migration, which is common to the quail, the stork, the crane, the fieldfare, the woodcock, the cuckoo, the martin, the swallow, and various others, is, indeed, a very curious article in natural history, and furnishes a very striking instance of a powerful instinct impressed by the Creator. Dr. Derham observes two circumstances remarkable in this migration: the first, that these untaught, unthinking creatures, should know the proper times for their passage, when to come and when to go; as also, that some should come when others retire. No doubt, the temperature of the air as to heat and cold, and their natural propensity to breed their young, are the great incentives to these creatures to change their habitations. But why should they at all change their habitations? And why is some certain place to be found, in all the terraqueous globe, that, all the year round, can afford them convenient food and habitation?--The second remarkable circumstance is, that they should know which way to steer their course, and whither to go. What instinct is it that can induce a poor foolish bird to venture over vast tracts of land and sea. If it be said, that by their high ascents into the air, they can see across the seas; yet what shall instruct or persuade them, that another land is more proper for their purpose than this? that Great Britain, for instance, should afford them better accommodation than Egypt, the Canaries, Spain, or any of the other intermediate countries?--Physico-Theology, book vii. chap. 3.

Birds of passage, moreover, are all peculiarly accommodated, by the structure of their parts, for long flights; and it is remarked, that in their migrations, they observe a wonderful order and polity: they fly in troops, and steer their course, without the aid of a compass, to vast unknown regions. The flight of the wild geese, in a wedge-like figure, has been often observed; to which it is added, by the natural historian of Norway, that the three foremost, who are the soonest tired, retreat behind, and are relieved by others, who are again succeeded by the rest in order. But this circumstance has been observed, many ages before, by Pliny, who describes certain birds of passage flying in the form of a wedge, and spreading wider and wider; those behind resting upon those before, till the leaders being tired, are, in their turn, received into the rear.

"Wild ducks and cranes (says Abbé de la Pluche) fly, at the approach of winter, in quest of more favourable climates. They all assemble at a certain day, like swallows and quails. They decamp at the same time, and it is very agreeable to observe their flight. They generally range themselves in a long column like an I, or in two lines united in a point like a > reversed." And thus, as Milton says

"Rang'd in figure, wedge the way."

"The duck or quail that forms the point (adds the Abbé) cuts the air, and facilitates a passage to those that follow: but he is charged with this commission only for a certain time, at the conclusion of which he wheels into the rear, and another takes his post." And thus again, as Milton says,

"----------With mutual wing Easing their flight."

It has been observed of the storks, that for about the space of a fortnight before they pass from one country to another, they constantly resort together, from all the circumjacent parts, to a certain plain, and there forming themselves once every day into a dou-wanne, (according to the phrase of the people,) are said to determine the exact time of their departure, and the places of their future abode.

Mr. Biberg, an ingenious naturalist of Sweden, has observed, that "the starling, finding, after the middle of summer, that worms are less plentiful in that country, goes annually into Scania, Germany, and Denmark. The female chaffinches, every winter, about Michaelmas, go in flocks to Holland; but as the males stay in Sweden, the females come back next spring. In the same manner, the female Carolina yellow-hammer, in the month of September, while the rice on which she feeds is laid up in granaries, goes towards the south, and returns in the spring to seek her mate. Our aquatic birds (continues he) are forced by necessity to fly toward the south every autumn, before the water is frozen. Thus we know, that the lakes of Poland and Lithuania are filled with swans and geese every autumn, at which time they go in great flocks, along many rivers, as far as the Euxine Sea. But in the beginning of spring, as soon as the heat of the sun molests them, they return back, and go again to the northern ponds and lakes, in order to lay their eggs. For there, and especially in Lapland, there is a vast abundance of gnats, which afford them excellent nourishment, as all of this kind live in the water before they get their wings."--Mr. Biberg proceeds to enumerate many other birds that migrate to different regions; and he then adds: "By these migrations, birds become useful to many different countries, and are distributed almost over all the globe; and I cannot here forbear expressing my admiration, that all of them exactly observe the times of coming and going, and that they never mistake their way."--Biberg on the Economy of Nature, in Stillingfleet's Misc. Tracts.

The principal food of the birds of passage, while in Great Britain, is the fruit of the whitethorn, or haws, which hang on our hedges in winter in prodigious plenty; but where they breed, and seem to be most at ease, as in Sweden, &c. there are no haws; nor indeed in many of the countries through which they journey on their way: so that it is evident they change their food in their passage.

The manner in which the birds of passage journey to their southern abodes is supposed to vary, according to the different structure of their bodies, and their power of supporting themselves in the air. The birds with short wings, such as the red-start, black-cap, &c. though they are incapable of such long flights as the swallow, or of flying with such celerity, yet may pass to less distant places, and by slower movements. Swallows and cuckoos may perform their passage in a very short time; but there is for them no necessity for speed, since every day's passage affords them an increase of warmth, and a continuance of food.

Swallows are often observed, in innumerable flocks, on churches, rocks, and trees, previous to their departure hence; and Mr. Collinson proves their return here, perhaps in equal numbers, by two curious relations of undoubted credit; the one communicated to him by Mr. Wright, the master of a ship, and the other by Admiral Sir Charles Wager.--"Returning home, (says Sir Charles,) in the spring of the year, as I came into soundings in our channel, a great flock of swallows came and settled on my rigging; every rope was covered; they hung on one another, like a swarm of bees; the decks and awning were filled with them. They seemed almost famished and spent, and were only feathers and bones; but, being recruited with a night's rest, they took their flight in the morning." This apparent fatigue proves that they must have had a long journey, considering the amazing swiftness of these birds; so that, in all probability, they had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and were returning from the shores of Senegal, or other parts of Africa.

Naturalists are much divided in their opinion concerning the periodical appearance and disappearance of swallows.--Some assert, that they remove from climate to climate, at those particular seasons when winged insects, their natural food, fail in one country and are plentiful in another, where they likewise find a temperature of air better suited to their constitution. In support of this opinion, we have the testimony of Sir Charles Wager, and of Mr. Adamson, who, in the account of his voyage, informs us, that, about fifty leagues from the coast of Senegal, four swallows settled upon the ship, on the 6th day of October; that these birds were taken; and that he knew them to be the true swallow of Europe, which he conjectures were then returning to the coast of Africa.

But Mr. Daines Barrington, in a curious essay on this subject, has adduced many arguments and facts, to prove that no birds, however strong and swift in their flight, can possibly fly over such large tracts of ocean as has been commonly supposed. He is of opinion, therefore, that the swallows mentioned by Mr. Adamson, instead of being on their passage from Europe, were only fluttering from the Cape de Verde islands to the continent of Africa; a much nearer flight, but to which they seemed to be unequal, as they were obliged, from fatigue, to alight upon the ship, and fall into the hands of the sailors. And Mr. Kalm, another advocate for the torpidity of swallows during the winter, having remarked, however, that he himself had met with them nine hundred and twenty miles from any land; Mr. Barrington endeavours to explain these, and similar facts, by supposing that birds discovered in such situations, instead of attempting to cross large branches of the ocean, have been forcibly driven from some coast by storms, and that they would naturally perch upon the first vessel they could see.

In a word, Mr. Barrington is further of opinion, with some other naturalists, that the swallows do not leave this island at the end of autumn, but that they lie in a torpid state, till the beginning of summer, in the banks of rivers, in the hollows of decayed trees, the recesses of old buildings, the holes of sand-banks, and in similar situations. Among other facts, Mr. Barrington communicated one to Mr. Pennant, that "numbers of swallows have been found in old dry walls, and in sand-hills, near the seat of the late Lord Belhaven, in East Lothian; not once only, but from year to year; and that, when they were exposed to the warmth of a fire, they revived."

These, and other facts of the same kind, are allowed to be incontrovertible; and Mr. Pennant, in particular, infers from them, that "we must divide our belief relative to these two so different opinions, and conclude, that one part of the swallow tribe migrate, and that others have their winter quarters near home."

But there are still more wonderful facts related. Mr. Kalm remarks, that "swallows appear in the Jerseys about the beginning of April; that, on their first arrival, they are wet, because they have just emerged from the sea or lakes, at the bottom of which they had remained, in a torpid state, during the whole winter." Other naturalists have asserted, that swallows pass the winter immersed under the ice, at the bottom of lakes, or beneath the waters of the sea. Olaus Magnus, archbishop of Upsal, seems to have been the first who adopted this opinion. He informs us, that "swallows are found in great clusters at the bottoms of the northern lakes, with mouth to mouth, wing to wing, foot to foot, and that in autumn they creep down the reeds to their subaqueous retreats." In other instances, Mr. Pennant remarks, the good archbishop did not want credulity. But the submersion of the swallows under water does not rest upon his testimony alone. Klein asserts the same; and gives the following account of the manner of their retiring, which he had from some countrymen:

"They asserted, that the swallows sometimes assembled in numbers on a reed, till it broke, and sunk them to the bottom; that their immersion was preceded by a kind of dirge, which lasted more than a quarter of an hour; that others united, laid hold of a straw with their bills, and plunged down in society; that others, by clinging together with their feet, formed a large mass, and in this manner committed themselves to the deep." Bishop Pontoppidan asserts, that clusters of swallows, in their torpid winter state, have sometimes been found by fishermen, among reeds and bushes in lakes; and he charges Mr. Edwards with having, in his Natural History of Birds, groundlessly contradicted this incontestable truth. And Mr. Heerkens, a celebrated Dutch naturalist, in a poem on the birds of Friesland, speaks in positive terms of the torpid state, and submersion, of the swallows:

"Ere winter his somnif'rous power exerts, Six dreary months the swallow-tribes are seen In various haunts conceal'd; in rocks, and caves, And structures rude, by cold benumb'd, asleep; Bill within bill inserted, clust'ring thick: Or solitary some, of mate bereft. But, wonderful to tell! some lie immers'd, Inanimate, beneath the frigid waves, As if a species of the finny kinds."

Mr. Heerkens, after reciting many instances, and producing in his notes many authorities, of swallows having been found in a torpid state, proceeds, in his poem, to describe, very minutely, their ascent out of the water. The drowsy birds appear on the shore, as if unconscious still of life. Some inhale the soft breeze, like one of the finny tribe exiled from its stream. Some begin to adjust their dishevelled wings.--Others, almost revived, essay, with busy bill, to assist their aged companions. All, at length, restored to the unrestrained use of their wings, range, in numerous flights, the aërial way.

Two reasons have, been adduced to prove this supposed submersion of swallows impossible. "In the first place, (says Mr. Smellie,) no land animal can exist so long without some degree of respiration. The otter, the seal, and water fowls of all kinds, when confined under the ice, or entangled in nets, soon perish; yet it is well known, that animals of this kind can remain much longer under water than those who are destitute of that peculiar structure of the heart, which is necessary for any considerable residence beneath that penetrating element."

Mr. John Hunter, in a letter to Mr. Pennant, informs us, "that he had dissected many swallows, but found nothing in them different from other birds, as to the organs of respiration; that all those animals which he had dissected, of the class that sleep during the winter, such as lizards, frogs, &c. had a very different conformation as to those organs; that all those animals, he believes, do breathe in their torpid state, and, as far as his experience reaches, he knows they do; and that, therefore, he esteems it a very wild opinion, that terrestrial animals can remain any long time under water without drowning." Another argument against their submersion arises from the specific gravity of the animals themselves. Of all birds, the swallow tribes are perhaps the lightest. Their plumage, and the comparative smallness of their weight, indicates that Nature destined them to be almost perpetually on the wing, in quest of food. From this specific lightness, the submersion of swallows, and their continuing for months underwater, amount to a physical impossibility. Even water fowls, when they wish to dive, are obliged to rise and plunge with considerable exertion, in order to overcome the resistance of the water. Klein's idea of swallows employing reeds and straws as means of submersion, is rather ludicrous; for these light substances, instead of being proper instruments for assisting them to reach the bottom, would infallibly contribute to support them on the surface, and prevent the very object of their intention. Besides, admitting the possibility of their reaching the bottom of lakes and seas, and supposing they could exist for several months without respiration, what would be the consequence? The whole would soon be devoured by otters, seals, and fishes, of various kinds. Nature is always anxious for the preservation of its species. But if the swallow tribes were destined to remain torpid during the winter months, at the bottom of lakes and seas, she would act in opposition to her own intentions; for, in a season or two, the whole genus would be annihilated.

This reasoning is very ingenious, but, on the other hand, the facts related above are very stubborn; and the celebrated Buffon does not hesitate to yield to the force of such strong and concurrent evidence. He had procured some chimney-swallows, and kept them some time in an icehouse, in order to ascertain whether they were of the torpid kind, and he thus relates the result of his experiments. "None of them fell into the torpid state; the greater part died, and not one of them revived by being moved into the warmth of the sun. Those that had not long suffered the cold of the icehouse, had all their movements, and went out briskly. From these experiments I thought I might conclude, that this species of the swallow was not liable to that state of torpor and insensibility, which supposes, notwithstanding, and very necessarily, the fact of their remaining at the bottom of the water during the winter. Having had recourse, moreover, to the most creditable travellers, I found them agreed as to the passage of swallows over the Mediterranean. And Mr. Adamson has positively assured me, that during the long stay he made in Senegal, he observed the long-tailed swallow, the same with the chimney-swallow we are now speaking of, arrive constantly in Senegal about the time it leaves France, and as constantly leave Senegal in the spring. It cannot, therefore, be doubted, that this species of the swallow passes from Europe into Africa in the autumn, and from Africa to Europe in the spring; of consequence, it neither sleeps nor hides itself in holes, nor plunges into the water on the approach of winter. There is, besides, another well authenticated fact, which comes in proof here, and shews that this swallow is not reduced to a torpid state by cold, which it can bear to a certain degree, (and if that degree is exceeded, it dies,) for if we observe these birds towards the end of the warm season, we shall see them, a little before their departure, flying together in families, the father, the mother, and the young brood. Afterwards several families unite, and form themselves into flocks, more or less numerous in proportion as the time of their departure draws near. At last they go all together, three or four days before the end of September, or about the beginning of October. Still, however, some remain, and do not set off till a week, a fortnight, or three weeks after the rest: and some too there are which do not go at all, but stay and perish under the first rigours of the cold. These swallows that delay their flight, or never undertake it, are such as find their young too weak to follow them; such as have had the misfortune to have their nests destroyed after laying, and have been obliged to rebuild them a second or a third time. They stay for the love of their little ones, and choose rather to endure the rigour of the season, than to abandon their offspring. Thus they remain some time after the rest for the purpose of taking their young with them; and if they are unable to carry them off in the end, they perish with them.

"These facts then plainly demonstrate (concludes Mr. Buffon) that the chimney-swallows pass successively and alternately from our climate to another that is warmer; that they spend their summer here, and their winter there; and of consequence never fall into a state of insensibility. But, on the other hand, what have we to oppose to the precise testimony of those, who, on the approach of winter, have seen these swallows in troops throw themselves into the water; nay, not only this, but have seen them taken out in nests from beneath the ice? What answer shall we make to those who have beheld them in the torpid state, and seen them gradually recover motion and life, when they were brought into the warmth, and moved cautiously towards a fire? I know but of one means of reconciling these facts: we must suppose that the sleeping and travelling swallow are of different species, though the difference, for want of attention, has not been observed."

Thus this great philosopher concurs with Mr. Pennant, in his solution, already mentioned, of the difficulty, by supposing two species--the migrating, and the sleeping swallow. With respect to the principal objects of this wonderful instinct, that teaches such various kinds of the feathered race to migrate to different countries, it is obvious, from what has already been said, that they are governed by their food, temperature of air, and convenient situations for breeding.

We shall now give an account of the CURIOUS METHOD OF BIRD-CATCHING IN THE FARO ISLES.--The manner of bird-catching in the Faro Islands, is exceedingly strange and hazardous. Necessity compels man to wonderful attempts. The cliffs which contain the objects of their search, are often two hundred fathoms in height, and are attempted both from above and below. In the first case, the fowlers provide themselves with a rope eighty or a hundred fathoms in length. The fowler fastening one end about his waist, and between his legs, recommends himself to the protection of the Almighty, and is lowered down by six others, who place a piece of timber on the margin of the rock, to preserve the rope from wearing against the sharp edge. They have, besides, a small line fastened to the body of the adventurer, by which he gives signals, that they may lower or raise him, or shift him from place to place. The last operation is attended with great danger, by the loosening of the stones, which often fall on his head, and would infallibly destroy him, were he not protected by a strong thick cap; but even this is found unequal to save him against the weight of the larger fragments of rock. The dexterity of the fowlers is amazing; they will place their feet against the front of the precipice, and dart themselves some fathoms from it; with a cool eye survey the places where the birds nestle, and again shoot into their haunts. In some places the birds lodge in deep recesses. The fowler will alight there, disengage himself from the rope, fix it to a stone, and at his leisure collect the booty, fasten it to his girdle, and resume his pendulous seat. At times he will again spring from the rock, and in that attitude, with a fowling-net placed on a staff, catch the old birds that are flying to and from their retreats. When he has finished his dreadful employ, he gives a signal to his friends above, who pull him up, and share his hard-earned profit. The feathers are preserved for exportation: the flesh is partly eaten fresh, but the greater part is dried for winter's provision.

The fowling from below has also its share of danger. The party goes on the expedition in a boat; and when it has attained the base of the precipice, one of the most daring, having fastened a rope about his waist, and furnished himself with a long pole, with an iron hook at one end, either climbs or is thrust up by his companions, who place a pole under his breech, to the next footing spot he can reach. He, by means of the rope, brings up one of the boat's crew; the rest are drawn up in the same manner, and each is furnished with his rope and fowling-staff. They then continue their progress upwards in the same manner, till they arrive at the regions of the birds, and wander about the face of the cliff in search of them. They then act in pairs; one fastens himself to the end of his associate's rope, and, in places where the birds have nestled beneath his footing, he permits himself to be lowered down, depending for his security on the strength of his companion, who has to haul him up again; but it sometimes happens that the person above is overpowered by the weight, and both inevitably perish. They fling the fowl into the boat, which attends their motions, and receives the booty. They often pass seven or eight days in this tremendous employ, and lodge in the crannies which they find in the face of the precipice.

We shall close this division of our work with A CURIOUS ACCOUNT OF THE SONG OF BIRDS.--We introduce the subject by the following poetical quotations; which, we have no doubt, will interest every admirer of nature, and nature's God.

--------------------------Every copse Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads Of the coy choristers that lodge within, Are prodigal of harmony. Thomson.

----------------------------Each bird, Or high in air, or secret in the shade, Rejoicing, warbles wild his grateful hymn. Mallet.

From branch to branch the smaller birds with song Solace the woods, and spread their painted wings Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale Ceases to warble: in shadiest covert hid, She all the night tunes her soft lays. Milton.

Again:--

----------------The sweet poet of the vernal groves Melts all the night in strains of am'rous woe. Armstrong.

Again:--

--------When the spring renews the flow'ry field, And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, Where she may trust her little tuneful brood. Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, Sits there, and wanders through the grove no more: Warbling, she charms it each returning night;-- And gives the pensive mind a calm delight. Rowe.

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, sits silent in the field; But if the promise of a cloudless day, (Aurora smiling,) bids her rise and play, Then straight she shews 'twas not for want of voice, Or pow'r to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing she mounts, her airy wings are stretch'd Tow'rds heaven, as if from heav'n her note she fetch'd. Waller.

--------------------Birds of sweetest song Attune from native boughs their various lay, And cheer the forest; those of brighter plume With busy pinion skim the glitt'ring wave, Or tempt the sun, ambitious to display Their several merit. Shenstone.

The Song of Birds is defined, by the Hon. Daines Barrington, to be a succession of three or more different notes, which are continued without interruption, during the same interval, with a musical bar of four crotchets, in an adagio movement, or whilst a pendulum swings four seconds. It is affirmed, that the notes of birds are no more innate than language in man, and that they depend upon imitation, as far as their organs will enable them to imitate the sounds which they have frequent opportunities of hearing: and their adhering so steadily, even in a wild state, to the same song, is owing to the nestling attending only to the instruction of the parent bird, whilst they disregard the notes of all others that may be singing around them. Birds in a wild state do not usually sing above ten weeks in the year; whereas birds that have plenty of food in a cage, sing the greatest part of the year: the female of no species of birds ever sings. This is a wise provision, because her song would discover her nest. In the same manner, we may account for her inferiority of plumage. The faculty of singing is confined to the cock birds; and accordingly Mr. Hunter, in dissecting birds of several species, found the muscles of the larynx to be stronger in the nightingale than in any other bird of the same size; and in all those instances where he dissected both cock and hen, the same muscles were stronger in the cock.

It is an observation as ancient as the time of Pliny, that a capon does not crow. Some ascribe the singing of the cock in the spring solely to the motive of pleasing his mate during incubation; others, who allow that it is partly for this end, believe it is partly owing to another cause, viz. the great abundance of plants and insects in spring, which are the proper food of singing birds at that time of the year, as well as seeds. Mr. Barrington remarks, that there is no instance of any singing bird which exceeds our blackbird in size; and this, he supposes, may arise from the difficulty of concealing itself, should it call the attention of its enemies, not only by its bulk, but by the proportionate loudness of its notes. He further observes, that some passages of the song in a few kinds of birds correspond with the intervals of our musical scale, of which the cuckoo is a striking and known instance; but the greater part of their song cannot be reduced to a musical scale; partly because the rapidity is often so great, and it is also so uncertain when they may stop, that we cannot reduce the passages to form a musical bar in any time whatsoever; partly also, because the pitch of most birds is considerably higher than the most shrill notes of those instruments which have the greatest compass; and principally, because the intervals used by birds are commonly so minute, that we cannot judge of them from the more gross intervals into which we divide our musical octave. This writer apprehends, that all birds sing in the same key; and he found by a nightingale, as well as a robin which was educated under him, that the notes reducible to our intervals of the octave were always precisely the same. Most people, who have not attended to the notes of birds, suppose, that every species sing exactly the same notes and passages: but this is not true; though there is a general resemblance. Thus the London bird-catchers prefer the song of the Kentish goldfinches, and Essex chaffinches; and some of the nightingale fanciers prefer a Surrey bird to those of Middlesex.

Of all singing birds, the song of the nightingale has been most universally admired; and its superiority consists in the following particulars: its tone is much more mellow than that of any other bird, though, at the same time, by a proper exertion of its musical powers, it can be very brilliant. Another superiority is, its continuance of song without a pause, which is sometimes twenty seconds; and when respiration becomes necessary, it takes it with as much judgment as an opera singer. The skylark, in this particular, as well as in compass and variety, is only second to the nightingale. The nightingale also sings with judgment and taste. Mr. Barrington says, that his nightingale began softly, like the ancient orators, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which thus had a most astonishing effect. He adds, that the notes of birds which are annually imported from Asia, Africa, and America, both singly and in concert, are not to be compared to those of European birds. He has also formed a table, to exhibit the comparative merits of the British singing birds; wherein twenty being the point of perfection, he states the nightingale at nineteen; the woodlark and skylark at eighteen; the blackcap at fourteen; the titlark, linnet, goldfinch, and robin, at twelve; with some variations respecting mellowness, sprightliness, execution, &c. for which, with the proportional differences of other birds, we refer to his work.

We cannot resist the temptation to insert the following well-known

INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED RACE.

Written at Claverton, near Bath

Again the balmy zephyr blows, Fresh verdure decks the grove; Each bird with vernal rapture glows, And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly, And shun the noontide heat; My shrubs a cooling shade supply, My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray, Or weave the mossy nest, Here rove and sing the live-long day, At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill, That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, And revel in the shade.

No schoolboy rude, to mischief prone, E'er shows his ruddy face, Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone, In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs, Secure the linnet sings: The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares, To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt, Yon distant woods among, And round my friendly grotto chaunt Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless redbreast fear, Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here, With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe, Shall store of fruit preserve: O let me thus your friendship bribe! Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect, To you these plums belong; Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd, But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made, Our mutual int'rest guard; Mine be the gift of fruit and shade, Your songs be my reward. Graves.

CHAP. XXII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.

To their delicious task the fervent bees, In swarming millions, tend; around, athwart, Through the soft air the busy nations fly, Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul; And oft, with bolder wing, they, soaring, dare The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grow, And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. Thomson.

What various wonders may observers see In a small insect--the sagacious bee! Mark how the little untaught builders square Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear; Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive And fill, with curious labyrinths, the hive. See what bold strokes of architecture shine Through the whole frame, what beauty, what design! Blackmore.

THE HONEY BEE.

This important insect has been long and justly celebrated for its wonderful polity, the neatness and precision with which it constructs its cells, and the diligence with which it provides, during the warmth of summer, a supply of food for the support of the hive during the rigours of the succeeding winter. The general history of this interesting insect has been amply detailed by various authors, as Swammerdam, Reaumur, &c. &c. Among the most elaborate accounts of later times, may be mentioned that of Mr. John Hunter, which made its appearance in the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1792; and that of M. Huber, contained in his Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles, addressed to M. Bonnet, the celebrated author of the "Contemplations de la Nature." The following account is drawn principally from Hunter and Huber.

There are three periods, observes Hunter, at which the history of the bee may commence: first, in the spring, when the queen begins to lay her eggs; in the summer, at the commencement of a new colony; or in the autumn, when they go into winter-quarters. We shall begin the particular history of the bee with the new colony, when nothing is formed. When a hive sends off a colony, it is commonly in the month of June; but that will vary according to the season, for, in a mild spring, bees sometimes swarm in the middle of May, and very often at the latter end of it. Before they come off, they commonly hang about the mouth of the hole or door of the hive for some days, as if they had not sufficient room within for such hot weather, which we believe is very much the case; for if cold or wet weather come on, they stow themselves very well, and wait for fine weather. But swarming appears to be rather an operation arising from necessity; for they do not seem to remove voluntarily, because if they have an empty space to fill, they do not swarm; therefore, by increasing the size of the hive, the swarming is prevented. This period is much longer in some than in others. For some evenings before they come off, is often heard a singular noise, a kind of ring, or sound of a small trumpet; by comparing it with the notes of a piano-forte, it seemed to be the same sound with the lower A of the treble. The swarm commonly consists of three classes; a female or females, males, and those commonly called mules, which are supposed to be of no sex, and are the labourers; the whole, about two quarts in bulk, making about six or seven thousand. It is a question that cannot easily be determined, whether this old stock sends off only young of the same season, and whether the whole of their young ones, or only a part.

As the males are entirely bred in the same season, part go off; but part must stay, and most probably it is so with the others. They commonly come off in the heat of the day, often immediately after a shower. When one goes off, they all immediately follow, and fly about, seemingly in great confusion, although there is one principle actuating the whole. They soon appear to be directed to some fixed place; such as the branch of a tree or bush, the cavities of old trees, or holes of houses leading into some hollow place; and whenever the stand is made, they immediately repair to it till they are all collected. But it would seem, in some cases, that they had not fixed upon any resting-place before they come off, or, if they had, that they were either disturbed, if it was near, or that it was at a great distance; for, after hovering some time, as if undetermined, they fly away, mount up into the air, and go off with great velocity. When they have fixed upon their future habitation, they immediately begin to make their combs for they have the materials within themselves. "I have reason," says Mr. Hunter, "to believe that they fill their crops with honey when they come away, probably from the stock in the hive. I killed several of those that came away, and found their crops full, while those that remained in the hive had their crops not near so full: some of them came away with farina on their legs, which I conceive to be rather accidental. I may just observe here, that a hive commonly sends off two, sometimes three swarms in a summer, but that the second is commonly less than the first, and the third less than the second; and this last has seldom time to provide for the winter.

"The materials of their dwelling or comb, which is the wax, is the next consideration, with the mode of forming, preparing, or disposing of it. In giving a totally new account of the wax, I shall first shew it can hardly be what it has been supposed to be. First, I shall observe that the materials, as they are found composing the comb, are not to be found in the same state (as a composition) in any vegetable, where they have been supposed to be got. The substance brought in on the legs, which is the farina of the flowers of plants, is, in common, I believe, imagined to be the materials of which the wax is made, for it is called by most, the wax: but it is the farina, for it is always of the same colour as the farina of the flower where they are gathering; and, indeed, we see them gathering it, and we also see them covered almost all over with it like a dust: nevertheless, it has been supposed to be the wax, or that the wax was extracted from it. Reaumur is of this opinion.

"I made several experiments, to see if there was such a quantity of oil in it, as would account for the quantity of wax to be formed, and to learn if it was composed of oil. I held it near the candle; it burnt, but did not smell like wax, and had the same smell when burning, as farina when it was burnt. I observed, that this substance was of different colours on different bees, but always of the same colour on both legs of the same bee; whereas a new-made comb was all of one colour. I observed, that it was gathered with more avidity for old hives, where the comb is complete, than for those hives where it was only begun, which we could hardly conceive, admitting it to be the materials of wax. Also we may observe, that at the very beginning of a hive, the bees seldom bring in any substance on their legs for two or three days, and after that, the farina gatherers begin to increase; for now some cells are formed to hold it as a store, and some eggs are laid, which, when hatched, will require this substance as food, and which will be ready when the weather is wet.

"The wax is formed by the bees themselves; it may be called an external secretion of oil, and I have found that it is formed between each scale of the under side of the belly. When I first observed this substance, in my examination of the working bee, I was at a loss to say what it was: I asked myself if it were scales forming, and whether they cast the old, as the lobster, &c. does? but it was to be found only between the scales on the lower side of the belly. On examining the bees through glass hives, while they were climbing up the glass, I could see that most of them had this substance, for it looked as if the lower or posterior edge of the scale was double, or that there were double scales; but I perceived it was loose, not attached. Finding that the substance brought in on their legs was farina, intended, as appeared from every circumstance, to be the food of the bee, and not to make wax; and not having yet perceived any thing that could give me the least idea of wax; I conceived these scales might be it, at least I thought it necessary to investigate them. I therefore took several on the point of a needle, and held them to a candle, where they melted, and immediately formed themselves into round globules; upon which I no longer doubted that this was the wax, which opinion was confirmed to me by not finding those scales but in the building season.

"The cells, or rather the congeries of cells, which compose the comb, may be said to form perpendicular plates, or partitions, which extend from top to bottom of the cavity in which they build, and work downwards; but if the upper part of this vault to which their combs are fixed, is removed, and a dome is put over, they begin at the upper edge of the old comb, and work up into the new cavity at the top. They generally may be guided, as to the directions of their new plates, by forming ridges at top, to which they begin to attach their combs. In a long hive, if these ridges are longitudinal, their plates of comb will be longitudinal; if placed transversely, so will be the plates; and if obliquely, the plates of comb will be oblique also. Each plate consists of a double set of cells, whose bottoms form the partition between each set. The plates themselves are not very regularly arranged, not forming a regular plane where they might have done so, but are often adapted to the situation or shape of the cavity in which they are built.

"The bees do not endeavour to shape their cavity to their work, as the wasps do, nor are the cells of equal depths, also fitting them to their situation; but as the breeding cells must all be of a given depth, they reserve a sufficient number for breeding in, and they put the honey into the others, as also into the shallow ones. The attachment of the comb round the cavity is not continued, but interrupted, so as to form passages in the middle of the plates, especially if there be a cross-stick to support the comb; these allow of bees to go across from plate to plate. The substance which they use for attaching their combs to surrounding parts, is not the same as the common wax; it is softer and tougher, a good deal like the substance with which they cover in their chrysalis, or the humblebee surrounds her eggs. It is probably a mixture of wax with farina. The cells are placed nearly horizontal, but not exactly so; the mouth raised a little, which probably may be to retain the honey the better: however, this rule is not strictly observed, for often they are horizontal, and towards the lower edge of a plane of comb they are often declining. The first combs that a hive forms are the smallest, and much neater than the last or lowermost. Their sides or partitions, between cell and cell, are much thinner, and the hexagon is much more perfect. The wax is purer, being probably little else but wax, and it is more brittle. The lower combs are considerably larger, and contain much more wax, or perhaps, more properly, more materials; and the cells are at such distances as to allow them to be of a round figure; the wax is softer, and there is something mixed with it. I have observed that the cells are not all of equal size, some being a degree larger than others; and that the small are the first formed, and of course at the upper part, where the bees begin; and the larger are nearer the lower part of the comb, or last made: however, in hives of a particular construction, where the bees may begin to work at one end, and can work both down and towards the other end, we often find the larger cells both on the lower part of the combs, and also at the opposite end; these are formed for the males to be bred in: in the hornet and wasp combs there are larger cells for the queens to be bred in; these are also formed in the lower tier, and are the last formed.

"The first comb made in a hive is all of one colour, viz. almost white; but is not so white towards the end of the season, having then more of a yellow cast."

What follows is principally abridged from Huber, who in many instances is more correct than Hunter.--A hive contains three kind of bees. 1. A single queen bee, distinguishable by the great length of her body, and the proportional shortness of her wings. 2. Working-bees, female non-breeders, or, as they were formerly called, neuters, to the amount of many thousands; these are the smallest bees in the hive, and are armed with a sting. 3. Drones, or males, to the number perhaps of fifteen hundred or two thousand; these are larger than the workers, and of a dark colour; they make a great noise in flying, and have no sting. The whole labour of the community is performed by the workers: they elaborate the wax, and construct the cells; they collect the honey, and feed the brood. The drones, numerous as they are, serve no other purpose than to ensure the increase of the hive, and are regularly massacred by the workers at the beginning of autumn.

It is the office of the queen-bee to lay the eggs. These remain about three days in the cells before they are hatched. A small white worm then makes its appearance, (called indifferently, worm, larva, maggot, or grub;) this larva is fed with honey for some days, and then changes into a nymph or pupa. After passing a certain period in this state, it comes forth a perfect winged insect.

M. Huber, after noticing the propagation of this industrious race, next states the accidental discovery of the very singular and unexpected consequences which follow from retarding the impregnation of the queen-bee beyond the twentieth or twenty-first day of her life. In the natural order of things, or when impregnation is not retarded, the queen begins to lay the eggs of workers forty-six hours after, and she continues for the subsequent eleven months to lay none but these; "and it is only after this period, that a considerable and uninterrupted laying of the eggs of drones commences. When, on the contrary, impregnation is retarded after the twenty-eighth day, the queen begins, from the forty-sixth hour, to lay the eggs of drones; and she lays no other kind during her whole life." It would be tedious to detail the experiments; they were numerous, and the results uniform. "I occupied myself (says M. Huber) the remainder of 1787, and the two subsequent years, with experiments on retarded fecundation, and had constantly the same results." It is undoubted, therefore, that when the course of natural instinct is retarded beyond the twentieth day, only an imperfect generation is produced; as the queen, instead of laying the eggs of workers and of males equally, will lay those of males only.

This discovery is entirely M. Huber's own: and so difficult is it to offer any plausible explanation of the fact, that he himself has scarcely attempted it.

The working-bees had been for ages considered as entirely destitute of sex; and hence, in the writings of many authors, they are denominated neuters, but from the experiments of Schirach and Huber, it seems now to be clearly ascertained, that the workers are really of the female sex.

M. Huber confirms the curious discovery of M. Schirach, that when bees are by any accident deprived of their queen, they have the power of selecting one or two grubs of workers, and of converting them into queens; and that they accomplish this by greatly enlarging the cells of those selected larvæ, by supplying them more copiously with food, and with that of a more pungent sort than is given to the common larvæ.

M. Huber gives the following curious account of the manner in which bees proceed in forming capacious cells for the workers' grubs destined to royalty.--"Bees soon become sensible of having lost their queen, and in a few hours commence the labour necessary to repair their loss. First they select the young common worms, which the requisite treatment is to convert into queens, and immediately begin with enlarging the cells where they are deposited. Their mode of proceeding is curious; and the better to illustrate it, I shall describe the labour bestowed on a single cell, which will apply to all the rest containing worms destined for queens. Having chosen a worm, they sacrifice three of the contiguous cells; next they supply it with food, and raise a cylindrical enclosure around, by which the cell becomes a perfect tube, with a rhomboidal bottom; for the parts forming the bottom are left untouched. If the bees damaged it, they would lay open three corresponding cells on the opposite surface of the comb, and consequently destroy their worms, which would be an unnecessary sacrifice, and nature has opposed it. Therefore, leaving the bottom rhomboidal, they are satisfied with raising a cylindrical tube around the worm, which, like the other cells in the comb, are horizontal. But this habitation remains suitable to the worm called to the royal state, only during the first three days of its existence: another situation is requisite for the other two days it is a worm. During that time, though so small a portion of its life, it must inhabit a cell nearly of a pyramidical figure, and hanging perpendicularly. The workers, therefore gnaw away the cells surrounding the cylindrical tube, mercilessly sacrifice their worms, and use the wax in constructing a new pyramidical tube, which they solder at right angles to the first, and work it downwards. The diameter of this pyramid decreases insensibly from the base, which is very wide, to the point. In proportion as the worm grows, the bees labour in extending the cell, and bring food, which they place before its mouth, and near its body, forming a kind of cord around it. The worm, which can move only in a spiral direction, turns incessantly to take the food before its head: it insensibly descends, and at length arrives at the orifice of the cell. Now is the time of transformation to a nymph. As any further care is unnecessary, the bees close the cell with a peculiar substance appropriated for it, and there the worm undergoes both its metamorphoses."

M. Huber relates some experiments which confirm the singular discovery of M. Riems, concerning common working bees that are capable of laying eggs,--which, we may remark, is certainly a most convincing proof of their being of the female sex. Eggs were observed to increase in number daily, in a hive in which there were no queens of the usual appearance; but small queens considerably resemble workers, and to discriminate them, required minute inspection. "My assistant," (says M. Huber,) "then offered to perform an operation that required both courage and patience, and which I could not resolve to suggest, though the same expedient had occurred to myself. He proposed to examine each bee in the hive separately, to discover whether some small queen had not insinuated herself among them, and escaped our first researches. It was necessary, therefore, to seize every one of the bees, notwithstanding their irritation, and to examine their specific character with the utmost care. This my assistant undertook, and executed with great address. Eleven days were employed in it; and, during all that time, he scarcely allowed himself any relaxation but what the relief of his eyes required. He took every bee in his hand; he attentively examined the trunk, the hind limbs, and the sting; and he found that there was not one without the characteristics of the common bee, that is, the little basket on the hind legs, the long trunk, and the straight sting."

When a supernumerary queen is produced in a hive, or is introduced into it in the course of experiment, either she or the rightful owner soon perishes. The German naturalists, Schirach and Riems, imagined that the working bees assailed the stranger, and stung her to death. Reaumur considered it as more probable, that the sceptre was made to depend on the issue of a single combat between the claimants; and this conjecture is verified by the observations of Huber. The same hostility towards rivals, and destructive vengeance against royal cells, animates all queens, whether they be virgins, or in a state of impregnation, or mothers of numerous broods. The working bees, it may here be remarked, remain quiet spectators of the destruction, by the first-hatched queen, of the remaining royal cells; they approach only to share in the plunder presented by their havock-making mistress, greedily devouring any food found at the bottom of the cells, and even sucking the fluid from the abdomen of the nymphs before they toss out the carcase.

The following fact, connected with this subject, is one of the most curious perhaps in the whole history of this wonderful insect. Whenever the workers perceive that there are two rival queens in the hive, numbers of them crowd around each; they seem to be perfectly aware of the approaching deadly conflict, and willing to prompt their Amazonian chieftains to the battle; for as often as the queens shew a disinclination to fight, or seem inclined to recede from each other, or to fly off, the bees immediately surround and detain them; but when either combatant shews a disposition to approach her antagonist, all the bees forming the clusters instantly give way, to allow her full liberty for the attack. It seems strange that those bees, who in general shew so much anxiety about the safety of their queen, should, in particular circumstances, oppose her preparations to avoid impending danger,--should seem to promote the battle, and to excite the fury of the combatants.

When a queen is removed from a hive, the bees do not immediately perceive it; they continue their labours, "watch over their young, and perform all their ordinary occupations. But, in a few hours, agitation ensues; all appears a scene of tumult in the hive. A singular humming is heard; the bees desert their young, and rush over the surface of the combs with a delirious impetuosity." They have now evidently discovered that their sovereign is gone; and the rapidity with which the bad news spreads through the hive, to the opposite side of the combs, is very remarkable. On replacing the queen in the hive, tranquillity is almost instantly restored. The bees, it is worthy of notice, recognize the individual person of their own queen. If another be palmed upon them, they seize and surround her, so that she is either suffocated, or perishes by hunger; for it is very remarkable, that the workers are never known to attack a queen bee with their stings. If, however, more than eighteen hours have elapsed before the stranger queen be introduced, she has some chance to escape: the bees at first seize and confine her, but less rigidly; and they soon begin to disperse, and at length leave her to reign over a hive, in which she was at first treated as a prisoner. If twenty-four hours have elapsed, the stranger will be well received from the first, and at once admitted to the sovereignty of the hive. In short, it appears that the bees, when deprived of their queen, are thrown into great agitation; that they wait about twenty hours, apparently in hopes of her return; but that, after this interregnum, the agitation ceases, and they set about supplying their loss by beginning to construct royal cells. It is when they are in this temper, and not sooner, that a stranger queen will be graciously received; and upon her being presented to them, the royal cells, in whatever state of forwardness they may happen to be, are instantly abandoned, and the larvæ destroyed. Reaumur must therefore have mistaken the result of his own experiments, when he asserts, that a stranger queen is instantly well received, though presented at the moment when the other is withdrawn. He had seen the bees crowding around her at the entrance of the hive, and laying their antennæ over her; and this he seems to have taken for caressing. The structure of the hives he employed prevented him from seeing further: had he used the leaf-hive, or one of similar construction, he would have perceived that the apparent caresses of the guards were only the prelude to actual imprisonment.

It is well known, that after the season of swarming, a general massacre of the drones is commenced. Several authors assert, in their writings, that the workers do not sting the drones to death, but merely harass them till they are banished from the hive and perish. M. Huber contrived a glass table, on which he placed several hives, and he was thus able to see distinctly what passed at the bottom of the hive, which is generally dark and concealed: he witnessed a real and furious massacre of the males, the workers thrusting their stings so deep into the bodies of the defenceless drones, that they were obliged to turn on themselves as on a pivot, before they could extricate them. The work of death commenced in all the hives much about the same time. It is not, however, by a blind or indiscriminating instinct, that the workers are impelled thus to sacrifice the males; for if a hive be deprived of its queen, no massacre of the males takes place in it, while the hottest persecution rages in all the surrounding hives. In this case, the males are allowed to survive the winter. Mr. Bonner had observed this fact; he supposed, however, that the workers thus tolerated the drones for the sake of the additional heat they generated in the hive; but we now see the true reason to be, that without them the new queen would not be fruitful. The drones are also suffered to exist in hives that possess fertile workers, but no proper queen; and, what is remarkable, they are likewise spared in hives governed by a queen whose fecundity has been retarded. Here, then, we perceive a counter-instinct opposed to that which would have impelled them to the usual massacre.

Upon the subject of swarming, M. Huber commences with an interesting account of the hatching of the queen bee. When the pupa is about to change into the perfect insect, the bees render the cover of the cell thinner, by gnawing away part of the wax; and with so much nicety do they perform this operation, that the cover at last becomes pellucid, owing to its extreme thinness. This must not only facilitate the exit of the fly, but, M. Huber remarks, it may possibly be useful in permitting the evaporation of the superabundant fluids of the nymph. After the transformation is complete, the young queens would, in common course, immediately emerge from their cells, as workers and drones do; but the bees always keep them prisoners for some days in their cells, supplying them in the mean time with honey for food; a small hole being made in the door of each cell, through which the confined bee extends its proboscis to receive it. The royal prisoners continually utter a kind of song, the modulations of which are said to vary. The final cause of this temporary imprisonment, it is suggested, may possibly be, that they may be able to take flight at the instant they are liberated. When a young queen at last gets out, she meets with rather an awkward reception; she is pulled, bitten, and chased, as often as she happens to approach the other royal cells in the hive. The purpose of nature here seems to be, that she should be impelled to go off with a swarm as soon as possible. A curious fact was observed on these occasions: when the queen found herself much harassed, she had only to utter a peculiar noise, (the commanding voice, we may presume, of sovereignty,) and all the bees were instantaneously constrained to submission and obedience. This is, indeed, one of the most marked instances in which the queen exerts her sovereign power.

The conclusions at which M. Huber arrives on the subject of swarms are the following:--

First, "A swarm is always led off by a single queen, either the sovereign of the parent hive, or one recently brought into existence. If, at the return of spring, we examine a hive well peopled, and governed by a fertile queen, we shall see her lay a prodigious number of male eggs in the course of May, and the workers will choose that moment for constructing several royal cells." This laying of male eggs in May, M. Huber calls the great laying; and he remarks, that no queen ever has a great laying till she be eleven months old. It is only after finishing this laying, that she is able to undertake the journey implied in leading a swarm; for, previously to this, "latum trahit alvum," which unfits her for flying. There appears to be a secret relation between the production of the male eggs, and the construction of royal cells. The great laying commonly lasts thirty days; and regularly, on the twentieth or twenty-first, several royal cells are founded.

Secondly, "When the larvæ hatched from the eggs laid by the queen in the royal cells are ready to transform to nymphs, this queen leaves the hive, conducting a swarm along with her; and the first swarm that proceeds from the hive is uniformly conducted by the old queen." M. Huber remarks, that it was necessary that instinct should impel the old queen to lead forth the first swarm: for, that she being the strongest, would never have failed to have overthrown the younger competitors for the throne. An old queen, as has already been said, never quits a hive at the head of a swarm, till she has finished her laying of male eggs; but this is of importance, not merely that she may be lighter and fitter for flight, but that she may be ready to begin with the laying of workers' eggs in her new habitation, workers being the bees first needed, in order to secure the continuance and prosperity of the newly-founded commonwealth.

Thirdly, "After the old queen has conducted the first swarm from the hive, the remaining bees take particular care of the royal cells, and prevent the young queens, successively hatched, from leaving them, unless at an interval of several days between each." Under this head he introduces a number of general remarks, some of which may prove useful. "A swarm (he observes) is never seen unless in a fine day, or, to speak more correctly, at a time of the day when the sun shines, and the air is calm. Sometimes we have observed all the precursors of swarming, disorder and agitation: but a cloud passed before the sun, and tranquillity was restored; the bees thought no more of swarming. An hour afterwards, the sun having again appeared, the tumult was renewed; it rapidly augmented, and the swarm departed." A certain degree of tumult commences as soon as the young queens are hatched, and begin to traverse the hive: the agitation soon pervades the whole bees; and such a ferment soon rages, that M. Huber has often observed the thermometer in the hive to rise suddenly from about 92° to above 104°: this suffocating heat he considers as one of the means employed by nature for urging the bees to go off in swarms. In warm weather, one strong hive has been known to send off four swarms in eighteen days.

The cause of the bees, which has been so eloquently and pathetically pleaded by the Poet of the Seasons, is supported by M. Huber, on a principle more intelligible, perhaps, and more persuasive, to most country bee-masters, viz. interest. He deprecates the destruction of bees, and recommends to the cultivator to be content with a reasonable share of the wealth of the hive; arguing very justly, we believe, that a little taken from each of a number of hives, is ultimately much more profitable than a greater quantity obtained by a total destruction of a few.

We conclude our observations on this curious insect by two poetical quotations.

"Of all the race of animals, alone The bees have common cities of their own. Mindful of coming cold, they share the pain, And hoard for winter's use the summer's gain. Some o'er the public magazines preside, And some are sent new forage to provide; These drudge in fields abroad, and those at home Lay deep foundations for the labour'd comb; To pitch the waxen flooring some contrive; Some nurse the future nation of the hive. Their toil is common, common is their sleep; They shake their wings when morn begins to peep: Rush through the city gates without delay, Nor ends their work but with declining day."

Churchill, after the following beautiful and picturesque description, introduces a sovereign, drawing from it, in a soliloquy, the most natural reflections on the momentous duties of his station.

"* * * * * * Strength in her limbs, and on her wings dispatch, The bee goes forth; from herb to herb she flies, From flow'r to flow'r, and loads her lab'ring thighs With treasur'd sweets, robbing those flow'rs, which left, Find not themselves made poorer by the theft, Their scents as lively, and their looks as fair, As if the pillager had not been there. Ne'er doth she flit on pleasure's silken wing, Ne'er doth she loit'ring let the bloom of spring Unrifled pass, and on the downy breast Of some fair flow'r indulge untimely rest. Ne'er doth she, drinking deep of those rich dews Which chemist Night prepar'd, that faith abuse Due to the hive, and, selfish in her toils, To her own private use convert the spoils. Love of the stock first call'd her forth to roam, And to the stock she brings her honey home."

CHAP. XXIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

The Clothier Bee.--The Carpenter Bee.--The Mason Bee.--The Upholsterer Bee.--The Leaf-cutter Bee.--Curious Account of an Idiot Boy and Bees.--Mr. Wildman's Curious Exhibitions of Bees explained.

WILD BEES.

THE CLOTHIER BEE.

Learn each small people's genius, policies, The ants' republic, and the realm of bees; How those in common all their wealth bestow And anarchy without confusion know; And these for ever, though a monarch reign, Their separate cells and properties maintain. Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state, Laws, wise as Nature, and as fixt as Fate. Pope.

The following curious account of wild bees is principally abridged from Kirby and Spence's very interesting work on entomology.

The clothier bee is a lively and gay insect. It does not excavate holes for their reception, but places them in the cavities of old trees, or of any other object that suits its purpose. Sir Thomas Cullum discovered the nest of one in the inside of the lock of a garden gate, in which Mr. Kirby also since twice found them. It should seem, however, that such situations would be too cold for the grubs without a coating of some non-conducting substance. The parent bee, therefore, after having constructed the cells, laid an egg in each, and filled them with a store of suitable food, plasters them with a covering of vermiform masses, apparently composed of honey and pollen; and having done this, aware (long before Count Rumford's experiments) what materials conduct heat most slowly, she attacks the woolly leaves of Stachy's lanata, Agrostemma coronaria, and similar plants, and with her mandibles industriously scrapes off the wool, which with her fore legs she rolls into a little ball, and carries to her nest. This wool she sticks upon the plaster that covers her cells, and thus closely envelopes them with a warm coating of down, impervious to every change of temperature.

THE CARPENTER BEE.--A numerous family of wild bees may properly be compared to carpenters, boring with incredible labour, out of the solid wood, long cylindrical tubes, and dividing them into various cells. Amongst these, one of the most remarkable is the Apis violacea, L. (Xylacopa, Latr.) a large species, a native of southern Europe, distinguished by beautiful wings of a deep violet colour, and found commonly in gardens, in the upright putrescent espaliers, or vine props, of which, and occasionally in the garden seats, doors, and window-shutters, she makes her nest. In the beginning of spring, after repeated and careful surveys, she fixes upon a piece of wood suitable for her purpose, and with her strong mandibles begins the process of boring. First proceeding obliquely downwards, she soon points her course in a direction parallel with the sides of the wood, and at length with unwearied exertion forms a cylindrical hole or tunnel not less than twelve or fifteen inches long, and half an inch broad. Sometimes, where the diameter will admit of it, three or four of these pipes, nearly parallel with each other, are bored in the same piece. Herculean as this task (which is the labour of several days) appears, it is but a small part of what our industrious bee cheerfully undertakes. As yet she has completed, but the shell of the destined habitation of her offspring; each of which, to the number of ten or twelve, will require a separate and distinct apartment. In excavating her tunnel, she has detached a large quantity of fibres, which lie on the ground like a heap of saw-dust. This material supplies all her wants. Having deposited an egg at the bottom of the cylinder, along with the requisite store of pollen and honey, she next, at the height of about three-quarters of an inch, (which is the depth of each cell,) constructs of particles of the saw-dust glued together, and also to the sides of the tunnel, what may be called an annular stage or scaffolding. When this is sufficiently hardened, its interior edge affords support for a second ring of the same materials, and thus the ceiling is gradually formed of these concentric circles, till there remains only a small orifice in its centre, which is also closed with a circular mass of agglutinated particles of saw-dust. When this partition, which serves as the ceiling of the first cell, and the flooring of the second, is finished, it is about the thickness of a crown piece, and exhibits the appearance of as many concentric circles as the animal has made pauses in her labour. One cell being finished, she proceeds to another, which she furnishes and completes in the same manner, and so on, until she has divided her whole tunnel into ten or twelve apartments.

Such a laborious undertaking as the constructing and furnishing these cells, cannot be the work of one, or even of two days. Considering that every cell requires a store of honey and pollen, not to be collected but with long toil, and that a considerable interval must be spent in agglutinating the floors of each, it will be very obvious that the last egg in the last cell must be laid many days after the first. We are certain, therefore, that the first egg will become a grub, and consequently a perfect bee, many days before the last. What then becomes of it? It is impossible that it should make its escape through eleven superincumbent cells, without destroying the immature tenants; and it seems equally impossible that it should remain patiently in confinement below them until they are all disclosed. This dilemma our heaven-taught architect has provided against. With forethought, never enough to be admired, she has not constructed her tunnel with one opening only, but at the farther end has pierced another orifice, a kind of back door, through which the insects produced by the first-laid eggs successively emerge into day. In fact, all the young bees, even the uppermost, go out by this road; for, by an exquisite instinct, each grub, when about to become a pupa, places itself in its cell, with its head downwards, and thus is necessitated, when arrived at its last state, to pierce its cell in this direction.

We shall now describe THE MASON-BEE.--There is a family of wild bees which carry on the trade of masons, building their solid houses solely of artificial stone. The first step of the mother bee, Apis mururia, Oliv. (Anthophara, F. Megachile, Latr.) is to fix upon a proper situation for the future mansion of her offspring. For this she usually selects an angle, sheltered by any projection, on the south side of a stone wall. Her next care is to provide materials for the structure. The chief of these is sand, which she carefully selects, grain by grain, from such as contain some mixture of earth; these grains she glues together with her viscid saliva into masses the size of small shot,[10] and transports by means of her jaws to the site of her castle. With a number of these masses, which are the artificial stone of which her building is to be composed, united by a cement preferable to ours, she first forms the basis or foundation of the whole. Next she raises the walls of a cell, which is an inch long and half an inch broad, and, before its orifice is closed, in form resembles a thimble. This, after depositing an egg, and a supply of honey and pollen, she covers in, and then proceeds to the erection of a second, which she finishes in the same manner, until the whole number, which varies from four to eight, is completed. The vacuities between the cells, which are not placed in any regular order, some being parallel to the wall, others being perpendicular to it, and others inclined to it at different angles, this laborious architect fills up with the same material of which the cells are composed, and then bestows upon the whole group a common covering of coarser grains of sand. The form of the whole nest, which, when finished, is a solid mass of stone, so hard as not to be easily penetrated with the blade of a knife, is an irregular oblong, of the same colour as the sand, and, to a casual observer, more resembling a splash of mud than an artificial structure. These bees sometimes are more economical of their labour, and repair old nests, for the possession of which they have very desperate combats. One would have supposed that the inhabitants of a castle so fortified might defy the attack of an insect marauder. Yet an ichneumon, and a beetle (Clerius apiarius, F.) both contrive to introduce their eggs into the cells, and the larvæ proceeding from them devour their inhabitants.--Reaum. vi. 57, 58. Mon. Ap. Angl. i. 179.

Other bees of the same family use different materials in the construction of their nests. Some employ fine earth made into a kind of mortar made with gluten. Another, (A. coerulescens, L.) as we learn from De Geer, forms its nest of argillaceous earth, mixed with chalk, upon stone walls, and sometimes probably builds in chalk-pits. Apis bicornis, L. selects the hollows of large stones for the site of its dwelling; whilst others prefer the holes in wood.

We now proceed to THE UPHOLSTERER-BEE.--Such may those be denominated which line the holes excavated in the earth for the reception of their young, with an elegant coating of flowers or of leaves. Amongst the most interesting of these is Apis Papaveris, (Megachile, Latr., Anthophora, F.) a species whose manners have been admirably described by Reaumur. This little bee, as though fascinated with the colour most attractive to our eyes, invariably chooses for the hangings of her apartments the most brilliant scarlet, selecting for its material the petals of the wild poppy, which she dexterously cuts into the proper form. Her first process is to excavate in some pathway a burrow, cylindrical at the entrance, but swelled out below, to the depth of about three inches. Having polished the walls of this little apartment, she next flies to a neighbouring field, cuts out oval portions of the flowers of poppies, seizes them between her legs, and returns with them to her cell; and though separated from the wrinkled petal of a half-expanded flower, she knows how to straighten their folds, and, if too large, to fit them for her purpose by cutting off the superfluous parts. Beginning at the bottom, she overlays the walls of her mansion with this brilliant tapestry, extending it also on the surface of the ground round the margin of the orifice. The bottom is rendered warm by three or four coats, and the sides have never less than two. The little upholsterer, having completed the hangings of her apartment, next fills it with pollen and honey to the height of about half an inch; then, after committing an egg to it, she wraps over the poppy lining, so that even the roof may leave this material; and lastly, closes its mouth with a small hillock of earth.--Reaum. 6. 139 to 148. The great depth of the cell, compared with the space which the single egg and the accompanying food deposited in it occupy, deserves particular notice. This is not more than half an inch at the bottom, the remaining two inches and a half being subsequently filled with earth.

THE LEAF-CUTTER BEE.--There is a species of wild bee, that cover the walls of their cells with coatings of sober-coloured materials, generally selecting for their hangings the leaves of trees, especially of the rose, whence they have been known by the name of the leaf-cutter bees. They differ also from A. Papaveris in excavating longer burrows, and filling them with several thimble-shaped cells, composed of portions of leaves so curiously convoluted, that, if we were ignorant in what school they have been taught to construct them, we should never credit their being the work of an insect. Their entertaining history, so long ago as 1670, attracted the attention of our countrymen, Ray, Lister, Willoughby, and Sir Edw. King; but we are indebted for the most complete account of the procedure, to Reaumur.

The mother bee first excavates a cylindrical hole eight or ten inches long, in a horizontal direction, either in the ground or in the trunk of a rotten willow-tree, or occasionally in other decaying wood. This cavity she fills with six or seven cells, wholly composed of portions of leaf in the shape of a thimble, the convex end of one closely fitting into the open end of another. Her first process is to form the exterior coating, which is composed of three or four pieces, of larger dimensions than the rest, and of an oval form. The second coating is formed of portions of equal size, narrow at one end, but gradually widening towards the other, where the width equals half the length. One side of these pieces is the serrate margin of the leaf from which it was taken, which, as the pieces are made to lap one over the other, is kept on the outside, and that which has been cut within. The little animal now forms a third coating of similar materials, the middle of which, as the most skilful workman would do in similar circumstances, she places over the margins of those that form the first tube, thus covering and strengthening the junctures. Repeating the same process, she gives a fourth and sometimes a fifth coating to her nest, taking care, at the closed end or narrow extremity of the cell, to bend the leaves so as to form a convex termination. Having thus finished a cell, her next business is to fill it, to within half a line of the orifice, with a rose-coloured conserve, composed of honey and pollen, usually collected from the flowers of thistles; and then having deposited her egg, she closes the orifice with three pieces of leaf so exactly circular, that a pair of compasses could not define their margin with more truth, and coinciding so precisely with the walls of the cell, as to be retained in their situation merely by the nicety of their adaptation. After this covering is fitted in, there remains still a concavity, which receives the convex end of the succeeding cell; and in this manner the indefatigable little animal proceeds until she has completed the six or seven cells composing her cylinder.

The process which one of these bees employs in cutting the pieces of leaf that compose her nest, is worthy of attention. Nothing can be more expeditious; she is not longer about it than we should be with a pair of scissors. After hovering for some moments over a rose bush, as if to reconnoitre the ground, the bee alights upon the leaf which she has selected, usually taking her station upon its edge, so that the margin passes between her legs. With her strong mandibles she cuts without intermission in a curve line, so as to detach a triangular portion. When this hangs by the last fibre, lest its weight should carry her to the ground, she balances her little wings for flight, and the very moment it parts from the leaf, flies off with it in triumph; the detached portion remaining bent between her legs in a direction perpendicular to her body. Thus without rule or compasses do these diminutive creatures mete out the materials of their work into portions of an ellipse, into ovals or circles, accurately accommodating the dimensions of the several pieces of each figure to each other. What other architect could carry impressed upon the tablet of his memory the entire idea of the edifice which he has to erect, and, destitute of square or plumb-line, cut out his materials in their exact dimensions without making a single mistake? Yet this is what our little bee invariably does. So far are human art and reason excelled by the teaching of the Almighty.--Reaum. vi. 971-94. Mor. Ap. Angl. i. 157. Apis c. 2.

A CURIOUS ACCOUNT OF AN IDIOT BOY, AND BEES.--Mr. White has given the following curious account of an idiot boy. From a child he shewed a strong propensity to bees. They were his food, his amusement, his sole object. In the winter he dozed away his time in his father's house, by the fire-side, in a torpid state, seldom leaving the chimney-corner: but in summer he was all alert, and in quest of his game. Hive-bees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey, wherever he found them. He had no apprehension from their stings, but would seize them with naked hands, 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 skin with these insects; and sometimes he endeavoured to confine them in bottles. He was very injurious to men that kept bees, for he would glide into their bee-gardens, and, sitting down before the stools, would rap with his fingers, and so take the bees as they came out. He has even been known to overturn the hives for the sake of the 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,

--------------------------Thou Had thy presiding star propitious Shouldst Wildman be. White's Natural History.

We conclude this chapter with an explanation of the preceding lines.

MR. WILDMAN'S CURIOUS EXHIBITIONS OF BEES.--Mr. Wildman, by his dexterity in the management of bees, some years ago, surprised the whole kingdom. He caused swarms to light where he pleased, almost instantaneously; he ordered them to settle on his head, then removed them to his hand, and commanded them to settle on a window, table, &c. at pleasure. We subjoin the method of performing these feats, in his own words: "Long experience has taught me, that as soon as I turn up a hive, and give it some taps on the sides and bottom, the queen immediately appears, to know the cause of this alarm; but soon retires again among her people. Being accustomed to see her so often, I readily perceive her at first glance; and long practice has enabled me to seize her instantly, with a tenderness that does not in the least endanger her person. This is of the utmost importance; for the least injury done to her brings immediate destruction to the hive, if you have not a spare queen to put in her place, as I have too often experienced in my first attempts. When possessed of her, I can, without injury to her, or exciting that degree of resentment that may tempt her to sting me, slip her into my other hand, and, returning the hive to its place, hold her there, till the bees missing her, are all on wing, and in the utmost confusion. When the bees are thus distressed, I place the queen wherever I would have the bees to settle. The moment a few of them discover her, they give notice to those near them, and those to the rest; the knowledge of which becomes so general, that in a few minutes they all collect themselves round her, and are so happy in having recovered this sole support of their state, that they will long remain quiet in their situation: nay, the scent of her body is so attractive of them, that the slightest touch of her along any place or substance, will attach the bees to it, and induce them to any path she takes."--This was the only witchcraft used by Mr. Wildman, and is that alone which is practised by others, who have since made similar exhibitions.

CHAP. XXIV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

The Wasp.

The laws of life, why need I call to mind, Obey'd by insects, too, of ev'ry kind! Of these, none uncontroll'd and lawless rove, But to some destin'd end spontaneous move: Led by that instinct Heav'n itself inspires, Or so much reason as their state requires. See all with skill acquire their daily food, All use those arms which nature has bestow'd; Produce their tender progeny, and feed With care parental, while that care they need. In these lov'd offices completely blest, No hopes beyond them, nor vain fears molest. Jenyns.

For the following account of the WASP, we are indebted to Kirby and Spence; and we take this opportunity of making a general acknowledgment of our obligations to those gentlemen, for the assistance we have derived from their highly interesting treatise, in drawing up this account of the curiosities respecting insects.

Compared with hive-bees, wasps may be considered as a horde of thieves and brigands: while the bees are peaceful, honest, and industrious subjects; the wasps attack their persons, and plunder their property. Yet, with all this love of pillage and other bad propensities, they are not altogether disagreeable or unamiable; they are brisk and lively; they do not usually attack unprovoked; and their object in plundering us is not purely selfish, but is principally to provide for the support of the young brood of their colonies.

The societies of wasps, like those of ants, and other social Hymenoptera, consist of females, males, and workers. The females may be considered as of two sorts: first, the females, by way of eminence, are much larger than any other individuals of the community; they equal six of the workers (from which in other respects they do not materially differ) in weight, and lay both male and female eggs: then the small females, not larger than the workers, which lay only male eggs. This last description of females, which are found also both amongst the humble-bees and hive-bees, were first observed among wasps, by M. Perrot, a friend of Huber's. The large females are produced later than the workers, and make their appearance in the next spring; and whoever then destroys one of them, destroys an entire colony, of which she would be the founder.

Different from the queen-bee, the female wasp is at first an insulated being, that has had the fortune to survive the rigours of winter. When in the spring she lays the foundation of her future empire, she has not a single worker at her disposal; with her own hands and teeth she often hollows out a cave wherein she may lay the first foundations of her paper metropolis: she must herself build the first houses, and produce from her own body their first inhabitants; which in their infant state she must feed and educate, before they can assist her in her great design. At length she receives the reward of her perseverance and labour; and from being a solitary unconnected individual, in the autumn is enabled to rival the queen of the hive in the number of her children and subjects, and in the edifices which they inhabit--the number of cells in a vespiary sometimes amounting to more than sixteen thousand, almost all of which contain either an egg, a grub, or a pupa, and each cell serving for three generations in a year; which, after making every allowance for failures and other casualties, will give a population of at least thirty thousand. Even at this time, when she has so numerous an army of coadjutors, the industry of this creature does not cease, but she continues to set an example of diligence to the rest of the community. If by any accident, before the other females are hatched, the queen-mother perishes, the neuters cease their labours, lose their instincts, and die.

The number of females in a populous vespiary is considerable, amounting to several hundreds; they emerge from the pupa about the latter end of August, at the same time with the males, and fly in September and October, when they pair. Of this large number of females, very few survive the winter. Those that are so fortunate, remain torpid till the vernal sun recalls them to life and action. They then fly forth, collect provision for their young brood, and are engaged in the other labours necessary for laying the foundation of their empire; but in the summer months they are never seen out of the nest.

The male wasps are much smaller than the female, but they weigh as much as two workers. Their antennæ are longer than those of either, not, like theirs, thicker at the end, but perfectly filiform; and their abdomen is distinguished by an additional segment. Their numbers about equal those of the females, and they are produced at the same time. They are not so wholly given to pleasure and idleness as the drones of the hive. They do not, indeed, assist in building the nest, and in the care of the young brood; but they are the scavengers of the community, for they sweep the passages and streets, and carry off all the filth. They also remove the bodies of the dead, which are sometimes heavy burdens for them; in which case two unite their strength, to accomplish the work; or, if a partner be not at hand, the wasp thus employed cuts off the head of the defunct, and so effects its purpose. As they make themselves so useful, they are not, like the male bees, devoted by the workers to an universal massacre when the great end of their creation is answered; but they share the general lot of the community, and are suffered to survive till the cold cuts off them and the workers together.

The workers are the most numerous, and to us the only troublesome part of the community; upon whom devolves the main business of the nest. In the summer and autumnal months they go forth by myriads into the neighbouring country to collect provisions; and on their return to the common den, after reserving a sufficiency for the nutriment of the young brood, they divide the spoil with great impartiality; part being given to the females, part to the males, and part to those workers that have been engaged in extending and fortifying the vespiary. This division is voluntarily made, without the slightest symptom of compulsion. Several wasps assemble round each of the returning workers, and receive their respective portions. It is curious and interesting to observe their motions on this occasion. As soon as a wasp that has been filling itself with the juice of fruits arrives at the nest, it perches upon the top, and, disgorging a drop of its saccharine fluid, is attended sometimes by two at once, who share the treasure; this being thus distributed, a second, and sometimes a third drop, is produced, which falls to the lot of others.

Wasps, though ferocious and cruel towards their fellow-insects, are civilized and polished in their intercourse with each other, and form a community whose architectural labours will not suffer on comparison even with those of the peaceful inhabitants of a bee-hive. Like these, the great object of their industry is the erection of a structure for their beloved progeny, towards which they discover the greatest affection and tenderness, and, like bees, construct combs consisting of hexagonal cells for their reception; but the substance which they make use of is very dissimilar to the wax employed by bees, and the general plan of their city differs in many respects from that of a bee-hive. The common wasp's nest, usually situated in a cavity under ground, is of an oval figure, about sixteen or eighteen inches long, by twelve or thirteen broad. Externally, it is surrounded by a thick coating of numerous leaves of a sort of grayish paper, which do not touch each other, but have a small interval between each, so that if the rain should chance to penetrate one or two of them, its progress is speedily arrested. On removing this external covering, we perceive that the interior consists of from twelve to sixteen circular combs of different sizes, not ranged vertically, as in a bee-hive, but horizontally, so as to form so many distinct and parallel stories. Each comb is composed of a numerous assembiage of hexagonal cells, formed of the same paper-like substance as the exterior covering of the nest, and, according to a discovery of Dr. Barclay, each, as in those of bees, a distinct cell, the partition walls being double.--Memoirs of the Wernerian Society, ii. 260. These cells, which, as wasps do not store up any food, serve merely as the habitations of their young, are not, like those of the honey-bee, arranged in two opposite layers, but in one only, their entrance being always downwards: consequently the upper part of the comb, composed of the bases of the cells, which are not pyramidal, but slightly convex, forms a nearly level floor, on which the inhabitants can conveniently pass and repass, spaces of about half an inch high being left between each comb. Although the combs are fixed to the sides of the nest, they would not be sufficiently strong without further support. The ingenious builders, therefore, connect each comb to that below it by a number of strong cylindrical columns or pillars, having, according to the rules of architecture, their base and capital wider than the shaft, and composed of the same paper-like material used in other parts of the nest, but of a more compact substance. The middle combs are connected by a rustic colonnade of from forty to fifty of these pillars; the upper and lower combs by a smaller number.

The cells are of different sizes, corresponding to that of the three orders of individuals which compose the community; the largest for the grubs of females, the smallest for those of workers. The last always occupy an entire comb, while the cells of the males and females are often intermixed. Besides openings which are left between the walls of the combs to admit of access from one to the other, there are at the bottom of each nest two holes, by one of which the wasps uniformly enter, and through the other issue from the nest, and thus avoid all confusion or interruption of their common labours. As the nest is often a foot and a half under ground, it is requisite that a covered way should lead to its entrance. This is excavated by the wasps, who are excellent miners, and is often very long and tortuous, forming a beaten road to the subterranean city, well known to the inhabitants, though its entrance is concealed from curious eyes. The cavity itself, which contains the nest, is either the abandoned habitation of moles or field-mice, or a cavern purposely dug out by the wasps, which exert themselves with such industry as to accomplish the arduous undertaking in a few days.

When the cavity and entrance to it are completed, the next part of the process is to lay the foundations of the city to be included in it, which, contrary to the usual customs of builders, wasps begin at the top, continuing downwards. It has already been observed, that the coatings which compose the dome, are a sort of rough but thin paper, and that the rest of the nest is composed of the same substance variously applied. "Whence do the wasps derive it?" They are manufacturers of the article, and prepare it from a material even more singular than any of those which have of late been proposed for this purpose; namely, the fibres of wood. These they detach by means of their jaws from window-frames, posts, and rails, &c. and, when they have amassed a heap of the filaments, moisten the whole with a few drops of a viscid glue from their mouth, and, kneading it with their jaws into a sort of paste, or papier mâché, fly off with it to their nest. This ductile mass they attach to that part of the building upon which they are at work, walking backwards, and spreading it into laminæ of the requisite thinness by means of their jaws, tongue, and legs. This operation is repeated several times, until at length, by aid of fresh supplies of the material, and the combined exertions of so many workmen, the proper number of layers of paper, that are to compose the roof, is finished. This paper is as thin as the leaf you are reading; and you may form an idea of the labour which even the exterior of a wasp's nest requires, on being told that no fewer than fifteen or sixteen sheets of it are usually placed above each other, with slight intervening spaces, making the whole upwards of an inch and a half in thickness. When the dome is completed, the uppermost comb is next begun, in which, as well as all the other parts of the building, precisely the same material and the same process, with little variation, are employed. In the structure of the connecting pillars, there seems a greater quantity of glue made use of than in the rest of the work, doubtless with the view of giving them superior solidity. When the first comb is finished, the continuation of the roof or walls of the building is brought down lower; a new comb is erected; and thus the work successively proceeds until the whole is finished. As a comparatively small proportion of the society is engaged in constructing the nest, its entire completion is the work of several months: yet, though the fruit of such severe labour, it has scarcely been finished a few weeks before winter comes on, when it merely serves for the abode of a few benumbed females, and is entirely abandoned at the approach of spring, as wasps are never known to use the same nest for more than one season.

There is good reason for thinking, and the opinion had the sanction of the late Sir Joseph Banks, that wasps have sentinels placed at the entrances of their nests, which, if you can once seize and destroy, the remainder will not attack you. This is confirmed by an observation of Mr. Knight, in the Philosophical Transactions, (vol. 1. 2d Ed. p. 505;) that if a nest of wasps be approached without alarming the inhabitants, and all communication be suddenly cut off between those out of the nest and those within it, no provocation will induce the former to defend it and themselves. But if one escapes from within, it comes with a very different temper, and appears commissioned to avenge public wrongs, and prepared to sacrifice its life in the execution of its orders. He discovered this when quite a boy.

In October, wasps seem to become less savage and sanguinary; for even flies, of which, earlier in the summer, they are the pitiless destroyers, may be seen to enter their nests with impunity. It is then, probably, that they begin to be first affected by the approach of the cold season, when nature teaches them it is useless longer to attend to their young. They themselves all perish, except a few of the females, upon the first attack of frost.

Reaumur, from whom most of these observations are taken, put the nests of wasps under glass hives, and succeeded so effectually in reconciling these little restless creatures to them, that they carried on their various works under his eye.

CHAP. XXV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

Ants--White Ants--Green Ants--Visiting Ants--The Ant-Lion.

These emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies Without our regard or concern: Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard, and many a fool, A lesson of wisdom might learn. Watts.

The societies of ANTS, as also of other Hymenoptera, differ from those of the Termites, in having inactive larvæ and pupæ, the neuter, or workers, combining in themselves both the military and civil functions. Besides the helpless larvæ and pupæ, which have no locomotive powers, these societies consist of females and workers. The office of the females, at their first exclusion distinguished by a pair of ample wings, (which however, they soon cast,) is the foundation of new colonies, and the furnishing of a constant supply of eggs, for the maintenance of the population in the old nests, as well as in the new. These are usually the least numerous part of the community.

Gould indeed says, that the males and females are nearly equal in number, p. 62; but from Huber's observations it seems to follow that the former are the most numerous, p. 96.

Upon the workers devolves, except in nascent colonies, all the work, as well as the defence of the community, of which they are the most numerous portion.

In the warm days that occur from the end of July to the beginning of September, and sometimes later, the habitations of the various species of ants may be seen to swarm with winged insects, which are the males and females, preparing to quit for ever the scene of their nativity and education. Every thing is in motion: and the silver wings, contrasted with the jet bodies which compose the animated mass, add a degree of splendour to the interesting scene. The bustle increases, till at length the males rise, as it were by a general impulse, into the air, and the females accompany them. The whole swarm alternately rises and falls with a slow movement to the height of about ten feet, the males flying obliquely with a rapid zigzag motion; and the females, though they follow the general movement of the column, appearing suspended in the air, like balloons, seemingly with no individual motion, and having their heads turned towards the wind.

Sometimes the swarms of a whole district unite their infinite myriads, and, seen at a distance, produce an effect resembling the flashing of an aurora borealis. Rising with incredible velocity in distinct columns, they soar above the clouds. Each column looks like a kind of slender net-work, and has a tremulous undulating motion, which has been observed to be produced by the regular alternate rising and falling just alluded to. The noise emitted by myriads and myriads of these creatures, does not exceed the hum of a single wasp. The slightest zephyr disperses them; and if in their progress they chance to be over your head, if you walk slowly on, they will accompany you, and regulate their motions by yours.

Captain Haverfield, R. N. gives an account of an extraordinary appearance of ants observed by him in the Medway, in the autumn of 1814, when he was first-lieutenant of the Clorinde; which is confirmed by the following letter, addressed by the surgeon of that ship, now Dr. Bromley, to Mr. Mac Leay.

"In September, 1814, being on the deck of the bulk to the Clorinde, my attention was drawn to the water by the first-lieutenant (Haverfield) observing there was something black floating down with the tide. On looking with a glass, I discovered they were insects. The boat was sent, and brought a bucket full of them on board; they proved to be a large species of ant, and extended from the upper part of Salt-pan Reach out towards the Great Nore, a distance of five or six miles. The column appeared to be in breadth eight or ten feet, and in height about six inches, which I suppose must have been from their resting one upon another." Purchas seems to have witnessed a similar phenomenon on shore. "Other sorts (of ants)," says he, "there are many, of which some become winged, and fill the air with swarms, which sometimes happens in England. On Bartholomew-day, 1613, I was in the island of Foulness, on our Essex shore, where were such clouds of these flying pismires, that we could no where flee from them, but they filled our clothes; yea, the floors of some houses where they fell were in a manner covered with a black carpet of creeping ants; which, they say, drown themselves about that time of the year in the sea."--Pilgrimage, 1090. These ants were winged; but whence this immense column came, was not ascertained. From the numbers here accumulated, one would think that all the ant-hills of the counties of Kent and Surrey could scarcely have furnished a sufficient number of males and females to form it.

When Colonel Sir Augustus Frazer, of the Horse Artillery, was surveying, on the 6th of October, 1813, the scene of the battle of the Pyrenees, from the summit of the mountain called Pena de Aya, or Les Quatre Couronnes, he and his friends were enveloped with a swarm of ants, so numerous as entirely to intercept their view, so that they were glad to remove to another station, in order to get rid of these troublesome little creatures.

The females that escape from the injury of the elements and their various enemies, become the founders of new colonies, doing all the work that is usually done by the neuters. M. P. Huber has found incipient colonies,[11] in which were only a few workers engaged with their mother in the care of a small number of larvæ; and M. Perrot, his friend, once discovered a small nest, occupied by a solitary female, who was attending upon four pupa only. Such is the foundation and first establishment of those populous nations of ants with which we every where meet.

But though the majority of females produced in a nest probably thus desert it, all are not allowed this liberty. The prudent workers are taught by their instinct, that the existence of their community depends upon the presence of a sufficient number of females. Some, therefore, that are fecundated in or near the spot, they forcibly detain, pulling off their wings, and keeping them prisoners till they are ready to lay their eggs, or are reconciled to their fate. De Geer, in a nest of F. rufa, observed that the workers compelled some females that were come out of the nest to re-enter it; (vol. ii. 1071,)--and from M. P. Huber we learn, that, being seized at the moment of fecundation, they are conducted into the interior of the formicary, when they become entirely dependent upon the neuters, who, hanging pertinaciously to each leg, prevent their going out, but at the same time attend upon them with the greatest care, feeding them regularly, and conducting them where the temperature is suitable to them, but never quitting them a single moment. By degrees these females become reconciled to their condition, and lose all desire of making their escape; their abdomen enlarges, and they are no longer detained as prisoners, yet each is still attended by a body-guard, a single ant, which always accompanies her, and prevents her wants. Its station is remarkable, being mounted upon her abdomen, with its posterior legs upon the ground. These sentinels are constantly relieved; and to watch the moment when the female begins the important work of oviposition, and carry off the eggs, of which she lays four or five thousand or more in the course of the year, seems to be their principal office.

When the female is acknowledged as a mother, the workers begin to pay her a homage very similar to that which the bees render to their queen. All press round her, offer her food, conduct her by her mandibles through the difficult or steep passages of the formicary; nay, they sometimes even carry her about their city: she is then suspended upon their jaws, the ends of which are crossed; and, being coiled up like the tongue of a butterfly, she is packed so close as to incommode the carrier but little. When these set her down, others surround and caress her, one after another tapping her on the head with their antennæ.

"In whatever apartment (says Gould) a queen condescends to be present, she commands obedience and respect. A universal gladness spreads itself through the whole cell, which is expressed by particular acts of joy and exultation. They have a particular way of skipping, leaping, and standing upon their hind-legs, and prancing with the others. These frolics they make use of, both to congratulate each other when they meet, and to shew their regard for the queen: some of them walk gently over her, others dance round her; she is generally encircled with a cluster of attendants, who, if you separate them from her, soon collect themselves into a body, and inclose her in the midst." Nay, even if she dies, as if they were unwilling to believe it, they continue sometimes for months the same attentions to her, and treat her with the same courtly formality as if she were alive, and they will brush her and lick her incessantly.

That the ants, though they are mute animals, have the means of communicating to each other information of various occurrences, and use a kind of language which is mutually understood, will appear evident from the following facts.

If those at the surface of a nest are alarmed, it is wonderful in how short a time the alarm spreads through the whole nest. It runs from quarter to quarter; the greatest inquietude seems to possess the community; and they carry with all possible dispatch their treasures, the larvæ and pupæ, down to the lowest apartments. Amongst those species of ants that do not go much from home, sentinels seem to be stationed at the avenues of their city. "Disturbing once the little heaps of earth thrown up at the entrances into the nest of F. flava, which is of this description, (says Huber,) I was struck by observing a single ant immediately come out, as if to see what was the matter, and this three separate times."

The F. herculanea, L. inhabits the trunks of hollow trees on the Continent, for it has not yet been found in England, upon which they are often passing to and fro. M. Huber observed, that when he disturbed those that were at the greatest distance from the rest, they ran towards them, and, striking their head against them, communicated their cause of fear or anger that these, in their turn, conveyed in the same way the intelligence to others, till the whole colony was in a ferment, those neuters which were within the tree running out in crowds to join their companions in the defence of their habitation. The same signals that excited the courage of the neuters, produced fear in the males and females, which, as soon as the news of the danger was thus communicated to them, retreated into the tree as to an asylum.

The legs of one of this gentleman's artificial formicaries were plunged into pans of water, to prevent the escape of the ants; this proved a source of great enjoyment to these little beings, for they are a very thirsty race, and lap water like dogs.--(Gould, 92. De Geer, ii. 1087. Huber, 5, 132.) One day, when he observed many of them tippling very merrily, he was so cruel as to disturb them, which sent most of the ants in a fright to the nest; but some, more thirsty than the rest, continued their potations: upon this, one of those that had retreated, returns to inform his thoughtless companions of their danger; one he pushes with his jaws; another he strikes first upon the belly, and then upon the breast; and so obliges three of them to leave off their carousing, and march homewards; but the fourth, more resolute to drink it out, is not to be discomfited, and pays not the least regard to the kind blows with which his compeer, solicitous for his safety, repeatedly belabours him; at length, determined to have his way, he seizes him by one of his hind-legs, and gives him a violent pull: upon this, leaving his liquor, the loiterer turns round, and opening his threatening jaws with every appearance of anger, goes very coolly to drinking again; but his monitor, without further ceremony, rushing before him, seizes him by his jaws, and at last drags him off in triumph to the formicary.--Huber, 133.

The language of ants, however, is not confined merely to giving intelligence of the approach or presence of danger; it is also co-extensive with all their other occasions for communicating their ideas to each other, or holding any intercourse. Some engage in military expeditions, and often previously send out spies, to collect information. These, as soon as they return from exploring the vicinity, enter the nest; upon which, as if they had communicated their intelligence, the army immediately assembles in the suburbs of their city, and begins its march towards that quarter whence the spies had arrived. Upon the march, communications are perpetually making between the van and the rear; and when arrived at the camp of the enemy, and the battle begins, if necessary, couriers are dispatched to the formicary for reinforcements.--Huber, 167, 217, 237.

If you scatter the ruins of an ant's nest in your apartment, you will be furnished with another proof of their language. The ants will take a thousand different paths, each going by itself, to increase the chance of discovery; they will meet and cross each other in all directions, and perhaps will wander long before they can find a spot convenient for their re-union. No sooner does any one discover a little chink in the floor, through which it can pass below, than it returns to its companions, and, by means of certain motions of its antennæ, makes some of them comprehend what route they are to pursue to find it, sometimes even accompanying them to the spot; these, in their turn, become the guides of others, till all know which way to direct their steps.--Huber, 137.

It is well known also, that ants give each other information when they have discovered any store of provision. Bradley relates a striking instance of this. A nest of ants in a nobleman's garden discovered a closet, many yards within the house, in which conserves were kept, which they constantly attended till the nest was destroyed. Some in their rambles must have first discovered this depôt of sweets, and informed the rest of it. It is remarkable that they always went to it by the same track, scarcely varying an inch from it, though they had to pass through two apartments; nor could the sweeping and cleaning of the rooms discomfit them, or cause them to pursue a different route.--Bradley, 134.

Here may be related a very amusing experiment of Gould's. Having deposited several colonies of ants (F. fusca) in flowerpots, he placed them in some earthen pans of water, which prevented them from making excursions from their nest. When they had been accustomed some days to this imprisonment, he fastened small threads to the upper part of the pots, and extending them over the water-pans, fixed them in the ground. The sagacious ants soon found out that by these bridges they could escape from their moated castle. The discovery was communicated to the whole society, and in a short time the threads were filled with trains of busy workers passing to and fro.--Gould, 85.

Legion's account of the ants in Barbadoes, affords another most convincing proof of this: as he has told his tale in a very lively and interesting manner, it shall be given nearly in his own words.

"The next of these moving little animals are ants, or pismires: these are but of a small size, but great in industry; and that which gives them means to attain to this end is, they have all one soul. If I should say they are here or there, I should do them wrong, for they are every where:--under ground, where any hollow or loose earth is; amongst the roots of trees; upon the bodies, branches, leaves, and fruit of all trees; in all places without the houses and within; upon the sides, walls, windows, and roofs, without; and on the floors, side-walls, ceilings, and windows, within; tables, cupboards, beds, stools, all are covered with them, so that they are a kind of ubiquitaries. We sometimes kill a cockroach, and throw him on the ground; and mark what they will do with him: his body is bigger than a hundred of them, and yet they will find the means to take hold of him, and lift him up; and having him above ground, away they carry him, and some go by as ready assistants, if any be weary; and some are the officers that lead and shew the way to the hole into which he must pass; and if the vancouriers perceive that the body of the cockroach lies across, and will not pass through the hole or arch through which they mean to carry him, order is given, and the body turned endwise, and this is done a foot before they come to the hole, and that without any stop or stay; and it is observable, that they never pull contrary ways. A table being cleared with great care, (by way of experiment,) of all the ants that are upon it, and sugar being put upon it, some, after a circuitous route, will be observed to arrive at it; and again departing, without tasting the treasure, will hasten away to inform their friends of the discovery, who, upon this, will come by myriads: you may then, while they are thickest upon the table, clap a large book, or any thing fit for that purpose, upon them, so hard as to kill all that are under it; and when you have done so, take away the book, and leave them to themselves but a quarter of an hour, and when you come again, you shall find all these bodies carried away.--Other trials we make of their ingenuity, as thus: Take a pewter dish, and fill it half full of water, into which put a little gallipot filled with sugar, and the ants will presently find it, and come upon the table, but when they perceive it environed with water, they try about the brims of the dish where the gallipot is nearest; and there the most venturous amongst them commits himself to the water, though he be conscious how bad a swimmer he is, and is drowned in the adventure; the next is not warned by his example, but ventures too, and is alike drowned; and many more, so that there is a small foundation of their bodies to venture; and then they come faster than ever, and so make a bridge of their own bodies."--Hist. of Barbadoes, p. 63.

The fact being certain, that ants impart their ideas to each other, we are next led to inquire by what means this is accomplished. It does not appear that, like the bees, they emit any significant sounds; their language, therefore, must consist of signs or gestures, some of which I shall now detail. In communicating their fear, or expressing their anger, they run from one to another in a semicircle, and strike with their head or jaws the trunk or abdomen of the ant to which they mean to give information on any subject of alarm. But those remarkable organs, their antennæ, are the principal instruments of their speech, if I may so call it, supplying the place both of voice and words. When the military ants before alluded to go upon their expeditions, and are out of the formicary, previously to setting off, they touch each other on the trunk with their antennæ and forehead; this is the signal for marching, for, as soon as any one has received it, he is immediately in motion. When they have any discovery to communicate, they strike with them those that they meet in a particularly impressive manner. If a hungry ant wants to be fed, it touches with its two antennæ, moving them very rapidly, those of the individual from which it expects its meal:--and not only ants understand this language, but even aphides and cocci, which are the milch kine of our little pismires, do the same, and will yield them their saccharine fluid at the touch of these imperative organs. The helpless larvæ also of the ants are informed, by the same means, when they may open their mouths to receive their food.

Next to their language, and scarcely different from it, are the modes by which they express their affections and aversions. Whether ants, with man and some of the larger animals, experience any thing like attachment to individuals, is not easily ascertained; but that they feel the full force of the sentiment which we term patriotism, or the love of the community to which they belong, is evident from the whole series of their proceedings, which all tend to promote the general good. Distress or difficulty falling upon any member of their society, generally excites their sympathy, and they do their utmost to relieve it. M. Latreille once cut off the antennæ of an ant; and its companions, evidently pitying its sufferings, anointed the wounded part with a drop of transparent fluid from their mouth: and whoever attends to what is going forward in the neighbourhood of one of their nests, will be pleased to observe the readiness with which they seem disposed to assist each other in difficulties. When a burden is too heavy for one, another will soon come to ease it of part of the weight; and if one is threatened with an attack, all hasten to the spot, to join in repelling it.

The satisfaction they express at meeting after absence is very striking, and gives some degree of individuality to their attachment. M. Huber witnessed the gesticulations of some ants, originally belonging to the same nest, that, having been entirely separated from each other four months, were afterwards brought together. Though this was equal to one-fourth of their existence as perfect insects, they immediately recognized each other, saluted mutually with their antennæ, and united once more to form one family.

They are also ever intent to promote each other's welfare, and ready to share with their absent companions any good thing that they may meet with. Those that go abroad feed those which remain in the nest, and if they discover any stock of favourite food, they inform the whole community, as we have seen above, and teach them the way to it. M. Huber, for a particular reason, having produced heat, by means of a flambeau, in a certain part of an artificial formicary, the ants that happened to be in that quarter, after enjoying it for a time, hastened to convey the welcome intelligence to their compatriots, whom they even carried suspended upon their jaws (their usual mode of transporting each other) to the spot, till hundreds might be seen thus laden with their friends.

If ants feel the force of love, they are equally susceptible of the emotions of anger; and when they are menaced or attacked, no insects shew a greater degree of it. Providence, moreover, has furnished them with weapons and faculties which render them extremely formidable to their insect enemies, and sometimes, as I have related on a former occasion, a great annoyance to man himself, (vol. i. 2d ed. p. 123.) Two strong mandibles arm their mouth, with which they sometimes fix themselves so obstinately to the object of their attack, that they will sooner be torn limb from limb than let go their hold; and, after their battles, the head of a conquered enemy may often be seen suspended to the antennæ or legs of the victor, a trophy of his valour, which, however troublesome, he will be compelled to carry about with him to the day of his death. Their abdomen is also furnished with a poison-bag, (ioterium,) in which is secreted a powerful and venomous fluid, long celebrated in chemical researches, and once called formic acid, though now considered a modification of the acetic and malic;[12] which, when their enemy is beyond the reach of their mandibles, (it is spoken here particularly of the hill ant, or F. rufa,) standing erect on their hind legs, they discharge from their anus with considerable force, so that from the surface of the nest ascends a shower of poison, exhaling a strong sulphurous odour, sufficient to overpower or repel any insect or small animal. Such is the fury of some species, that with the acid, according to Gould, p. 34. they sometimes partly eject the poison-bag itself. If a stick be stuck into one of the nests of the hill ant, it is so saturated with the acid as to retain the scent for many hours. A more formidable weapon arms the species of the genus Myrmica latr.; for, besides the poison-bag, they are furnished with a sting; and their aspect is also often rendered peculiarly revolting, by the extraordinary length of their jaws, and by the spines which defend their head and trunk.

But weapons without valour are of but little use; and this is one distinguishing feature of this pigmy race. Their courage and pertinacity are unconquerable, and are often sublimed into the most inconceivable rage and fury. It makes no difference to them whether they attack a mite or an elephant; and man himself instils no terror into their warlike breasts. Point your finger towards any individual of F. rufa; instead of running away, it instantly faces about, and, that it may make the most of itself, stiffening its legs into a nearly straight line, it gives its body the utmost elevation it is capable of; and thus--

"Collecting all its might, dilated stands,"

prepared to repel your attack. Put your finger a little nearer, it immediately opens its jaws to bite you, and rearing upon its hind legs, bends its abdomen between them, to eject its venom into the wound.[13]

This angry people, so well armed and so courageous, we may readily imagine, are not always at peace with their neighbours; causes of dissension may arise, to light the flame of war between the inhabitants of nests not far distant from each other. To these little bustling creatures, a square foot of earth is a territory worth contending for; their droves of aphides being equally valuable with the flocks and herds that cover our plains; and the body of a fly or a beetle, or a cargo of straws and bits of stick, an acquisition as important as the treasures of a Lima fleet to our seamen. Their wars are usually between nests of different species; sometimes, however, those of the same, when so near as to interfere with and incommode each other, have their battles; and with respect to ants of one species, Myrmica rubra, combats occasionally take place, contrary to the general habits of the tribe of ants, between those of the same nest.

The wars of the red ant (M. rubra) are usually between a small number of the citizens; and the object, according to Gould, is to get rid of a useless member of the community, (it does not argue much in favour of their humanity, that it is all one if it be by sickness that this member is disabled,) rather than any real civil contest. The red colonies, (says this author,) are the only ones I could ever observe to feed upon their own species. You may frequently discern a party of from five or six to twenty, surrounding one of their own kind, or even fraternity, and pulling it to pieces. The ant they attack is generally feeble, and of a languid complexion, occasioned perhaps by some accident or other.--Gould, 104.

"I once saw one of these ants dragged out of the nest by another, without its head; it was still alive, and could crawl about. A lively imagination might have fancied that this poor ant was a criminal, condemned by a court of justice to suffer the extreme sentence of the law. It was more probably, however, a champion that had been decapitated in an unequal combat, unless we admit Gould's idea, and suppose it to have suffered because it was an unprofitable member of the community.[14] At another time I found three individuals that were fighting with great fury, chained together by their mandibles; one of these had lost two of the legs of one side, yet it appeared to walk well, and was as eager to attack and seize its opponents, as if it was unhurt. This did not look like languor or sickness."

The wars of ants that are not of the same species take place usually between those that differ in size; and the great endeavouring to oppress the small, are nevertheless often outnumbered by them, and defeated. Their battles have long been celebrated; and the dates of them, as if they were events of the first importance, have been formally recorded. Æneas Sylvius, after giving a very circumstantial account of one contested with much obstinacy by a great and small species, on the trunk of a pear-tree, gravely states, "This action was fought in the pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the presence of Nicholas Pistoriensis, an eminent lawyer, who related the whole history of the battle with the greatest fidelity!" A similar engagement between great and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones being victorious, are said to have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds. This event happened previous to the expulsion of the tyrant Christian the Second from Sweden.--Mouffet, Theatr. Ins. 242.

M. P. Huber is the only modern author that appears to have been witness to these combats. He tells us, that when the great attack the small, they seek to take them by surprise, (probably to avoid their fastening themselves to their legs,) and, seizing them by the upper part of the body, they strangle them with their mandibles; but when the small have time to foresee the attack, they give notice to their companions, who rush in crowds to their succour. Sometimes, however, after suffering a signal defeat, the smaller species are obliged to shift their quarters, and to seek an establishment more out of the way of danger. In order to cover their march, many small bodies are then posted at a little distance from the nest. As soon as the large ants approach the camp, the foremost sentinels instantly fly at them with the greatest rage; a violent struggle ensues, multitudes of their friends come to their assistance, and, though no match for their enemies singly, by dint of numbers they prevail, and the giant is either slain or led captive to the hostile camp. The species whose proceedings M. Huber observed, were F. herculanea, L. and F. sanguinea, Latr.; neither of which have yet been discovered in Britain.--Huber, 160.

THE WHITE ANTS, or TERMITES.--The majority of these animals are natives of tropical countries, though two species are indigenous to Europe; one of which, thought to have been imported, is come so near to us as Bourdeaux. Their society consists of five different descriptions of individuals: workers or larvæ, nymphs or pupæ, neuters or soldiers, males, and females.

1. The workers or larvæ, answering to the hymenopterous neuters, are the most numerous, and, at the same time, most active part of the community; upon whom devolves the office of erecting and repairing the buildings, collecting provision, attending upon the female, conveying the eggs, when laid, to the nurseries, and feeding the young larvæ till they are old enough to take care of themselves. They are distinguished from the soldiers by their diminutive size, by their round heads, and shorter mandibles.

2. The nymphs, or pupæ, differ in nothing from the larvæ, and probably are equally active, except that they have rudiments of wings, or rather wings folded up in cases.

3. The neuters are much less numerous than the workers, bearing the proportion of one to one hundred, and exceeding them greatly in bulk. They are also distinguishable by their long and large heads, armed with very long tubulate mandibles. Their office is that of sentinels; and when the nest is attacked, to them is committed the task of defending it. These neuters seem to be a kind of abortive females, and there is nothing analogous to them in any other department of entomology.

4 and 5. Males and females, or the insects arrived at a state of perfection, and capable of continuing the species. There is only one of each in every separate society; they are exempted from all participation in the labours and employments occupying the rest of the community, that they may be wholly devoted to the furnishing of a constant accession to the population of the colony. Though at their first disclosure from the pupæ they have four wings, like the female ants, they soon cast them; but they may then be distinguished from the blind larvæ, pupæ, and neuters, by their large and prominent eyes.

The different species of Termites, which are numerous, build nests of very various forms. Some construct upon the ground a cylindrical turret of clay, about three-quarters of a yard high, surrounded by a projecting conical roof, so as in shape considerably to resemble a mushroom, and composed interiorly of innumerable cells, of various figures and dimensions. Others prefer a more elevated site, and build their nests, which are of different sizes, from that of a hat to that of a sugar-cask, and composed of pieces of wood glued together, amongst the branches of trees, often seventy or eighty feet high. But by far the most curious habitations, are those formed by the Termes bellicosus, a species very common in Guinea, and other parts of the coasts of Africa, of whose proceedings we have a very particular and interesting account in the 71st volume of the Philosophical Transactions.

These nests are formed entirely of clay, and are generally twelve feet high, and broad in proportion; so that when a cluster of them, as is often the case in South America, are placed together, they may be taken for an Indian village, and are in fact sometimes larger than the huts which the natives inhabit. The first process in the erection of these singular structures, is the elevation of two or three turrets of clay, about a foot high, and in shape like a sugar-loaf. These, which seem to be the scaffolds of the future building, rapidly increase in number and height, until at length being widened at the base, joined at the top into one dome, and consolidated all around into a thick wall of clay, they form a building of the size above-mentioned, and of the shape of a haycock, which, when clothed, as it generally soon becomes, with a coating of grass, it at a distance very much resembles. When the building has assumed this its final form, the inner turrets, all but the tops, which project like pinnacles from different parts of it, are removed, and the clay employed over again in other services. It is the lower part alone of the building that is occupied by the inhabitants; the upper portion, or dome, which is very strong and solid, is left empty, serving principally as a defence from the vicissitudes of the weather and the attacks of natural or accidental enemies, and to keep up in the lower part a genial warmth and moisture, necessary to the hatching of the eggs and cherishing of the young ones. The inhabited portion is occupied by the royal chamber, or habitation of the king and queen; the nurseries for the young; the storehouses for food; and innumerable galleries, passages, and empty rooms, arranged according to the following plan:--

In the centre of the building, just under the apex, and nearly on a level with the surface of the ground, is placed the royal chamber, an arched vault of a semi-oval shape, or not unlike a long oven; at first not above an inch long, but enlarged, as the queen increases in bulk, to the length of eight inches or more. In this apartment the king and queen constantly reside, and, from the smallness of the entrances, which are barely large enough to admit their more diminutive subjects, can never possibly come out; thus, like many human potentates, purchasing their sovereignty at the dear rate of the sacrifice of liberty. Immediately adjoining the royal chamber, and surrounding it on all sides to the extent of a foot or more, are placed the royal apartments, an inextricable labyrinth of innumerable arched rooms, of different shapes and sizes, either opening into each other, or communicating by common passages, and intended for the accommodation of the soldiers and attendants, of whom many thousands are always in waiting on their royal master and mistress.

Next to the royal apartments come the nurseries and the magazines. The former are invariably occupied by the eggs and young ones, and, in the infant state of the nest, are placed close to the royal chamber; but when the queen's augmented size requires a larger apartment, as well as additional rooms for the increased number of attendants wanted to remove her eggs, the small nurseries are taken to pieces, rebuilt at a greater distance, a size larger, and their number increased at the same time. In substance they differ from all the other apartments, being formed of particles of wood, apparently joined together with gums. A collection of these compact, irregular, and small wooden chambers, not one of which is half an inch in width, is inclosed in a common chamber of clay, sometimes as big as a child's head. Intermixed with the nurseries, lie the magazines, which are chambers of clay, always well stored with provisions, consisting of particles of wood, gums, and the inspissated juices of plants.

These magazines and nurseries, separated by small empty chambers and galleries, which run round them, or communicate from one to the other, are continued on all sides to the outer wall of the building, and reach up within it two-thirds or three-fourths of its height. They do not, however, fill up the whole of the lower part of the hill, but are confined to the sides, leaving an open area in the middle, under the dome, very much resembling the nave of an old cathedral, having its roof supported by two very large Gothic arches, of which those in the middle of the area are sometimes two and three feet high, but as they recede on each side, rapidly diminish, like the arches of aisles in perspective. A flattish roof, imperforated, in order to keep out the wet, if the dome should chance to be injured, covers the top of the assemblage of chambers, nurseries, &c.; and the area, which is a short height above the royal chamber, has a flattish floor, also waterproof, and so contrived as to let any rain, that may chance to get in, run off into the subterraneous passages.

These passages or galleries, which are of an astonishing size, some being above a foot in diameter, perfectly cylindrical, and lined with the same kind of clay of which the hill is composed, served originally, like the catacombs of Paris, as the quarries whence the materials of the building were derived, and afterwards as the grand outlets by which the termites carry on their depredations at a distance from their habitations. They run in a sloping direction, under the bottom of the hill, to the depth of three or four feet, and then branching out horizontally on every side, are carried under ground, near to the surface, to a vast distance. At their entrance into the interior, they communicate with other small galleries, which ascend the outside of the outer shell in a spiral manner, and, winding round the whole body to the top, intersect each other at different heights, opening either immediately in the dome in various places, and into the lower half of the building, or communicating with every part of it by other smaller circular or oval galleries of different diameters. The necessity for the vast size of the main underground galleries, evidently arises from the circumstance of their being the great thoroughfares for the inhabitants, by which they fetch their clay, wood, water, or provision; and their spiral and gradual ascent is requisite for the easy access of the termites, which cannot, but with great difficulty, ascend a perpendicular. To avoid this inconvenience, in the interior vertical parts of the building, a flat pathway, half an inch wide, is often made to wind gradually, like a road cut out of the side of a mountain; by which they travel with great facility up ascents otherwise impracticable. The same ingenious propensity to shorten their labour, seems to have given birth to a contrivance still more extraordinary: this is a kind of bridge, or vast arch, sprung from the floor of the area to the upper apartments at the side of the building, which answers the purpose of a flight of stairs, and must shorten the distance exceedingly in transporting eggs from the royal chambers to the upper nurseries, which in some hills would be four or five feet in the straightest line, and much more if carried through all the winding passages which lead through the inner chambers and apartments. Mr. Smeathman measured one of these bridges, which was half an inch broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and ten inches long, making the size of an elliptic arch of proportionable dimensions, so that it is wonderful it did not fall over, or break by its own weight, before they got it joined to the side of the column above. It was strengthened by a small arch at the bottom, and had a hollow or groove all the length of the upper surface, either made purposely for the greater safety of the passengers, or else worn by frequent treading. It is not the least surprising circumstance attending this bridge, the Gothic arches before spoken of, and in general all the arches of the various galleries and apartments, that, as Mr. Smeathman saw every reason for believing, the termites project them, and do not, as one would have supposed, excavate them.

Consider what incredible labour and diligence, accompanied by the most unremitting activity, and the most unwearied celerity of movement, must be necessary to enable these creatures to accomplish (their size considered) these truly gigantic works. That such diminutive insects, for they are scarcely the fourth of an inch in length, however numerous, should, in the space of three or four years, be able to erect a building twelve feet high, and of proportionable bulk, covered by a vast dome, adorned without by numerous pinnacles and turrets, and sheltering under its ample arch myriads of vaulted apartments, of various dimensions, and constructed of different materials,--that they should moreover excavate, in different directions and at different depths, innumerable subterranean roads or tunnels, some twelve or thirteen inches in diameter, or throw an arch of stone over other roads leading from the metropolis into the adjoining country, to the distance of seven hundred feet,--that they should project and finish the vast interior staircases or bridges, lately described,--and finally, that the millions necessary to execute such Herculean labours, perpetually passing to and fro, should never interrupt and interfere with each other, is a miracle of nature, far exceeding the most boasted works and structures of man; for, did these creatures equal him in size, retaining their usual instincts and activity, their buildings would soar to the astonishing height of half a mile, and their tunnels would expand to a magnificent cylinder of more than three hundred feet in diameter; before which, the pyramids of Egypt, and the aqueducts of Rome, would lose their celebrity, and dwindle into nothing.

The most elevated of the pyramids of Egypt is not more than six hundred feet high, which, setting the average height of man at only five feet, is not more than a hundred and twenty times the height of the workmen employed. Whereas, the nests of the termites being at least twelve feet high, and the insects themselves not exceeding a quarter of an inch in stature, their edifices are upwards of five hundred times the height of the builders; which, supposing them of human dimensions, would be more than half a mile. The shaft of the Roman aqueducts was lofty enough to permit a man on horseback to travel in them.

The first establishment of a colony of termites takes place in the following manner. In the evening, soon after the first tornado, which at the latter end of the dry season proclaims the approach of the ensuing rains, these animals, having attained to their perfect state, in which they are furnished and adorned with two pair of wings, emerge from their clay-built citadels by myriads and myriads, to seek their fortune. Borne on these ample wings, and carried by the wind, they fill the air, entering the houses, extinguishing the lights, and are sometimes driven on board the ships that are not far from the shore. The next morning, they are discovered covering the earth and waters, deprived of the wings which enabled them to avoid their numerous enemies, and which were only calculated to carry them a few hours. They now look like large maggots; and, from the most active, industrious, and rapacious creatures, they are become the most helpless and cowardly beings in nature, the prey of innumerable enemies, to the smallest of which they make not the least resistance. Insects, especially ants, which are always on the hunt for them, leave no place unexplored: birds, reptiles, beasts, and even man himself, look upon this event as their harvest, and, as the reader has been told before, make them their food, so that scarcely a pair in many millions get into a place of safety.

The workers, who are continually prowling about in their covered ways, occasionally meet with one of these pairs, and being impelled by their instinct, pay them homage, and they are elected as it were to be king and queen, or rather founders, of a new colony: all that are not so fortunate, inevitably perish; and, considering the infinite host of their enemies, probably in the course of the following day. The workers, as soon as this election takes place, begin to inclose their new rulers in a small chamber of clay, before described, suited to their size, the entrances to which are only large enough to admit themselves and the neuters, but much too small for the royal pair to pass through;--so that their state of royalty is a state of confinement, and so continues during the remainder of their existence. The female, after this confinement, soon begins to furnish the infant colony with new inhabitants. The care of feeding her and her companion, devolves upon the industrious larvæ, which supply them both with every thing that they want. As she increases in dimensions, they continue to enlarge the cell in which she is detained. When the business of oviposition commences, they take the eggs from her, and deposit them in their nurseries. Her abdomen now begins gradually to extend, till in process of time it is enlarged to fifteen hundred or two thousand times the size of the rest of her body, and her bulk equals that of twenty or thirty thousand workers. This part, often more than three inches in length, is now a vast matrix of eggs, which make long circumvolutions through numberless slender serpentine vessels: it is also remarkable for its peristaltic motion, (in this resembling the female ant; see Gould's Account of English Ants, p. 22.) which, like the undulations of water, produces a perpetual and successive rise and fall over the whole surface of the abdomen, and occasions a constant extrusion of the eggs, amounting sometimes in old females to sixty in a minute, or eighty thousand and upwards in twenty-four hours. As these females live two years in their perfect state, how astonishing must be the number produced in that time!

This incessant extrusion of eggs must call for the attention of a large number of the workers in the royal chamber, (and indeed it is always full of them,) to take them as they come forth, and carry them to the nurseries, in which, when hatched, they are provided with food, and receive every necessary attention, till they are able to shift for themselves. One remarkable circumstance attends these nurseries; they are always covered with a kind of mould, amongst which arise numerous globules, about the size of a pin's head. This is probably a species of mucor; and by Mr. Köenig, who found them also in nests of an East Indian species of termes, is conjectured to be the food of the larvæ.

The royal cell has also some soldiers in it, a kind of body-guard to the royal pair that inhabit it; and the surrounding apartments contain always many, both labourers and soldiers, in waiting, that they may successively attend upon and defend the common father and mother, on whose safety depend the happiness and even existence of the whole community; and whom these faithful subjects never abandon even in the last distress.

These little busy creatures are taught by Providence always to work under cover. If they have to travel over a rock, or up a tree, they vault, with a coping of earth, the route they mean to pursue, and they form subterranean paths and tunnels, some of a diameter wider than the bore of a large cannon, on all sides from their habitation, to their various objects of attack, or which sloping down, (for they cannot well mount a surface quite perpendicular,) penetrate to the depth of three or four feet under their nests into the earth, till they arrive at a soil proper to be used in the erection of their buildings. Were they, indeed, to expose themselves, the race would soon be annihilated by their innumerable enemies. If any accident happen to their various structures, or if they are dislodged from any of their covered ways, they are active and expeditious in repairing it; and in a single night they will restore a gallery of three or four yards in length. If, attacking the nest, you divide it into halves, leaving the royal chamber, and thus lay open thousands of apartments, all will be shut up with their sheets of clay by the next morning; nay, even if the whole be demolished, provided the king and the queen be left, every interstice between the ruins, at which either cold or wet can possibly enter, will be covered, and, in a year, the building will be raised nearly to its pristine size and grandeur.

Besides building and repairing, a great deal of their time is occupied in making necessary alterations in their mansion and its approaches. The royal presence chamber, as the female increases in size, must be gradually enlarged; the nurseries must be removed to a greater distance; the chambers and interior of the nest receive daily accessions, to provide for a daily increasing population; and the direction of their covered ways must often be varied, when the old stock of provision is exhausted, and new sources are discovered.

The collection of provisions for the use of the colony is another employment, which necessarily calls for incessant attention: these, to the naked eye, appear like raspings of wood; but when examined by the microscope, they are found to consist chiefly of gums and the inspissated juices of plants, which, formed into little masses, are stored up in magazines made of clay.

When any one is bold enough to attack their nest, and make a breach in its walls, the labourers, who are incapable of fighting, retire within, and give way to another description of its inhabitants, whose office it is to defend the fortress when assailed by enemies; these, as observed before, are the neuters or soldiers. If the breach be made in a slight part of the building, one of these comes out to reconnoitre; he then retires and gives the alarm. Two or three others next appear, scrambling as fast as they can one after the other; to these succeed a large body, who rush forth with as much speed as the breach will permit, their numbers continually increasing during the attack. It is not easy to describe the rage and fury by which these diminutive heroes seem actuated. In their haste they frequently miss their hold, and tumble down the sides of their hill: they soon, however, recover themselves, and, being blind, bite every thing they run against. If the attack proceeds, the bustle and agitation increase to a tenfold degree, and their fury is raised to its highest pitch. Wo to him whose hands or legs they can come at! for they will make their fanged jaws meet at the very first stroke, drawing as much blood as will counterpoise their whole body, and never quitting their hold, even though they are pulled limb from limb. The naked legs of the negroes expose them frequently to this injury; and the stockings of the Europeans are not thick enough to defend them.

On the other hand, if, after the first attack, you get a little out of the way, giving them no further interruption, supposing the assailant of their citadel is gone beyond their reach, in less than half an hour they will retire into the nest; and before they have all entered, you will see the labourers in motion, hastening in various directions towards the breach, every one carrying in his mouth a mass of mortar, half as big as his body, ready tempered; this mortar is made of the finest parts of the gravel, which they probably select in the subterranean pits or passages before described, which, worked up to a proper consistence, hardens to the solid substance resembling stone, of which their nests are constructed: they never appear to embarrass or interrupt one another. By the united labours of such an infinite host of creatures, the wall soon rises, and the breach is repaired.

While the labourers are thus employed, almost all the soldiers have retired quite out of sight, except here and there one, who saunters about amongst the labourers, but never assists in the work. One in particular places himself close to the wall which they are building; and turning himself leisurely on all sides, as if to survey the proceedings, appears to act the part of an overseer of the works. Every now and then, at the interval of a minute or two, by lifting up his head and striking his forceps upon the wall of the nest, he makes a particular noise, which is answered by a loud hiss from all the labourers, and appears to be a signal for dispatch; for, every time it is heard, they may be seen to redouble their pace, and apply to their work with increased diligence. Renew the attack, and this amusing scene will be repeated: in rush the labourers, all disappearing in a few seconds, and out march the military, as numerous and vindictive as before. When all is once more quiet, the busy labourers re-appear, and resume their work, and the soldiers vanish. Repeat the experiment a hundred times, and the same will always be the result; you will never find, be the peril or emergency ever so great, that one order attempts to fight, or the other to work.

We have seen how solicitous the termites are to move and work under cover, and concealed from observation: this, however, is not always the case; there is a species larger than T. bellicosus, whose proceedings we have been principally describing, which Mr. Smeathman calls the marching Termes (Termes viarum). He was once passing through a thick forest, when on a sudden, a loud hiss, like that of serpents, struck him with alarm. The next step produced a repetition of the sound, which he then recognized to be that of white ants; yet he was surprised at seeing none of their hills or covering ways. Following the noise, to his great astonishment and delight, he saw an army of these creatures emerging from a hole in the ground; their number was prodigious, and they marched with the utmost celerity. When they had proceeded about a yard, they divided into two columns, chiefly composed of labourers, about fifteen abreast, and following each other in close order, and going straight forward. Here and there was seen a soldier, carrying his vast head with apparent difficulty, and looking like an ox in a flock of sheep, who marched on in the same manner. At the distance of a foot or two from the columns, many other soldiers were to be seen, standing still or pacing about as if upon the look-out, lest some enemy should suddenly surprise their unwarlike comrades; other soldiers, (which was the most extraordinary and amusing part of the scene,) having mounted some plants, and placed themselves on the points of their leaves, elevated from ten to fifteen inches from the ground, hung over the army marching below, and by striking their forceps upon the leaf, produced at intervals the noise above-mentioned. To this signal the whole army returned a hiss, and obeyed it by increasing their pace. The soldiers at these signal-stations sat quite still during the interval of silence, except now and then making a slight turn of the head, and seemed as solicitous to keep their posts as regular sentinels. The two columns of this army united, after continuing separate from twelve to fifteen paces, having in no part been above three yards asunder, and then descended into the earth by two or three holes. Mr. Smeathman continued watching them for above an hour, during which time their numbers appeared neither to increase nor diminish: the soldiers, however, who quitted the line of march and acted as sentinels, became much more numerous before he quitted the spot. The larvæ and neuters of this species are furnished with eyes.

The societies of Termes lucifergus, discovered by Latreille, at Bourdeaux, are very numerous; but instead of erecting artificial nests, they make their lodgment in the trunks of pines and oaks, where the branches diverge from the tree. They eat the wood nearest the bark, or the alburnum, without attacking the interior, and bore a vast number of holes and irregular galleries. That part of the wood appears moist, and is covered with little gelatinous particles, not unlike gum-arabic. These insects seem to be furnished with an acid of a very penetrating odour, which, perhaps, is useful to them for penetrating the wood. The soldiers in these societies are as about one to twenty-five of the labourers.

The anonymous author of the observations on the termites of Ceylon, seems to have discovered a sentry-box in his nests. "I found," says he, "in a very small cell in the middle of the solid mass, (a cell about half an inch in height, and very narrow,) a larva with an enormous head. Two of these individuals were in the same cell; one of the two seemed placed as sentinel at the entrance of the cell. I amused myself by forcing the door two or three times; the sentinel immediately appeared, and only retreated when the door was on the point of being stopped up, which was done by the labourers."

THE GREEN ANTS.--Captain Cook gives the following account of a very peculiar kind of ants, which he met with at Botany Bay.--"They are as green as a leaf. They live upon trees, where they build their nests. The nests are of a very curious structure: they are formed by bending down several of the leaves, each of which is as broad as a man's hand; they glue the points of them together, so as to form a purse. The viscus used for this purpose is an animal juice, which nature has enabled them to elaborate. Their method of first bending down the leaves, our naturalists had not an opportunity of observing; but they saw thousands uniting all their strength to hold them in this position, while other busy multitudes were employed within, in applying the gluten that was to prevent their returning back. To satisfy themselves that the leaves were bent and held down by the efforts of these diminutive artificers, our people disturbed them in their work, and, as soon as they were driven from their station, the leaves on which they were employed sprang up with a force much greater than they could have thought them able to conquer, by any combination of their strength."

THE VISITING ANTS.--At Paramaribo, a Dutch colony in the province of Surinam, there is a species of ants, which the Portuguese call visiting ants: they march in troops, and as soon as they appear, all the coffers and chests of drawers are laid open, which they clear of rats, mice, and a peculiar sort of insect in that country, called cackerlacks, and of other noxious animals. If any one chance to molest them, they fall upon him, and tear in pieces his stockings and shoes. Their visits are rare; and sometimes they do not appear for three years.--Templeman's Obs. vol. i. p. 36.

We conclude this chapter with an account of THE ANT-LION.--There is no insect more remarkable for its dexterity than the ant-lion, though its figure announces nothing extraordinary. It nearly resembles the woodlouse; its body being provided with six feet, composed of several membranous rings, and terminated in a point. Its head, flat and square, is armed with two moveable crooked horns, whose singular structure shews how admirable Nature is, even in the least of her works.

This insect is the most subtle and dangerous enemy the ant has; the plans which he forms to ensnare his prey, are very ingenious. He mines a portion of land in the form of a funnel, at the bottom of which he waits to seize the ants, which coming by chance to the edge of the precipice, are thence hurried down to their merciless foe. In order to dig it, he first traces in the sand a circular furrow, whose circumference forms precisely the mouth of the funnel, the diameter of which is always equal to the depth he gives to his ditch. When he has determined the space of this opening, and traced the first furrow, he immediately digs a second, concentric to the other, in order to throw out all the sand contained in the first circle. He makes all these operations with his head, which serves him instead of a shovel, and its flat and square form admirably adapts it to this purpose. He also takes some sand with one of his fore feet, to throw it beyond the first furrow; and this work is repeated till the insect has reached a certain depth of sand. Sometimes, in digging, he meets with grains of sand larger than usual, or with little bits of dry earth, which he will not suffer to remain in his tunnel; of these he disencumbers himself by a sudden and well-timed manoeuvre of his head. Should he find particles yet larger, he endeavours to push them away with his back, and he is so assiduous in this labour, that he repeats it six or seven times.

At length the ant-lion comes to collect the fruits of his toil. His nets being once well laid, he has nothing to do but to put himself on the watch; accordingly, immoveable and concealed at the bottom of the ditch which he has dug, he patiently waits for the prey which he cannot pursue. If some unhappy ant is inadvertently drawn to the borders of this fatal precipice, she is almost sure to roll down to the bottom, because the brink is made sloping, and thus the sand giving way beneath her feet, she is forced to follow the dangerous declivity till she falls into the power of her destroyer, who, by means of his horns, draws her under the sand, and feasts upon her blood. When he has sucked all the juices from her body, he contrives to eject from his habitation the dry and hollow carcase, repairs any damage his trench may have sustained, and puts himself again in ambush. He does not always succeed in seizing his prey at the moment of its fall; it frequently escapes him, and endeavours to remount the funnel; but then the ant-lion works with his head, and causes a shower of sand to descend upon his captive, and precipitate it once more to the bottom.

All the actions of this little animal display an art so extraordinary, that we might often examine them without being wearied. The ant-lion employs itself in preparing trenches even before having seen the animal which they are to ensnare, and which is to serve it for nourishment; and yet its actions are regulated in a manner the best adapted to accomplish these purposes.

How would an animal, so destitute of agility, have been able to entrap its prey more easily than by digging in a moveable sand, and giving a sloping declivity to this funnel? What better stratagem could it have devised for recovering the ants which were on the point of escaping even from this skilfully constructed snare, than in overwhelming them with showers of sand, and thus cutting off all hopes of a retreat? All its actions have fixed principles by which they are directed. The trench must be dug in the sand, or it could not answer the desired purpose; and it must, according to the structure of its body, work backwards, using its horns like a pair of pincers, in order to throw the sand over the brink of the funnel. The instinct which governs this insect, discovers to us a First Cause, whose intelligence has foreseen and ordained every thing that was necessary for the preservation and well-being of such an animal.

CHAP. XXVI.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

The Spider--Ingenuity of the Spider--Spider tamed--Curious Anecdote of a Spider, &c.

THE SPIDER.

The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line. Pope.

One of the largest of the European spiders is the Aranea diadema of Linnæus, which is extremely common in our own country, and is chiefly seen during the autumnal season, in gardens, &c. The body of this species, when full grown, is not much inferior in size to a small hazel-nut: the abdomen is beautifully marked by a longitudinal series of round or drop-shaped milk-white spots, crossed by others of similar appearance, so as to represent, in some degree, the pattern of a small diadem. This spider, in the months of September and October, forms, in some convenient spot or shelter, a large round close or thick web of yellow silk, in which it deposits its eggs, guarding the round web with a secondary one of a looser texture. The young are hatched in the ensuing May, the parent insects dying towards the close of autumn. The aranea diadema being one of the largest of the common spiders, serves to exemplify some of the principal characters of the genus in a clearer manner than most others. At the tip of the abdomen are placed five papillæ, or teats, through which the insect draws its thread; and as each of these papillæ is furnished with a vast number of foramina or outlets, disposed over its whole surface, it follows, that what we commonly term a spider's thread, is in reality formed of a collection of a great many distinct ones; the animal possessing the power of drawing out more or fewer at pleasure; and if it should draw from all the foramina at once, the thread might consist of many hundred distinct filaments. The eyes, which are situated on the upper part or front of the thorax, are eight in number, placed at a small distance from each other, and have the appearance of the stemmata in the generality of insects. The fangs, or piercers, with which the animal wounds its prey, are strong, curved, sharp-pointed, and each furnished on the inside, near the tip, with a small oblong hole or slit, through which is injected a poisonous fluid into the wound made by the point itself, these organs operating in miniature on the same principle with the fangs in poisonous serpents. The feet are highly curious, the two claws, with which each is terminated, being furnished on its under side with several parallel processes, resembling the teeth of a comb, and enabling the animal to dispose and manage, with the utmost facility, the disposition of the threads in its web, &c.

The Aranea tarantula, or Tarantula spider, of which so many idle recitals have been detailed in the works of the learned, and which, even to this day, continues in some countries to exercise the faith and ignorance of the vulgar, is a native of the warmer parts of Italy, and other warm European regions, and is generally found in dry and sunny plains. It is the largest of all the European spiders; but the extraordinary symptoms supposed to ensue from the bite of this insect, as well as their supposed cure by the power of music alone, are entirely fabulous, and are now sufficiently exploded among all rational philosophers. The gigantic Aranea avicularia, or Bird-catching spider, is not uncommon in many parts of the East Indies and South America, where it resides among trees, frequently seizing on small birds, which it destroys by wounding with its fangs, and sucking their blood.

During the early part of the last century, a project was entertained by a French gentleman, Monsieur Bon, of Montpellier, of instituting a manufacture of spiders' silk; and the Royal Academy, to which the scheme was proposed, appointed the ingenious Reaumur to repeat the experiments of M. Bon, in order to ascertain how far the proposed plan might be carried: but, after making the proper trials, M. Reaumur found it to be impracticable, on account of the natural disposition of these animals, which is such as will by no means admit of their living peaceably together in large numbers. M. Reaumur also computed that 663,522 spiders would scarcely furnish a single pound of silk. Monsieur Bon, however, the first projector, carried his experiments so far as to obtain two or three pairs of stockings and gloves of this silk, which were of an elegant gray colour, and were presented, as samples, to the Royal Academy. It must be observed, that in this manufacture it is the silk of the egg-bags alone that can be used, being far stronger than that of the webs. Monsieur Bon collected twelve or thirteen ounces of these, and having caused them to be well cleared of dust, by properly beating with sticks, he washed them perfectly clean in warm water. After this, they were laid to steep, in a large vessel, with soap, saltpetre, and gum-arabic. The whole was left to boil over a gentle fire for three hours, and was afterwards again washed to get out the soap; then laid to dry for some days, after which it was carded, but with much smaller cards than ordinary. The silk is easily spun into a fine and strong thread; the difficulty being only to collect the silk-bags in sufficient quantity.

There remains one more particularity in the history of spiders, viz. the power of flight. It is principally in the autumnal season that these diminutive adventurers ascend the air, and contribute to fill it with that infinity of floating cobwebs, which are so peculiarly conspicuous at that period of the year. When inclined to make these aërial excursions, the spider ascends some slight eminence, as the top of a wall, or the branch of a tree; and turning itself with its head towards the wind, protrudes several threads, and, rising from its station, commits itself to the gale, and is thus carried far beyond the height of the loftiest towers, and enjoys the pleasure of a clearer atmosphere. During their flight, it is probable that spiders employ themselves in catching such minute winged insects as may happen to occur in their progress; and when satisfied with their journey and their prey, they suffer themselves to fall, by contracting their limbs, and gradually disengaging themselves from the thread.

These insects are but ill calculated to live in society. Whenever thus stationed, they never fail to wage war with each other. The females, in particular, are of a disposition peculiarly capricious and malignant; and it is observed, that they sometimes spring upon the males, and destroy them. On this occasion, says Linnæus, if ever, may be justly applied the Ovidian line:--

Res est solliciti plena timoris amor!

The following is a notable instance of the INGENUITY OF THE SPIDER. T. A. Knight, Esq. of Herefordshire, has, in a Treatise on the Culture of the Apple and Pear, introduced the following concerning this curious insect.--

"I have frequently placed a spider on a small upright stick, whose base was surrounded by water, to observe its most singular mode of escape. After having discovered that the ordinary means of escape are cut off, it ascends the point of the stick, and, standing nearly on its head, ejects its web, which the wind readily carries to some contiguous object. Along this, the sagacious insect effects its escape, not however till it has previously ascertained, by several exertions of its whole strength, that its web is properly attached to the opposite end. I do not know that this instance of sagacity has been mentioned by any entomological writer, and I insert it here in consequence of the erroneous accounts of some periodical publications, of the spider's threads, which are observed to pass from one tree or bush to another in dewy mornings."

The reader will be pleased with the following account of A SPIDER TAMED, given by the Abbé d'Olivet, author of the Life of Pelisson, in the following passage:--

"Confined at that time in a solitary place, and where the light of day only penetrated through a mere slit, having no other servant than a stupid and dull clown, a Basque, who was continually playing on the bagpipes, Pelisson studied by what means to secure himself against an enemy, which a good conscience alone cannot always repel; I mean, the attacks of unemployed imagination, which, when it once exceeds proper limits, becomes the most cruel torture of a recluse individual. He adopted the following stratagem:--Perceiving a spider spinning her web at the spiracle, he undertook to tame her; and to effect this, he placed some flies on the edge of the opening, while the Basque was playing on his favourite bagpipe. The spider by degrees accustomed herself to distinguish the sound of that instrument, and to run from her hole to seize her prey; thus, by means of always calling her out by the same tune, and placing the flies nearer and nearer his own seat, after several months' exercise, he succeeded in training the spider so well, that she would start at the first signal, to seize a fly at the farthest end of the room, and even on the knees of the prisoner."

It has been stated, that a prisoner confined in the Bastile, retained his senses, contrary to expectation, by playing daily so many games at push-pin; he having, unknown to his keepers, secreted a battalion or two of these hostile implements. The device of Pelisson is more interesting to us, as we learn from it, that the spider, though amongst the most quarrelsome of insects, yet is capable of being rendered familiar by the reason and perseverance of man.

In the introduction to a modern Entomology there is a description of the process by which the spider weaves its web. After describing the four spinners, as they are termed, from which the visible threads proceed, the writer makes the following curious observations:--"These are machinery, through which, by a process more singular than that of rope-spinning, the thread is drawn. Each spinner is pierced, like the plate of a wire-drawer, with a multitude of holes, so numerous, and exquisitely fine, that a space often not larger than a pin's point includes a thousand. Through each of these holes proceeds a thread of inconceivable tenuity, which, immediately after issuing from the orifice, unites with all the other threads from the spinner, into one. Hence, from each spinner proceeds a compound thread; and these four threads, at the distance of about one-tenth of an inch from the apex of the spinner, again unite, and form the thread we are accustomed to see, which the spider uses in forming its web. Thus, a spider's web, even spun by the smallest species, and when so fine that it is almost imperceptible to our senses, is not, as we suppose, a straight line, but a rope, composed of at least 400 yarns."

We shall close this chapter with a CURIOUS ANECDOTE OF A SPIDER, connected with observations on the utility of ants in destroying venomous creatures; by Captain Bagnold.

"Desirous of ascertaining the natural food of the scorpion, I inclosed one (which measured three-quarters of an inch from the head to the insertion of the tail) in a wide-mouthed phial, together with one of those large spiders so common in the West Indies, and closed it with a cork, perforated by a quill for the admission of air. The insects seemed carefully to avoid each other, retiring to opposite ends of the bottle, which was placed horizontally. By giving it a gradual inclination, the scorpion was forced into contact with the spider, when a sharp encounter took place, the latter receiving repeated stings from his venomous adversary, apparently without the least injury; while, with his web, he soon lashed the scorpion's tail to his back, and afterwards secured his legs and claws with the same materials. In this state I left them some time, in order to observe what effect would be produced on the spider, by the wounds he had received. On my return, however, I was disappointed, the ants having entered, and destroyed them both.

"In the West Indies I have daily witnessed crowds of these little insects destroying the spider or cockroach, which, as soon as he is dispatched, they carry to their nest. I have frequently seen them drag their prey perpendicularly up the wall, and, although the weight would overcome their united efforts, and fall to the ground, perhaps twenty times in succession, yet, by unremitting perseverance, and the aid of reinforcements, they always succeeded.

"A struggle of this description once amused the officers of his majesty's ship Retribution, for nearly half an hour: a large centipede entered the gun-room, surrounded by an immense concourse of ants; the deck, for four or five feet round, was covered with them; his body and limbs were encrusted with his lilliputian enemies; and although thousands were destroyed by his exertions to escape, they ultimately carried him in triumph to their dwelling.

"In the woods near Sierra Leone, I have several times seen the entire skeletons of the snake beautifully dissected by these minute anatomists."

From these circumstances it would appear, that ants are a considerable check to the increase of those venomous reptiles, so troublesome in the torrid zone; and their industry, perseverance, courage, and numerical force, seem to strengthen the conjecture: in which case they amply remunerate us for their own depredations.

CHAP. XXVII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

Luminous Insects.

Many insects are possessed of a luminous preparation or secretion, which has all the advantages of our lamps and candles, without their inconveniences; which gives light sufficient to direct our motion; which is incapable of burning; and whose lustre is maintained without needing fresh supplies of oil, or the application of snuffers.

Of the insects thus singularly provided, the common GLOW-WORM (Lampyris noctiluca) is the most familiar instance.--This insect in shape somewhat resembles a caterpillar, only it is much more depressed; and the light proceeds from a pale-coloured patch that terminates, the under side of the abdomen.

It has been supposed by many, that the males of the different species of lampyris do not possess the property of giving out any light; but it is now ascertained that this supposition is inaccurate, though their light is much less vivid than that of the female. Ray first pointed out this fact with respect to (L. noctiluca.) Geoffrey also observed, that the male of this species has four small luminous points, two on each of the two last segments of the belly: and his observation has been recently confirmed by Miller. This last entomologist, indeed, saw only two shining spots; but from the insects having the power of withdrawing them out of sight, so that not the smallest trace of light remains, he thinks it is not improbable that at times two other points, still smaller, may be exhibited, as Geoffrey has described. In the males of L. splendidula, and of L. hemiptera, the light is very distinct, and may be seen in the former while flying. The females have the same faculty of extinguishing or concealing their light; a very necessary provision to guard them from the attacks of nocturnal birds. Mr. White even thinks that they regularly put it out between eleven and twelve every night, and they have also the power of rendering it for a while more vivid than ordinary.

Though many of the females of the different species of lampyris are without wings, and even elytra, (in Coleoptera,) this is not the case with all. The female of L. Italica, a species common in Italy, and which, if we may trust to the accuracy of the account given by Mr. Waller, in the Philosophical Transactions for 1684, would seem to have been taken by him in Hertfordshire, is winged; and when a number of these moving stars are seen to dart through the air in a dark night, nothing can have a more beautiful effect. Dr. Smith says, that the beaus of Italy are accustomed in an evening to adorn the heads of the ladies with these artificial diamonds, by sticking them into their hair; and a similar custom prevails amongst the ladies of India.

Besides the golden species of the genus Lampyris, all of which are probably more or less luminous, another insect of the beetle tribe, Elater noctilucus, is endowed with the same property, and that in a much higher degree. This insect, which is an inch long, and about one-third of an inch broad, gives out its principal light from two transparent eye-like tubercles placed upon the thorax; but there are also two luminous patches concealed under the elytra, which are not visible except when the insect is flying, at which time it appears adorned with four brilliant gems of the most beautiful golden-blue lustre: in fact, the whole body is full of light, which shines out between the abdominal segments when stretched. The light emitted by the two thoracic tubercles alone is so considerable, that the smallest print may be read by moving one of these insects along the lines; and in the West India islands, particularly in St. Domingo, where they are very common, the natives were formerly accustomed to employ those living lamps, which they called cucuij, instead of candles, in performing their evening household occupations. In travelling at night, they used to tie one to each great toe; and in fishing and hunting, required no other flambeau.--Pietro Martire's Decades of the New World, quoted in Madoc, p. 543. Southey has happily introduced this insect in his "Madoc," as furnishing the lamp by which Coatel rescued the British hero from the hands of the Mexican priests.

"She beckon'd and descended, and drew out, From underneath her vest, a cage, or net It rather might be called, so fine the twigs Which knit it, where, confined, two fire-flies gave Their lustre. By that light did Madoc first Behold the features of his lovely guide."

Pietro Martire tells us, that cucuij serve the natives of the Spanish West India islands not only instead of candles, but as extirpators of the gnats, which are a dreadful pest to the inhabitants of the low grounds. They introduce a few fire-flies, to which the gnats are a grateful food, into their houses, and by means of these "commodious hunters," are soon rid of the intruders. "How they are a remedy (says this author) for so great a mischiefe, it is a pleasant thing to hear. Hee who understandeth that he has those troublesome guestes (the gnattes) at home, diligently hunteth after the cucuij. Whoso wanteth cucuij, goeth out of the house in the first twilight of the night, carrying a burning fire-brande in his hande, and ascendeth the next hillock, that the cucuij may see it, and hee swingeth the fire-brande about, calling Cucuie aloud, and beating the ayre with often calling out, Cucuie, Cucuie." He goes on to observe, that the simple people believe the insect is attracted by their invitations; but that, for his part, he is rather inclined to think that the fire is the magnet. Having obtained a sufficient number of cucuij, the beetle-hunter returns home, and lets them fly loose in the house, where they diligently seek the gnats about the beds and the faces of those asleep, and devour them.--Martire ubi supr. Colonies, i. 128. These insects are also applied to purposes of decoration. On certain festival-days, in the month of June, they are collected in great numbers, and tied all over the garments of young people, who gallop through the streets on horses similarly ornamented, producing on a dark evening the effect of a large moving body of light. On such occasions, the lover displays his gallantry by decking his mistress with these living gems.--Walton's Present State of the Spanish Colonies. And according to P. Martire, "many wanton wilde fellowes" rub their faces with "the flesh of a killed cucuij," as boys with us use phosphorus, "with purpose to meet their neighbours with a flaming countenance," and derive amusement from their fright.

Besides Elater noctilucus, E. ignitus, and several others of the same genus, are luminous: not fewer than twelve species of this family are described by Illiger in the Berlin Naturalist Society's Magazine.

The brilliant nocturnal spectacle presented by these insects to the inhabitants of the countries where they abound, cannot be better described than in the language of the poet above referred to, who has thus related its first effect upon British visitors of the new world:

"------------------------sorrowing we beheld The night come on: but soon did night display More wonders than it veil'd; innumerable tribes From the wood-cover swarm'd, and darkness made Their beauties visible; one while they stream'd A bright blue radiance upon flowers that clos'd Their gorgeous colours from the eye of day; Now motionless and dark, eluding search, Self-shrouded; and anon starring the sky, Rose like a shower of fire."

If we are to believe Mouffet, (and the story is not incredible,) the appearance of the tropical fire-flies on one occasion led to a more important result than might have been expected from such a cause. He tells us, that when Sir Thos. Cavendish and Sir John Dudley first landed in the West Indies, and saw in the evening an infinite number of moving lights in the woods, which were merely these insects, they supposed that the Spaniards were advancing upon them, and immediately betook themselves to their ships: a result as well entitling the elatera to a commemoration feast, as a similar good office by the land-crabs of Hispaniola, which, as the Spaniards tell, (and the story is confirmed by an anniversary Fiesta de los Cangrejos,) by their clattering being mistaken for the sound of Spanish cavalry close upon their heels, in like manner scared away a body of English invaders from the city of St. Domingo.--Walton's Hispaniola, i. 39.

An anecdote less improbable, perhaps, and certainly more ludicrous, is related by Sir James Smith, of the effect of the first sight of the Italian fire-flies upon some Moorish ladies, ignorant of such appearances. These females had been taken prisoners at sea, and, until they could be ransomed, lived in a house in the outskirts of Genoa, where they were frequently visited by the respectable inhabitants of the city; a party of whom, on going one evening, were surprised to find the house closely shut up, and their Moorish friends in the greatest grief and consternation. On inquiring into the cause, they ascertained that some of the Lampyris Italica had found their way into the dwelling, and that the ladies within had taken it into their heads that these brilliant guests were no other than the troubled spirits of their relations; and some time elapsed before they could be divested of this idea. The common people in Italy have a superstition respecting these insects somewhat similar, believing that they are of a spiritual nature, and proceed out of the graves; and hence carefully avoid them.--Tour on the Continent, 2d ed. iii. 85.

The insects hitherto adverted to have been beetles, or of the order Coleoptera. But, besides these, a genus in the order Hemiptera, called Fulgora, includes several species, which emit so powerful a light, as to have obtained in English the generic appellation of lantern-flies. Two of the most conspicuous of this tribe are the F. lanternaria and F. candelaria; the former a native of South America, the latter of China. Both, as indeed is the case with the whole genus, have the material which diffuses their light included in a hollow subtransparent projection of the head. In F. candelaria this projection is of a subcylindrical shape, recurved at the apex, above an inch in length, and the thickness of a small quill. We may easily conceive, as travellers assure us, that a tree studded with multitudes of these living sparks, some at rest and others in motion, must during the night have a superlatively splendid appearance.

In F. lanternaria, which is an insect two or three inches long, the snout is much larger and broader, and more of an oval shape, and sheds a light, the brilliancy of which transcends that of any other luminous insect. Madam Merian informs us, that the first discovery she made of this property caused her no small alarm. The servants had brought her several of these insects, which by day-light exhibited no extraordinary appearance, and she inclosed them in a box till she should have an opportunity of drawing them, placing them upon a table in her lodging-room. In the middle of the night the confined insects made such a noise as to awake her, and she opened the box, the inside of which, to her great astonishment, appeared all in a blaze; and in her fright letting it fall, she was not less surprised to see each of the insects apparently on fire. She soon, however, divined the cause of this unexpected phenomenon, and re-inclosed her brilliant guests in their place of confinement. She adds, that the light of one of these fulgora was sufficiently bright to read a newspaper by. Another species, F. pyrrhorynchus, is described by Donovan, in his Insects of India; of which the light, though from a smaller snout than that of F. lanternaria, must assume a more splendid and striking appearance, the projection being of a rich deep purple from the base to near the apex, which is of a fine transparent scarlet; and these tints will of course be imparted to the transmitted light.

With regard to the immediate source of the luminous properties of these insects, Mr. Macartney, to whom we are indebted for the most recent investigation on the subject, has ascertained, that in the common glow-worm, and in Elater noctilucus and ignitus, the light proceeds from masses of a substance not generally differing, except in its yellow colour, from the interstitial substance corps graisseux, of the rest of the body, closely applied underneath those transparent parts of the insects' skin which afford the light. In the glowworm, besides the last-mentioned substance, which, when the season for giving light is passed, is absorbed, and replaced by the common interstitial substance, he observed on the inner side of the last abdominal segment two minute oval sacks, formed of an elastic spirally-wound fibre, similar to that of the trachea, containing a soft yellow substance, of a closer texture than that which lines the adjoining region, and affording a more permanent and brilliant light. This light he found to be less under the control of the insect than that from the adjoining luminous substance, which it has the power of voluntarily extinguishing, not by retracting it under a membrane, as Carradori imagined, but by some inscrutable change which depends upon its will: and when the latter substance was extracted from living glowworms, it afforded no light, while the two sacks in like circumstances shone uninterruptedly for several hours. Mr. Macartney conceives, from the radiated structure of interstitial substance surrounding the oval yellow masses immediately under the transparent spot in the thorax of Elater noctilucus, and the subtransparency of the adjoining crust, that the interstitial substance in this situation has also the property of shining; a supposition which, if De Geer and other authors be correct in stating, that this insect has two luminous patches over its elytra, and that the incisures between the abdominal segments shine when stretched, may probably be extended to the whole of the interstitial substance of its body.

With respect to the remote cause of the luminous property of insects, philosophers are considerably divided in opinion. The disciples of modern chemistry have in general, with Dr. Darwin, referred it to the slow combustion of some combination of phosphorus secreted from their fluids by an appropriate organization, and entering into combination with the oxygen supplied in respiration. This opinion is very plausibly built upon the ascertained existence of phosphoric acid as an animal secretion; the great resemblance between the light of phosphorus in slow combustion, and animal light; the remarkably large spiracula in glowworms; and upon the statement, that the glowworm is rendered more brilliant by the application of heat and oxygen gas, and is extinguished by cold and by hydrogen and carbonic acid gases. From these last facts, Spallanzani was led to regard the luminous matter as a compound of hydrogen and carburetted hydrogen gas. Carradori having found that the luminous portion of the belly of the Italian glowworm, lampyris Italica, shone in vacuo, in oil, in water, and when under other circumstances where the presence of oxygen gas was precluded,--with Brugnatelli, ascribed the property in question to the imbibition of light, separated from the food or air taken in the body, and afterwards secreted in a sensible form.[15] Lastly, Mr. Macartney having ascertained, by experiment, that the light of a glowworm is not diminished by immersion in water, or increased by the application of heat; that the substance affording it, though poetically employed for lighting the fairies' tapers,[16] is incapable of inflammation, if applied to the flame of a candle or red-hot iron; and when separated from the body, exhibits no sensible heat on the thermometer's being applied to it,--rejects the preceding hypothesis as unsatisfactory, but without substituting any other explanation; suggesting, however, that the facts he observed are more favourable to the supposition of light being a quality of matter, than a substance.

Which of these opinions is the more correct, is left for future philosophers to decide.

The general use of this singular provision is not much more satisfactorily ascertained than its nature. It is conjectured that it may be a means of defence against its enemies. In different kinds of insects, however, it may probably have a different object. Thus in the lantern-flies, (Fulgora,) whose light precedes them, it may act the part that their name imports, enable them to discover their prey, and to steer themselves safely in the night. In the fire-flies, (Elater,) if we consider the infinite numbers, that in certain climates and situations present themselves every where in the night, it may distract the attention of their enemies, or alarm them. And in the glowworm, since their light is usually more brilliant in the female, it is most probably intended to conduct the sexes to each other.

Thine is an unobtrusive blaze, Content in lowly shades to shine; And much I wish, while yet I gaze, To make thy modest merit mine! Mrs. Opie.

CHAP. XXVIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

The Flea--On the Duration of the Life of a Flea--The Louse.

THE FLEA,--has two eyes and six feet, fitted for leaping; the feelers are like threads; the rostrum is inflected, setaceous, and armed with a sting; and the belly is compressed. Fleas bring forth eggs, which they deposit on animals that afford them a proper food. Of these eggs are hatched white worms of a shining pearl colour, which feed on the scurfy substance of the cuticle, the downy matter gathered in the piles or folds of clothes, or other similar substances. In a fortnight they come to a tolerable size, and are very lively and active; and, if at any time disturbed, they suddenly roll themselves into a kind of ball. Soon after this, they come to creep, after the manner of silk-worms, with a very swift motion. When arrived at their size, they hide themselves as much as possible, and spin a silken thread out of their mouth, wherewith they form themselves a small round bag, or case, white within as paper, but without always dirty, and fouled with dust. Here, after a fortnight's rest, the animalcule bursts out, transformed into a perfect flea, leaving its exuviæ in the bag. While it remains in the bag, it is milk-white till the second day before its eruption, when it becomes coloured, grows hard, and gets strength; so that, upon its first delivery, it springs nimbly away. The flea is covered all over with black, hard, and shelly scales or plates, which are curiously jointed, and folded over each other in such a manner as to comply with all the nimble motions of the creature. These scales are finely polished, and beset about the edges with short spikes, in a very beautiful and regular order. Its neck is finely arched, and resembles the tail of a lobster: the head is also very extraordinary; for from the snout-part of it proceed the two fore-legs, and between these is placed the piercer, or sucker, with which it penetrates the skin to get its food. Its eyes are very large and beautiful, and it has two short horns, or feelers. It has four other legs, joined all at the breast. These, when it leaps, fold short, one within another; and then, exerting their spring all at the same instant, they carry the creature to a surprising distance. The legs have several joints, are very hairy, and terminate in two long and hooked sharp claws. The piercer, or sucker, of the flea, is lodged between its fore-legs, and includes a couple of darts or lancets, which, after the piercer has made an entrance, are thrust farther into the flesh, to make the blood flow from the adjacent parts, and occasion that round red spot, with a hole in the centre of it, vulgarly called a flea-bite.

This piercer, its sheath opening sidewise, and the two lancets within it, are very difficult to be seen, unless the two fore-legs, between which they are hid, be cut off close to the head; for the flea rarely puts out its piercer, except at the time of feeding, but keeps it folded inwards; and the best way of seeing it, is by cutting off first the head, and then the fore-legs, and then it is usually seen thrust out in convulsions. By keeping fleas in a glass tube corked up at both ends, but so as to admit fresh air, their several actions may be observed. They may be thus seen to lay their eggs, &c. They do not lay their eggs all at once, but by ten or twelve in a day, for several days successively, which eggs will be afterwards found to hatch successively, in the same order. The flea may easily be dissected in a drop of water; and thus the stomach and bowels, with their peristaltic motion, may be discovered very plainly, with the veins and arteries, though minute beyond all conception. This bloodthirsty insect, which fattens at the expense of the human species, prefers the more delicate skin of women, but preys neither upon epileptic persons, nor upon the dead or dying. It loves to nestle in the fur of dogs, cats, and rats. The nests of river-swallows are sometimes plentifully stored with them. Fleas are apterous, walk but little, but leap to a height equal to two hundred times that of their own body. This amazing motion is performed by means of the elasticity of their feet, the articulations of which are so many springs. Thus it eludes, with surprising agility, the pursuit of the person on whom it riots. Mercurial ointment, brimstone, a fumigation with the leaves of pennyroyal, or fresh-gathered leaves of that plant, sewed up in a bag, and laid in the bed, are remedies pointed out as destructive of fleas.

In the Athenian Oracle, a lady desires to know whether fleas have stings, or whether they only suck or bite, when they draw blood from the body? To which an ingenious author returns the following humorous answer:

"Not to trouble you, madam, with the Hebrew or Arabic name of a flea, or to transcribe Bochart's learned dissertations on the little animal, we shall, for your satisfaction, give such a description thereof as we have yet been able to discover.--

"Its skin is of a lovely deep red colour, most neatly polished, and armed with scales, which can resist any thing but fate, and your ladyship's unmerciful fingers: the neck of it is exactly like the tail of a lobster, and, by the assistance of those strong scales it is covered with, springs backwards and forwards much in the same manner, and with equal violence: it has two eyes on each side of its head, so pretty, that I would prefer them to any, madam, but yours; and which it makes use of to avoid its fate, and flee from its enemies, with as much nimbleness and success, as your sex manage those fatal weapons, lovely basilisks as you are, for the ruin of your adorers. Nature has provided it six substantial legs, of great strength, and incomparable agility, jointed like a cane, covered with large hairs, and armed each of them with two claws, which appear of a horny substance, more sharp than lancets, or the finest needle you have in your needle-book. It was a long while before we could discover its mouth, which, we confess, we have not yet so exactly perceived as we could wish, the little bashful creature always holding up its two fore-feet before it, which it uses instead of a fan or mask, when it has no mind to be known; and we were forced to be guilty of an act both uncivil and cruel, without which we could never have resolved your question. We were obliged to unmask this modest one, and cut off its two fore-legs to get to the face; which being performed, though it makes our tender hearts, as well as yours, almost bleed to think of it, we immediately discovered what your ladyship desired, and found Nature had given it a strong proboscis, or trunk, as a gnat or muschetto, though much thicker and stouter, with which we may very well suppose it penetrates your fair hand, feasts itself on the nectar of your blood, and then, like a little faithless fugitive of a lover, skips away, almost invisibly, nobody knows whither."

We close our remarks on this well-known insect, with the following interesting particulars on the DURATION OF THE LIFE OF A FLEA; by Borrichius; from the Acts of Copenhagen.--"Pliny represents to us a Greek philosopher, whose chief occupation, for several years together, was to measure the space skipped over by fleas. Without giving in to such ridiculous researches, I can relate an anecdote, which chance discovered to me in regard to this insect.

"Being sent for to attend a foreign lady, who was greatly afflicted with the gout, and having staid, by her desire, to dine with her, she bade me take notice of a flea on her hand. Surprised at such discourse, I looked at the hand, and saw indeed a plump and pampered flea sucking greedily, and kept fast to it by a little gold chain. The lady assured me, she had nursed and kept the little animal, at that time, full six years, with exceeding great care, having fed it twice every day with her blood; and when it had satisfied its appetite, she put it up in a little box, lined with silk. In a month's time, being recovered from her illness, she set out from Copenhagen with her flea; but having returned in about a year after, I took an opportunity of waiting upon her, and, among other things, asked after her little insect. She answered me with great concern, that it died through the neglect of her waiting-woman. What I found remarkable in this story was, that the lady, being attacked by chronical pains in her limbs, had recourse in France to very powerful medicines during six weeks; and all this time the flea had not ceased to feed upon her blood, imbued with the vapours, and yet was not the worse for it."

THE LOUSE.--This insect has six feet, two eyes, and a sort of sting in the mouth; the feelers are as long as the thorax; and the belly is depressed and sublobated. It is an oviparous animal. They are not peculiar to man alone, but infest other animals, as quadrupeds and birds, and even fishes and vegetables; but these are of peculiar species on each animal, according to the particular nature of each, some of which are different from those which infest the human body. Nay, even insects are infested with vermin, which feed on and torment them. Several kinds of beetles are subject to lice, but particularly that kind called by way of eminence the lousy beetle. The lice on this are very numerous, and will not be shook off. The earwig is often infested with lice, just at the setting on of its head: these are white and shining, like mites, but they are much smaller; they are round-backed, flat-bellied, and have long legs, particularly the foremost pair. Snails of all kinds, but especially the large naked sorts, are very subject to lice; which are continually seen running about them, and devouring them. Numbers of little red lice, with a very small head, and in shape resembling a tortoise, are often seen about the legs of spiders, and they never leave the animal while he lives; but if he be killed, they almost instantly forsake him. A sort of whitish lice is found on humblebees; they are also found upon ants; and fishes are not less subject to them than other animals. Kircher tells us, that he found lice also on flies, and M. de la Hire has given a curious account of the creature which he found on the common fly. Having occasion to view a living fly with the microscope, he observed on its head, back, and shoulders, a great number of small animals crawling very nimbly about, and often climbing up the hairs which grow at the origin of the fly's legs. He with a fine needle took up one of these, and placed it before the microscope used to view the animalcules in fluids. It had eight legs, four on each side; these were not placed very distant from each other, but the four towards the head were separated by a small space from the four towards the tail. The feet were of a particular structure, being composed of several fingers, as it were, and fitted for taking fast hold of any thing, but the two nearest the head were also more remarkable in this particular than those near the tail; the extremities of the legs for a little way above the feet were dry, and void of flesh, like the legs of birds, but above this part they appeared plump and fleshy. It had two small horns upon its head, formed of several hairs arranged closely together; and there were some other clusters of hairs by the side of these horns, but they had not the same figure; and towards the origin of the hind-legs there were two other such clusters of hairs, which took their origin at the middle of the back. The whole creature was of a bright yellowish red; the legs, and all the body, except a large spot in the centre, were perfectly transparent. In size, he computed it to be about 1/4000th part of the head of the fly; and he observes, that such kind of vermin are rarely found on flies.

The louse which infests the human body, makes a very curious appearance through a microscope. It has such a transparent shell or skin, that we are able to discover more of what passes within its body, than in most other living creatures. It has naturally three divisions, the head, the breast, and the tail part. In the head appear two fine black eyes, with a horn that has five joints, and is surrounded with hairs standing before each eye; and from the end of the nose, or snout, there is a pointed projecting part, which serves as a sheath or case to a piercer, or sucker, which the creature thrusts into the skin to draw out the blood and humours which are its destined food; for it has no mouth that opens in the common way. This piercer, or sucker, is judged to be seven hundred times smaller than a hair, and is contained in another case within the first, and can be drawn in or thrust out at pleasure. The breast is very beautifully marked in the middle; the skin is transparent, and full of little pits; and from the under part of it proceed six legs, each having five joints, and their skin all the way resembling shagreen, except at the ends, where it is smoother. Each leg is terminated by two claws, which are hooked, and are of an unequal length and size. These it uses as we would a thumb and middle finger; and there are hairs between these claws, as well as all over the legs. On the back part of the tail there may be discovered some ring-like divisions, and a sort of marks which look like the strokes of a rod on the human skin; the belly looks like shagreen, and towards the lower end it is very clear, and full of pits: at the extremity of the tail there are two semicircular parts, all covered over with hairs. When the louse moves its legs, the motion of the muscles, which all unite in an oblong dark spot in the middle of the breast, may be distinguished perfectly; and so may the motion of the muscles of the head, when it moves its horns. We may likewise see the various ramifications of the veins and arteries, which are white, with the pulse regularly beating in the arteries. The peristaltic motion of the intestines may be distinctly seen, from the stomach down to the anus.

If one of these creatures, when hungry, be placed on the back of the hand, it will thrust its sucker into the skin, and the blood which it sucks may be seen passing in a fine stream to the fore part of the head; where, falling into a roundish cavity, it passes again in a fine stream to another circular receptacle in the middle of the head; from thence it runs through a small vessel to the breast, and then to a gut which reaches to the hinder part of the body, where, in a curve, it turns again a little upward in the breast and gut; the blood is moved without intermission with great force, especially in the former, where it occasions a surprising contraction.

In the upper part of the crooked ascending gut above-mentioned, the propelled blood stands still, and seems to undergo a separation, some of it becoming clear and waterish, while other black particles are pushed forward to the anus. If a louse is placed on its back, two bloody darkish spots appear; the larger in the middle of the body, the smaller towards the tail; the motions of which are followed by the pulsation of the dark bloody spot, in or over which the white bladder seems to lie. This motion of the systole and diastole is best seen when the creature begins to grow weak; and on pricking the white bladder, which seems to be the heart, it instantly dies. The lower dark spot is supposed to be the excrement.

CHAP. XXIX.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

In the vast, and the minute, we see Th' unambiguous footsteps of a God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. Cowper.

THE APHIS.

This is an insect which has engaged the attention of naturalists for various reasons: their generation is equivocal, and their instinctive economy differs, in some respects, from that of most other animals. Linnæus defines the generic character of the aphis thus: beak inflected, sheath of five articulations, with a single bristle; antennæ setaceous, and longer than the thorax; either four erect wings, or none; feet formed for walking; posterior part of the abdomen usually furnished with two little horns. Geoffrey says, the aphides have two beaks, one of which is seated in the breast, the other in the head; this last extends to, and is laid upon, the base of the pectoral one, and serves, as that writer imagines, to convey to the head a part of that nourishment which the insect takes or sucks in by means of the pectoral beak.

Gmelin enumerates about seventy species, all of which, and doubtless many others, are found in different parts of Europe. They infest an endless variety of plants; and it is believed that each species is particularly attached to one kind of vegetable only: hence each sort has been hitherto named after the individual species or genus of plants on which it feeds; or if that could not be ascertained, that on which it had been found; for some species are rather uncommon and little known, though others are infinitely too numerous. The aphides are sufficiently known by the indiscriminate term of plant-lice; they abound with a sweet and grateful moisture, and are therefore eagerly devoured by ants, the larvæ coccinellæ, and many other creatures, or they would become, very probably, more destructive to the whole vegetable creation than any other race of insects known. If Bonnet was not the first naturalist (as is generally acknowledged) who discovered the mysterious course of generation in the aphides, or, as he calls them, pucerons, his experiments, together with those of his countryman, Trembley, tended at least to confirm, in a most satisfactory manner, the almost incredible circumstances respecting it, that an aphis, or puceron, brought up in the most perfect solitude from the moment of its birth, in a few days will be found in the midst of a numerous family; and that if the experiment be again repeated on one of the individuals of this family, a second generation will multiply like its parent; and the like experiment may be many times repeated with the same effect.

The history of aphides has also been very copiously treated upon by Dr. Richardson, in a paper printed in the 41st vol. of the Philosophical Transactions, and by the late ingenious Mr. Curtis, in the 6th vol. of the Transactions of the Linnæan Society. The tenor of Dr. Richardson's remarks is briefly this: The great variety of species which occur in the insects now under consideration, may render an inquiry into their particular natures not a little perplexing; but by reducing them under their proper genus, the difficulty is considerably diminished. We may reasonably suppose all the insects comprehended under any distinct genus, to partake of one general nature; and by diligently examining any particular species, we may thence gain some insight into the nature of all the rest. With this view, Dr. Richardson chose out of the various sorts of aphides, the largest of those found on the rose-tree; not only as its size makes it more conspicuous, but as there are few of so long duration. This sort appears early in the spring, and continues late in autumn; while several are limited to a much shorter term, in conformity to the different trees and plants whence they draw their nourishment.

If, at the beginning of February, the weather happens to be so warm as to make the buds of the rose-tree swell and appear green, small aphides are frequently to be found on them, though not larger than the young ones in summer, when first produced. It will be found, that those aphides which appear only in spring, proceed from small black oval eggs, which were deposited on the last year's shoot; though it happens that, when the insects make too early an appearance, the greater part suffer from the sharp weather that usually succeeds, by which means the rose-trees are some years freed from them. The same kind of animal is then at one time of the year viviparous, and at another oviparous. Those aphides which withstand the severity of the weather, seldom come to their full growth before the month of April, at which time they usually begin to breed, after twice casting off their exuvia, or outward covering.

When they first come from the parent, they are enveloped in a thin membrane, having the appearance of an oval egg; these egg-like appearances adhere by one extremity to the mother, while the young ones contained in them extend to the other, and by that means gradually draw the ruptured membrane over the head and body to the hind-feet. Being thus suspended in the air, the insect soon frees itself from the membrane in which it was confined, and, after its limbs are a little strengthened, is set down on some tender shoots, and left to provide for itself. In the spring months there appear on the rose-trees but two generations of aphides, including those which proceed immediately from the last year's eggs; the warmth of the summer adds so much to their fertility, that no less than five generations succeed each other in the interval. One is produced in May, which casts off their covering; while the months of June and July each supply two more, which cast off their coverings three or four times, according to the different warmth of the season. This frequent change of their outward coat is the more extraordinary, because it is repeated more often when the insects come the soonest to their growth, which sometimes happens in ten days, when they have had plenty of warmth and nourishment. Early in the month of June, some of the third generation, which were produced about the middle of May, after casting off the last covering, discover four erect wings, much longer than their bodies; and the same is observable in all the succeeding generations which are produced during the summer months, but, like all the others, without any diversity of sex: for some time before the aphides come to their full growth, it is easy to distinguish which will have wings, by a remarkable fulness of the breast, which in the others is hardly to be distinguished from the body. When the last covering is ejected, the wings, which were before folded up in a very narrow compass, are gradually extended in a surprising manner, till their dimensions are at last very considerable. The increase of these insects in the summer time is so very great, that by wounding and exhausting the tender shoots, they would frequently suppress all vegetation, had they not many enemies to restrain them.

Notwithstanding these insects have a numerous tribe of enemies, they are not without their friends, if those maybe considered as such, who are officious in their attendance, for the good things they expect to reap thereby. The ant and bee are of this kind, collecting the honey in which the aphides abound, but with this difference, that the ants are constant visitors, the bee only when flowers are scarce; the ants will suck in the honey while the aphides are in the act of discharging it; the bees only collect it from the leaves on which it has fallen. In the autumn, three more generations of aphides are produced, two of which generally make their appearance in the month of August, and the third before the middle of September. The two first differ in no respect from those which are found in summer, but the third differs greatly from all the rest.

Though all the aphides which have hitherto appeared were female, in this generation several male insects are found, but not by any means so numerous as the females. The females have, at first, the same appearance as those of the former generations, but in a few days their colour changes from a green to a yellow, which is gradually converted into an orange before they come to their full growth; they differ also, in another respect, from those which occur in summer, for all these yellow females are without wings. The male insects are, however, still more remarkable, their outward appearance readily distinguishing them from this and all other generations. When first produced, they are not of a green colour like the rest, but of a reddish brown, and have afterwards a dark line along the back; they come to their full growth in about three weeks, and then cast off their last covering, the whole insect being, after this, of a bright yellow colour, the wings only excepted, but after this change they become a deeper yellow, and, in a very few hours, of a dark brown, if we except the body, which is something lighter coloured, and has a reddish cast. Where there are a number crowded together, they of course interfere with each other, in which case they will frequently deposit their eggs on other parts of the branches. It is highly probable that the aphides derive considerable advantages by living in society: the reiterated punctures of a great number of them may attract a larger quantity of nutritious juices to that part of the tree or plant where they have taken up their abode.

The observations of Mr. Curtis, on the aphides, are chiefly intended to shew that they are the principal cause of blights in plants, and the sole cause of the honey-dew. He therefore calls this insect the aphis, or blighter; and after observing, that, in point of numbers, the individuals of the several species composing it surpass those of any other genus in the country, speaks thus, in general terms, of the whole tribe.--"These insects live entirely on vegetables. The loftiest tree is no less liable to their attacks, than the most humble plant. They prefer the young shoots on account of their tenderness, and, on this principle, often insinuate themselves into the very heart of the plant, and do irreparable mischief before they are discovered. But, for the most part, they beset the foliage, and are always found on the under side of the leaf, which they prefer, not only on account of its being the most tender, but as it affords them protection from the weather, and various injuries to which they would otherwise be exposed. Sometimes the root is the object of their choice, which, from the nature of these insects, one would not, á priori, expect: yet I have seen the roots of lettuces thickly beset with them, and the whole crop rendered sickly and of little value; but such instances are rare. They seldom attach themselves to the bark of trees, like the aphis salicis, which being one of our largest species, and hence possessing superior strength, is enabled to penetrate a substance harder than the leaves themselves."

In the quality of the excrement voided by these insects, there is something wonderfully extraordinary. Were a person accidentally to take up a book, in which it is gravely asserted, that in some countries there were certain animals that voided liquid sugar, he would lay it down, regarding it as a fabulous tale, calculated to impose on the credulity of the ignorant; and yet such is literally the truth. Mr. Curtis collected some on a piece of writing-paper, from a brood of the aphis salicis, and found it to be as sweet as sugar; and observes, that were it not for the wasps, ants, flies, and other insects, that devour it as quickly as it is produced, it might, no doubt, be collected in considerable quantities, and, by the processes used with other saccharine juices, might be converted into the choicest sugar or sugar-candy. The sweetness of this excrementitious substance, the glossy appearance it gave the leaves it fell upon, and the swarms of insects this matter attracts, led him to imagine the honey-dew of plants was no other than this secretion, which further observation has since been fully confirmed; and not, as its name implies, a sweet substance falling from the atmosphere. On this opinion it is further remarked, that it neither falls from the atmosphere, nor issues from the plant itself, as is easily demonstrated. If it fell from the atmosphere, it would cover every thing it fell upon indiscriminately; whereas we never find it but on certain living plants and trees. We find it also on plants in stoves and greenhouses covered with glass. If it exuded from the plant, it would appear on all the leaves generally and uniformly; whereas its appearance is extremely irregular, not alike on any two leaves of the same tree or plant, some having none of it, and others being covered with it but partially.

It is probable that there never exists any honey-dew but where there are aphides; though such often pass unnoticed, being hidden on the under side of the leaf: and wherever honey is observable upon a leaf, aphides will be found on the underside of the leaf or leaves immediately above it, and under no other circumstance whatever. If by accident any thing should intervene between the aphides and the leaf next beneath them, there will be no honey-dew on that leaf: and thus he conceives it is incontrovertibly proved, that aphides are the true and only source of honey-dew.

Of the British species of aphides, one of the largest and most remarkable is the aphis salicis, which is found on the different kinds of willows. When bruised, these insects stain the fingers with red. Towards the end of September, multitudes of the full-grown insects of this species, both with and without wings, desert the willows on which they feed, and ramble over every neighbouring object in such numbers, that we can handle nothing in their vicinity without crushing some of them; while those in a younger or less advanced state, still remain in large masses upon the trees. Aphis rosæ is very frequent, during the summer months, on young shoots and buds of roses; it is of a bright green colour: the males are furnished with large transparent wings. Aphis vitis is most destructive to vines, as Aphis ulmi is to the elm-tree.

It is found that where the saccharine substance has dropped from aphides for a length of time, as from the aphis salicis in particular, it gives to the surface of the bark, foliage, &c. that sooty kind of appearance which arises from the explosion of gunpowder; it looks like, and is sometimes taken for, a kind of black mildew. In most seasons, the natural enemies of the aphis are sufficient to keep them in check, and to prevent them from doing essential injury to plants in the open air; but there are times, once perhaps in four, five, or six years, in which they are multiplied to such an excess, that the usual means of diminution fail in preventing them from doing irreparable injury to certain crops.

To prevent the calamities which would infallibly result from an accumulated multiplication of the more prolific animals, it has been ordained by the Author of nature, that such should be diminished by serving as food for others. On this principle, most animals of this kind have one or more natural enemies. The helpless aphis, which is the scourge of the vegetable kingdom, has to contend with many: the principal are the coccinella, the ichneumon aphidum, and the musca aphidivora. The greatest destroyer of the aphides is the coccinella, or common lady-bird.

During the winter, this insect secures itself under the bark of trees, and elsewhere. When the spring expands the foliage of plants, the female deposits her eggs on them in great numbers, from whence, in a short time, proceeds the larva, a small grub, of a dark lead-colour, spotted with orange. These may be observed in summer running pretty briskly over all kinds of plants; and, if narrowly watched, they will be found to devour the aphides wherever they find them. The same may be observed of the lady-bird, in its perfect state. Another most formidable enemy to the aphis, is a very minute, black, and slender ichneumon fly, which eats its way out of the aphis, leaving the dry inflated skin of the insect adhering to the leaf like a small pearl: such may always be found where aphides are in plenty. Different species of aphides are infested with different ichneumons. There is scarcely a division of nature, in which the musca, or fly, is not found: of these, one division, the aphidivora, feeds entirely on aphides.

Of the different species of aphidivorous flies, which are numerous, having mostly bodies variegated with transverse stripes, their females may be seen hovering over plants infested with aphides, among which they deposit their eggs on the surface of the leaf. The larva, or maggot, produced from such eggs, feeds, as soon as hatched, on the younger kinds of aphis, and, as it increases in size, attacks and devours those which are larger. The larva of the hemerolicus feeds also on the aphides, and deposits its eggs on the leaves of such plants as are beset with them. The earwig is likewise an enemy to them, especially such as reside in the curled leaves of fruit-trees, and the purses formed by certain aphides on the poplars and other trees. To these may be added the smaller soft-billed birds that feed on insects.

CHAP. XXX.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

The Common House Fly--The Hessian Fly--The May Fly--The Vegetable Fly--The Boat Fly--The Ephemeral Flies--Butterflies--Metamorphoses of Insects--The Death-Watch.

What atom-forms of insect life appear! And who can follow Nature's pencil here? Their wings with azure, green, and purple gloss'd, Studded with colour'd eyes, with gems emboss'd; Inlaid with pearl, and mark'd with various stains Of lively crimson through their dusky veins. Barbauld.

THE COMMON HOUSE FLY.

Gordart has reckoned up forty-eight varieties of the fly, without including them all in this enumeration. The multitude of these lively insects, which the first genial sunshine calls forth into life, has limits which the human eye is incapable of exploring. The female fly is easily distinguishable from the male: she is larger than the latter, fuller in the body, of a lighter colour, and, when she is nearly ready to deposit her eggs, the abdomen is so transparent, that they may be perceived lying on both sides, opposite to each other. Nature has instructed her not to deposit her eggs in dry, but in damp substances, which keep them from being dried up, and at the same time afford nourishment to the maggot or worm. The latter issues from the egg generally in twenty-four hours, but, in the sun, within twelve hours after it is laid. About half an hour before, annular circles become visible in the egg, an undulatory motion succeeds, the egg opens at the end, and the worm makes its appearance. Its entrance into the world is extremely tedious; for the three or four minutes taken by the worm to work its way out of the egg, are, for it, certainly so many days. It is endowed, on the other hand, with vital powers, which enable it to defy inconveniences which cost other animals their lives. Nothing but turpentine, the general destroyer of insects, kills it in half an hour. On the fourteenth or fifteenth day, it begins to prepare for its transformation into a nymph, and in this form appears at first of a light yellow, and afterwards of a dark red. You would take it, in this state, for some kind of seed, rather than for the habitation of a living creature. The change of the nymph into a fly requires as much time as the preceding transformation. A thrust with the head then bursts the prison in which it is confined, and the fly, perfectly formed, sallies forth. The sun hastens its birth, which is then the business of but a moment; but in unfavourable weather, this probably painful operation often takes four or five hours. The insect is now as perfect as its parents, and not to be distinguished from them. As soon as it issues from the nymph, it flies away; and only those are unable to use their wings immediately, which have the misfortune to come out in gloomy weather.

Leuwenhock reckons, that every fly has eight thousand hexagons or eyes, on each of the hemispheres composing its face, and consequently sixteen thousand on both. M. Von Gleichen, a German naturalist, observes, that the law of retaliation is in some measure established, in regard to these animals; for if they annoy us, they are in their turn persecuted by others. Small yellow insects, discovered by means of the magnifying glass, crawling among the hairs that grow on their bodies, are supposed to be destined for this purpose.

The fecundity of flies is prodigious. On this head, the last-mentioned naturalist has made the following calculation:--

A fly lays four times during the summer, each time eighty eggs, which makes 320 Half of these are supposed to be females, so that each of the four broods produces forty: 1. First eighth, or the forty females of the first brood, also lay four times in the course of the summer, which makes 12,800 The first eighth of these, or 1,600 females, three times 384,000 The second eighth, twice 256,000 The third and fourth eighth, at least one each 256,000 2. The second eighth, or the forty females of the second brood, lay three times, the produce of which is 9,600 One sixth of these, or 1,600 females, three times 384,000 The second sixth, twice 256,000 The third sixth, once 128,000 3. The third eighth, or the forty females of the third brood, lay twice, and produce 6,400 One fourth of these, or 1,600 females, lay twice more 256,000 4. The fourth eighth, or forty females of the fourth brood, once 3,200 Half of these, or 1,600 females, at least once 128,000 --------- Total produce of a single fly, in one summer 2,080,320

Another curious insect is, THE HESSIAN FLY.--This is a very mischievous insect, which a few years ago appeared in North America, and whose depredations threatened then to destroy the crops of wheat in that country entirely. It is, in its perfect state, a small winged insect, but the mischief it does, is while in the form of a caterpillar; and the difficulty of destroying it is increased, by its being as yet unknown where it deposits its eggs, to be hatched before the first appearance of the caterpillars. These mischievous insects begin their depredations in autumn, as soon as the wheat begins to shoot up through the ground. They devour the tender leaf and stem with great voracity, and continue to do so till stopped by the frost; but no sooner is this obstacle removed by the warmth of the spring, than the fly appears again, laying its eggs now, as has been supposed, upon the stems of the wheat just beginning to spire. The caterpillars hatched from these eggs, perforate the stems of the remaining plants at the joints, and lodge themselves in the hollow within the corn, which shews no sign of disease till the ears begin to turn heavy. The stems then break, and being no longer able to perform their office in supporting and supplying the ears with nourishment, the corn perishes about the time that it goes into a milky state. These insects attack also rye, barley, and timothy-grass, though they seem to prefer wheat. The destruction occasioned by them, is described in the American Museum, (published at Philadelphia,) for Feb. 1787, in the following words:--

"It is well known that all the crops of wheat in all the land over which it has extended, have fallen before it, and that the farmers beyond it dread its approach; the prospect is, that unless means are discovered to prevent its progress, the whole continent will be overrun;--a calamity more to be dreaded, than the ravages of war." This terrible insect appeared first in Long Island, during the American war, and was supposed to have been brought from Germany by the Hessians; whence its name. From thence it proceeded inland at the rate of about fifteen or twenty miles annually; and, in 1789, had reached two hundred miles from the place where it was first observed. At that time it continued to proceed with unabating increase; being apparently stopped neither by rivers nor mountains. In the fly state it is likewise exceedingly troublesome, by getting into houses in swarms, falling into victuals and drink, filling the windows, and flying perpetually into the candles.

THE MAY FLY.--This insect is called the May fly, from its annual appearance in that month. It lies all the year, except a few days, at the bottom or sides of rivers, nearly resembling the nymph of the small libella; but when it is mature, it rises up to the surface of the water, and splits open its case; then, with great agility, up springs the new animal, having a slender body, with four black-veined, transparent, shining wings, with four black spots in the upper wings; the under wings are much smaller than the upper ones; and with three long hairs in its tail.

The husk it leaves behind floats upon the water. After this creature is discharged from the water, it flies about to find a proper place to fix on, (as trees, bushes, &c.) to wait for its approaching change, which is effected in two or three days.

The first hint I received of this wonderful operation, was by seeing their exuviæ hanging on a hedge. I then collected a great many, and put them into boxes; and by strictly observing them, I could tell when they were ready for this surprising change.

I had the pleasure to shew my friends one, which I held in my fingers all the time it performed this great work; it was surprising to see how easily the back part of the fly split open, and produced the astonishing transformation. In the new fly, a remarkable difference is seen in their sexes, which is not so easy to be perceived in their first state, the male and female being much of a size; but afterwards the male is much the smallest, and the hairs of their tails much the longest.

When the females are about to deposit their eggs, they seek the rivers, keeping constantly playing up and down upon the water. It is very plainly seen, that every time they dart down, they eject a cluster of eggs, which appears like a little bluish speck, or a small drop of milk, as they sink to the bottom of the river. Thus they continue until they have spent their strength, being so weak, that they can rise no more, but fall a prey to the fish. But by much the greatest number perish on the waters, which are covered with them. This is the end of the females. The males never resort to the river, but, after a time, drop down, languish, and die, under the trees and bushes.

The species of libella abounds most with females, which is very necessary, considering the many enemies they have in their short appearance; for both birds and fishes are fond of them, and, no doubt, under water they are the prey of aquatic animals.

What is further surprising in this remarkable creature is, that during a life which consists only of three or four days, it eats nothing, and seems to have no apparatus for this purpose, but brings up with it, out of the water, sufficient support to enable it to shed its skin, and perform the principal ends of life with great vivacity.

THE VEGETABLE FLY.--This is a very curious natural production, chiefly found in the West Indies. It resembles the drone, both in size and colour, more than any other British insect, excepting that it has no wings. "In the month of May, it buries itself in the earth, and begins to vegetate. By the end of July, the tree has arrived at its full growth, and resembles a coral branch; it is about three inches in height, and bears several little pods, which, dropping off, become worms, and thence flies, like the British caterpillar." Such was the account originally given of this extraordinary production. But several boxes of these flies having been sent to Dr. Hill for examination, his report was as follows:--"There is in Martinique a fungus of the clavaria kind, different in species from those hitherto known. It produces soboles from its sides; I call it therefore clavaria sobolifera. It grows on putrid animal bodies, as our fungus (ex pede equino) from the dead horse's hoof. The cicada is common in Martinique, and in its nymph state, in which the old authors call it tettigometra, it buries itself under the dead leaves, to await its change; and, when the season is unfavourable, many perish. The seeds of the clavaria find a proper bed in these dead insects, and grow. The tettigometra is among the cicada in the British Museum; the clavaria is but just now known. This is the fact, and all the fact; though the untaught inhabitants suppose a fly to vegetate, and though there is a Spanish drawing of the plants growing into a trifoliate tree; and it has been figured with the creature flying with this tree upon its back."--Thus does ignorance delight in the marvellous!

THE BOAT FLY.--This insect, called Notonecta glauca, is thus described by Barbut. "It has a head somewhat round, of which the eyes seem to take up the greatest part. These eyes are brown, and very large, the rest of the head being yellow. In the fore-part it has a sharp trunk, that projects, and is inflected between the fore feet. On the sides are seen the antennæ, very small, yellowish, and which spring from under the head. The thorax, which is broad, short, and smooth, is yellow on the fore, and black on the back part. The escutcheon is large, of a rough black, and as it were nappy. The elytra, rather large, and crossed over each other, are a mixture of brown and yellow, not unlike the colour of rust, which makes it look cloudy. The under part of the body is brown; and at the extremity of the abdomen are to be seen a few hairs. The feet, six in number, are of a light brown, the two hindermost having on the leg and tarsus hairs that give them the shape of fins, nor are they terminated by nails. The four anterior ones are somewhat flat, and serve the animal to swim with; but at their extremity they have nails, and no hairs. This insect is seen in stagnating waters, where it swims on its back, and presents its abdomen upwards; for which reason it has been called by the Greek name of notonecta. The hinder feet, longer than the rest, serve it as paddles. It is very nimble, and dives down when you go to take hold of it; after which, it rises again to the surface of the water. It must be cautiously handled, if one would avoid being pricked by it, for the point of its rostrum is exceedingly sharp, and intolerably painful, but it goes off in a few minutes. The larva very much resembles the perfect insect."

Such is the account that Mr. Barbut gives of this beautiful nimble little creature. To this account, however, we shall add the following:--Its legs are long; when taken out of the water, it hops; it is very common in the ponds of water in Hyde Park, and in several other places about London. It is of a very particular form, being flattish at the belly, and rising to a ridge on the middle of the back; so that when it swims, which is almost always on the back, its body has much the resemblance of a boat in figure,--whence its vulgar name. It is eight lines long, three broad, and two and a half thick. The belly is jointed, striated, and, as Barbut observes, hairy. Nature has provided it with an offensive weapon resembling a sting, which it thrusts out when hurt, from a large opening at the tail. The head is large and hard; the eyes nearly of a triangular form. The nose is a long, green, hollow proboscis, ending in a hard and sharp point, which in its natural posture remains under the belly, and reaches to the middle pair of legs. The outer part of its wings are of a pale flesh-colour, with spots of a dead white; these are long, narrow, and somewhat transparent; they terminate in a roundish point, and perfectly cover the whole body. The triangular piece which stands between the top of the wings is hard, and perfectly black; the inner wings are broader and shorter than the outer ones; they are thin and perfectly transparent, and are of a pale pearl-colour. The hinder pair being greatly longer than all the rest, they serve as oars; and nature has tufted them with hair at the end for that purpose. This creature mostly lives in the water, where it preys on small insects, killing them, and sucking their juices with its proboscis, in the manner of the water scorpion and many other aquatic insects: it seizes its prey violently, and darts with incredible swiftness to a considerable distance after it.

Though it generally lives in the water, it sometimes, however, crawls out in good weather; and drying its wings by expanding them in the sun, takes flight, and becomes an inhabitant of the air, not to be known as the same creature, unless to those who had accurately observed it before: when tired of flying, or in danger of an enemy, it immediately plunges into the water. We are told that there are fourteen species of it, seven of which are common in Europe, in waters, &c.

EPHEMERAL FLIES.--This species of insect is named ephemeral, because of its very short existence in the fly state. It is one of the most beautiful species of flies, and undergoes five changes. At first, the egg contains its vital principle; it comes forth a small caterpillar, which is transformed into a chrysalis, then into a nympha, and lastly, into a fly, which deposits its eggs upon the surface of water, where the sun's rays bring them to life. Each egg produces a little red worm, which moves in a serpentine manner. They are found in abundance during the summer, in ponds and marshes; and as soon as cold weather sets in, the little worm makes for itself a shell or lodging, where it passes the winter; at the end of which it ceases to be a worm, and enters into its third state, that of a chrysalis. It then sleeps till spring, and gradually becomes a beautiful nympha, or a sort of mummy, something in the form of a fish. At the time of its metamorphosis, the nympha at first seems inactive and lifeless; in six days, the head appears, raising itself gradually above the surface of the water; the body next disengages itself slowly and by degrees, till at length the whole animal comes out of its shell. The new-born fly remains for some minutes motionless upon the water, then gradually revives, and feebly shakes its wings, then moves them quicker, and attempts first to walk, then to fly. As these insects are all hatched nearly at the same time, they are seen in swarms for a few hours flitting and playing upon the surface of the water; they then lay their eggs, and soon after die. Thus they terminate their short life in the space of a few hours, and the same day that saw them born, witnesses their death.

THE BUTTERFLY.

Behold, ye pilgrims of this earth, behold! See all but man with unearn'd pleasure gay See her bright robes the butterfly unfold, Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May! What youthful bride can equal her array? Who can with her for easy pleasure vie? From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray, From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly, Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky. Thomson.

The first thing which fixes our attention on beholding these aërial inhabitants, is, the clothing with which they are adorned. Yet some of them have nothing in this respect to engage our notice, their vestment is simple and uniform; others have a few ornaments on the wings; but with some, those ornaments amount to profusion, and they are covered with them all over. This last species will occupy us for a short interval. How beautiful are the gradations of colour which decorate them! what harmony in those spots which relieve the other parts of their attire! with what delicacy has nature pencilled them! But, whatever may be my admiration when I consider this insect by the naked eye, how greatly is it augmented, when I behold this beautiful object through the medium of the microscope! Would any one ever have imagined, that the wings of butterflies were furnished with feathers? Nothing, however, is more true; and what we commonly call dust, is found in reality to be feathers. Their structure and arrangement are adjusted to as perfect symmetry, as their colours are soft and brilliant. The parts which form the centre of these little feathers, and which immediately touch the wing, are the strongest; those, on the contrary, which compose the exterior circumference, are much more delicate, and of an extraordinary fineness. All these feathers have a quill at their base, but the superior part is more transparent than the quill from which it proceeds. If we lay hold of the wing too rudely, we destroy the most delicate part of the feathers; but if we remove all that we term dust, there remains only a thin transparent skin, where may be distinguished the little orifices in which the quill of each feather was lodged. This skin, from the nature of its texture, may be as easily discerned from the rest of the wing, as a fine gauze from the cloth on which it is fastened; it is more porous, more delicate, and seems as if embroidered by the needle; to complete its beauty, its extremity finishes by a fringe, whose minute threads succeed each other with the utmost regularity.

What are our most laboured dresses, what is all their boasted ornament, in comparison of that refined tissue with which nature has invested this simple insect? Our finest laces are only like coarse cloth, when brought to vie with that luxurious clothing which covers the wings of the butterfly; and our smallest thread, by their infinitely delicate fibres, swells into hempen cord. Such is the wonderful difference to be observed between the works of nature and those of art, when viewed through a microscope. The former are finished to all imaginable perfection; the others, even the most beautiful of their kind, appear incomplete and coarsely wrought. How fine a piece of delicate cambric appears to us! nothing more slender than the threads, nothing more uniform than the texture: and yet in the microscope these threads resemble hempen strings, and we should rather be tempted to believe that they had been interlaced by the hand of a basket-maker, than wrought on the loom of a skilful weaver.

What is most astonishing in this brilliant insect, is, that it proceeds from a worm, than which nothing has a more abject and vile appearance. Behold how the butterfly displays to the sun his splendid wings, how he sports in his rays, how he rejoices in his existence, and, in respiring the vernal airs, how he flutters in the meadow from flower to flower. His rich wings present to us the magnificence of the rainbow. How beautiful is he now, who but a little while ago crept a worm in the dust, in perpetual danger of being crushed to death! Who has raised him above the earth? Who has given to him the faculty of inhabiting the ethereal regions? Who has furnished him with his painted wings? It is God.

In down of ev'ry variegated dye, Shines, flutt'ring soft, the gaudy butterfly; That powder, which thy spoiling hand distains, The form of quills and painted plumes contains: Not courts can more magnificence express, In all their blaze of gems and pomp of dress. Browne.

Their wings, all glorious to behold, Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold, Wide they display; the spangled dew Reflects their eyes and various hue. Gay.

We shall now briefly describe THE METAMORPHOSES OF INSECTS. And first, THE BUTTERFLY:

From form to form they pass in wondrous change. Virgil.

At the first exclusion from the egg, and for some months of its existence afterwards, the creature which is to become a butterfly, is a worm-like caterpillar, crawling upon sixteen short legs, greedily devouring leaves with two jaws, and seeing by means of twelve eyes, so minute, as to be nearly imperceptible without the aid of a microscope. We now view it furnished with wings capable of rapid and extensive flights; of its sixteen feet, ten have disappeared, and the remaining six are in most respects wholly unlike those to which they have succeeded; its jaws having vanished, are replaced by a curled-up proboscis, suited only for sipping liquid sweets; the form of its head is entirely changed, two long horns projecting from its upper surface; and, instead of twelve invisible eyes, you behold two, very large, and composed of at least twenty thousand convex lenses, each supposed to be a distinct and effective eye!

Were we to push our examination further, and, by dissection, to compare the internal conformation of the caterpillar with that of the butterfly, we should witness changes even more extraordinary. In the former we should find some thousands of muscles, which in the latter are replaced by others, of a form and structure entirely different. Nearly the whole body of the caterpillar is occupied by a capacious stomach. In the butterfly, this has become converted into an almost imperceptible thread-like viscus; and the abdomen is now filled by two large packets of eggs, or other organs, not visible in the first state. In the former, two spirally-convoluted tubes were filled with a silky gum; in the latter, both tubes and silk have almost totally vanished, and changes equally great have taken place in the economy and structure of the nerves and other organs.

What a surprising transformation! Nor was this all. The change from one form to the other was not direct; an intermediate state, not less singular, intervened. After casting its skin, even to its very jaws, several times, and attaining its full growth, the caterpillar attached itself to a leaf by a silken girth. Its body became greatly contracted; its skin once more split asunder, and disclosed an oviform mass, without exterior mouth, eyes, or limbs, and exhibiting no other symptom of life than a slight motion when touched. In this state of death-like torpor, and without tasting food, the insect existed for several months, until at length the tomb burst, and out of a case not more than an inch long, and a quarter of an inch in diameter, proceeded the butterfly, which covers a surface of nearly four inches square.

THE COMMON FLY.--This winged insect, whose delicate palate selects out the choicest viands, one while extending his proboscis to the margin of a drop of wine, and then gaily flying to take a more solid repast from a pear or a peach; now gambolling with his comrades in the air, now gracefully carrying his furled wings with his taper feet;--was but the other day a disgusting grub, without wings, without legs, without eyes, wallowing, well pleased, in the midst of a mass of excrement.

THE GREYCOATED GNAT.--This creature, whose humming salutation, while she makes her airy circles about our bed, gives terrific warning of the sanguinary operation in which she is ready to engage, was a few hours ago the inhabitant of a stagnant pool, more in shape like a fish than an insect. Then to have been taken out of the water would have been speedily fatal; now it could as little exist in any other element than air. Then it breathed through its tail; now through openings in its sides. Its shapeless head, in that period of its existence, is now exchanged for one adorned with elegantly tufted antennæ, and furnished, instead of jaws, with an apparatus more artfully constructed than the cupping-glasses of the phlebotomist; an apparatus, which, at the same time that it strikes in the lancets, composes a tube for pumping up the flowing blood.

THE SHARDHORN BEETLE.--This species of beetle, whose sullen hum, as he directs his droning flight close past our ears in our evening walk, was not in his infancy an inhabitant of air, the first period of his life being spent in gloomy solitude, as a grub, under the surface of the earth. The shapeless maggot, which we scarcely fail to meet with in some one of every handful of nuts we crack, would not always have grovelled in that humble state. If our unlucky intrusion upon its vaulted dwelling had not left it to perish in the wide world, it would have continued to reside there until its full growth had been attained. Then it would have gnawed itself an opening, and, having entered the earth, and passed a few months in a state of inaction, would at length have emerged an elegant beetle, furnished with a slender and very long ebony beak; two wings, and two wing-cases, ornamented with yellow bands; six feet; and in every respect unlike the worm from which it proceeded.

THE DEATH-WATCH.--This appalling name is applied to a harmless, diminutive insect, because it emits a sound resembling the ticking of a watch, and is supposed to predict the death of some one of the family, in the house in which it is heard. Thus sings the muse of the witty Dean of St. Patrick on this subject:--

"------------------------------A wood worm That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form: With teeth or with claws, it will bite or will scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch; Because like a watch it always cries click: Then woe be to those in the house who are sick! For, sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click, when it scratches the post: But a kettle of scalding-hot water injected Infallibly cures the timber affected; The omen is broken, the danger is over, The maggot will die, and the sick will recover."

To add to the effect of this noise, it is said to be made only when there is a profound silence in an apartment, and every one is still.

Authors were formerly not agreed concerning the insect from which this sound of terror proceeded, some attributing it to a kind of woodlouse, and others to a spider; but it is now a received opinion, adopted upon satisfactory evidence, that it is produced by some little beetles belonging to the timber-boring genus, Anobium, F. Swammerdam observes, that a small beetle, which he had in his collection, having firmly fixed its fore-legs, and put its inflexed head between them, makes a continual noise in old pieces of wood, walls, and ceilings, which is sometimes so loud, that upon hearing it, people have fancied that hobgoblins, ghosts, or fairies, were wandering around them. Evidently this was one of the death-watches. Latreille observed Anobium striatum, F. produce the sound in question, by a stroke of its mandibles upon the wood, which was answered by a similar noise from within it. But the species whose proceedings have been most noticed by British observers, is, A. tessellatum, F. When spring is far advanced, these insects are said to commence their ticking, which is only a call to each other, to which, if no answer be returned, the animal repeats it in another place. It is thus produced: Raising itself upon its hind-legs, with the body somewhat inclined, it beats its head with great force and agility upon the plane of its position; and its strokes are so powerful, as to make a considerable impression if they fall upon any substance softer than wood. The general number of distinct strokes in succession, is from seven to nine or eleven; they follow each other quickly, and are repeated at uncertain intervals. In old houses, where these insects abound, they may be heard in warm weather during the whole day. The noise exactly resembles that produced by tapping moderately with the nail upon a table; and, when familiarized, the insect will answer very readily the tap of the nail.

CHAP. XXXI.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Continued.)

Locusts and Mosquitoes, and their Uses in the Creation;--from Kirby, Spence, and Fothergill.

LOCUSTS.--If we could discover the use of every animal in the creation, we should gain a very clear insight into the grand designs of the Almighty, respecting creatures inferior to ourselves, and perceive the immediate cause and necessity of their existence, and how far we have a right to interfere with their economy. That man should ever attain the whole extent of this knowledge, in this state of existence, can scarcely be hoped for; but, that he may learn much, there can be no doubt.

Because the utility of some animals, in a general view, is not palpably obvious, we ought not pettishly or hopelessly to give up the inquiry. Some of the most numerous are apparently the most noxious, and the least useful, as the locust (gryllus migratorius) for example. It has never been my fortune to visit countries subject to the devastations of these insects; and the travellers who describe them, seem, either through want of inclination, or astonishment at the desolating effects produced by their incursions, unable to give those facts which an industrious and attentive naturalist, with enlarged views, might collect and apply to some useful purpose; for there can be no doubt that Infinite Wisdom would not have permitted these insects to be so numerous as they are, if their existence was not absolutely necessary. To look at a locust in a cabinet of insects, we should not, at first sight, deem it capable of being the source of so much evil to mankind as stands on record against it. Yet, although this animal be not very tremendous for its size, nor very terrific in its appearance, it is the very same whose ravages have been the theme of naturalists and historians in all ages, and, upon a close examination, it will be found to be peculiarly fitted and furnished for the execution of its office.

It is armed with two pair of very strong jaws, the upper terminating in short, and the lower in long teeth, by which it can both lacerate and grind its food; its stomach is of extraordinary capacity and powers; its hind-legs enable it to leap to a considerable distance, and its ample vans are calculated to catch the wind as sails, and so carry it sometimes over the sea; and although a single individual can effect but little evil, yet, when the entire surface of a country is covered by them, and every one makes bare the spot on which it stands, the mischief produced may be as extensive as their numbers. So well do the Arabians know their power, that they make a locust say to Mahomet, "We are the army of the Great God; we produce ninety-nine eggs: if the hundred were completed, we should consume the whole earth, and all that is in it."--Bochart.

The earliest plague produced by the locusts, which has been recorded, appears also to have been the most direful in its immediate effects, that ever was inflicted upon any nation. It is that with which the Egyptian tyrant and his people were visited for their oppression of the Israelites. Only conceive of a country so covered by them, that no one can see the face of the ground--a whole land darkened, and all its produce, whether herb or trees, so devoured, that not the least vestige of green is left in either.--Exod. x. 5, 14, 15. But it is not necessary to enlarge upon a history, the circumstances of which are so well known. To this species of devastation, Africa in general seems always to have been peculiarly subject. This may be gathered from the law in Cyrenaica mentioned by Pliny, by which the inhabitants were enjoined to destroy the locusts in three different states, three times in the year; first their eggs, then their young, and lastly the perfect insect.[17] And not without reason was such a law enacted; for Orosius tells us, that in the year of the world 3,800, Africa was infested by such infinite myriads of these animals, that, having devoured every green thing, after flying off to sea they were drowned, and, being cast upon the shore, they emitted a stench greater than could have been produced by the carcases of 100,000 men!--Oros. contra Pag. l. v. c. 2. St. Augustine also mentions a plague to have arisen in that country from the same cause, which destroyed no less than 800,000 persons (octoginta hominum millia) in the kingdom of Masanissa alone, and many more in the territories bordering upon the sea.--Less. l. 247. note 46. From Africa this plague was occasionally imported into Italy and Spain; and an historian quoted in Mouffet relates, that in the year 591 an infinite army of locusts, of a size unusually large, grievously ravaged part of Italy; and being at last cast into the sea, from their stench arose a pestilence which carried off near a million of men and beasts. In the Venetian territory also, in the year 1478, more than 30,000 persons are said to have perished in a famine occasioned by these terrific scourges. Many other instances of their devastations in Europe, in France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and other countries, are recorded by the same author. In 1650 a cloud of them was seen to enter Russia in three different places, which from thence passed over into Poland and Lithuania, where the air was darkened by their numbers. In some places they were seen lying dead, heaped one upon another to the depth of four feet; in others they covered the surface like a black cloth; the trees bent with their weight; and the damage they did exceeded all computation.--Bingley, iii. 258. At a later period, in Languedoc, when the sun became hot, they took wing, and fell upon the corn, devouring both leaf and ear, and that with such expedition, that in three hours they would consume a whole field. After having eaten up the corn, they attacked the vines, the pulse, the willows, and lastly, the hemp, notwithstanding its bitterness.--Philos. Trans. 1686. Sir H. Davy informs us (Elements of Agricultural Chemistry, 233.) that the French government in 1813 issued a decree with a view to occasion the destruction of grasshoppers.

Even this happy island, so remarkably distinguished by its exemption from most of those scourges to which other nations are exposed, was once alarmed by the appearance of locusts. In 1748 they were observed here in considerable numbers, but providentially they soon perished without propagating. These were evidently stragglers from the vast swarms which in the preceding year did such infinite damage in Wallachia, Moldavia, Transylvania, Hungary, and Poland. One of these swarms, which entered Transylvania in August, was several hundred fathoms in width, (at Vienna the breadth of one of them was three miles,) and extended to so great a length, as to be four hours in passing over the Red Tower; and such was its density, that it totally intercepted the solar light, so that when they flew low, one person could not see another at the distance of twenty paces.--Philos. Trans. xlvi. 30. A similar account has been given by Major Moor, long resident in India. He relates, that when at Poonah, he was witness to an immense army of locusts which ravaged the Mahratta country, and was supposed to come from Arabia: this, if correct, is a strong proof of their power to pass the sea under favourable circumstances. The column they composed, extended five hundred miles; and so compact was it, when on the wing, that, like an eclipse, it completely hid the sun, so that no shadow was cast by any object; and some lofty tombs, distant from his residence not more than two hundred yards, were rendered quite invisible. This was not the Gryllus migratorius, L. but a red species; which circumstance much increased the horror of the scene, for, clustering upon the trees after they had stripped them of their foliage, they imparted to them a sanguine hue. The peach was the last tree they touched.

Dr. Clarke, to give some idea of the infinite numbers of these animals, compares them to a flight of snow when the flakes are carried obliquely by the wind. They covered his carriage and horses; and the Tartars assert, that people are sometimes suffocated by them. The whole face of nature might have been described as covered by a living veil. They consisted of two species, G. tartaricus, and migratorius, L.; the first is almost twice the size of the second, and, because it precedes it, is called by the Tartars, the herald or messenger.--Travels, i. 348. The account of another traveller, Mr. Barrow, of their ravages in the southern parts of Africa, in 1784, and 1797, is still more striking: an area of nearly two thousand square miles might be said literally to be covered by them. When driven into the sea by a N. W. wind, they formed upon the shore, for fifty miles, a bank three or four feet high; and when the wind was S. E. the stench was so powerful, as to be smelt at the distance of a hundred and fifty miles.--Travels, &c. 257.

From 1778 to 1780, the empire of Morocco was terribly devastated by them; every green thing was eaten up, not even the bitter bark of the orange and pomegranate escaping. A most dreadful famine ensued: the poor were seen to wander over the country, deriving a miserable subsistence from the roots of plants; and women and children followed the camels, from whose dung they picked the undigested grains of barley, which they devoured with avidity: in consequence of this, vast numbers perished, and the roads and streets exhibited the unburied carcases of the dead. On this sad occasion, fathers sold their children, and husbands their wives.--Southey's Thalaba, i. 171.

When they visit a country, (says Mr. Jackson, speaking of the same empire,) it behoves every one to lay in provision for a famine, for they stay from three to seven years. When they have devoured all other vegetables, they attack the trees, consuming first the leaves and then the bark. From Mogadar to Tangier, before the plague in 1799, the face of the earth was covered by them: at that time a singular incident occurred at El Arisch. The whole region from the confines of Sahara was ravaged by them; but on the other side of the river El Kos, not one of them was to be seen, though there was nothing to prevent their flying over it. Till then, they had proceeded northward; but, upon arriving at its banks, they turned to the east, though all the country north of Arisch was full of pulse, fruits, and grain, exhibiting a most striking contrast to the desolation of the adjoining district. At length they were all carried by a violent hurricane into the western ocean; the shore, as in former instances, was covered by their carcases, and a pestilence was caused by the horrid stench which they emitted: but when this evil ceased, their devastations were followed by a most abundant crop. The Arabs of the desert, "whose hands are against every man," Gen. xvi. 12. and who rejoice in the evil that befalls other nations, when they behold the clouds of locusts proceeding from the north, are filled with gladness, anticipating a general mortality, which they call el khere, (the benediction;) for, when a country is thus laid waste, they emerge from their arid deserts, and pitch their tents in the desolated plains.--Jackson's Travels in Morocco, 54.

The noise the locusts make when engaged in the work of destruction, has been compared to the sound of a flame of fire driven by the wind, and the effect of their bite to that of fire.--Bochart. A poet of our own day has very strikingly described the noise produced by their flight and approach:--

Onward they came, a dark continuous cloud Of congregated myriads, numberless, The rushing of whose wings was as the sound Of a broad river, headlong in its course Plung'd from a mountain summit, or the roar Of a wild ocean in the autumn storm, Shattering its billows on a shore of rocks! Southey's Thalaba, i. 169.

But no account of the appearance and ravages of these terrific insects, for correctness and sublimity, comes near to that of the prophet Joel: "A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong; there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations. A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them. The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses; and as horsemen, so shall they run. Like the noise of chariots[18] on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle-array. Before their face the people shall be much pained; all faces shall gather blackness. They shall run like mighty men; they shall climb the wall like men of war; and they shall march every one on his ways, and they shall not break their ranks: neither shall one thrust another; they shall walk every one in his path: and when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief. The earth shall quake before them, the heavens shall tremble: the sun and the moon shall be dark, and the stars shall withdraw their shining!" The usual way in which they are destroyed, is also noticed by the prophet. "I will remove far off from you the northern army, and will drive him into a land barren and desolate, with his face toward the east sea, and his hinder part toward the utmost sea, and his stink shall come up, because he hath done great things!"--Joel ii. 2-10, 20.

The best method of destroying locusts, would be to recommend them as an article of food. In the Crimea, they are often eaten by the inhabitants. Some French emigrants, who had been directed in this manner, assured me, that when fried, they were very palatable and very wholesome. The Arabs, according to Hasselquist, eat them roasted, and are glad to get them.

It is quite certain that there is nothing endued by nature with peculiar functions, in vain; and it is equally certain, that matter, however modified, whether in the form of animated or inanimated bodies, is continually undergoing change. The more deeply we investigate the works of creation, the more strong will be our conviction of these truths.

We know that many animals, and particularly insects, have apparently no other employment, than that of clearing or purifying the surface of the earth of superfluous matter, the residuum of decayed bodies, or of reconverting it into useful forms, as I shall attempt to illustrate hereafter. Now, if we survey those regions which give birth to, and support, the vast clouds of locusts alluded to, our view will be confined principally to the extensive deserts of Africa and Asia; the vegetation of many of which, according to the reports of travellers, is abundant and luxuriant, beyond the conception of those who have not beheld them; insomuch, that the crops of grass, and other annual vegetables, absolutely load the earth; and these, perishing upon each other, would form an impenetrable, putrid mass, if not consumed by some animals appointed for the purpose.

That locusts support existence by vegetable food, is well known; but whether they have no other object than to consume the superabundant produce of the regions they frequent, and to procreate, is not so easily proved. One who has had no opportunity of witnessing their manners, from their birth to their final destruction, can scarcely be able positively to decide; but I have no doubt that an intelligent naturalist, (governed by the principles this chapter is intended, in some measure, to illustrate,) with the necessary opportunities, such as Dr. Shaw, in particular, had, would be able to get at facts that would indisputably prove the existence of locusts to be a blessing rather than a curse.

Whatever may be the direct object of their existence, locusts are of great use to many other animals, for there are some, particularly birds, that entirely prey upon them; and, if man himself refuses this food, it is rather from the prejudice, perhaps, of an absurd education, than from any improper or bad quality of the food itself.[19] The inhabitants of several eastern nations have a relish for this diet: and it is recorded of him who cried in the wilderness, "Prepare ye the way of the Lord," that "his meat was locusts and wild honey."--Matthew iii. 4. After this, we cannot listen to the feeble remonstrances of any modern epicure.

MOSQUITOES, AND THEIR USES.--The mosquito is accounted one of the most noxious and the most numerous of insects; at least of such as are esteemed noxious by the vulgar and the ignorant. In some countries, indeed, their numbers, and the effects produced by them, are wonderful. There is no instance on record more striking than the following, as related by Dr. Clarke:--

"No contrivance on our part could prevent millions of mosquitoes from filling the inside of our carriage, which, in spite of gloves, clothes, and handkerchiefs, rendered our bodies one entire wound. The Cossacks light numerous fires, to drive them from the cattle during the night; but so insatiate is their thirst of blood, that hundreds will attack a person attempting to shelter himself even in the midst of smoke. At the same time, the noise they make in flying cannot be conceived by persons who have only been accustomed to the humming of such insects in our country."--"Almost exhausted by fatigue, pain, and heat, I sought shelter in the carriage, sitting in water and mud. It was the most sultry night I ever experienced; not a breath of air was stirring; nor could I venture to open the windows, though almost suffocated, through fear of the mosquitoes. Swarms, nevertheless, found their way to my hiding-place; and when I opened my mouth, it was filled with them. My head was bound in handkerchiefs; yet they forced their way into my ears and nostrils. In the midst of this torment, I succeeded in lighting a lamp over the sword-case; which was instantly extinguished by such a prodigious number of these insects, that their dead bodies actually remained heaped in a large cone over the burner for several days afterward: and I know not any mode of description which can convey a more adequate idea of their afflicting visitation, than by simply relating this fact: to the truth of which, those who travelled with me, and who are now living, bear indisputable testimony."

Those who have laboured under so painful a visitation, as that to which this lively account refers, may not perhaps be so ready to admit the general utility of these irritating insects, though their usefulness is more evident, and far more easily proved, than that of the locust, or indeed of most other animals of a similar nature. Bred in the midst of stagnant pools, of bogs, and marshes, in regions unwholesome to man, and where the effluvia arising from animal bodies, and from rank decaying vegetable substances, are so abundant, as to form thick pestilential vapours, that would inflict almost instant destruction on the human inhabitant, and most other creatures, if not removed as quickly as they were formed;--bred in such regions, and gifted with functions and propensities directed to the proper ends, the mosquito supports its existence by consuming the noxious particles exhaled from the swamps; and the bodies of animals, as rapidly as they are generated;--thereby preventing that horrible putrefaction of the air, and consequent pestilence, which would infallibly take place, if the mosquitoes, and similar insects, were not employed to purify the atmosphere.

CHAP. XXXII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(Concluded.)

Animalcules--The Cheese Mite--The Hydra, or Polypes.

The smallest creature in existence Has limbs and sinews, blood, and heart, and brain, Life and her proper functions to sustain, Through the whole fabric, smaller than a grain! What more can our penurious reason grant To the large whale, or castled elephant;-- To those enormous terrors of the Nile, The crested snake, and long-tail'd crocodile;-- Than that all differ but in shape and name, Each destin'd to a less or larger frame? Prior's Solomon.

ANIMALCULES.

The microscope discovers legions of animalcules in most liquors, as water, vinegar, beer, dew, &c. They are also found in rain, and several chalybeate waters, and in infusions of both animal and vegetable substances, as the seminal fluids of animals, pepper, oats, wheat, and other grain, tea, &c. &c. The contemplation of animalcules has rendered the term, infinitely small bodies, extremely familiar to us. A mite was anciently thought the limits of littleness; but we are not now surprised, to be told of animals twenty-seven millions of times smaller than a mite. Minute animals are found proportionably much stronger, more active and vivacious, than large ones. The spring of a flea in its leap, how vastly does it outskip any thing the larger animals are capable of! A mite, how vastly swifter does it run than a race-horse! M. De. L'Isle has given the computation of the velocity of a little creature, scarcely visible by its smallness; which he found to run three inches in half a second: supposing now its feet to be the fifteenth part of a line, it must make five hundred steps in the space of three inches; that is, it must shift its legs five hundred times in a second, or in the ordinary pulsation of an artery. The excessive minuteness of microscopical animalcules conceals them from the human eye. One of the wonders of modern philosophy is, to have invented means for bringing objects, to us so imperceptible, under our cognizance and inspection: creatures, a thousand times too little to be able to affect our sense, should seem to have been very safe; yet we have extended our views over animals, to whom these would be mountains. In reality, most of our microscopical animalcules are of so small a magnitude, that through a lens, whose focal distance is the tenth-part of an inch, they only appear as so many points; that is, their parts cannot be distinguished, so that they appear from the vertex of that lens under an angle not exceeding a minute.

If we investigate the magnitude of such an object, it will be found nearly equal to 3/100000 of an inch long. Supposing, therefore, these animalcules of a cubic figure, that is, of the same length, breadth, and thickness, their magnitude would be expressed by the cube of the fraction 3/100000, that is, by the number 27/1000,000,000,000,000 that is, so many parts of a cubic inch, is each animalcule equal to. Leuwenhoek calculates, that a thousand millions of animalcules, which are discovered in common water, are not altogether so large as a grain of sand. In the milt of a single cod-fish, there are more animals than there are upon the whole earth; for a grain of sand is bigger than four millions of them. The white matter that sticks to the teeth also abounds with animalcules of various figures, to which vinegar is fatal; and it is known, that vinegar contains animalcules in the shape of eels. In short, according to this author, there is scarcely any thing which corrupts, without producing animalcules. Animalcules are said to be the cause of various disorders. The itch is known to be a disorder arising from the irritation of a species of animalcules found in the pustules of the body; when the communication of it by contact from one to another is easily conceived, as also the reason of the cure being effected by cutaneous applications.

In the Philosophical Transactions, vol. 89, is a curious account of animalcules produced from an infusion of potatoes, and another of hemp-seed, by the late Mr. Ellis.

"On the 25th of May, 1768," he says, "Fahrenheit's thermometer 70°, I boiled a potato in the New-River water, till it was reduced to a mealy consistence: I put part of it, with an equal proportion of the boiling liquor, into a cylindrical glass vessel, that held something less than half a wine pint, and immediately covered it close with a glass cover. At the same time I sliced an unboiled potato, and, as near as I could judge, put the same quantity into a glass vessel of the same kind, with the same proportion of New-River water, not boiled; and, covering it with a glass cover, placed both vessels together. On the 26th of May, twenty-four hours afterwards, I examined a small drop of each by the first magnifier of Wilson's microscope, whose focal distance is reckoned 1/50th part of an inch; and, to my amazement, they were both full of animalcules, of a linear shape, very distinguishable, moving to and fro with great celerity, so that there appeared to be more particles of animal than vegetable life in each drop. This experiment I have repeatedly tried, and always found it to succeed in proportion to the heat of the circumambient air; so that even in winter, if the liquors are kept properly warm for two or three days, the experiment will succeed. I procured hemp-seed from different seedsmen, in different parts of the town; some of it I put into the New-River water, some into distilled water, and some into very hard pump-water: the result was, that in proportion to the heat of the weather, or warmth in which they were kept, there was an appearance of millions of minute animalcules in all the infusions; and, some time after, oval ones made their appearance, much larger than the first, which still continued; these wriggled to and fro in an undulatory motion, turning themselves round very quick all the time they moved forwards."

THE CHEESE-MITE.--This minute creature is a favourite subject for microscopic observations. It is covered with hairs or bristles, which resemble in their structure the awns of barley, being barbed on each side with numerous sharp-pointed processes. The mite is oviparous: from the eggs proceed the young animals, resembling the parents in all respects, except in the number of legs, which at first amount only to six, the pair from the head not making their appearance till after casting their first skin. The eggs, in warm weather, hatch in about a week, and the young animal may be seen sometimes for a day together struggling to get rid of its egg-shell. The mite is a very voracious animal, feasting equally upon animal and vegetable substances. It is also extremely tenacious of life: for, upon the authority of Leuwenhoek, though highly discreditable to his sense of humanity, we are assured that a mite lived eleven weeks after he had glued it to a pin, in order to make his observations.

We shall close the account of the curiosities of insects with a description of THE HYDRA, or POLYPES.--In natural history, this is a genus of the Vermes Zoophyta class and order; an animal fixing itself by the base; linear, gelatinous, naked, contractile, and furnished with setaceous tentaculæ, or feelers; inhabiting fresh waters, and producing its deciduous offspring, or eggs, from the sides. There are five species, H. gelatinosa, minute and gelatinous, milk-white, cylindrical, with twelve tentaculæ shorter than the body: it inhabits Denmark, in clusters on the under side of Fuci. But on the viridis, the fusca, and the grisca, the greatest number of experiments have been made by naturalists, to ascertain their true nature and very wonderful habits. They are generally found in ditches. Whoever has carefully examined these, when the sun is very powerful, will find many little transparent lumps of the appearance of jelly, the size of a pea, and flatted upon one side. The same kind of substances are likewise to be met with on the under side of the leaves of plants that grow in such places. These are the polypes in a quiescent state, and apparently inanimate. They are generally fixed by one end to some solid substance, with a large opening, which is the mouth; the other having several arms fixed round it, projecting as rays from the centre. They are slender, pellucid, and capable of contracting themselves into a very small compass, or of extending to a considerable length. The arms are capable of the same contraction and expansion as the body, and with these they lay hold of minute worms and insects, bringing them to the mouth, and swallowing them. The indigestible parts are again thrown out by the mouth.

The green polype was that first discovered by M. Trembley: and the first appearances of spontaneous motion were perceived in its arms, which it can contract, expand, and twist about in various directions. On the first appearance of danger, they contract to such a degree, that they seem little longer than a grain of sand, of a fine green colour, the arms disappearing entirely. Soon afterwards, he found the grisca, and afterwards the fusca. The bodies of the viridis and grisca diminish almost insensibly from the anterior to the posterior extremity; but the fusca is for the most part of an equal size, for two-thirds of its length, from the anterior to the posterior extremities, from which it becomes abruptly smaller, and then continues of a regular size to the end. These three kinds have at least six, and at most twelve or thirteen arms. They can contract themselves till their bodies do not exceed one-fourth of an inch in length, and they can stop at any intermediate degree of expansion or contraction. They are of various sizes, from an inch to an inch and a half long. Their arms are seldom longer than their bodies, though some have them an inch, and some even eight inches long. The thickness of their bodies decreases as they extend themselves, and vice versâ; and they may be made to contract themselves, either by agitating the water in which they are contained, or by touching the animals themselves. When taken out of the water, they all contract so much, that they appear only like a little lump of jelly. They can contract or expand one arm, or any number of arms, independently of the rest; and they can likewise bend their bodies or arms in all possible directions. They can also dilate or contract their bodies in various places, and sometimes appear thick set with folds, which, when carelessly viewed, appear like rings. Their progressive motion is performed by that power which they have of contracting and dilating their bodies. When about to move, they bend down their heads and arms; lay hold by means of them, or some other substance to which they design to fasten themselves; then they loosen their tail, and draw it towards the head; then either fix it in that place, or stretching forward their head as before, repeat the same operation. They ascend or descend at pleasure in this manner upon aquatic plants, or upon the sides of the vessel in which they are kept; they sometimes hang by the tail from the surface of the water, or sometimes by one of their arms; and they can walk with ease upon the surface of the water. On examining the tail with a microscope, a small part of it will be found to be dry above the surface of the water, and, as it were, in a little concave space, of which the tail forms the bottom; so that it seems to be suspended on the surface of the water, on the same principle that a small pin or needle is made to swim. When a polype, therefore, means to pass from the sides of the glass to the surface of the water, it has only to put that part out of the water by which it is supported, and to give it time to dry, which it always does upon these occasions; and they attach themselves so firmly by the tail to aquatic plants, stones, &c. that they cannot be easily disengaged: they often further strengthen these attachments by means of one or two of their arms, which serve as a kind of anchors for fixing them to the adjacent substances.

The fusca has the longest arms, and makes use of the most curious manoeuvres to seize its prey. They are best viewed in a glass seven or eight inches deep, when their arms commonly hang down to the bottom. When this or any other kind is hungry, it spreads its arms in a kind of circle to a considerable extent, inclosing in this, as in a net, every insect which has the misfortune to come within the circumference. While the animal is contracted by seizing its prey, the arms are observed to swell like the muscles of the human body when in action. Though no appearance of eyes can be observed in the polype, they certainly have some knowledge of the approach of their prey, and shew the greatest attention to it as soon as it comes near them. It seizes a worm the moment it is touched by one of the arms, and in conveying it to the mouth, it frequently twists the arm into a spiral line like a corkscrew, by which means the insect is brought to the mouth in a much shorter time than otherwise it would be; and so soon are the insects on which the polypes feed killed by them, that M. Fontana thinks they must contain the most powerful kind of poison; for the lips scarcely touch the animal, when it expires, though there cannot be any wound perceived on it when dead. The worm, when swallowed, appears sometimes single, sometimes double, according to circumstances. When full, the polype contracts itself, hangs down as in a kind of stupor, but extends again in proportion as the food is digested, and the excrementitious part is discharged.

The manner in which the polypes propagate, is most perceptible in the grisca and fusca, as being considerably larger than the viridis. If we examine one of them in summer, when the animals are most active, and prepared for propagation, some small tubercles will be found proceeding from its sides, which constantly increase in bulk, until at last, in two or three days, they assume the figure of small polypes. When they first begin to shoot, the excrescence becomes pointed, assuming a conical figure and deeper colour than the rest of the body. In a short time it becomes truncated, and then cylindrical, after which the arms begin to shoot from the anterior end. The tail adheres to the body of the parent animal, but gradually grows smaller, until at last it hangs only by a point, and is then ready to be separated. When this is the case, both the mother and young ones fix themselves to the sides of the glass, and are separated from each other by a sudden jerk. The time requisite for the formation of the young ones is very different, according to the warmth of the weather, and the nature of the food eaten by the mother. Sometimes they are fully formed, and ready to drop off, in twenty-four hours; in other cases, when the weather is cold, fifteen days have been requisite for bringing them to perfection. The polypes produce young ones indiscriminately from all parts of their bodies, and five or six young ones have frequently been produced at once; nay, M. Trembley has observed nine or ten produced at the same time.

When a polype is cut transversely, or longitudinally, into two or three parts, each part in a short time becomes a perfect animal; and so great is this prolific power, that a new animal will be produced, even from a small portion of the skin of the old one. If the young ones be mutilated while they grow upon the parent, the parts so cut off will be re-produced; and the same property belongs to the parent. A truncated portion will send forth young ones before it has acquired a new head and tail of its own, and sometimes the head of the young one supplies the place of that which should have grown out of the old one. If we slit a polype longitudinally through the head to the middle of the body, we shall have one formed with two heads; and by again slitting these in the same manner, we may form one with as many heads as we please. A still more surprising property of these animals is, that they may be grafted together. If the truncated portions of a polype be placed end to end, and gently pushed together, they will unite into a single one. The two portions are first joined together by a slender neck, which gradually fills up and disappears, the food passing from one part into the other; and thus we may form polypes, not only from different portions of the same animal, but from those of different animals. We may fix the head of one to the body of another, and the compound animal will grow, eat, and multiply, as if it had never been divided. By pushing the body of one into the mouth of another, so far that their heads may be brought into contact, and kept in that situation for some time, they will at last unite into one animal, only having double the usual number of arms. The hydra fusca may be turned inside out like a glove, at the same time that it continues to eat and live as before. The lining of the stomach now forms the outer skin, and the former epidermis constitutes the lining of the stomach.

CHAP. XXXIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING VEGETABLES.

Curiosities in the Vegetable Kingdom--Germination of Seeds--Dissemination of Plants--Number of Plants upon the Earth--Sensibility of Plants--The Sensitive Plant.

Your contemplation further yet pursue; The wondrous world of vegetables view! See various trees their various fruits produce, Some for delightful taste, and some for use. See sprouting plants enrich the plain and wood, For physic some, and some design'd for food. See fragrant flow'rs, with different colours dy'd, On smiling meads unfold their gaudy pride. Blackmore.

CURIOSITIES IN THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM.

The difference between animals and vegetables is so great, that at first we do not perceive any resemblance between them. Some animals only live in water; others on the earth, or in the air; and some are amphibious, or live equally well in water as upon land. And this is literally the case with vegetables: some of them only grow upon land, others in the water; some can scarcely bear any moisture, others live either in earth or water; and some even are found that exist in the air.

There is a tree in the island of Japan, which, contrary to the nature of all others, to which moisture is necessary, cannot bear the least portion. As soon as it is watered it perishes: the only way to preserve it in such a case, is to cut it off by the root, which is to be dried in the sun, and afterwards planted in a dry and sandy soil. A peculiar species of mushroom, some mosses, and other small plants, float in the air; but what is still more extraordinary, a branch of rosemary, which, as is the custom of some countries, was put in the hand of a corpse, sprouted out to the right and left so vigorously, that after a lapse of some years, the grave being opened, the face of the defunct was overshadowed with rosemary leaves. The vegetation of the truffle is still more singular: this extraordinary tubercle has neither roots, stem, leaves, flowers, nor seeds; it derives its nourishment through the pores of its bark. But it may be asked, how is it produced? why is there commonly no kind of herb in the places where this species of fungus grows? and why is the land there dry and full of crevices? These things have never been explained. No plant so much resembles animals, as that species of membranous moss called nostoch; it is an irregular substance, of a pale green colour, and somewhat transparent; it trembles upon the slightest touch, and easily breaks. It can only be seen after rain, and is then found in many places, particularly in uncultivated soils and sandy roads. It exists in all seasons, even in winter; but is never so abundant as after rain in summer. The most remarkable circumstance about it is, its speedy growth, being formed almost instantaneously: sometimes walking in the garden in summer, not a trace of it is seen, when a sudden shower of rain falling, if the same place is visited in an hour, the walks are entirely covered with it. The nostoch was long supposed to have descended from the sky; but it is now known to be a leaf, which attracts and imbibes water with great avidity. This leaf, to which no root appears to belong, is in its natural state when impregnated with water; but a strong wind or great heat soon dissipating the water, the leaf contracts, and loses its colour and transparency: hence it appears to grow so suddenly, and to be so miraculously produced by a shower of rain; for when the rain falls upon it in its dried and imperceptible state, it becomes reanimated, and appears a fresh production.

We might readily enumerate a variety of plants that bear a resemblance to animals; but there are other peculiarities in vegetables, which solicit our attention. The whole atmosphere is pregnant with plants and invisible seeds, and even the largest grains are dispersed by the wind over the earth; and as soon as they are transported to the places where they may germinate, they become plants, and often so little soil is necessary for this purpose, that we can scarcely conceive whence they derive the necessary degree of nourishment. There are plants, and even trees, which take root and grow in the clefts of rocks, without any soil. Vegetation is sometimes very rapid; of which we have instances in mushrooms, and the common cresses, the seed of which, if put into a wet cloth, will be fit for a salad in twenty-four hours. There are plants that exist with scarcely any perceptible vitality. We often see willows, which are not only hollowed and decayed within, but their external bark is so much injured that very little of it remains; yet from these seemingly sapless trunks, buds sprout in the spring, and they are crowned with leaves and branches. How admirable, that plants should not only imbibe nutriment by their roots, but that their leaves also should assist in this important function, by inspiring air! and an inverted tree will flourish as well as when in its proper position, for the branches will grow in the earth and become roots! The advanced age that some trees attain, is also very wonderful. Some apple-trees are above a thousand years old; and if we calculate the amount of the annual produce of such a tree for the above space of time, we shall find that a single pippin might supply all Europe with trees and fruit.

THE GERMINATION OF SEEDS.--Seeds are composed of different parts, according to the variety of species, the principal of which parts is the germ. Each germ has two parts: the one simple, which becomes the root; and the other laminated, which becomes the stem of the plant. The substance of most seeds is composed of two pieces, called lobes, which contain a farinaceous matter, and serve as seminal leaves to the plants. Mosses have the most simple seed, consisting only of the germ, without pellicle, and without lobes. To make seeds germinate, air, and a certain degree of heat and moisture, are necessary. The augmented heat, and the difference observable in the taste and smell, seem to denote a degree of fermentation; and the farinaceous substance becomes fitted to nourish the tender germ. It has been ascertained by experiments made with coloured fluids, that this substance imbibes a moisture, which, in conjunction with the air and heat, forms a proper nourishment till the plant has acquired strength enough to make use of the juices furnished by the root. The lobes, exhausted of their farinaceous matter, gradually dry, and fall off of themselves in a few weeks, when the plant has no further need of their assistance.--Certain herbs which grow on the mountains are of a very peculiar nature: their duration being very short, it often happens that the seed has not time to ripen; and, that the species may not be lost, the bud which contains the germ is formed upon the top of the plant, puts forth leaves, falls, and takes root. When the delicate plant shoots up from the earth, it would run too great a risk, if it were immediately exposed to the air, and to the influence of the sun. Its parts therefore remain folded close to each other, nearly the same as when in the seed. But as the root grows strong and branches out, it furnishes the superior vessels with an abundance of juice, by means of which all the organs are developed. At first the plant is nearly gelatinous; but it soon acquires more firmness, and continually increases in size.

This short account of the germination of seeds may suffice to shew, to the inquisitive in the wonders of nature, what preparations and means nature uses to produce a single plant. When, therefore, we see a seed that we have placed in the earth sprout, we shall no longer consider it as beneath our notice, but shall rather be disposed to regard it as one of those wonders of nature which have excited the observation and attention of some of the greatest of men.

Go, mark the matchless workings of that Power That shuts within the seed the future flower; Bids these in elegance of form excel; In colour these, and those delight the smell Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes. Cowper.

DISSEMINATION OF PLANTS.--When seeds are come to maturity, their dissemination is absolutely necessary, since without it no future crop would follow. The great Author of nature has wisely provided for this in various ways. The stems of many plants are long and slender, and being raised above the ground, the wind shakes them to and fro, and by this means are the ripe seeds conveyed to a distance. The seed-vessels of most plants are shut till the seeds are ripe, that so the winds may not scatter them prematurely; and when the proper season arrives, many of these open with such a degree of elasticity as to throw the seeds to a considerable distance. Other seeds have a kind of wings given them, by which they are conveyed to a distance of some miles from the parent plant. These wings consist either of a down, as in most of the composite-flowered plants, or of a membrane, as in the birch, alder, ash, elm, &c. Hence woods, which happen to be destroyed by fire, or any other accident, are soon restored again by new plants.

Some seeds are rough, or provided with a sort of hooks, by means of which they are apt to stick to animals that pass by them, and by this means are carried to the mouths of their burrows, where they meet with proper soil and manure for their growth. Berries and other pericarpies are by nature allotted for aliment to animals; but it is on condition that they shall sow the seed while they eat it: this they do by dispersing the seeds as they are eating; and also after eating, by voiding many of them unhurt, and even in a better state for vegetation than they were before. Thus many kinds of nuts are sown; and thus did the doves of the Moluccas replant with nutmegs those islands of the East, which the sordid avarice of the Dutch had destroyed: Providence thereby frustrating, by feeble but certain means, the contemptible selfishness of that commercial people.

In this manner the woods of northern countries are sown with junipers, by the thrushes and other birds which feed upon these heavy berries. The cross-bill lives upon fir-cones, and the hawfinch upon pine-cones; by means of which the fir and the pine, of various species, are continually planted in vast abundance. In our own country, the common rook has been observed, not only to feed on acorns, but to make holes in the ground with the bill, and hide many: probably they mean only to lay in a stock for future necessity by this process; but certain it is, that thousands of oaks are annually planted by this means. Swine, also, in searching for food, turn up the earth; and moles, by throwing up hillocks, prepare the ground for seeds of various kinds. Seas, lakes, and rivers, by their streams and currents, often convey seeds unhurt to distant countries.

In assimilating the animal and vegetable kingdoms, Linnæus denominates seeds the eggs of plants. The fecundity of plants is frequently marvellous: from a single plant or stalk of Indian Turkey wheat, are produced, in one summer, 2000 seeds; of elecampane, 3000; of sun-flower, 4000; of poppy, 32,000; of a spike of cat's-tail, 10,000 and upwards; a single fruit or seed-vessel of tobacco, contains 1000 seeds; that of white poppy, 8000. Mr. Ray relates, from experiments made by himself, that 1012 tobacco seeds are equal in weight to one grain; and that the weight of the whole quantum of seeds in a single tobacco plant, is such as must, according to the above proportion, determine their number to be 360,000. The same author estimates the annual produce of a single stalk of spleen-wort to be upwards of 1,000,000 of seeds.

PRODIGIOUS NUMBER OF PLANTS UPON THE EARTH.--It is said, that there are about 44,000 different plants already discovered, to which new ones are daily added. By means of the microscope, some have been found where they were least expected. The different varieties of mosses and sponges have been classed among vegetables, and have presented to the observation of the naturalist, seeds and flowers before unknown. Freestone is sometimes covered with brown and blackish spots; the mouldy substance which composes them adheres to various other matters, and may be considered as a little garden in vegetation. When we reflect upon the quantity of moss which covers the hardest stones, the trunks of trees, and the most barren places;--when we consider the quantity of vegetables upon the surface of the earth; the different species of flowers which delight and refresh us; the trees and bushes, add to these the aquatic plants, some of which exceed a hair in fineness;--we may be able to form some idea of the multitude of plants in the vegetable kingdom. All these species grow up, and are preserved without detriment or injury, each having that place assigned it, which is most suited to its properties. Such is the wisdom displayed in their distribution over the surface of the earth, that there is no part of it wholly destitute, and no part enjoys them in too great abundance. Some plants require the open field, where, unsheltered by trees, they may receive the sun's rays; others can only exist in water; some grow in the sand; others in marshes and fens, which are frequently covered with water, and some bud on the surface of the earth, whilst others unfold themselves in its bosom. The different strata which compose the soil of the earth, as sand, clay, chalk, &c. favour different vegetables; and hence it is, that in the vast garden of nature nothing is absolutely sterile; from the finest sand to the flinty rock, from the torrid to the frozen zone, each soil and climate supports plants peculiar to itself. Another circumstance highly worthy of attention is: the Creator has so ordered, that, among this immense variety of plants, those which are most proper for food or medicine multiply in greater abundance than those which are of less utility. Herbs are much more numerous than trees and brambles; grass is in greater abundance than oaks; and cherry-trees more plentiful than apricots: had oaks been more frequent than grass, or trees than herbs and roots, it would have been impossible for animals to subsist.

According to the calculation of Baron Von Humboldt, 6000 plants are agamous, that is, plants which have no sexual organs, such as champignons, lichens, &c. Of the remainder there are found--

In Europe 7,000 In the temperate regions of Asia 1,500 In Equinoxial Asia, and the adjacent Islands 4,500 In Africa 3,000 In the temperate regions of America, in both hemispheres 4,000 In Equinoxial America 13,000 In New Holland, and the Islands of the Pacific Ocean 5,000 ------ Total 38,000 ------

SENSIBILITY OF PLANTS.--There are certain motions observable in plants, that make it doubtful whether they are not possessed of sensibility. Some plants shrink and contract their leaves upon being touched; others open and shut their flowers at certain fixed hours in the day, so regularly as to denote with precision the time of day; some assume a peculiar form during the night, folding up their leaves; and these different changes take place whether they are in the open air, or shut up in close apartments. Those which live under water during the time of fecundation, raise their flowers above the surface.

The motions of a marshy plant discovered some time since, in the province of Carolina, are still more singular. Its round leaves are furnished above, and on the sides, with a multitude of notches that are extremely irritable. When an insect happens to creep upon the superior surface of the leaves, they fold up, and inclose the insect till it dies; the leaves then open of themselves. We may daily observe regular motions in some plants in our gardens. Tulips expand their petals when the weather is fine, and close them again at sun-set, or during rain. Vegetables with pods, such as peas and beans, open their shells when dry, and curl themselves up like shavings of wood. Wild oats, when placed upon a table, will move spontaneously, more especially if warmed in the hand. And the heliotrope, or sunflower, with various other plants, always turns towards the sun. These are incontestable facts, of the certainty of which every person may be easily convinced. From them, some conclude that we ought not to deny sensibility to be an attribute of plants; and certainly the facts which are alleged in favour of such an opinion, give it great appearance of probability. But, on the other hand, plants have no other sign of sensibility; and all that they have is entirely mechanical. We plant a shrub and destroy it, without finding any analogy between it and an animal, that we bring up and kill. We see a plant bud, blossom, and bear seed, insensibly, as the hand of a watch runs round the points of the dial. The most exact anatomy of a plant does not unfold to us any organ which has the least relation to those of animal sensibility. When we oppose these observations to those from which we might infer the sensibility of plants, we remain in uncertainty, and we cannot explain the phenomena related above. Our knowledge upon this subject is very imperfect, and is confined to simple conjecture. We neither attribute sensibility to plants, nor deny it to them, with certainty.

THE SENSITIVE PLANT.--This singular plant rises from a slender woody stalk seven or eight feet in height, armed with short recurved thorns; the leaves grow upon long footstalks, which are prickly, each sustaining two pair of wings; from the place where these are inserted, come out small branches, having three or four globular heads of pale purplish flowers coming out from the side, on short peduncles; the principal stalk has many of those heads of flowers on the upper part, for more than a foot in length; this, as also the branches, is terminated by like heads of flowers; the leaves move but slowly when touched, but the footstalks fall, when they are pressed pretty hard. It is a native of Brazil, (M. pudica, humble plant,) having the roots composed of many hairy fibres, which mat slowly together; from these come out several woody stalks, declining towards the ground, unless supported; they are armed with short recurved spines, having winged or pinnate leaves; flowers from the axils, on short peduncles, collected in small globular heads, of a yellow colour.

"Naturalists (says Dr. Darwin) have not explained the immediate cause of the collapsing of the sensitive plant; the leaves meet and close in the night, during the sleep of the plant, or when exposed to much cold in the day-time, in the same manner as when they are affected by external violence, folding their upper surfaces together, and in part over each other like scales or tiles, so as to expose as little of the upper surface as may be to the air, but do not, indeed, collapse quite so far; for when touched in the night during their sleep, they fall still further, especially when touched on the footstalks between the stems and the leaflets, which seem to be their most sensitive or irritable part. Now, as their situation after being exposed to external violence resembles their sleep, but with a greater degree of collapsion, may it not be owing to a numbness or paralysis consequent to too violent irritation, like the pantings of animals from pain or fatigue? A sensitive plant being kept in a dark room till some hours after day-break, its leaves and leaf-stalks were collapsed as in its most profound sleep, and on exposing it to the light, above twenty minutes passed before the plant was thoroughly awake, and had quite expanded itself. During this night the upper surfaces of the leaves were oppressed; this would seem to shew that the office of this surface of the leaf was to expose the fluids of the plant to the light, as well as to the air." Dr. Darwin has thus characterized these plants.--

Weak with nice sense the chaste Mimosa stands, From each rude touch withdraws her timid hands Oft as light clouds o'erpass the summer glade, Alarm'd, she trembles at the moving shade; And feels alive through all her tender form, The whisper'd murmurs of the gathering storm; Shuts her sweet eyelids to approaching night, And hails with freshen'd charms the rising light.

CHAP. XXXIV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING VEGETABLES.--(Continued.)

The Cocoa-Nut Tree--The Bread-Fruit Tree--The Bannian Tree--Fountain Trees--The Tallow Tree--The Paper Tree--The Calabash Tree--Remarkable Oak--Dimensions, &c. of some of the largest Trees now growing in England--Upas, or Poison Tree.

Admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwells upon the theme. Cowper.

THE COCOA-NUT TREE.

Of all the gifts which Providence has bestowed on the Oriental world, the cocoa-nut tree most deserves our notice: in this single production of nature, what blessings are conveyed to man! It grows a stately column, from thirty to fifty feet in height, crowned by a verdant capital of waving branches, covered with long spiral leaves; under this foliage, branches of blossoms, clusters of green fruit, and others arrived at maturity, appear in mingled beauty. The trunk, though porous, furnishes beams and rafters for our habitations; and the leaves, when platted together, make an excellent thatch, common umbrellas, coarse mats for the floor, and brooms; while their finest fibres are woven into very beautiful mats for the rich. The covering of the young fruit is extremely curious, resembling a piece of thick cloth, in a conical form, close and firm as it came from the loom; it expands after the fruit has burst through its inclosure, and then appears of a coarser texture. The nuts contain a delicious milk, and a kernel sweet as the almond: this, when dried, affords abundance of oil; and when that is expressed, the remains feed cattle and poultry, and make good manure. The shell of the nut furnishes cups, ladles, and other domestic utensils, while the husk which incloses it is of the utmost importance; it is manufactured into ropes and cordage of every kind, from the smallest twine to the largest cable, which are far more durable than those of hemp. In the Nicobar islands, the natives build their vessels, make the sails and cordage, supply them with provisions and necessaries, and provide a cargo of arrack, vinegar, oil, gagpree or coarse sugar, cocoa-nuts, coir, cordage, black paint, and several inferior articles, for foreign markets, entirely from this tree.

Many of the trees are not permitted to bear fruit; but the embryo bud, from which the blossoms and nuts would spring, is tied up, to prevent its expansion; and a small incision being then made at the end, there oozes in gentle drops a cool pleasant liquor, called Trace, or Toddy, the palm wine of the poets. This, when first drawn, is cooling and salutary; but when fermented and distilled, produces an intoxicating spirit. Thus, a plantation of cocoa-nut trees yields the proprietor considerable profits, and generally forms part of the government revenue.

THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE.--The systematic name of this plant is Artocarpus, which is merely the English name translated into Greek. There are several species; particularly A. incisa, and A. integrifolia.

The genuine bread-fruit tree is the artocarpus incisa. In captain Cook's Voyage, it is observed, that the bread-fruit tree is about the size of a middling oak; its leaves are frequently a foot and a half long, oblong, deeply sinuated, like those of the fig-tree, which they resemble in consistence and colour, and in exuding a milky juice when broken. The fruit is the size and shape of a child's head, and the surface is reticulated, not much unlike a truffle; it is covered with a thin skin, and has a core about as big as the handle of a small knife; the eatable part lies between the skin and core; it is as white as snow, and of the consistence of new bread. It must be roasted before it is eaten, being first divided into three or four parts; its taste is insipid, with a slight sweetness, somewhat resembling that of the crumb of wheaten bread, mixed with Jerusalem artichoke. The fruit not being in season all the year, there is a method of supplying this defect, by reducing it to sour paste, called makie; and besides this, cocoa-nuts, bananas, plantains, and a great variety of other fruits, come in aid of it. This tree not only supplies food, but also clothing, for the bark is stripped off the suckers, and formed into a kind of cloth. To procure the fruit for food costs the Otaheiteans no trouble or labour, but climbing a tree. This most useful tree is distributed very extensively over the East Indian continent and islands, as well as the innumerable islands of the South Seas. In Otaheite, however, and some others, the evident superiority of the seedless variety for food has caused the other to be neglected, and it is consequently almost worn out.

We are informed by Captain King, that in the Sandwich islands these trees are planted, and flourish with great luxuriance on rising grounds; that they are not indeed in such abundance, but that they produce double the quantity of fruit to those growing on the rich plains of Otaheite; that the trees are nearly of the same height, but that the branches begin to strike out from the trunk much lower, and with greater luxuriance; and that the climate of these islands differs very little from that of the West Indian islands which lie in the same latitude. This reflection probably first suggested the idea of conveying this valuable tree to our islands in the West Indies. For this purpose his Majesty's ship the Bounty sailed for the South Seas, on the 23d of December, 1787, under the command of Lieutenant William Bligh. But a fatal mutiny prevented the accomplishment of this benevolent design. His Majesty, however, not discouraged by the unfortunate event of the voyage, and fully impressed with the importance of securing so useful an article of food as the bread-fruit to our West Indian Islands, determined, in the year 1791, to employ another ship, for a second expedition on this service; and, in order to secure the success of the voyage as much as possible, it was thought proper that two vessels should proceed together on this important business. Accordingly, a ship of 400 tons, named the Providence, was engaged for the purpose, and the command of her given to Captain Bligh; and a small tender, called the Assistant, commanded by Lieut. Nathaniel Portlock. Sir Joseph Banks, as in the former voyage, directed the equipment of the ship for this particular purpose. Two skilful gardeners were appointed to superintend the trees and plants, from their transplantation at Otaheite, to their delivery at Jamaica; and Captain Bligh set sail on the 2d of August, 1791. The number of plants taken on board at Otaheite, was 2634, in 1281 pots, tubs, and cases; and of these 1151 were bread-fruit trees. When they arrived at Coupang, 200 plants were dead, but the rest were in good order. Here they procured ninety-two pots of the fruits of that country. They arrived at St. Helena, with 830 fine bread-fruit trees, besides other plants. Here they left some of them, with different fruits of Otaheite and Timor, besides mountain rice and other seeds; and hence the East Indies may be supplied with them.

On their arrival at St. Vincent's, they had 551 cases, containing 678 bread-fruit trees, besides a great number of other fruits and plants, to the number of 1245. Near half this cargo was deposited here under the care of Mr. Alexander Anderson, the superintendant of his Majesty's botanic garden, for the use of the Windward islands; and the remainder, intended for the Leeward islands, was conveyed to Jamaica, and distributed as the governor and council of Jamaica were pleased to direct. The exact number of bread-fruit trees brought to Jamaica, was 352; out of which, five only were reserved for the botanic garden at Kew. Captain Bligh had the satisfaction, before he quitted Jamaica, of seeing the trees, which he had brought with so much success, in a most flourishing state; insomuch that no doubt remained of their growing well, and speedily producing fruit: an opinion which subsequent reports have confirmed.

The bread-fruit, when perfectly ripe, is pulpy, sweetish, putrescent, and in this state is thought to be too laxative; but when green it is farinaceous, and esteemed a very wholesome food, either baked under the coals, or roasted over them. The taste is not unlike that of wheaten bread, but with some resemblance to that of Jerusalem artichokes or potatoes. It was mentioned before, that a sort of cloth was made of the inner bark: to this we may add, that the wood is used in building boats and houses; the male catkins serve for tinder; the leaves for wrapping their food in, and for wiping their hands instead of towels; and the juice for making bird-lime, and as a cement for filling up the cracks of their vessels, and for holding water. Three trees are supposed to yield sufficient nourishment for one person.

THE BANNIAN TREE.--The bannian, or Indian fig-tree, is a native of several parts of the East Indies, and has a woody stem, branching to a great height and vast extent. It is universally considered as one of the most beautiful of nature's productions; and, contrary to most other things in animal and vegetable nature, appears exempted from decay. Every branch from the main body throws out its own roots, at first in small tender fibres, several yards from the ground, but which thicken considerably before they reach the surface, and then, striking in, they increase to large trunks, and become parent trees, shooting out new branches from the top; these in time suspend their roots, which, swelling into trunks, produce other branches, thus continuing in a progressive state as long as the earth, the common parent of them all, continues her sustenance. The Hindoos are peculiarly fond of the bannian tree; they regard it as an emblem of the Deity, from its long duration and overshadowing beneficence, and almost pay it divine honours. Near this tree their most esteemed pagodas are generally erected; and under their shade the Brahmins spend their days in religious solitude, wandering among the cool recesses and beautiful walks of this umbrageous canopy, impervious to the hottest beams of a tropical sun.

A remarkably fine tree of this kind grows on an island in the river Narbedda, in the province of Guzerat. It is distinguished from others of the same species by the name of Cubbeer Bur, which was given it in honour of a famous saint. It was once much larger than it is at present, high and violent floods having carried away the banks of the island on which it grew, and with them such parts of the tree as have thus far extended its roots. What remains, is two thousand feet in circumference, measured round the principal stems; the overhanging branches, which have not yet struck down, cover a much larger space. The chief trunks of this single tree, each of which in size exceeds our English oaks or elms, amount to 350, the smaller stems to more than 3000, all casting out new branches and hanging roots, to form in time parent trunks. Cubbeer Bur is famed through India for its amazing extent and beauty. The Indian armies frequently encamp around it, and at stated periods solemn festivals are held under its branches, where thousands of votaries repair from various parts of the empire. It is even said that 7000 persons found ample room under its shade. The English gentlemen sometimes form elegant and extensive encampments, where they spend whole weeks together under this delightful pavilion, which is inhabited by green wood-pigeons, doves, and peacocks, and also a variety of feathered songsters; families of monkeys are also in every quarter playing their antic tricks; and bats, to the astonishing size of six feet, from the extremity of one wing to that of the other. This tree not only shelters, but affords sustenance to these numerous inhabitants, being covered, amidst its bright leaves, with small figs of a rich scarlet, on which they regale.

FOUNTAIN TREES.--These are very extraordinary vegetables, growing in one of the Canary Islands, and likewise said to exist in some other places, which distil water from their leaves in such plenty, as to answer all the purposes of the inhabitants who live near them. Of these trees we have the following account, in Glasse's History of the Canary Islands. "There are three fountains of water in the whole island of Hiero, wherein the fountain tree grows. The larger cattle are watered at those fountains, and at a place where water distils from the leaves of a tree. Many writers have made mention of this famous tree, some in such a manner as to make it appear miraculous: others again deny the existence of any such tree; among whom is Father Feyjoo, a modern Spanish author. But he, and those who agree with him in this matter, are as much mistaken as those who would make it appear to be miraculous. The author of the History of the Discovery and Conquest, has given us a particular account of it, which I shall here relate at large.--

"The district in which this tree stands is called Tigulabe; near to which, and in the cliff or steep rocky ascent that surrounds the whole island, is a gutter or gully, which commences at the sea, and continues to the summit of the cliff, where it joins or coincides with a valley, which is terminated by the steep front of a rock. On the top of this rock grows a tree, called, in the language of the ancient inhabitants, garse, sacred or holy tree, which for many years has been preserved sound, entire, and fresh. Its leaves constantly distil such a quantity of water as is sufficient to furnish drink to every living creature in Hiero, nature having provided this remedy for the drought of the island. It is situated about a league and a half from the sea. Nobody knows of what species it is, only that it is called til. It is distinct from other trees, and stands by itself. The circumference of the trunk is about twelve spans, the diameter four, and in height, from the ground to the top of the highest branch, forty spans: the circumference of all the branches together is 120 feet. The branches are thick and extended, the lowest commence about the height of an ell from the ground. Its fruit resembles the acorn, and tastes something like the kernel of a pine-apple, but is softer and more aromatic. The leaves of this tree resemble those of the laurel, but are larger, wider, and more curved; they come forth in a perpetual succession, so that the tree always remains green. Near to it grows a thorn, which fastens on many of its branches, and interweaves with them; and at a small distance from the garse are some beech-trees, bresoes, and thorns. On the north side of the trunk are two large tanks or cisterns, of rough stone, or rather one cistern divided, each half being twenty feet square, and sixteen spans in depth. One of these contains water for the drinking of the inhabitants; and the other, that which they use for their cattle, washing, and such like purposes.

"Every morning, near this part of the island, a cloud or mist arises from the sea, which the south or easterly winds force against the forementioned steep cliff; so that the cloud, having no vent but by the gutter, gradually ascends it, and from thence advances slowly to the extremity of the valley, where it is stopped and checked by the front of the rock which terminates the valley; and then rests upon the thick leaves and wide spreading branches of the tree, from whence it distils in drops during the remainder of the day, until it is at length exhausted, in the same manner that we see water drip from the leaves of trees after a heavy shower of rain.

"This distillation is not peculiar to the garse or til, for the bresoes, which grow near it, likewise drop water; but their leaves being but few and narrow, the quantity is so trifling, that, though the natives save some of it, yet they make little or no account of any but what distils from the til; which, together with the water of some fountains, and what is saved in the winter season, is sufficient to serve them and their flocks. A person lives on the spot near which this tree grows, to take care of it and its waters; and is allowed a house to live in, with a certain salary. He every day distributes to each family of the district, seven pots or vessels full of water, besides what he gives to the principal people of the island."

Whether the tree which yields water at this present time, be the same as that mentioned in the above description, I cannot determine: but it is probable there has been a succession of them; for Pliny, describing the Fortunate Island, says, "In the mountains of Ombrion, are trees resembling the plant ferula, from which water may be procured by pressure. What comes from the black kind is bitter, but that which the white yields is sweet and potable." Trees yielding water are not peculiar to the island of Hiero; for travellers inform us of one of the same kind on the island of St. Thomas, in the bight or gulf of Guinea. In Cockburn's Voyages, we find the following account of a dropping tree, near the mountains of Fera Paz, in America.--

"On the morning of the fourth day, we came out on a large plain, where were great numbers of fine deer; and in the middle stood a tree of unusual size, spreading its branches over a vast compass of ground. Curiosity led us up to it. We had perceived, at some distance, the ground about it to be wet; at which we began to be somewhat surprised, as well knowing there had no rain fallen for nearly six months past, according to the certain course of the season in that latitude: that it was impossible to be occasioned by the fall of dew on the tree, we were convinced, by the sun's having power to exhale away all moisture of that nature a few minutes after its rising. At last, to our great amazement, as well as joy, we saw water dropping, or as it were distilling, fast from the end of every leaf of this wonderful, (nor had it been amiss if I had said miraculous) tree; at least it was so with respect to us, who had been labouring four days through extreme heat, without receiving the least moisture, and were now almost expiring for the want of it. We could not help looking on this as liquor sent from heaven, to comfort us under great extremity. We catched what we could of it in our hands, and drank very plentifully of it; and liked it so well, that we could hardly prevail with ourselves to give over. A matter of this nature could not but incite us to make the strictest observations concerning it; and accordingly we staid under the tree near three hours, and found we could not fathom its body in five times. We observed the soil where it grew to be very strong; and upon the nicest inquiry we could afterwards make, both of the natives of the country and the Spanish inhabitants, we could not learn there was any such tree known throughout New Spain, nor perhaps all America over: but I do not relate this as a prodigy in nature, because I am not philosopher enough to ascribe any natural cause for it; the learned may perhaps give substantial reasons in nature, for what appeared to us a great and marvellous secret, and far beyond our power to account for."

THE TALLOW TREE.--This is a remarkable tree, growing in great plenty in China; so called from its producing a substance like tallow, and which serves for the same purpose: it is about the height of a cherry-tree, its leaves in form of a heart, of a deep shining red colour, and its bark very smooth. Its fruit is inclosed in a kind of pod, or cover, like a chesnut, and consists of three round white grains, of the size and form of a small nut, each having its peculiar capsule, and a little stone within. This stone is encompassed with a white pulp, which has all the properties of true tallow, both as to consistence, colour, and even smell, and accordingly the Chinese make their candles of it; which would doubtless be as good as those in Europe, if they knew how to purify their vegetable, as well as we do our animal tallow. All the preparation they give it, is to melt it down, and mix a little oil with it, to make it softer and more pliant. It is true, the candles made of it yield a thicker smoke and a dimmer light than ours; but those defects are owing in a great measure to the wicks, which are not of cotton, but only a little rod of dry light wood, covered with the pith of a rush wound round it; which, being very porous, serves to filtrate the minute parts of the tallow, attracted by the burning stick, and by this means is kept alive.

THE PAPER TREE.--The name of this tree is Aouta. It is a mulberry-tree, found at Otaheite, in the South Sea, from which a cloth is manufactured, that is worn by the principal inhabitants. The bark of the trees is stripped off, and deposited to soak in running water; when it is sufficiently softened, the fibres of the inner coat are carefully separated from the rest of the bark; they are then placed in lengths of about eleven or twelve yards, one by the side of another, till they are about a foot broad; and two or three layers are put one upon another. This is done in the evening; and next morning the water is drained off, and the several fibres adhere together in one piece. It is afterwards beaten on a smooth piece of wood with instruments marked lengthways, with small grooves of different degrees of fineness; and by means of this it becomes as thin as muslin. After bleaching it in the air, to whiten it, it is fit for use.

Another article worthy of the reader's attention, is the ADANSONIA, ETHIOPIAN SOUR GOURD, MONKEYS' BREAD, or AFRICAN CALABASH TREE.--There is but one known species belonging to this genus, the baobal, which is perhaps the largest production of the whole vegetable kingdom. It is a native of Africa. The trunk is not above twelve or fifteen feet high, but from sixty to seventy feet round. The lowest branches extend almost horizontally, and as they are about sixty feet in length, their own weight bends their extremities to the ground, and thus form an hemispherical mass of verdure of about 120 or 130 feet diameter. The roots extend as far as the branches: that in the middle forms a pivot, which penetrates a great way into the earth; the rest spread near the surface. The flowers are in proportion to the size of the tree, and are followed by an oblong pointed fruit, ten inches long, five or six broad, and covered with a kind of greenish down, under which is a ligneous rind, hard, and almost black, marked with rays, which divide it lengthwise into sides. It is very common in Senegal, and the Cape de Verd islands; and is found 100 leagues up the country, at Gulam, and upon the sea-coast as far as Sierra Leone.

The age of this tree is no less remarkable than its enormous size. Mr. Adanson relates, that, in a botanical excursion to the Magdalen Islands, he discovered some calabash-trees, from five to six feet diameter, on the bark of which were engraved, or cut to a considerable depth, a number of European names. Two of these names, which he was at the trouble to repair, were dated, one in the fourteenth, the other in the fifteenth century. The inscribed trees, mentioned by this ingenious Frenchman, had been seen in 1555, almost two centuries before, by Thevet, who mentions them in his relation of his Voyage to Terra Antarctia, or Australis. Adanson saw them in 1749. The virtues and uses of this tree and its fruits are various. The negroes of Senegal dry the bark and leaves in the shaded air, and then reduce them to powder, which is of a pretty good green colour. This powder they preserve in bags of linen or cotton, and call it lillo. They use it every day, putting three or four pinches of it into a mess, whatever it happens to be, as we do pepper and salt: but their view is, not to give a relish to their food, but to preserve a perpetual and plentiful perspiration, and to attemper the too great heat of the blood; purposes to which it certainly answers, as several Europeans have proved by repeated experiments; preserving themselves from the epidemic fever, which, in that country, is as fatal to them as the plague, and generally rages during the months of September and October: when the rains have suddenly ceased, the sun exhales the water left by them on the ground, and fills the air with a noxious vapour. M. Adanson, in the critical season, made a light ptisan of the leaves of the baobal; which he had gathered in the August of the preceding year, and had dried in the shade; and drank constantly about a pint of it every morning, either before or after breakfast, and the same quantity of it every evening, after the heat of the sun began to abate: he also took the same quantity in the middle of the day, but this was only when he felt some symptoms of an approaching fever. By this precaution he preserved himself, during the five years he resided at Senegal, from the diarrhæa and fever, which are so fatal there, and which are, however, the only diseases of the place; while other officers suffered very severely, only one of them excepted, upon whom M. Adanson prevailed to use this remedy, which for its simplicity was despised by the rest. This ptisan alone prevents that heat of urine which is common in these parts, from the month of July to November, provided the person abstains from wine. The fruit is not less useful than the leaves and the bark. The pulp that envelopes the seeds has an agreeable acid taste, and is eaten for pleasure: it is also dried and powdered, and used medicinally in pestilential fevers, the dysentery, and bloody flux: the dose is a drachm, passed through a fine sieve, taken either in common water, or in an infusion of the plantain. This powder is brought into Europe under the name of terra sigillata Lemnia. The woody bark of the fruit, and the fruit itself, when spoiled, help to supply the negroes with an excellent soap, which they make by drawing a lie from the ashes, and boiling it with palm-oil that begins to be rancid. The trunks of such of these trees as are decayed, the negroes hollow out into burying places for their poets, musicians, and buffoons. Persons of these characters they esteem greatly while they live, supposing them to derive their superior talents from sorcery, or a commerce with demons; but they regard their bodies with horror when dead, and will not give them burial in the usual manner, neither suffering them to be put into the ground, nor thrown into the sea or any river, because they imagine that the water would not then nourish the fish, nor the earth produce its fruits. The bodies shut up in these trunks become dry without rotting, and form a kind of mummies without the help of embalming. The baobal is very distinct from the calabash-tree of America, with which it has been confounded by Father Labat.

The following is an account of a REMARKABLE OAK TREE:--

Behold the oak does young and verdant stand Above the grove, all others to command; His wide-extended limbs the forest crown'd, Shading the trees, as well as they the ground: Young murm'ring tempests in his boughs are bred, And gathering clouds from round his lofty head; Outrageous thunder, stormy winds, and rain, Discharge their fury on his head in vain; Earthquakes below, and lightnings from above, Rend not his trunk, nor his fix'd root remove. Blackmore.

Mr. Gilpin, in his forest scenery, gives the following account of an aged oak:--

"Close by the gate of the Water-walk, at Magdalen College in Oxford, grew an oak, which perhaps stood there a saplin when Alfred the Great founded the university. This period only includes a space of nine hundred years, which is no great age for an oak. It is a difficult matter indeed to ascertain the age of a tree. The age of a castle or abbey is the object of history: even a common house is recorded by the family that built it. All these objects arrive at maturity in their youth, if I may so speak. But the tree gradually completing its growth, is not worth recording in the early part of its existence: it is then only a common tree; and afterwards, when it becomes remarkable for its age, all memory of its youth is lost. This tree, however, can almost produce historical evidence for the age assigned to it."

About five hundred years after the time of Alfred, William of Wainfleet, Dr. Stukely tells us, expressly ordered this college to be founded near the great oak; (Itiner. Curios.) and an oak could not, I think, be less than five hundred years of age, to merit that title, together with the honour of fixing the site of a college. When the magnificence of Cardinal Wolsey erected that handsome tower which is so ornamental to the whole building, this tree might probably be in the meridian of its glory; or rather, perhaps it had attained a green old age. But it must have been manifestly in its decline, at that memorable æra, when the tyranny of James gave the fellows of Magdalen so noble an opportunity of withstanding bigotry and superstition. It was afterwards much injured in the time of Charles II, when the present walks were laid out: its roots were disturbed; and from that period it declined fast, and became reduced by degrees to little more than a mere trunk. The oldest members of the university can scarcely recollect it in better plight: but the faithful records of history[20] have handed down its ancient dimensions.

It once flung its boughs through a space of sixteen yards on every side from its trunk; and under its magnificent pavilion could have sheltered with ease three thousand men: though in its decayed state, it could, for many years, do little more than shelter some luckless individual, whom the driving shower had overtaken in his evening walk. In the summer of the year 1788, this magnificent ruin fell to the ground, alarming the college with its crashing sound. It then appeared how precariously it had stood for many years. Its grand taproot was decayed; and it had hold of the earth only by two or three roots, of which none was more than a couple of inches in diameter. From a part of its ruins, a chair has been made for the president of the college, which will long continue its memory.

This will be a proper place for introducing the history of SOME OF THE LARGEST TREES NOW GROWING IN ENGLAND.--In Hainault Forest, near Barking in Essex, there is an oak which has attained the enormous bulk of thirty-six feet in circumference. This extraordinary tree has been known for ages by the name of Fairlop. The tradition of the country traces it half way up the Christian æra. Beneath its shade, which overspreads an area of three hundred feet in circuit, an annual fair has long been held on the first Friday in July, and no booth is suffered to be erected beyond the extent of its boughs.

At Cromwell Park, near Letbury in Gloucestershire, the seat of Lord Dacre, is a huge chesnut tree, probably as remarkable for antiquity as size; having been mentioned (according to Sir Richard Atkins) in king John's days, six centuries ago, as the wonder of the neighbourhood, and measuring at present, at the foot, fifty-seven feet in circumference. It is supposed to be at least eight hundred years old.

In Darley church-yard, near Matlock in Derbyshire, is a yew tree, thirty-three feet in girt.

In the church-yard of Aldworth, in Berkshire, is a yew tree, the trunk of which, four feet from the ground, measures nine yards in circumference. It is of considerable height: all recollection of its age is lost.

THE SHELTON OAK.--About a mile and a half from Shrewsbury, where the Pool road diverges from that which leads to Oswestry, there stands an ancient decayed oak. There is a tradition, that Owen Glendwr (Glynder) ascended this tree to reconnoitre; and finding that the king was in great force, and that the Earl of Northumberland had not joined his son Hotspur, he fell back to Oswestry, and immediately after the battle of Shrewsbury, retreated precipitately to Wales. This tree is now in a complete state of decay, and hollow, even in the larger ramifications. The following are the dimensions of the Shelton Oak:

ft. in. Girt, at bottom, close to the ground 44 3 Ditto, 5 feet from ditto 25 1 Ditto, 8 feet from ditto 27 4 Height of the tree 41 6

Vide Gent. Mag. vol. lxxxi. p. 305.

THE BOWTHORPE OAK, situate in the park between Bourne and Stamford--

"On a fine eminence, of slow ascent, The landscape round stretch'd to a vast extent,"

--is the property of Philip Duncombe Pauncefort, Esq. The trunk is thirty-nine feet six inches in circumference. The inside of the body is hollow, and the lower part of it was formerly used as a feeding place for calves, the upper, as a pigeon-house. The late possessor, George Pauncefort, Esq. (in whose family it has been for many centuries,) in 1768 had it floored, with benches placed round, and a door of entrance: frequently twelve persons have dined in it with ease.

"--------------crowds yearly flock to see In leafy pomp the celebrated tree; Charm'd to contemplate Nature's giant son, Fed by the genial seasons as they run."

No tradition is to be found respecting it, it having, ever since the memory of the oldest inhabitants, or their ancestors, been in the same state of decay.

We conclude this chapter with an essay on the UPAS, or POISON-TREE OF JAVA; by Thomas Horsefield, M. D.--From the Seventh Volume of the Transactions of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Java.

The literary and scientific world has in few instances been more grossly and impudently imposed upon, than by the account of the Bohan Upas, published in Holland about the year 1780. The history and origin of this celebrated forgery still remains a mystery. Foersch, who put his name to the publication, certainly was (according to the information I have received from credible persons, who have long resided on the island,) a surgeon in the Dutch East India Company's service, about the time the account of the Upas appeared. It would be in some degree interesting to become acquainted with his character. I have been led to suppose that his literary abilities were as mean, as his contempt of truth was consummate.

Having hastily picked up some vague information concerning the Upas, he carried it to Europe, where his notes were arranged, doubtlessly by a different hand, in such a form as, by their plausibility and appearance of truth, to be generally credited.

But though the account just mentioned, in so far as relates to the situation of the Poison Tree, to its effects on the surrounding country, and to the application said to have been made of the Upas on criminals in different parts of the island, as well as the description of the poisonous substance itself, and its mode of collection, has been demonstrated to be an extravagant forgery,--the existence of a tree in Java, from whose sap a poison is prepared, equal in fatality, when thrown into the circulation, to the strongest animal poisons hitherto known, is a fact, which it is at present my object to establish and to illustrate.

The tree which produces this poison, is called Antshar, and grows in the eastern extremity of the island.

The Antshar is one of the largest trees in the forests of Java. The stem is cylindrical, perpendicular, and rises completely naked to the height of sixty, seventy, or eighty feet. Near the surface of the ground it spreads obliquely, dividing into numerous broad appendages or wings, much like the Canarium commune, and several others of our large forest trees. It is covered with a whitish bark, slightly bursting in longitudinal furrows. Near the ground this bark is, in old trees, more than half an inch thick; and, upon being wounded, it yields plentifully the milky juice from which the celebrated poison is prepared. A puncture or incision being made in the tree, the juice or sap appears oozing out, of a yellowish colour, somewhat frothy; from old trees, paler; and nearly white from young ones: when exposed to the air, its surface becomes brown. The consistence very much resembles milk, only it is thicker and viscid. This sap is contained in the true bark, or cortex, which, when punctured, yields a considerable quantity, so that in a short time a cupful may be collected from a large tree. The inner bark, or liber, is of a close fibrous texture, like that of the Morus papyrifera, and when separated from the other bark, and cleansed from the adhering particles, resembles a coarse piece of linen. It has been worked into ropes, which are very strong, and the poorer class of people employ the inner bark of younger trees, which is more easily prepared, for the purpose of making a coarse stuff, which they wear when working in the fields. But it requires much bruising, washing, and a long immersion in water, before it can be used; and even when it appears completely purified, persons wearing this dress, on being exposed to the rain, are affected with an intolerable itching, which renders their flimsy covering almost insupportable.

It will appear, from the account of the manner in which the poison is prepared, that the deleterious quality exists in the gum, a small portion of which still adhering to the bark, produces, when it becomes wet, this irritating effect; and it is singular, that this property of the prepared bark is known to the Javanese, in all places where the tree grows, (for instance, in various parts of the provinces of Bangil and Malang, and even at Onarang,) while the preparation of a poison from its juice, which produces a mortal effect when introduced into the body by pointed weapons, is an exclusive art of the inhabitants of the eastern extremity of the island.

One of the regents in the eastern districts informed me, that having many years ago prepared caps or bonnets from the inner bark of the Antshar, which were stiffened in the usual manner with thick rice-water, and handsomely painted, for the purpose of decorating his mantries, they all decidedly refused to wear them, asserting that they would cause their hair to fall off.

I first met with the Antshar in the province of Poegar, on my way to Bangoowangee: in the province of Blambangan, I visited four or five different trees, from which this description has been made, while two of them furnished the juice for the preparation of the upas. The largest of these trees had, where the oblique appendages of the stem entered the ground, a diameter of at least ten feet; and where the regularly round and straight stem began, a distance of at least ten feet from the points of the two opposite appendages at the surface of the ground, its diameter was full three feet. I have since found a very tall tree in Passooroowang, near the boundary of Malang, and very lately I have discovered several young trees in the forests of Japara, and one tree in the vicinity of Onarang. In all these places, though the inhabitants are unacquainted with the preparation and effect of the poison, they distinguish the tree by the name of Antshar. From the tree I found in the province of Passooroowang, I collected some juice, which was nearly equal in its operation to that of Blambangan. One of the experiments to be related below, was made with the upas prepared by myself, after my return to the chief village. I had some difficulty in inducing the inhabitants to assist me in collecting the juice, as they feared a cutaneous eruption and inflammation, resembling, according to the account they gave of it, that produced by the Ingas of this island, the Rhus vernix of Japan, and the Rhus radicans of North America; but they were only affected by a slight heat and itching of the eyes. In clearing the new grounds in the environs of Bangoowangee for cultivation, it is with much difficulty the inhabitants can be made to approach the tree, as they dread the cutaneous eruption which it is known to produce when newly cut down.

But except when the tree is largely wounded, or when it is felled, by which a large portion of the juice is disengaged, the effluvia of which, mixing with the atmosphere, affects the persons exposed to it with the symptoms just mentioned, the tree may be approached and ascended like the other trees in the forests.

The Antshar, like trees in its neighbourhood, is on all sides surrounded by shrubs and plants; in no instance have I observed the ground naked or barren in its immediate circumference.

The largest tree I met with in Blambangan, was so closely environed by the common trees and shrubs of the forest in which it grew, that it was with difficulty I could approach it. Several vines and climbing shrubs, in complete health and vigour, adhered to it, and ascended to nearly half its height. And at the time I visited the tree and collected the juice, I was forcibly struck with the egregious misrepresentation of Foersch. Several young trees, spontaneously sprung from seeds that had fallen from the parent, reminded me of a line in Darwin's Botanic Garden,

"Chained at his root two scion demons dwell;"

while in recalling his beautiful description of the Upas, my vicinity to the tree gave me reason to rejoice that it is founded on fiction. The wood of the Antshar is white, light, and of a spongy appearance.

CHAP. XXXV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING VEGETABLES.--(Continued.)

Curious Plant near the Cape of Good Hope--The Mandrake--Changeable Flower--Chinese Method of Preparing Tea--Antiquity of Sugar--Curious Effects of Cinchona, or Peruvian Bark--Curious Particulars of a Pound Weight of Cotton-wool--Animated Stalk--Animal Flower.

"Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints."

CURIOUS PLANT NEAR THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

The following account of a curious plant is taken from Thunberg's Travels:--

"The fruit of a species of Mesembryan Thermum, (says the writer,) was sometimes brought to the tavern as a rarity, and was called Rosa de Jericho. When it is put into water, it gradually opens all its seed-vessels, and exactly resembles a sun; and when it becomes dry again, it contracts itself, and closes by degrees. This is a no less necessary than singular property, which points out the admirable institution of an all-wise Creator; inasmuch as this plant, which is found in the most arid plains, keeps its seeds fast locked up in time of drought, but when the rainy season comes, and the seeds can grow, it opens its receptacles, and lets fall the seeds, in order that they may be dispersed abroad. The water in which this fruit has lain, is sometimes given to women that are near their time, and is thought to procure them an easy delivery."

THE MANDRAKE.--This plant possesses a long taper root resembling the parsnip, running three or four feet into the ground; immediately from the crown of the root arises a circle of leaves, at first standing erect, but when grown to the full size, they spread open and lie upon the ground; these leaves are more than a foot in length, and about five inches broad in the middle, of a dark green colour, and a fetid scent; among these come out the flowers, each on a scape three inches in length; they are five-cornered, of an herbaceous white colour, spreading open at top like a primrose, having five hairy stamens, and a globular germ supporting an awl-shaped style, which becomes a globular soft berry, when full-grown as large as a nutmeg, of a yellowish green colour, and when ripe, full of pulp.

Many singular facts are related of this plant, among which we select the following: the roots have been supposed to bear a resemblance to the human form, and are figured as such in the old herbals, being distinguished into the male with a long beard, and the female with a prolix head of hair. Mountebanks carry about fictitious images, shaped from roots of bryony and other plants, cut into form, or forced to grow through moulds of earthenware, as mandrake-roots. It was fabled to grow under a gallows, where the matter falling from the dead body, gave it the shape of a man; to utter a great shriek, or terrible groans, at the digging up: and it was asserted, that he who would take up a plant of mandrake, should in common prudence tie a dog to it for that purpose, for, if a man should do it himself, he would surely die soon after. To this curious vegetable the poet alludes in the following lines:--

"Mark how that rooted mandrake wears His human feet, his human hands; Oft as his shapely form he rears, Aghast the frighted ploughman stands."

THE CHANGEABLE FLOWER.--"On the island of Lewchew, (says Mr. M'Leod,) is found a remarkable production, about the size of a cherry-tree, bearing flowers, which, alternately on the same day, assume the tint of the rose or lily, as they are exposed to sunshine or the shade. The bark of this tree is of a dark green, and the flowers bear a resemblance to our common roses. Some of our party, whose powers of vision were strong, (assisted by a vigorous imagination.) fancied that, by attentive watching, the change of hue, from white to red, under the influence of the solar ray, was actually perceptible to the eye: that, however, they altered their colour in the course of a few hours, was very obvious."

As this is a chapter devoted to miscellaneous articles of this class, it may not be amiss to insert THE CHINESE METHOD OF PREPARING TEA.--Tea grows on a small shrub, the leaves of which are collected twice or thrice every year. Those who collect the leaves three times a year, begin at the new moon which precedes the vernal equinox, whether it falls at the end of February or the beginning of March. At that period most of the leaves are perfectly green, and hardly fully expanded: but these small and tender leaves are accounted the best of all; they are scarce, and exceedingly dear.

The second crop, or the first with those who collect the leaves only twice a year, is gathered about the end of March or beginning of April. Part of the leaves have then attained to maturity; and though the rest have acquired only half their size, they are both collected without any distinction.

The third (or second with some) and last crop, is more abundant, and is collected about the end of April, when the leaves have attained their full growth, both of size and number. Some people neglect the two first crops, and confine themselves entirely to this, the leaves of which are selected with great care, and distributed into classes, according to their size or goodness.--Tea ought to be rejected as of a bad quality, when old, and withered leaves are found amongst it, which may be easily known by infusing a little of it in water, for then the leaves dilate, and return to their natural state.

The leaves of the tea shrub are oblong, sharp-pointed, indented on the edges, and of a very beautiful green colour. The flower is composed of five white petals, disposed in the form of a rose, and is succeeded by a pod, of the size of a filbert, containing two or three small green seeds, which are wrinkled, and have a disagreeable taste. Its root is fibrous, and spreads itself out near the surface of the ground.

This shrub grows equally well in a rich, as in a poor soil. It is to be found all over China, but there are certain places where the tea is of a better quality than in others. Some people give the preference to the tea of Japan, but we have reason to doubt whether there is any real difference.

The manner of preparing tea is very simple. When the leaves are collected, they are exposed to the steam of boiling water, in order to soften them; and they are then spread out upon metal plates, and placed over a moderate fire, where they acquire that shrivelled appearance which they have when brought to Europe.

In China, there are only two kinds of the tea shrub; but the Chinese, by their industry, have considerably multiplied each of them. If there are, therefore, large quantities of tea in that country which are excessively dear, there is some also very common, and sold at a low rate. The Chinese, however, are very fond of good tea, and take as much pains to procure it of an excellent quality, as the Europeans do to procure excellent wine.

Bohea Tea.--The Chinese name of this tea is vou-y-tcha, that is to say, tea of the third kind, called vou-y. It takes its name from a mountain in the province of Fokien. There are three kinds of this tea: the first of which, called common Bohea, grows at the bottom of the mountain; the second, called cong fou, or camphou, grows at the top; and the third, named saot-chaon, grows in the middle. These names in England are corrupted into congo, and souchong.

Bohea teas in general ought to be dry, and heavy in the hand: this is a sign that the leaves have been full and juicy. When infused, they ought to communicate to the water a yellow colour, inclining a little to green, which indicates that they are fresh, for old tea produces a red colour. Care must be taken above all to avoid red leaves, and to choose such as are large and entire. This is also a sign of freshness; for the longer tea is kept, the more it is shaken, which breaks the leaves, and mixes them with a great deal of dust. It sometimes happens, however, that the tea-dust is owing to the manner in which it is put into the box, as the Chinese tread upon it with their feet, to make the box hold a large quantity. The leaves of the cong-fou and saot-chaon ought to have a beautiful black shining tint, and to communicate to water a very bright yellow and a mild taste.

The Pekoe is a particular kind of tea-shrub, the leaves of which are all black on the one side, and all white on the other. As the real Pekoe tea is very scarce and dear, the Chinese adulterate it, by mixing with it some of the small half-grown leaves, as yet white, which grow on the top of the common Bohea tea. This changes the quality of the Pekoe, for these leaves being scarcely formed, can have very little sap or flavour.

Green Teas.--Green teas do not grow in the same place as the Bohea tea. They are brought from the province of Nankin, and are distinguished into three sorts. The first is known under the name of songlo tea, but oftener under that of green toukay; the second is called bing tea; and the third hayssuen tea, or hyson. There are also some other kinds, but the greater part of them are unknown, or of little importance to foreigners.

The songlo and hayssuen teas come from the same shrub; their only difference is in the manner of their being prepared. Bing tea grows on a different shrub, the leaves of which are thicker and larger than those of other kinds. All teas ought to have a green leaden tint: the older they are, the leaves become more yellow, which is a very great fault. They ought also to have a burnt or scorched smell, not too strong, but agreeable; for when they have been long kept, they have a filthy smell, somewhat like that of pilchards. The French wish to find in green teas, and particularly in songlo and imperial, an odour similar to that of soap. In these several kinds of tea, there is a particular distinction to be made, as they are generally classed into one, two, or three kinds, according to the periods at which they were gathered.

ANTIQUITY OF SUGAR.--From the few remains of the Grecian and Roman authors which have survived the ravages of time, we can find no proof that the juice of the sugar-cane was known at a very early period. There can be no doubt, however, that in those countries where it was indigenous, its value was not long concealed. It is not improbable that it was known to the ancient Jews; for there is some reason to suppose, that the Hebrew word, which occurs frequently in the Old Testament, and which is by our translators rendered sometimes calamus, and sometimes sweet-cane, does in fact mean the sugar-cane. The sugar-cane was first made known to the western parts of the world, by the conquest of Alexander the Great. Strabo relates, that Nearchus's admiral found it in the East Indies, A. C. 325. It is evidently alluded to in a fragment of Theophrastus, preserved in Photius. Varro, who lived A. C. 68. describes it in a fragment quoted by Isidorus, as a fluid pressed from reeds of a large size, which was sweeter than honey. Dioscorides, about A. C. 35, says, "that there is a kind of honey called saccharon, which is found in India and Arabia Felix. It has the appearance of salt, and is brittle when chewed. If dissolved in water, it is beneficial to the bowels and stomach, is useful in diseases of the bladder and kidneys, and, when sprinkled on the eye, removes those substances that obscure the sight." This is the first account we have of its medicinal qualities. Galen often prescribed it as a medicine. Lucan relates, that an Oriental nation in alliance with Pompey used the juice of the cane as a common drink. Pliny says it was produced in Arabia and India, but that the best came from the latter country. It is also mentioned by Arrian, in his Petiplus of the Red Sea, by the name of [Greek: Sachar] (sachar) as an article of commerce from India to the Red Sea. Ælian, Tertullian, and Alexander Aphrodisæus, mention it as a species of honey procured from canes.

CURIOUS EFFECTS OF CINCHONA, or PERUVIAN BARK.--An account has been published in the Journal de Pharmacie, for May 1819, of some curious effects produced by Peruvian Bark. A French merchant, M. Delpech, residing at Guayra, in the Caraccas, had stored up a large quantity of fresh cinchona, in apartments which were afterwards required for the reception of some travellers as guests. These apartments contained each eight or ten thousand pounds of bark; and in consequence of its fermentation, the heat was much greater here than in the other parts of the house, rendering the place somewhat disagreeable. One of the beds placed in these rooms, was occupied by a traveller, ill of a malignant fever: after the first day he found himself much better, though he had taken no medicine; in a few days he felt himself quite recovered, without any medical treatment whatsoever. This unexpected success induced M. Delpech to make some other trials: several persons ill of fever, were placed successively in his magazine of cinchona, and they were all speedily cured, simply by the effluvia of the bark.

It happened that a bale of coffee, and some common French brandy, were kept in the same place for some months: one of the brandy bottles happened to be uncorked, and, on examination, was found to possess a slight aromatic taste, to be more tonic, and very superior to common brandy. The coffee was also much altered; when roasted, it was more bitter than common coffee, and left in the mouth a taste similar to that of an infusion of bark.

It is to be observed, that the bark which produced all these effects was fresh; and the question whether that of commerce would produce the same effects can only be answered by experiment.

CURIOUS PARTICULARS OF A POUND WEIGHT OF COTTON-WOOL.--The wool came from the East Indies to London; from London it went to Manchester, where it was manufactured into yarn; from Manchester it was sent to Paisley, where it was woven; it was then sent to Ayrshire, where it was tamboured; it came back to Paisley, and was there veined; afterwards it was sent to Dumbarton, where it was hand-sewed, and again brought to Paisley, whence it was sent to Renfrew to be bleached; and was returned to Paisley, whence it went to Glasgow and was finished; and from Glasgow was sent per coach to London. The time taken to bring this article to market was three years, from the time it was packed in India, till the time it arrived in cloth at the merchant's warehouse in London; when it must have been conveyed 5000 miles by sea, and 920 by land, and contributed to support no less than 150 people, by which the value had been increased 2000 per cent.--Thus, from materials of little value in their native state, do arts and manufactures administer to individual comfort and national revenue.

We shall close this chapter with an account of two curious articles, not strictly vegetable, denominated the animated stalk, and the animal flower.

THE ANIMATED STALK.--This very remarkable animal was found by Mr. Ives, at Cuddalore, and he mentions several kinds of it: some appearing like dry straws tied together, others like grass; some have bodies much larger than others, with the addition of two scaly imperfect wings; their neck is no bigger than a pin, but twice as long as their body; their heads are like those of a hare, and their eyes vertical and very brisk. They live upon flies, and catch these insects very dexterously with the two fore feet, which they keep doubled up in three parts, close to their head, and dart out very quick on the approach of their prey; and when they have caught it, they eat it very voraciously, holding it in the same manner as a squirrel does its food. On the outer joints of the fore feet are several very sharp hooks, for the easier catching and holding of their prey; while, with the other feet, which are four in number, they take hold of trees, or any other thing, the better to surprise whatever they lie in wait for. They drink like a horse, putting their mouths into the water. Their excrements, which are very white, are almost as large as the body of the animal, and, as the natives say, dangerous to the eyes.

THE ANIMAL FLOWER.--Animal flower, in zoology, is a name given to several species of animals belonging to the genus of Actinia of Linnæus. They have likewise been distinguished by the names of Urtica marina, or Sea-nettle, and Sea-anemone, from their claws or tentacles being disposed in regular circles, and tinged with a variety of bright lively colours, resembling the petals of some of our most beautiful flowers. As to one species particularly, mentioned by Abbé Diequemarre, in the Phil. Trans. for 1773, article 37, the purest white, carmine, and ultramarine, are said to be scarcely sufficient to express their brilliancy. The bodies of some of them are hemispherical, of others cylindrical, and others are shaped like a fig. Their substance likewise differs: some are stiff and gelatinous, others fleshy and muscular; but all of them are capable of altering their figure, when they extend their bodies and claws in search of food. They are found in many of the rocky coasts of the West India Islands, and likewise on some parts of the coast of England. They have only one opening, which is the centre of the uppermost part of the animal; round this are placed rows of fleshy claws; this opening is the mouth of the animal, and is capable of great extension. The animals themselves, though exceedingly voracious, will bear long fasting. They may be preserved alive a whole year, or perhaps longer, in a vessel of sea water, without any visible food; but, when food is presented, one of them will successively devour two muscles in their shells, or even swallow a whole crab as large as a hen's egg. In a day or two the crab-shell is voided at the mouth, perfectly cleared of all the meat. The muscle-shells are likewise discharged whole, with the two shells joined together, but entirely empty, so that not the least particle of fish is to be perceived on opening them. An anemone of one species, will even swallow an individual of another species; but, after retaining it ten or twelve hours, will throw it up alive and uninjured. Through this opening also, it produces its young ones alive, already furnished with little claws, which, as soon as they fix themselves, they begin to extend in search of food.

In Hughes's Natural History of Barbadoes, an account is also given of several species of animal flowers. They are described as only found in a bason in one particular cave; and of the most remarkable species mentioned by him, we have the following description:--"In the middle of the bason, there is a fixed stone or rock, which is always under water. Round its sides, at different depths, seldom exceeding eighteen inches, are seen at all times of the year, issuing out of little holes, certain substances that have the appearance of fine radiated flowers, of a pale yellow or a bright straw colour, slightly tinged with green, having a circular border of thick-set petals, about the size of, and much resembling those of a single garden marigold, except that this seeming flower is narrower at the discus, or setting on of the leaves, than any flower of that kind. I have attempted to pluck one of these from the rock, to which they are always fixed, but never could effect it; for as soon as my fingers came within two or three inches of it, it would immediately contract close together its yellow border, and shrink back into the hole of the rock; but, if left undisturbed for about four minutes, it would come gradually in sight, expanding, though at first very cautiously, its seeming leaves, till at last it appeared in its former bloom. However, it would again recoil with a surprising quickness, when my hand came within a small distance of it. Having tried the same experiment by attempting to touch it with my cane, and a small slender rod, the effect was the same. Though I could not by any means contrive to take or pluck from the rock one of these animals entire, yet I once cut off (with a knife, which I had held for a long time out of sight, near the mouth of a hole out of which one of these animals appeared) two of these seeming leaves. These, when out of the water, retained their shape and colour, but, being composed of a membrane-like substance surprisingly thin, it soon shrivelled up and decayed."

The Abbé Diequemarre, by many curious, though cruel experiments, related in the Phil. Trans. for 1773, has shewn, that these animals possess, in a most extraordinary degree, the power of reproduction, so that scarce any thing more is necessary to produce as many sea anemones as we please, than to cut a single one into as many pieces. A sea anemone being cut in two by a section through the body, that part where the limbs and mouth are placed, ate a piece of a muscle, offered to it soon after the operation, and continued to feed and grow daily for three months after. The food sometimes passed through the animal, but was generally thrown up again, considerably changed, as in the perfect sea anemone. In about two months, two rows of limbs were perceived growing out of the part where the incision was made. On offering food to this new mouth, it was laid hold of, eaten, and, the limbs continually increasing, the animal gradually became as perfect as those which had never been cut. In some instances, however, he found that when one of these creatures was cut through, new limbs would be produced from the cut place, those at the mouth remaining as before; so that a monstrous animal was the consequence, having two mouths, and feeding at both ends.

Having put some of them into a pan of water, set over a slow fire, he found that they lost their life at fifty degrees of Reaumur's thermometer. To avoid the imputation of cruelty in these experiments, the author argues the favourable consequences that have attended his operations on the sea anemones, which have been so fortunate as to fall into his hands: as he has not only multiplied their existence, but also renewed their youth, "which last," he adds, "is surely no small advantage." The reproductive power of the Barbadoes animal flower is prodigious. Many people coming to see these strange creatures, and occasioning some inconvenience to a person through whose grounds they were obliged to pass, he resolved to destroy the objects of their curiosity; and, that he might do so effectually, he caused all the holes out of which they appeared, to be carefully bored and drilled with an iron instrument, so that we cannot suppose but their bodies must have been entirely crushed to a pulp: nevertheless, they again appeared in a few weeks, from the very same places.

Animal flowers are found in as great beauty and variety on the coast of Galloway, as any where in the West Indies. They are repeatedly taken notice of in Sir J. Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland. Mr. Little, minister of Colvend, mentions the polypus, or sea anemone, among the productions of that coast. Mr. Muirhead, minister of Urr, gives the following particular description of them:--"About five years ago, I discovered in the parish of Colvend, the animal flower, in as great perfection and variety as it is in Jamaica. The lively colours, and the various and elegant forms of the polypus on this coast, are truly equal to any thing related by natural historians, respecting the sea-flowers of any other country. To see a flower of purple, of green, blue, yellow, &c. striving to catch a worm, is really amusing." And Mr. Marshall, minister of Brittle, has allotted a section of his Statistical Account of his parish, to animal flowers; wherein he says, "Till of late perhaps it has not been much adverted to, that the animal flower, or water polypus, is even common along the shores of Brittle, Colvend, and very likely round the whole coast of the stewartry of Galloway. The form of these polypi is elegant, and pleasantly diversified. Some are found resembling the sunflower, some the hundred-leaved rose, but the greater number bear the likeness of the poppy. The colours differ as much as the form. Sometimes the animal flower is of a deep purple, frequently of a rose colour, but mostly of a light red or fleshy hue. The most beautiful of them, that could be picked up, have often been carried from the shore of Colvend, twelve or fifteen miles up into the country, where they have lived, fed on worms, and even bred for several weeks, and might have existed much longer, if they could have been supplied with sea-water."

CHAP. XXXVI.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING VEGETABLES.--(Concluded.)

If to this lower planet we advert, Seat of our birth and nurture, proofs abound Of infinite contrivance, matchless skill. Whether the site or figure we regard, Or distribution of the various parts Perfective of the system, strokes appear Too exquisite for bungling chance to hit. Bally.

FUNGUS, OR MUSHROOM.

By fungus, we mean the mushroom tribe. The ancients called them the children of the earth, to indicate the obscurity of their origin. The moderns have likewise been at a loss in what rank to place them; some referring them to the animal, some to the vegetable, and others to the mineral kingdom. Messrs. Wilck and Minchausen, have not scrupled to rank these bodies among animal productions; because, when fragments of them or their seeds were macerated in water, these gentlemen perceived a quantity of animalcules discharged, which they supposed capable of being changed into the same substance. It was an ancient opinion, that beef could produce bees; but it was reserved for Messrs. Wilck and Minchausen, to suppose that bees could produce beef. The former asserts, that fungi consist of innumerable cavities, each inhabited by a polype; and he does not hesitate to ascribe the formation of them to their inhabitants, in the same way as it has been said that the coral, the lichen, and the mucor, were formed. Hedwig has lately shewn how ill-founded this opinion is with respect to the lichen; and M. Durande has demonstrated its falsity with regard to the corallines.

"Indeed, (says M. Bonnet, speaking of the animality of fungi,) nothing but the rage for paradox could induce any one to publish such a fable; and I regret that posterity will be able to reproach our times with it. Observation and experiment should enable us to overcome the prejudices of modern philosophy, now that those of the ancient have disappeared and are forgotten." It cannot be denied, that the mushroom is one of the most perishable of all plants, and it is therefore the most favourable for the generation of insects. Considering the quickness of its growth, it must be furnished with the power of copious absorption; the extremity of its vessels must be more dilated than in other plants. Its root seems, in many cases, to be merely intended for its support; for some species grow upon stones, or moveable sand, from which it is impossible they can draw much nourishment. We must therefore suppose, that it is chiefly by the stalk that they absorb. These stalks grow in a moist and tainted air, in which float multitudes of eggs, so small, that the very insects they produce are with difficulty seen by the microscope. These eggs may be compared to the particles of the byssus, 100,000 of which, as M. Gleditsch says, are not equal to one-fourth of a grain.

May we not suppose that a quantity of such eggs are absorbed by the vessels of the fungus, and that they remain there without any change, till the plant begins to decay? Besides, the eggs may be only deposited on the surface of the plant, or they may exist in water, into which they are thrown for examination. Do not we see that such eggs, dispersed through the air, are hatched in vinegar, in paste, &c. and wherever they find a convenient nidus for their development? Can it be surprising, then, that the corruption of the mushroom should make the water capable of disclosing certain beings that are really foreign to both? It is not more easy to acquiesce in the opinions of those naturalists who place the fungi in the mineral kingdom, because they are found growing on porous stones, thence called lapides fungarii; which, however, must be covered with a little earth, and be watered with tepid water, in order to favour the growth. Such mushrooms are no more the produce of the stone, than the lichen is of the rock to which it adheres, or the moss, of the tree on which it is found.

We have only to observe the growth of mushrooms, to be convinced that this happens by development, and not by addition or combination of parts, as in minerals. The opinion of Boccone, who attributed them to an unctuous matter performing the function of seed, and acquiring extension by apposition of similar parts; and that of Morison, who conceived that they grew spontaneously out of the earth by a certain mixture of salt and sulphur, joined with oils from the dung of quadrupeds; have now no longer any adherents. Fungi are produced, they live, they grow by development; they are exposed to those vicissitudes natural to the different periods of life which characterize living substances; they perish and die; they extract, from the extremity of their vessels, the juices with which they are nourished; they elaborate and assimilate them to their own substance: they are, therefore, organized and living beings, and consequently belong to the vegetable kingdom.

But whether they are real plants, or only the production of plants, is still a matter in dispute with the ablest naturalists. Some ancient authors have pretended to discover the seed of mushrooms; but the opinion was never generally received. Petronius, when he is laughing at the ridiculous magnificence of his hero Trimalcio, relates, that he had written to the Indies for the seed of morelle. These productions were generally attributed to the superfluous humidity of rotten wood, or other putrid substances. The opinion took its rise from observing that they grew most copiously in rainy weather. Such was the opinion of Trajus, king of Bauhin, and even of Columna, who, talking of the peziza, says, that its substance was more solid and harder, because it did not originate from rotten wood, but from the pituita of the earth. It is not surprising, that, in times when the want of experiment and observation made people believe that insects could be generated by putrefaction, we should find the opinion general, that fungi owed their origin to the putrescence of bodies, or to a viscous humour analogous to putridity. Malpighi could not satisfy himself as to the existence of seeds, which other botanists have pretended to discover. He only says, that these plants must have them, or that they perpetuate themselves, and shoot by fragments. Micheli, among the moderns, appears to have employed himself most successfully on this subject. He imagined, that he not only saw the seeds, but even the stamina, as well as the little transparent bodies destined to favour the dissemination and fecundation of these seeds. Before this author, Lister thought he perceived seeds in the Fungus perosus crassus magnus of John Bauhin: the little round bodies that are found in the pezizæ and belvellæ, at that time, passed for seeds; which did not appear at all probable to Marsigli, considering that the eye, when assisted with the very best microscopes, could perceive nothing similar in much larger fungi. Indeed, these bodies may be the capsules or covers of the seeds, if they are not the seeds themselves. However this may be, Marsigli, observing that fungi were often without roots or branches, and that they wanted flowers and seeds, the means which nature employs for the production of perfect plants, thought himself warranted in doubting whether these beings could be ranked in the number of vegetables. The doubts of Marsigli prompted him to observe the formation of fungi. Their matrix he called situs: he imagined they grew in places where they met with an unctuous matter, composed of oil mixed with nitrous salt, which, by fermentation, produced heat and moisture, and insinuated itself between the fibres of wood; that is, he imagined them the production of a viscous and putrescent humour. Lancisi, in like manner, considered fungi as owing their existence to the putrefaction of vegetables, and supposed them a disease in the plants; but he imagined "that the fibres of the trees were necessary to their production," as is the case in the formation of galls; and compared them to the warts and other excrescences of the human body. He added, that such fungous vegetable tumors must necessarily assume various forms and figures, from the fluids which distend the tubes and vessels relaxed by putrescence, from the ductility of the fibres and their direction, and from the action of the air. This opinion has been refuted by the celebrated naturalist M. de Jussieu, in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences for 1728. He maintains, that the fungi have a great analogy with the lichen, which is allowed to be a vegetable; that, like the lichen, they are divested of stalks, branches, and leaves; that, like it, they grow and are nourished upon the trunks of trees, on pieces of rotten wood, and on all sorts of putrid vegetables; that they resemble the lichen too in the rapidity of their growth, and the facility with which many of them may be dried, and restored to their former figure upon being immersed in water; and lastly, that there is a great similarity in the manner in which their seeds are produced. He affirms, that only the warts and excrescences which grow on animal bodies, and the knots and other tumors that are to be found on trees, can be compared with each other; for they are composed equally of the solid and liquid substance of the plant or animal on which they grow; whereas, the matter of the fungi is not only quite distinct from that of the plants on which they are found, but often entirely similar to the substance of those that spring immediately from the earth.

The organization (says M. de Jussieu) which distinguishes plants and other productions of nature, is visible in the fungi, and the particular organization of each species is constant at all times, and in all places; a circumstance which could not happen, if there were not an animal reproduction of species, and consequently a multiplication and propagation by seed. This is not, he says, an imaginary supposition, for the seeds may be felt like meal upon mushrooms with gills, especially when they begin to decay; they may be seen with a magnifying glass, in those that have gills with black margins: and, lastly, says he, botanists can have no doubt that fungi are a distinct class of plants; because, by comparing the observations made in different countries, with the figures and descriptions of such as have been engraved, the same genera and the same species are every where found.

Notwithstanding this refutation by M. de Jussieu, another naturalist, M. de Necker, has lately maintained, in his Mycitologia, That the fungi ought to be excluded from the three kingdoms of nature, and be considered as intermediate beings. He has observed, like Marsigli, the matrix of the fungi; and has substituted the word carchte (initium faciens) instead of situs; imagining that the rudiment of the fungus cannot exist beyond that point in which the development of the filaments of fibrous roots is perceived. He allows, that fungi are nourished and grow like vegetables; but he thinks that they differ very much from them in respect of their origin, structure, nutrition, and rapidity of growth. He says, that the various vessels which compose the organization of vegetables, are not to be found in the fungi, and that they seem entirely composed of cellular substance and bark; so that this simple organization is nothing more than an aggregation of vessels endowed with a common nature, that suck up the moisture in the manner of a sponge; with this difference, that the moisture is assimilated into a part of the fungus, and not merely imbibed for nutrition.

Lastly, That the fructification, the only essential part of a vegetable, and which distinguishes it from all other organized bodies, being wanting, fungi cannot be considered as plants. This, he thinks, is confirmed by the constant observation of those people who gather the morelle and the mushroom, and who never find them in the same spots where they had formerly grown. As the generation of fungi (says M. Necker) is always performed when the parenchymatous cellular substance has changed its nature, form, and function, we must conclude that it is the degeneration of that part which produces these bodies.

But if fungi were owing merely to the degeneration of plants, they would be still better entitled to constitute a new kingdom. They would then be a decomposition, not a new formation, or new bodies. Besides, we cannot deny, that in those bodies which form the limit between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, the organization becomes simple, as the organs destined for nutrition are multiplied; but, as the last in the class of insects belongs to the animal kingdom, fungi ought, notwithstanding the simplicity of their organization, still to belong to the vegetable kingdom.

The parenchymatous, or cellular substance, which, as M. Bonnet says, is universally extended, embraces the whole fibrous system, and becomes the principal instrument of growth, must naturally be more abundant in those productions; and this accounts for the rapidity of their enlargement. Besides, growth, whether slow or rapid, never was employed to determine the presence or absence of the vegetable or animal character. The draba verma, which, in a few weeks, shoots, and puts forth its leaves, flowers, and fruit, is not less a plant than the palm. The insect that exists but for a day, is as much an animal, as the elephant that lives for centuries. As to the seeds of the fungi, it is probable that nature meant to withdraw from our eyes the dissemination of these plants, by making the seeds almost imperceptible; and it is likewise probable, that naturalists have seen nothing but their capsules. Since, however, from the imperfection of our senses, we are unable to perceive these seeds, because those bodies which have been called their seeds, and the fragments or cuttings of the plants themselves, have not produced others of the same species; Nature seems to have reserved for herself the care of disseminating certain plants: it is in vain, for instance, that the botanist sows the dust found in the capsules of the orchis, though every one allows it to be the seed.

But, after all, what are those parts in the fungi casually observed by naturalists, and which they have taken for the parts of fructification? These are quite distinct from the other parts; and whatever may be their use, they cannot have been formed by the prolongation of the cellular substance, or of the fibres of the tree on which the fungus grows: they are, therefore, owing, like flower and fruit, to the proper organization of the plant. The plants, however, have a particular existence, independent of their putrefying nidus. The gills of certain fungi, which differ essentially from the rest of the plant in their conformation, would be sufficient to authorize this latter opinion. But can putrefaction create an organic substance? Nature undoubtedly disseminates through the air, and over the surface of the earth, innumerable seeds of fungi, as well as eggs of insects. The plant and the animal are excluded, when the nidus, in which they are deposited, or the temperature, is favourable for their development. No fortuitous concourse, either of atoms or fluids, could produce bodies so exquisitely and so regularly organized. It is sufficient, to throw one's eye on the beautiful plates which Schoeffer has published of them, and compare them, by the glass, with the warts and other excrescences of animals, to be convinced that they have not the same origin. The function of the cellular substance in vegetables must be greatly superior to that in animals, if it could produce any thing but deformities. The greater part of fungi exhibit a configuration much too regular, constant, and uniform, to be the effect of chance or putrefaction. As this form is preserved the same in all places where fungi have been found, it follows, that they contain in themselves the principles of reproduction. They resemble the misletoe, and other parasitic plants, which are perfectly distinct from the trees on which they grow. The fungi, therefore, are organized and living substances,--or true plants.

CHAP. XXXVII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING STONES.

The Meteoric Stone--Labrador Stone--Asbestos--Mushroom Stone--The Changeable Stone--A Wonderful Diamond--A Singular Curiosity.

There are more things in heaven and earth Than are dreamt of in our philosophy. Shakspeare.

THE METEORIC STONE.

The following description of a meteoric stone, which fell in the year 1511, is taken from a set of observations on natural history, meteorology, &c. made in the early part of the sixteenth century, by Andrea da Prato, of Milan. These have not been published; but various copies of them exist. They have been commented upon by Dr. Louis Rossi, in the Giomale di Fisica, Chemica, &c. from whence this description is taken.--"On the 4th of September, 1511, at the second hour of the night, and also at the seventh, there appeared in the air, at Milan, a running fire, with such splendour, that, the day seemed to have returned; and some persons beheld the appearance of a large head, which caused great wonder and fear in the city. The same thing happened on the following night at the ninth hour. A few days after, beyond the river Adela, there fell from heaven many stones, which being collected at Cremasco (Crema), were found to weigh eight, and even eleven pounds each. Their colour was similar to that of burnt stones."--Dr. Bossi considers this as an authentic description of the fall of an aërolite.

THE LABRADOR STONE, is a curious species of Feld-spar, or Rhombic Quartz, which exhibits all the colours of a peacock's tail. It was discovered some years ago by the Moravians, who have a colony among the Esquimaux, in Labrador. It is found of a light or deep gray colour, but for the most part of a blackish gray. When held in the light in various positions, it discovers a diversity of colours, such as the blue of lapis lazuli, grass-green, apple-green, pea-green, and sometimes, but more seldom, a citron yellow. Sometimes it has a colour between that of red copper and tornbuck-gray; at other times the colours are between gray and violet. For the most part, these colours are in spots, but sometimes in stripes on the same piece. The stones are found in pretty large angular pieces, appear foliated when broken, and the fragments are of a rhomboidal figure.

We shall next introduce THE ASBESTOS.--This is a stone found in several places in Europe and Asia, and particularly in Sweden, Corsica, Cornwall, and the island of Anglesea in Wales. It is of a silky nature, very fine, and of a grayish colour, insipid, and indissoluble in water. It may be split into threads and filaments, from one to ten inches in length. It is indestructible by fire; whence it may be employed for many useful purposes. There are some sorts whose filaments are rigid and brittle, and others more flexible. The former cannot be spun into cloth, and the latter with difficulty. In consequence of its incombustibility, it was very much valued by the ancients for wrapping up the bodies of the dead. In the year 1702, an urn was discovered at Rome, with the bones of a human body wrapped in a cloth made of flexible asbestos. The method of preparing it is as follows: the stone is laid to soak in warm water, then opened and divided by the hands, that the earthy matter may be washed out. This earth is white like chalk, and makes the water thick and milky. This being several times repeated, the filaments are afterwards collected and dried: they are commodiously spun with flax. When the cloth is woven, it is best preserved by oil from breaking. It is then put into the fire; and the flax being burnt out, the cloth remains pure and white. It might also be made into paper; and, from its incombustibility, wills, or any other thing of importance, could be written on it. The Chinese make furnaces of this mineral, which are very portable.

THE MUSHROOM STONE, or stone capable of producing mushrooms.--In the Ephemerides of the Curious mention is made, of a stone, so called by Dr. J. G. Wolckamerus, who saw one in Italy, which never ceases to produce, in a few days, mushrooms of an excellent flavour, by the most simple and easy process imaginable. "It is (says he) of the bigness of an ox's head, rough and uneven on its surface, and on which are also perceived some clefts and crevices. It is black in some parts, and in others of a lighter and grayish colour. Internally it is porous, and nearly of the nature of pumice stone, but much heavier; and it contains a small piece of flint, which is so incorporated with it as to appear to have been formed at the same time the stone itself received its form. This gives room to judge, that these stones have been produced by a fat and viscid juice, which has the property of indurating whatever matter it filtrates into. The stone, when lightly covered with earth, and sprinkled with warm water, produces mushrooms of an exquisite flavour, which are usually round, sometimes oval, and whose borders, by their inflections and different curvities, represent in some measure human ears. The principal colour of these mushrooms is sometimes yellowish, and sometimes of a bright purple, but they are always diversified with spots of a deep orange colour, or reddish brown; and when these spots are recent, and still in full bloom, they produce a very agreeable effect to the sight. But what appears admirable is, that the part of the stalk which remains adhering to the stone when the mushroom has been separated from it, grows gradually hard, and petrifies in time; so that it seems that this fungus restores to the stone the nutritive juice it received from it, and that it thus contributes to its increase." John Baptist Porta says, that this stone is found in several parts of Italy; and that it is not only to be met with at Naples, taken out of mount Vesuvius, but also on mount Pantherico, in the principality of Arellino; on mount Garganus, in Apulia; and on the summit of some other high mountains. As to the form of these mushrooms, their root is strong, uneven, divided according to its longitudinal direction, and composed of fibres as fine as hairs, interwoven one with another. Their form, on first shooting out, resembles a small bladder, scarcely larger than the bud of a vine; and if in this state they are squeezed between the fingers, an aqueous subacid liquor issues out. When at their full growth, their pedicle is of a finger's length, larger at top than at bottom, and becomes insensibly slenderer in proportion as it is nearer the earth. These mushrooms are also formed in an umbrella shape, and variegated with an infinity of little specks, situated very near one another. They are smooth and even on the upper part, but underneath leafy, like the common mushrooms. Their taste is likewise very agreeable, and the sick are not debarred from eating them when dressed in a proper manner.--Some naturalists and physicians submitted these stones to chemical analysis, in order to be more competent judges of the uses they might be put to in medicine; when there first came forth, by distillation, an insipid water, and afterwards a spirituous liquor. The retort having been heated to a certain point, there arose an oil, which had nearly the smell and taste of that of guaiacum; and a very acid salt was extracted from the ashes.

We must not omit THE CHANGEABLE STONE.--There are three of these remarkable stones in the British Museum; the largest of them about the size of a cherry-stone, but of an oval form. It is opaque, and coloured like a common yellow pea; it may be scratched, though not without difficulty, by a common knife, notwithstanding which, it seems to leave a mark upon glass. It does not ferment with nitrous acid. When it has lain some hours in water, it becomes transparent, and of a yellow amber colour. The change begins soon after the immersion, and at one end, in form of a little shot; but in a small one of the same kind, the transparency begins round the edges. By degrees the spot increases, until the whole stone becomes uniformly clear throughout: when out of the water it loses its transparency, first at one end, and then gradually over the remainder, until the whole has become opaque, which change happens in less than it takes to become transparent. This change is not entirely peculiar to the hydrophanes. Bergman informs us, that some steatites produce the same effect; and M. Magellan, that the crust of chalcedonies and agates frequently produce the same appearance. Messrs. Buckman and Veltheim were the first who particularly inquired into the nature of this stone, and investigated its properties. Their account is as follows:--"As soon as the stone is put into water, it exhales a musty smell, several air-bubbles arise, and it becomes gradually transparent. Some of the stones become colourless as soon as they are thoroughly transparent; others have a more or less deep yellow colour, some acquire a beautiful ruby colour; and others gain a fine colour of mother-of-pearl, or of a bluish opal. Whatever be the colour of the liquor in which the hydrophanes is immersed, it gains only its usual degree of transparency with the colour peculiar to it. When we look at it in its moist state, we perceive a luminous point, varying its situation as the position of the eye is altered." This luminous point is not, according to Mr. Bruckman, the immediate image of the sun, but a reflection of that image refracted in the substance of the stone itself; a phenomenon which probably gave rise to its name of OCULUS MUNDI. Mr. Bruckman left a piece of this stone, weighing 35 grains, seven hours in water, the space requisite to make it perfectly transparent; and in that time he found that it had gained three grains in weight. The hydrophanes becomes much sooner transparent when put into hot water; and the same happens if it be dipped in a very dilute acid, or rather a very dilute solution of alkali. When dipped in oil of vitriol, it becomes very quickly transparent, and will continue so on account of the strong attraction of that acid for moisture, which takes as much from the atmosphere as is necessary to keep the stone transparent; but its opacity will return, if it be dipped in an alkaline liquor, and then dried.

An account of a WONDERFUL DIAMOND, IN THE ISLAND OF BORNOU.--The rajah of Mathan possesses the finest and largest diamond in the world, that has hitherto been discovered. This diamond, which is said to be of the finest water, weighs 367 carats. The celebrated Pitt diamond weighs only 127 carats. The Mathan diamond is shaped like an egg, with an indented hollow near the smaller end. It was discovered at Landak, about ninety years ago; and though the possession of it has occasioned numerous wars, it has been about eighty years in the possession of the Mathan family. Many years ago, the governor of Batavia sent a Mr. Stuvart to ascertain the weight, quality, and value of this diamond, and to endeavour to purchase it; and in his mission, he was accompanied by the sultan of Pontiana. After examining it, Mr. Stuvart offered 150,000 dollars for the diamond, the sum to which he was limited; and, in addition to this sum, two war-brigs, with their guns and ammunition, together with a certain number of great guns, and a quantity of powder and shot. The rajah, however, refused to deprive his family of so valuable an hereditary possession, to which the Malays attach the miraculous power of curing all kinds of diseases, by means of the water in which it is dipped, and with which they imagine the fortune of the family is connected.

We shall close our department of remarkable Stones, with the following account of A SINGULAR CURIOSITY.--Mr. Sloughton, the Spanish Consul at Boston, in North America, has in his possession a flint pebble, obtained amongst ballast stone, thrown from a vessel at an eastern port. When broken, it presented two half heads in profile; all the outlines of feature and hair were perfectly distinct, and the heads were of a darker colour than the rest of the stone. What is most surprising is, that the one face was male and the other female; and even the putting up of the hair was appropriate to the sexes: they were situated, in the stone, face to face.

CHAP. XXXVIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MOUNTAINS.

Natural Description of Mountains--The Peak in Derbyshire--Snowden in Wales--Skiddaw in Cumberland.

--------Sublime the uplifted mountains rise, And with their pointed heads invade the skies; While the high cliffs their craggy arms extend, Distinguish states, and sever'd realms defend. Blackmore.

NATURAL DESCRIPTION OF MOUNTAINS.

Almost all the tops of the highest mountains are bare and pointed; which proceeds from their being continually assaulted by storms and tempests. All the earthy substances with which they might have been once covered, have for ages been washed away from their summits; and nothing is left but immense rocks, which no tempest has hitherto been able to destroy. Nevertheless, time is every day making depredations, and huge fragments are seen tumbling down the precipices, either loosened from their summits by the rains and frost, or struck down by lightning. Nothing can exhibit a more terrible picture than one of these enormous masses, commonly larger than a house, falling from its height, and rolling down the side of the mountain with a noise louder than thunder. Dr. Plot tells us of one in particular, which being loosened from its bed, rolled down the precipice, and was partly shattered into a thousand pieces. One of the largest fragments, however, still preserving its motion, travelled over the plain below, crossed a rivulet in the midst, and at last stopped on the other side of the bank! These fragments are often struck off by lightning, and sometimes undermined by rains; but the most usual manner in which they are disunited from the mountain is by frost: the rains first insinuate and find their way between the interstices of the mountain, and continue there until by the intense cold they are converted into ice, when the water swells with an irresistible force, and produces the same effect as gunpowder, splitting the most solid rocks, and thus shattering their summits. Sometimes whole mountains are, by various causes, disunited from each other. In many parts of the Alps, there are amazing clefts, the sides of which so exactly correspond with the opposite, that no doubt can be entertained of their having been once joined. At Cajeta, in Italy, a mountain was split in this manner by an earthquake; and there is a passage opened through it, that appears as if done by the industry of man.

In the Andes these breaches are often seen. That at Thermopylæ in Greece has been long famous. The mountain of the Troglodytes in Arabia has thus a passage through it; and that in the late duchy of Savoy, which Nature began, and which Victor Amadeus completed, is an instance of the same kind. "In June, 1714, a part of the mountain of Diableret, in the district of Valais, in France, suddenly fell down, between two and three P. M. the weather being very calm and serene. This mountain, which was of a conical figure, destroyed fifty-five cottages in its fall. Fifteen persons, with about one hundred beasts, were also crushed beneath its ruins, which covered an extent of ground of a league square. The dust it occasioned instantly enveloped all the neighbourhood in darkness. The heaps of rubbish were more than three hundred feet high. They stopped the current of a river that ran along the plain, which now is formed into several new and deep lakes. There appeared, through the whole of this rubbish, none of those substances that seemed to indicate that this catastrophe had been occasioned by means of subterraneous fires. Most probably, the base of this rocky mountain had been decomposing through the lapse of many ages, and thus fell without any extraneous violence."

In 1618, the town of Fleurs, in France, was buried beneath a rocky mountain, at the foot of which it was situated. Such accidents are produced by various causes: by earthquakes; by being decayed at the bottom; or by the foundation of one part of the mountain being hollowed by waters, and, thus wanting a support, breaking from the other. Thus it generally has been found in the great chasms in the Alps; and it is almost always the case in those disruptions of hills, called land-slips: these are nothing more than the sliding down of a higher piece of ground, driven from its situation by subterraneous inundations, and settling upon the plain below. There is not an appearance in nature that so much astonished our ancestors as these land-slips. To behold a large upland, with its houses, corn, and cattle, at once loosened from its place, and floating as it were upon the subjacent water,--to see it quitting its ancient situation, and sailing forward like a ship,--is certainly one of the most extraordinary appearances that can be imagined, and, to a people ignorant of the powers of nature, might well be considered as a prodigy. Accordingly, we find all our old historians mentioning it as an omen of approaching calamities. In this more enlightened age, however, its cause is well known; and, instead of exciting ominous apprehensions in the populace, it only gives rise to some very ridiculous law-suits among the several claimants, whose the property thus divided from its kindred soil shall be; whether the land shall belong to the original possessor, or to him upon whose grounds it has encroached and settled.

In the lands of Hatberg, in Ireland, there stood a declivity gradually ascending for nearly half a mile. On the 10th of March, 1713, the inhabitants perceived a crack on its side, like a furrow made with a plough, which they imputed to the effects of lightning, as there had been a thunder-storm the night before. However, on the evening of the same day, they were surprised to hear a hideous confused noise issuing all around from the side of the hill; and their curiosity being awakened, they resorted to the place. There, to their amazement, they found an extent of ground, of nearly five acres, all in gentle motion, and sliding down the hill upon the subjacent plain. This motion, together with the noise, continued the remaining part of the day, and the whole of the following night; the noise proceeding, probably, from the attrition of the ground beneath. The day following, this strange journey down the hill ceased; and above an acre of the meadow below was found covered with what before composed a part of the declivity. But such tremendous land-slips, when a whole mountain's side descends, happen very rarely.

There are some of another kind, however, much more common; and as they are always sudden, much more dangerous. These are snow-slips, or avalanches, well known, and greatly dreaded by travellers. They are justly described in the following beautiful lines of one of our poets:--

By an hundred winters piled, Where the glaciers, dark with death, Hang o'er precipices wild, Hang suspended by a breath.

If a pulse but throb alarm, Headlong down the steeps they fall; For a pulse will break the charm, Bounding, bursting, burying all.

It often happens, that when snow has long been accumulated on the tops and on the sides of mountains, it is borne down the precipice either by tempests, or by its own melting. At first, when loosened, the volume in motion is but small, but it gathers as it continues to roll; and by the time it has reached the habitable parts of the mountain, it is generally grown to an enormous bulk. Wherever it rolls, it levels all things in its way, or buries them in unavoidable destruction. Instead of rolling, it sometimes is found to slide along from the top; yet even thus, it is generally fatal. Nevertheless, we had an instance a few years ago, of a small family in Germany, that lived for above a fortnight under one of these snow-slips. Although they were buried during the whole of that time in utter darkness, and under a bed of some hundreds of feet deep, yet they were providentially taken out alive; the weight of the snow being supported by a beam that kept up the roof, and nourishment supplied to them by the milk of a she-goat, that was buried under the same ruin.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE PEAK IN DERBYSHIRE, from Moritz's Travels in several parts of England.

Having arrived in Derbyshire, a distance of 170 miles from London, the author thus describes the town of Castleton, in which the Peak is situated:--

"I ascended one of the highest hills, and all at once perceived a beautiful vale below me, which was traversed by rivers and brooks, and inclosed on all sides by hills. In this vale lies Castleton, a small town, with low houses; so named from an old castle, whose ruins are still to be seen here.

"A narrow path, which wound itself down the side of the rock, led me through the vale into the street of Castleton, where I found an inn, and dined. After dinner, I made the best of my way to the cavern.

"A little rivulet, which runs through the middle of the town, led me to its entrance.

"I stood here a few moments, full of wonder and astonishment at the amazing height of the steep rock before me, covered on each side with ivy and other shrubs. At its summit are the decayed walls and towers of an ancient castle, which formerly stood on this rock; and at its foot the monstrous aperture, or mouth to the entrance of the cavern; where it is totally dark, even at mid-day.

"As I was standing here full of admiration, I perceived at the entrance of the cavern, a man of a rude and rough appearance, who asked me if I washed to see the Peak; and an echo strongly reverberated his coarse voice.

"Answering him in the affirmative, he next inquired if I should want to be carried to the other side of the stream; telling me at the same time what the sum would be which I must pay for it.

"This man had, along with his black stringy hair, and his dirty and tattered clothes, such a singularly wild and infernal look, that he actually struck me as a real Charon: his voice, and the questions he asked me, were not of a kind to remove this notion; so that far from its requiring any effort of imagination, I found it not easy to avoid believing, that at length I had actually reached Avernus,--was about to cross Acheron,--and to be ferried by Charon!

"I had no sooner agreed to his demand, than he told me, all I had to do was boldly to follow him,--and thus we entered the cavern.

"In the entrance of the cavern lay the trunk of a tree that had been cut down, on which several of the boys of the town were playing.

"Our way seemed to be altogether on a descent, though not steep; so that the light, which came in at the mouth of the cavern near the entrance, gradually forsook it; and when we had gone forward a few steps farther, I was astonished by a sight, which, of all others, I here the least expected: I perceived to the right, in the hollow of the cavern, a whole subterranean village, where the inhabitants, on account of its being Sunday, were resting from their work, and with happy and cheerful looks were sitting at the doors of their huts along with their children.

"We had scarcely passed these small subterranean houses, when I perceived a number of large wheels, on which on weekdays these human moles, the inhabitants of the cavern, made ropes.

"I fancied I here saw the wheel of Ixion, and the incessant labour of the Danaïdes.

"The opening through which the light came, seemed, as we descended, every moment to become less and less, and the darkness at every step to increase, till at length only a few rays appeared, as if darting through a crevice, and just tingeing the small clouds of smoke which at dusk raised themselves to the mouth of the cavern.

"This gradual increase of darkness awakens in a contemplative mind a soft melancholy. As you go down the gentle descent of the cavern, you can hardly help fancying the moment is come when you are about to bid a final farewell to the abodes of mortals.

"At length the great cavern in the rock closed itself, in the same manner as heaven and earth seem to join in the horizon. We then approached a little door, where an old woman came out of one of the huts, and brought two candles, of which we each took one.

"My guide now opened the door, which completely shut out the faint glimmering of daylight, which till then it was still possible to perceive, and led us to the inmost centre of this dreary temple of old Chaos and Night, as if till now we had only been traversing the outer coasts of their dominions. The rock was here so low that we were obliged to stoop very much for some few steps, in order to get through; but how great was my astonishment, when we had passed this narrow passage, and again stood upright, at once to perceive, as well as the feeble light of the candles would permit, the amazing length, breadth, and height of the cavern, compared to which, the monstrous opening through which we had already passed was nothing.

"After we had wandered here more than an hour, as beneath a dark and dusky sky, on a level sandy soil, the rock gradually lowered itself, and we suddenly found ourselves on the edge of a broad river, which, from the glimmering of our candles amid the total darkness, suggested a variety of interesting reflections. To the side of this river a small boat was moored, with some straw in its bottom. Into this vehicle my guide desired me to step, and lay myself down in it quite flat, because, as he said, towards the middle of the river the rock would almost touch the water.

"When I had laid myself down as directed, he himself jumped into the water, and drew the boat after him. All around us was one still, solemn, and deadly silence; and as the boat advanced, the rock seemed to stoop, and come nearer and nearer to us, till at length it nearly touched my face; and, as I lay, I could hardly hold the candle upright. I seemed to myself to be in a coffin rather than in a boat, as I had no room to stir hand or foot till we had passed this frightful strait, and the rock rose again on the other side,--where my guide once more handed me ashore.

"The cavern was now become all at once broad and high, and then suddenly it was again low and narrow. I observed on both sides, as we passed along, a prodigious number of great and small petrified plants and animals; but these we could not examine, unless we had been disposed to spend some days in the cavern.

"And thus we arrived at the opposite side, at the second river or stream, which, however, was not so broad as the first, as one may see across it to the other side: over this stream my guide carried me on his shoulders, because there was here no boat to ferry us.

"From thence we only went a few steps farther, when we came to a very small piece of water, which extended itself lengthways, and led us to the end of the cavern.

"The path along the edge of this water was wet and slippery, and sometimes so very narrow that I could hardly set one foot before the other.

"Notwithstanding, I wandered with pleasure on this subterraneous shore, and was regaling myself with the interesting contemplation of all these various wonderful objects, in this land of darkness, and shadow of death,--when, all at once, something like music at a distance sounded in my ears. I instantly stopped, full of astonishment, and eagerly asked my guide what this might mean. He answered, "Only have patience, and you shall soon see." But as we advanced, the sounds of harmony seemed to die away, the noise became weaker, and at length it appeared to dwindle into a gentle hissing or hum, like distant drops of falling rain.

"It is not difficult to imagine how great was my wonder, when ere long I actually saw and felt a violent shower of rain falling from the rock as from a thick cloud, threatening to extinguish our candles, and leave us in entire darkness. It was this that had caused the melancholy sound which I had heard at a distance, the soft notes of which had been assisted by the distant echo.

"To this shower which fell from the ceiling or roof of the cavern through the veins of the rock, the inhabitants had given the name of a mizzling rain.

"We continued our march along the sides of the water, and often saw on its banks large apertures of the rock, which seemed to be new or subordinate caverns, all of which we passed without looking into. At length my guide prepared me for one of the finest sights we had yet beheld, and which was now soon to burst on our view.

"We had gone but a few paces farther, when we entered what might easily be taken for a majestic temple, with lofty arches, supported by beautiful pillars, formed by the plastic hand of some ingenious artist.

"This subterraneous temple, in the structure of which no human hand had borne a part, appeared to me at that moment to surpass all the most stupendous buildings I had ever seen, in point of regularity, magnificence, and beauty.

"Deeply impressed with awe and reverence at this grand display of the Creator's works, my mind became insensibly solemnized; and I felt that it became me silently to adore the Author of all, and acknowledge the hand of the divine Architect."

From the Peak in Derbyshire, we shall conduct our reader to SNOWDEN IN WALES; to the top of which Miss Elizabeth Smith, a young lady of uncommon attainments, made an excursion, and published an account of her adventure, in nearly the following language.

"Snowden is the loftiest of the Welsh mountains, being 3020 feet above the level of the sea.

"We set off, about eleven at night, for the foot of Snowden, and travelled eight miles through a fine mountainous country, by moon-light. Before one, we arrived at a little hut where the guide lives; and after having him called up, and loaded with a basket of bread and milk, and a tin box for specimens, we began our march at a quarter past one. The clouds were gathering over the mountains, and threatening us with either darkness or rain. We however escaped both, and were only amused with every variety they could give the landscape, by hiding or obscuring the moon, and blotting out now one mountain, and now another, from our view; till about two o'clock, when the dawn began to appear, they covered the moon, and we saw her no more. We proceeded by a very easy ascent over boggy ground till half past two, when, coming suddenly to the top of the first range of hills, and meeting with a violent wind which blew from the quarter where the sun was to rise, (for we ascended the mountain on the south west,) Mrs. G. S. was frightened, and seeing a very steep ascent before her, said she would sit down and wait our return. My mother said she would stay with her, and I proposed our all going back together; but my mother very kindly insisted on my proceeding. We therefore divided our provisions; the ladies returned to the hut from which they had set out, and I went on with the guide, who could not speak a word of English. We steered our course more towards the south, and toiled up several mountains, in some parts covered with loose stones, which had fallen from their broken summits, but in general overgrown with different sorts of moss, and a kind of short grass, mixed with immense quantities of the galium pusillum. I picked up a few other plants, but on the whole was disappointed in the botanical way, as I found very little that I had not before met with on the mountains in this neighbourhood; however, this is not the time of the year (July) for mountain curiosities. I went on as fast as I could, without stopping, except now and then for a moment to look down on the mountains under my feet, as clouds passed over them, thinking each summit I saw before me was the last, and unable to gain any information from my guide to satisfy my impatience, for I wished to be at the top before sun-rise, and pink clouds now began to appear over the steep I was climbing. I also knew that the ladies would be very impatient for my return; nor was I without anxiety on their account, as I was not sure they would find their way back to the hut. These ideas occupied my mind all the way up; and if that deceitful, but comforting lady, Hope, had not continually presented to me the range of hills I was ascending as the last step in ambition's ladder, I am not sure that, with all my eagerness to get on the top, I should not have returned back.

"I was debating this point very earnestly with myself, in ascending an almost perpendicular green slope, when, on a sudden, I saw at my feet an immense chasm, all in darkness, and of a depth I cannot guess, certainly not less than a hundred feet; I should suppose much more. It answers in some respects to the idea I have formed of the crater of a violent valcano, but evidently is not that, as there is no mark of fire, the rock being composed, as it is in general throughout this country, of a sort of slate. Nor does the mountain appear to have been thrown down, but the pit to have sunk in; which must probably has been occasioned by subterranean waters, as there is water at the bottom of the pit, and the mountain is full of springs. You think now you are at the top, but you are mistaken. I am standing indeed at the top of the abyss, but with a high rocky peak on each side of me, and descending almost perpendicularly into the lake at the bottom. I have been taking a rough sketch of one of these peaks, with the lake in the deepest shadow; I am turning over my paper, which the wind renders very difficult, in order to draw another; I look up, and the upper part illuminated by a beautiful rose-coloured light, while the opposite part still casts a dark shade over its base, and conceals the sun from my view. If I were ready to jump into the pit with delight at first seeing it, my ecstasy now was still greater. The guide seemed quite delighted to see me so much pleased, and took care, in descending, to lead me to the edge of every precipice, which he had not done in going up. I, however, presently recollected, that I was in a great hurry to get back, and set off along the brink of the cavity for the highest peak, where I arrived at a quarter past four, and saw a view, of which it is impossible to form any idea from description. For many miles around, it was composed of tops of high mountains, of all the various forms that can be imagined: some appeared swimming in an ocean of vapour; on others, the clouds lay like a cap of snow, appearing as soft as down. They were all far below Snowden, and I was enjoying the finest blue sky, and the purest air I ever breathed. The whole prospect was bounded by the sea, except to the east and south-east, and the greatest part of the lands in those parts were blotted out by clouds. The sun, however, rose so far toward the north-east, as to be still hanging over the sea. I took a sketch of a small part of the mountains, with some of the little lakes which appear at their feet,--sat down, for the first time, on a circle of stones which is built on the top of the hill,--and made great havock in the bread and milk, in which achievement the guide equalled, if not surpassed me,--and at half past four, almost frozen, I began to descend. My anxiety about my friends increased, as I came near the spot where I had left them; I made all possible haste, and found them safe in the hut, at ten minutes past six. It certainly would have been pleasanter to have had more time, and some one to enjoy the expedition with me; but I am delighted that I have been, and would not for any thing give up the recollection of the sublime scene."

We shall close this chapter with an account of SKIDDAW.--This is a mountain of England, in Cumberland, one of the most remarkable in the kingdom, being above 3000 feet in perpendicular height, from the surface of the Derwent-water, which lake is far distant from the sea, and high above its level from this circumstance. Skiddaw is reckoned the highest mountain in England. The prospect from its top is very extensive, and, being detached from other mountains, forms a grand object from various points of view. It is easy of access, and the sides are covered with grass. At the top, the atmosphere is uncommonly rare. It is covered with loose brown slate-stone.

CHAP. XXXIX.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MOUNTAINS.--(Continued.)

The Andes--Pichinca--Monte Bolea--Pausilipo--Monte Nuovo--Spectre of the Broken--Gauts, or Indian Appenines--Pico--Written Mountains--Athos--Sulphur Mountains.

----His proud head the airy mountain hides, Among the clouds; his shoulders and his sides, A shady mantle clothes. Denham.

THE ANDES.

The Andes is a great chain of mountains in South America, which, running from the most northern part of Peru, to the Straits of Magellan, between 3000 and 4000 miles, are the longest and most remarkable in the world. The Spaniards call them the Cordilleras de los Andes: they form two ridges; the lowermost of which is overspread with woods and groves, and the uppermost covered with everlasting snow. Those who have been at the top, affirm that the sky is always serene and bright, the air cold and piercing, and yet so thin that they were scarce able to breathe. When they looked downwards, the country was hid by the clouds that hovered on the mountain's sides.

The mountains just mentioned, which have been frequently ascended, are much inferior in height to many others in this enormous chain.

The following is the account given of the mountain called Pichincha, by Don George Juan, and Don Antonio de Ulloa, two mathematicians, sent by the kings of France and Spain, to make observations in relation to the figure of the earth. These mathematicians suffered extremely, as well from the severity of the cold, as from the impetuosity of the winds, which on these heights blow with incessant violence; difficulties the more painful, as they had been little used to such sensations. Thus, in the torrid zone, nearly under the equinoctial line, where it is natural to suppose they had most to fear from the heat, their greatest pain was caused by the excessiveness of the cold. Their first scheme, for shelter and lodging in these uncomfortable regions, was to pitch a field-tent for each company: but on Pichinca, this could not be done, from the narrowness of the summit; they were therefore obliged to be contented with a hut so small, that the whole of the company could scarcely creep into it. Nor will this appear strange, if the reader considers the bad situation and smallness of the place, it being one of the loftiest crags of a rocky mountain, 100 fathoms above the highest desert of Pichinca. Such was the position of their mansion, when all the other adjacent parts soon became covered with ice and snow. The ascent up this stupendous rock, from the base, or the place where the mules could come to their habitation, was so craggy, as only to be climbed on foot; and to perform it, cost them four hours' continual labour and pain, arising not only from the violent efforts of the body, but the subtilty of the air, which was so thin, and probably overcharged with the lighter respirable gases, as to render respiration difficult.

Our philosophers generally kept within their hut. Indeed, they were obliged to do this, on account of the intenseness of the cold, the violence of the wind, and their being continually involved in so thick a fog, that an object at six or eight paces was hardly discernible. When the mist cleared up, the clouds, by their gravity, moved nearer to the surface of the earth, and on all sides surrounded the mountains to a vast distance, forming no bad representation of the sea, with their rock, like an island, stationed in its centre. When this happened, they heard the horrid noises of the tempests, which then spent their fury on Quito and the neighbouring country. They saw the lightnings issue from the clouds, and heard the thunders roll far beneath them; and whilst the lower parts were involved in tempests of thunder and rain, they enjoyed a delightful serenity, the wind was hushed, the sky became clear, and the enlivening rays of the sun moderated the severity of the cold. But their circumstances were very different, when the clouds reascended: their thickness rendered respiration difficult; the snow and hail fell continually; and the wind returned with all its violence; so that it was impossible entirely to overcome the fears of being, together with their hut, blown down the precipice, on the edge of which it was built, or of being buried by the daily accumulations of ice and snow.

The wind was often so violent in these regions, that its velocity dazzled the sight, whilst their fears were increased, from the dreadful concussions of the precipice, caused by the all of enormous fragments of rocks. These crashes were the more alarming, as no other noises are heard in such solitary abodes: and during the night, their rest, which they so greatly wanted, was frequently disturbed by these sudden sounds. When the weather was fair near their hut, and the clouds gathered about some of the other mountains which they had selected for their observations, so that they could not make all the use they desired of this interval of good weather, they left their hut, to exercise themselves. Sometimes they descended to a small distance; and, at other times, amused themselves with rolling large fragments of rocks down the precipice; and these frequently required the joint strength of them all, though they often saw the same effected by the mere force of the wind. But they always took care, in their excursions, not to go so far out, but that, on the least appearance of the clouds gathering about their cottage, which often happened very suddenly, they could regain their shelter. The door of their hut was fastened with thongs of leather, and on the inside not the smallest crevice was left unstopped; besides which, it was very compactly covered with straw: but, notwithstanding all their care, the wind penetrated through.

The days were often little better than the nights; and all the light they enjoyed, was that of a lamp or two, which they kept continually burning. Though their hut was small, and crowded with inhabitants, besides the heat of the lamps, yet the intenseness of the cold was such, that every one of them was obliged to have a chafing-dish of coals. These precautions would have rendered the rigour of the climate supportable, had not the imminent danger of perishing, by being blown down the precipice, roused them every time it snowed, to encounter the severity of the outward air, and sally out, with shovels, to force from the roof of their hut, the masses of snow which were gathering on it. Nor would it, without this precaution, have been able to support the weight. They were not indeed without servants and Indians, but these were so benumbed with the cold, that it was with great difficulty they could get them out of a small tent, where they kept a continual fire. So that, all our artists could obtain from them, was to take their turns in this labour; and even then they went very unwillingly about it, and consequently performed it but slowly.

The reader may easily judge what our philosophers suffered from the asperities of such a climate. Their feet were swelled, and so tender, that they could not even bear the heat of the fire, and walking was attended with extreme pain. Their hands were covered with chilblains; their lips swelled and chopped, so that every motion in speaking drew blood; consequently they were obliged to observe strict taciturnity, and were little disposed to laugh, as, by causing an extension of the lips, it produced such wounds as were very painful for two or three days after.

Their common food in this inhospitable region was a little rice boiled with some flesh or fowl, procured from Quito; and, instead of fluid water, their pot was filled with ice: they had the same resource with regard to what they drank; and while they were eating, every one was obliged to keep his plate over a chafing-dish of coals, to prevent his provisions from freezing. The same was done respecting the water. At first they imagined the drinking of strong liquors would diffuse a heat through the body, and consequently render it less sensible of the painful sharpness of the cold; but, to their surprise, they felt no manner of strength in such liquors, nor were they any greater preservatives against the cold than even common water.

It is affirmed, that there are in the Andes sixteen volcanoes, or burning mountains, which throw out fire and smoke with a terrible noise. The height of Chimborazo, said to be the highest peak of the Andes, has been determined by geometrical calculations to be 20,282 feet. As all or most rivers have their source in mountains, it is no wonder a great number run down the sides of the Andes. Some hurry along with a prodigious rapidity, while others form beautiful cascades, or run through holes in rocks, which look like bridges of a stupendous height. There is a public road through the mountains, 1000 miles in length, part of which runs from Quito to Cusco.

MONTE BOLEA.--This is a hill or mount in the neighbourhood of Verona, in the north of Italy, celebrated for the uncommon abundance and remarkable variety of the organic remains which it exhibits, as well as for the striking relations these bear to minerals of volcanic origin. This spot has long attracted the attention of philosophic inquirers, and even excited the curiosity of the vulgar. Various collections of its petrifactions have been made, and a considerable number of labourers are occasionally employed in digging and preparing specimens. There are many treatises purposely devoted to the description and arrangement of its fossils, to a minute examination of its geognostic relations, and to laborious disquisitions on the manner in which it must have been formed.

In the neighbourhood of the mount, and over a great part of the territory of Verona, there are seen undoubted products of volcanic eruptions, together with masses of petrified animal and vegetable substances. The hill itself presents a great variety and singular combination of mineral phenomena, of different origin and nature. Its greater proportion is composed of an aggregation of organic remains, and seems a cemetery of shells, fishes, marine animals, birds, and quadrupeds. Some of its beds consist of a range of certain species possessing a considerable similarity; while in others, animals of the most opposite habits, and inhabiting different regions of the globe, as well as different elements of nature, are strangely brought into contact, and confusedly blended in one heterogeneous mass. Shell-fish of the rivers and of the sea, corals, fishes of various kinds, insects, bones of different species of birds, remains of elephants, bears, and other quadrupeds, requiring for their existence different climates, are here united in an extraordinary assemblage. Connected with these, we find basaltic columns, scoriæ, lava, and other volcanic productions. These facts lead us to conclude, that this spot has witnessed wonderful revolutions, and that it has been subject, at different periods of its history, or perhaps nearly at the same time, to the dominion of two powerful elements, of which the ravages only are now visible.

PAUSILIPO,--which is the next we would speak of, is a celebrated mountain of Naples, five miles from Puzzoli, famous for its grotto, or rather a subterraneous passage through it, which is near a mile long, about twenty feet broad, and from thirty to forty in height. The gentry who go there to gratify their curiosity, generally drive through it with lighted torches; but the country people find their way with little difficulty, by the light which enters at each end, and by two holes pierced through the mountain from the top, near the middle of the passage. This mountain is rendered an object of still greater fame and veneration, by possessing the tomb of Virgil, which is overgrown with ivy, and shadowed with the spreading boughs of an ancient laurel tree.

MONTE NUOVO,--is a mountain in the environs of Naples, which blocks up the valley of Averno. "This mountain (Mr. Swinburne tells us) arose in 1538: after repeated quakings the earth burst asunder, and made way for a deluge of hot ashes and flames, which rising extremely high, and darkening the atmosphere, fell down again and formed a circular mound four miles in circumference, and one thousand feet high, with a large cup in the middle. The wind rising afterwards, wafted the lighter particles over the country, blasted vegetation, and killed the animals which grazed; the consequence was, that the place was deserted, till Don Pedro de Toledo, viceroy of Naples, encouraged the inhabitants by his example to return.

"Part of Monte Nuovo is cultivated, but the larger portion of its declivity is wildly overgrown with prickly broom, and rank weeds that emit a very fetid sulphureous smell. The water in the valley is shallow, its inside towards the mountain is clad with shrubs, and the little area at the bottom planted with fig and mulberry trees; a most striking specimen of the amazing vicissitudes that take place in this extraordinary country. I saw no traces of lava, or melted matter, and few stones within. Near the foot of this mountain the subterraneous fires act with such immediate power, that even the sand at the bottom of the sea is heated to an intolerable degree."

The next object that claims our attention is THE SPECTRE OF THE BROKEN.--A curious phenomenon observed on the Broken, one of the Hartz mountains in Hanover, of which the following account is given by M. Haree, "On being here, says he, for the thirtieth time, and having procured information respecting the above-mentioned atmospheric phenomenon, I was at length, on the 23d of May, 1797, so fortunate as to have the pleasure of seeing it for myself; and perhaps a description of it may afford satisfaction to others who visit the Broken through curiosity. The sun rose about four o'clock, and the atmosphere being quite serene towards the east, his rays could pass without any obstruction over the Heinrichshöhe.

"In the S. W. however, towards Achtermannshöe, a brisk west wind carried before it thin transparent vapours, which were not yet formed into thick heavy clouds. About a quarter past four I went towards the inn, and looked round to see whether the atmosphere would permit me to have a free prospect to the S. W.; when I observed, at a very great distance, towards Achtermannshöhe, a human figure of a monstrous size. A violent gust of wind having almost carried away my hat, I clapped my hand to it, by moving my arm towards my head; and the colossal figure did the same. The pleasure which I felt on this discovery can hardly be described, for I had already walked many a weary step in the hopes of seeing this shadowy image, without being able to gratify my curiosity. I immediately made another movement by bending my body; and the colossal figure before me repeated it. I was desirous of doing the same thing once more,--but my colossus had vanished.

"I remained in the same position, waiting to see whether it would return; and in a few minutes it again made its appearance on the Achtermannshöhe. I paid my respects to it a second time; and my compliment was returned by a similar inclination of the body, in the figure before me. I then called the landlord of the Broken, and having both put ourselves in the same position I had taken alone, we looked towards the Achtermannshöhe, but saw nothing. We had not, however, stood long, before two similar colossal figures were formed over the above eminence, which, after repeating the various gesticulations of our bodies, vanished. We, however, still retained our position, keeping our eyes fixed on the same spot, and in a little while the two figures again stood before us, and were joined by a third, who had by this time added himself to our company. Every movement that we made by bending our bodies, these figures imitated,--but with this difference, that the phenomenon sometimes was weak and faint, and at others strong and well defined.

"Having thus had an opportunity of discovering the whole secret of this extraordinary appearance, I can give the following information to such of my readers as may be desirous of seeing it for themselves. When the rising sun, and, according to analogy, the case will be the same when the setting sun throws his rays over the Broken, upon the body of a man standing opposite to fine light clouds floating around, or hovering past him, he needs only fix his eyes stedfastly upon them, and in all probability he will see the singular spectacle of his own shadow, extending to the length of five or six hundred feet, at the distance of about two miles before him." It is said, there is, in the Manchester Transactions, an account of a similar phenomenon observed by Dr. Ferrier, on a hill in England.

THE GAUTS, or INDIAN APPENINES.--These form a stupendous wall of mountains, which extends from Cape Comorin, the southern point of the Peninsula of Hindoostan, to the Tapty, or Surat river, at unequal distances from the sea coast; it is seldom more than sixty miles, commonly about forty, and in one part approaches within six miles. These mountains rise abruptly from the country of Concan, bounding, in the form of a terrace, a vast extent of fertile and populous plains, which are so elevated as to render the air cool and pleasant. The height is supposed to be from 3000 to 4000 feet.

This celebrated ridge does not terminate in a point when it approaches the Tapty; but, departing in this place from its meridional course, it bends eastward in a serpentine line, parallel to the river, and is afterwards lost among the hills in the neighbourhood of Burrhampour. In its course along the Tapty, it forms several passes or descents towards that river, from whence it derives the name of Gauts, which means a landing-place. The alternate N. E. and S. W. winds, called monsoons, occasion a rainy season only on one side, viz. on the windward side of these mountains.

We would now wish to draw the attention of the reader from the Indian Appenines, to Pico, a mountain which rears its lofty head in an island of the same name.--It is filled with dismal dark caverns, or volcanoes, which frequently emit flame, smoke, and ashes, to a great distance. At the foot of it, towards the east, is a spring of fresh water, which is generally cold, but sometimes is so heated with subterraneous fire, as to rush forth in torrents, with a kind of ebullition like boiling water; equalling that in heat, and sending forth a steam of sulphureous fetid vapours, mixed with liquefied stones, minerals, and flakes of earth, all on fire, in such quantities, and with such violence, as to form a kind of promontory, on the declivity of the coast, and at the distance of 1200 paces from the fountain, which is vulgarly called Mysterious.--Such is the account given by Ortelius.

WRITTEN MOUNTAINS, MOUNTAINS OF INSCRIPTIONS, or JIBBEL EL MOKATTEB.--This is a mountain, or chain of mountains, said to be in the wilderness of Sinai; and the marble, of which it is composed, is reported to be inscribed to a considerable extent with innumerable characters, reaching from the ground sometimes to the height of twelve or fourteen feet. These were mentioned by a Greek author in the third century; but although some of them have been copied by Pococke, Montague, and other late writers, some have affected to entertain doubts whether even the mountains themselves really exist.

The vast number of these inscriptions, the desert place in which they are found, and the length of time requisite for executing the task, induced a notion that they are the work of the Israelites during their forty years' wandering in the wilderness. Others are of opinion, that they consist merely of the names of travellers, and the dates of their journeys. M. Niebuhr, who visited this country in September, 1762, made every attempt in his power, though without success, to obtain a sight of this celebrated mountain. After much vain inquiry, he was at last conducted to some rocks, upon which there were inscriptions in unknown characters. They are most numerous in a narrow pass between two mountains, named Omer-ridstein; and, says M. Niebuhr, "the pretended Jibbel El Mokatteb, may possibly be in its neighbourhood." Some of these inscriptions were copied by our author, but he does not look upon them to be of any consequence. At length, when M. Niebuhr arrived at the mountain to which the shiek had promised to conduct him, he found no inscription; but on climbing up to the top, he discovered an Egyptian cemetery, the stones of which were covered with hieroglyphics. The tomb-stones were from five to seven feet long, some being erect, and others lying flat; and "the more carefully they are examined, (says he,) the more certainly do they appear to be sepulchral stones, having epitaphs inscribed on them." The translator of Volney's Travels ascribes these inscriptions to the pilgrims who have visited Mount Sinai; but they ought surely to have been written in a language which somebody could understand; yet from the copies that have been taken of them by Dr. Pococke and others, it does not appear that they could be explained by any person. When Dr. Clayton, bishop of Clogher, visited this part of the world, about 1723, he expressed the greatest desire to have the matter concerning these written mountains ascertained, and even made an offer of £500 sterling to any literary person, who would undertake the journey, and endeavour to decipher the inscriptions; but no such person appeared.

The next object that rises in our view is MOUNT ATHOS,--a mountain of Chalcidia in Macedonia, equally celebrated in ancient and modern times. The ancients entertained extravagant notions concerning its height. Mela affirmed it to be so high as to reach above the clouds, which at that time might have been considered a bold assertion; and Martianus Capellinus says, that its elevation was six miles. It was a received opinion, that mount Athos was above the middle region of the air, and that it never rained upon or near its summit, because the ashes left on the altars there, were always found as they had been left, dry and unscattered.

The modern Greeks, struck with its singular situation, and the venerable appearance of its towering ascent, erected so many churches, monasteries, hermitages, &c. upon it, that it became in a manner inhabited by a company of religious devotees; and from thence received the name of Monte Santo, or the Holy Mountain; which appellation it still retains, though many of those consecrated buildings are now fallen into ruin and decay.

According to the accounts of modern travellers, this mountain advances into the Archipelago, on the south of the gulf of Contessa, and is joined to the continent by an isthmus about half a league in breadth. It is estimated to be thirty miles in circumference, and two in perpendicular height. It may be travelled over in about three days, and is to be seen at the great distance of ninety miles. There is a fine prospect from the top; but, like all other high mountains, the cold on its summit is excessive. It abounds with many different kinds of plants and trees, particularly the pine and fir. In the valleys grows a plant called elegia, whose branches serve to make pens for writing. In short, this mountain is said to be adorned with a variety of herbage and evergreens, a multitude of springs and streams, with woods extending almost to the sea shore, which happy combination of circumstances renders it one of the most agreeable places in the world. There are twenty-four large old monasteries upon it, surrounded with high walls, and inhabited by Camoyers, a certain description of Greek monks.

Through this mountain, or rather through the isthmus behind it, Xerxes king of Persia is said to have cut a passage for his fleet, when about to invade Greece. In this arduous task he spent three whole years, and employed in it all the forces on board his fleet. He is also said, before the work begun, to have written the following ridiculous letter to the mountain: "Athos, thou proud and aspiring mountain, that liftest up thy head to the very skies, I advise thee not to be so audacious, as to put rocks and stones, that cannot be cut, in the way of my workmen. If thou makest that opposition, I will cut thee entirely down, and throw thee headlong into the sea!" The directors of this enterprise are said to have been Bubaris, the son of Megabysus, and Artacheus, the son of Arbeus, both Persians; but as no traces of such a great work remains, the truth of the whole relation has justly been questioned. This venerable mountain constitutes one entire chain, extending seven miles in length, and three in breadth, and is situated about seventy miles east of Salonichi, the ancient Thessalonica.

We will now accompany Sir George Mackenzie to THE SULPHUR MOUNTAINS, IN THE ISLAND OF ICELAND.--"Having taken an early breakfast, (says he,) we set out towards the Sulphur Mountain, which is about three miles distant from Krisuvik. At the foot of the mountain was a small bank, composed chiefly of white clay mixed with sulphur, from all parts of which steam issued. Ascending it, we got upon a ridge immediately above a deep hollow, from which a profusion of vapour arose, and heard a confused noise of boiling and splashing, joined to the roaring of steam excaping from narrow crevices in the rock. This hollow, together with the whole side of the mountain opposite, as far up as we could see, was covered with sulphur and clay, chiefly of a white or yellowish colour. Walking over this soft and steaming surface, we found to be very hazardous, and we were frequently very uneasy when the vapour concealed us from each other.

"The day, however, being dry and warm, the surface was not so slippery as to occasion much risk of our falling. The danger of the crust of sulphur breaking, or of the clay sinking with us, was great; and we were several times in imminent peril of being scalded. Mr. Bright ran at one time a great hazard, and suffered considerable pain from accidentally plunging one of his legs into the hot clay.

"From whatever spot the sulphur was removed, steam instantly escaped; and in many places, the sulphur was so hot that we could scarcely handle it. From the smell, we perceived that the steam was mixed with a small quantity of sulphuretted hydrogen gas. When the thermometer was sunk a few inches into the clay, it rose generally to within a few degrees of the boiling point. By stepping cautiously, and avoiding every little hole from which steam issued, we soon discovered how far we might venture. Our good fortune, however, ought not to tempt any person to examine this wonderful place, without being provided with two boards, with which every part of the banks may be traversed in perfect safety.

"At the bottom of this hollow, we found a caldron of boiling mud, about fifteen feet in diameter, similar to that on the top of the mountain, which we had seen the evening before; but this boiled with much more vehemence. We went within a few yards of it, the wind happening to be remarkably favourable for our viewing every part of this singular place. The mud was in constant agitation, and often thrown up to the height of six or eight feet. Near this spot was an irregular space, filled with water boiling briskly. At the foot of the hill, is a hollow formed by a bank of clay and sulphur, whence steam rushed with great force and noise from among the loose fragments of rock.

"Further up the mountain, we met with a spring of cold water, a circumstance little expected in a place like this. Ascending still higher, we came to a ridge composed entirely of sulphur and clay, joining two summits of the mountain Here we found a much greater quantity of sulphur than on any other part of the surface, over which we had yet gone. It formed a smooth crust, from a quarter of an inch to several inches in thickness. The crust was beautifully crystallized, and immediately beneath it we found a quantity of loose granular sulphur, which appeared to be collecting and crystallizing, as it was sublimed along with the steam. Sometimes we met with clay of different colours, white, red, and blue, under the crust; but we could not examine this place to any depth, as, the moment the crust was removed, steam issued, and proved extremely annoying. We found several pieces of wood, which were probably the remains of planks that had been formerly used in collecting the sulphur, small crystals of which partially covered them.

"There appeared to be a constant sublimation of this substance; and were artificial chambers constructed for the reception and condensation of vapours, much of it might probably be collected. As it is, there is a large quantity on the surface; and, by searching, there is little doubt that great stores may be found. The inconvenience proceeding from the steam issuing on every side, and from the heat, is certainly considerable; but, by proper precautions, neither would be felt so much as to render the collection of the sulphur a matter of any great difficulty. The chief obstacle to working these mines, is their distance from a port whence the produce could be shipped. But there are so many horses in the country, whose original price is trifling, and whose maintenance during summer costs nothing, that the conveyance of sulphur to Reikiavik, presents no difficulties which might not probably be surmounted.

"Below the ridge on the farther side of this great bed of sulphur, we saw a great deal of vapour escaping with much noise. We crossed to the opposite side of the mountain, and found the surface sufficiently firm to admit of walking cautiously upon it. We had now to make our way towards the principal spring, as it is called; and this was a task of much apparent danger, as the side of the mountain, for the extent of about half a mile, is covered with loose clay, into which our feet sunk at every step. In many places there was a thin crust, below which the clay was wet, and extremely hot. Good fortune attended us; and without any serious inconvenience, we reached the object we had in view. A dense column of steam, mixed with a little water, was forcing its way impetuously through a crevice in the rock, at the head of a narrow valley, or break in the mountain. The violence with which it rushes out is so great, that the noise thus occasioned, may often be heard at the distance of several miles; and, during night, while lying in our tent at Krisuvik, we more than once listened to it with mingled emotions of awe and astonishment. Behind the column of vapour was a dark-coloured rock, which gave it its full effect.

"It is quite beyond our power to offer such a description of this extraordinary place, as to convey adequate ideas of its wonders or its terrors. The sensations of a person, even of firm nerves, standing on a support which feebly sustains him, over an abyss, where, literally, fire and brimstone are in dreadful and incessant action,--having before his eyes tremendous proofs of what is going on beneath him,--enveloped in thick vapours,--and his ears stunned with thundering noises; must be experienced before they can be understood."

CHAP. XL.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MOUNTAINS.--(Continued.)

"So pleas'd at first the tow'ring mounts we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last. But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way; Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and mounts on mounts arise."

MONT BLANC, IN SAVOY.

Narrative of a Journey from the village of Chamouni, to the summit of Mont Blanc, undertaken on August 8, 1787; by Colonel Beaufoy. From the Annals of Philosophy.--

"The desire of ascending to the highest part of remarkably elevated land is so natural to every man, and the hope of repeating various experiments in the upper regions of the air is so inviting to those who wish well to the interests of science, that, being lately in Switzerland, I could not resist the inclination I felt to reach the summit of Mont Blanc. One of the motives, however, which prompted the attempt, was much weakened by the consideration that I did not possess, and in that country could not obtain, the instruments that were requisite for many of the experiments which I was anxious to make; and the ardour of uncommon curiosity was diminished, when I learned that Dr. Paecard and his guide, who in the year 1786 had reached the supposed inaccessible summit of the hill, were not the only persons who had succeeded in the attempt; for that, five days before my arrival at the foot of the mountain, M. de Saussure, a professor in the university of Geneva, had gained the top of the ascent.

"But while I was informed of the success which had attended the efforts of M. de Saussure, I was told of the difficulties and dangers that accompanied the undertaking; and was often assured, with much laborious dissuasion, that, to all the usual obstacles, the lateness of the season would add the perils of those stupendous masses of snow which are often dislodged from the steeps of the mountain, together with the hazard of those frightful chasms which present immeasurable gulfs to the steps of the traveller, and the width of which was hourly increasing. M. Bourrët, whose name has often been announced to the world by a variety of tracts, and by many excellent drawings, confirmed the account, and assured me that he himself had made the attempt on the next day to that on which M. de Saussure descended, but was obliged, as on many former occasions, to abandon the enterprise. Having, however, formed my resolution, I sent to the different cottages of the vale of Chamouni, from the skirts of which the mountain takes its rise, to inquire if any of them were willing to go with me as my assistants and guides; and had soon the satisfaction to find that ten were ready to accept the proposal. I engaged them all. Having announced to them my intention of setting out the next morning, I divided among them provisions for three days, together with a kettle, a chafing-dish, a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, a couple of blankets, a long rope, a hatchet, and a ladder, which formed the stores that were requisite for the journey. After a night of much solicitude, lest the summit of Mont Blanc should be covered with clouds, in which case the guides would have refused the undertaking as impracticable, I rose at five in the morning, and saw, with great satisfaction, that the mountain was free from vapour, and that the sky was every where serene. My dress was a white flannel jacket, without any shirt beneath, and white linen trowsers, without drawers. The dress was white, that the sunbeams might be thrown off; and it was loose, that the limbs might be unconfined. Besides a pole for walking, I carried with me cramp-irons for the heels of my shoes, by means of which the hold on the frozen snow is firm, and in steep ascents the poise of the body is preserved.

"My guides being at length assembled, each with his allotted burden; one of them, a fellow of great bodily strength and vigour of mind, Michael Cachet by name, who had accompanied M. de Saussure, desired to take the lead. We ranged ourselves in a line, and at seven o'clock, in the midst of the wives, and children, and friends, of my companions, and indeed of the whole village of Chamouni, we began our march. The end of the first hour brought us to the Glacier des Boissons, at which place the rapid ascent of the mountain first begins, and from which, pursuing our course along the edge of the rocks that form the eastern side of this frozen lake, we arrived in four hours more at the second glacier, called the Glacier de la Coté. Here, by the side of a stream of water which the melting of the snow had formed, we sat down to a short repast.

"To this place the journey is neither remarkably laborious, nor exposed to danger, except that name should be given to the trifling hazard that arises from the stones and loose pieces of the broken rock, which the goats, in leaping from one projection to another, occasionally throw down. Our dinner being finished, we fixed our cramp-irons to our shoes, and began to cross the glacier; but we had not proceeded far, when we discovered that the frozen snow, which lay in the ridges between the waves of ice, often concealed, with a covering of uncertain strength, the fathomless chasms which traverse this solid sea; yet the danger was soon in a great degree removed by the expedient of tying ourselves together with our long rope, which being fastened at proper distances to our waists, secured from the principal hazard such as might fall within the opening of the gulf. Trusting to the same precaution, we also crossed upon our ladder, without apprehension, such of the chasms as were exposed to view; and, sometimes stopping in the middle of the ladder, looked down in safety upon an abyss which baffled the reach of vision, and from which the sound of the masses of ice that we repeatedly let fall, in no instance ascended to the ear. In some places we were obliged to cut foot-steps with our hatchet; yet, on the whole, the difficulties were far from great, for in two hours and a half we had passed the glacier.

"We now, with more ease, and much more expedition, pursued our way, having only snow to cross, and in two hours arrived at a hut which had been erected in the year 1786, by the order, and at the expense, of M. de Saussure. The hut was situated on the eastern side of a rock, which had all the appearance of being rotten with age, and which in fact was in a state of such complete decay, that on my return the next evening, I saw scattered on the snow many tons of its fragments, which had fallen in my absence; but the ruin was not on the side on which the hut was built. Immediately on our arrival, which was at five in the afternoon, the guides began to empty the hut of its snow, and at seven we sat down to eat; but our stomachs had little relish for food, and felt a particular distaste for wine and spirits. Water, which we obtained by melting snow in a kettle, was the only palatable drink. Some of the guides complained of a heavy disheartening sickness; and my Swiss servant, who had accompanied me at his own request, was seized with excessive vomiting, and the pains of the severest headach. But from these complaints, which apparently arose from the extreme lightness of the air in those elevated regions, I myself and some of the guides were free, except, as before observed, that we had little appetite for food, and a strong aversion to the taste of spirituous liquors. We now prepared for rest; on which two of the guides, preferring the open air, threw themselves down at the entrance of the hut, and slept upon the rock. I too was desirous of sleep; but my thoughts were troubled with the apprehension that, although I had now completed one half of the road, the vapours might collect on the summit of the mountain, and frustrate all my hopes. Or if at any time the rest I wished for came, my repose was soon disturbed by the noise of the masses of snow, which were loosened by the wind from the heights around me, and which, accumulating in bulk as they rolled, tumbled at length from the precipices into the vales below, and produced upon the ear the effect of redoubled bursts of thunder.

"At two o'clock I threw aside my blankets, and went out of the hut to observe the appearance of the heavens. The stars shone with a lustre that far exceeded the brightness which they exhibit when seen from the usual level; and had so little tremor in their light, as to leave no doubt on my mind, that, if viewed from the summit of the mountain, they would have appeared as fixed points. How improved in those altitudes would be the aids which the telescope gives to vision! indeed, the clearness of the air was such as led me to think that Jupiter's satellites might be distinguished by the naked eye; and had he not been in the neighbourhood of the moon, I might possibly have succeeded. He continued distinctly visible for several hours after the sun was risen, and did not wholly disappear till almost eight.

"At the time I rose, my thermometer, which was on Fahrenheit's scale, and which I had hung on the side of the rock without the hut, was 8° below the freezing point. Impatient to proceed, and having ordered a large quantity of snow to be melted, I filled a small cask with water for my own use, and at three o'clock we left the hut. Our route was across the snow; but the chasms which the ice beneath had formed, though less numerous than those that we had passed on the preceding day, embarrassed our ascent. One in particular had opened so much in the few days that intervened between M. de Saussure's expedition and our own, as for the time to bar the hope of any further progress; but at length, after having wandered with much anxiety along its bank, I found a place which I hoped the ladder was sufficiently long to cross. The ladder was accordingly laid down, and was seen to rest upon the opposite edge, but its bearing did not exceed an inch on either side. We now considered that, should we pass the chasm, and should its opening, which had enlarged so much in the course of a few preceding days, increase in the least degree before the time of our descent, no chance of return remained. We also considered that, if the clouds which so often envelop the hill should rise, the hope of finding, amidst the thick fog, our way back to this only place in which the gulf, even in its present state, was passable, was little less than desperate. Yet, after a moment's pause, the guides consented to go with me, and we crossed the chasm.

"We had not proceeded far, when thirst, which, since our arrival in the upper regions of the air, had been always troublesome, became almost intolerable. No sooner had I drank than the thirst returned, and in a few minutes my throat became perfectly dry. Again I had recourse to the water, and again my throat was parched. The air itself was thirsty; its extreme of dryness had robbed my body of its moisture. The guides were equally affected: wine they would not taste, but the moment my back was turned, their mouths were equally applied to my cask of water. Yet we continued to proceed till seven o'clock, when, having passed the place where M. de Saussure, who was provided with a tent, had slept the second night, we sat down to breakfast.

"All this time the thermometer was 4° below the freezing point. We were now at the foot of Mont Blanc itself; for, though it is usual to apply that term to the whole assemblage of several successive mountains, yet the name properly belongs only to a small mountain of a pyramidal form, that rises from a narrow plain, which at all times is covered with snow. Here the thinness of the atmosphere began to affect my head with a dull and heavy pain. I also found, to my great surprise, an acute sensation of pain, very different from that of weariness, immediately above my knees. Having finished our repast, we pursued our journey, and soon arrived at a chasm which could not have existed many days, for it was not formed at the time of M. de Saussure's ascent. Misled by this last circumstance, (for we concluded, that as he had seen no rents whatever from the time that he passed the place where he slept the second night, none were likely to be formed,) we had left our ladder about a league behind; but as the chasm was far from wide, we passed it on the poles that we used for walking, an expedient which suggested to me that the length of our ladder might be easily increased by the addition of several poles laid parallel, and fastened to its end; and that the hazard of finding our retreat cut off from the enlargement of the chasms, might by this means be materially diminished.

"At this place I had an opportunity of measuring the height of the snow which had fallen during the preceding winter, and which was distinguished by its superior whiteness from that of the former year. I found it to be five feet. The snow of each particular year appeared as a separate stratum; that which was more than a twelvemonth old, was perfect ice, while that of the last winter was fast approaching to a similar state. At length, after a difficult ascent, which lay among precipices, and during which we were often obliged to employ the hatchet in making a footing for our feet, we reached, and reposed ourselves upon, a narrow flat, which is the last of three from the foot of the small mountain, and which, according to M. de Saussure, is but 150 fathoms below the level of the summit. Upon this platform I found a beautiful dead butterfly, the only appearance which, from the time I entered on the snow, I had seen of any animal. The pernicious effects of the thinness of the air were now evident on us all; a desire, of sleep, almost irresistible, came on; my spirits had left me: sometimes indifferent to the event, I wished to lie down; at others, I blamed myself for the expedition; and, though just at the summit, had thoughts of turning back, without accomplishing my purpose. Of my guides, many were in a worse situation; for, exhausted by excessive vomiting, they seemed to have lost all strength, both of mind and body.

"But shame at length came to our relief. I drank the last pint of water that was left, and found myself amazingly refreshed, and invigorated for renewed toil. Yet the pain in my knees had increased so much, that at the end of every twenty or thirty paces I was obliged to rest till its sharpness was abated. My lungs with difficulty performed their office, and my heart was affected with violent palpitation. At last, however, but with a sort of apathy which scarcely admitted the sense of joy, we reached the summit of this mountain; when six of our guides, and with them my servant, threw themselves on their faces, and were immediately asleep. I envied them their repose, but my anxiety to obtain a good observation for the latitude subdued my wishes for indulgence. The time of my arrival was half an hour after ten, so that the hours which elapsed from our departure from Chamouni, were only twenty-seven and a half, ten of which we had passed in the hut. The summit of the hill is formed of snow, which spreads into a sort of plain, which is much wider from east to west than from north to south, and in its greatest width is perhaps thirty yards. The snow is every where hard, and in many places is covered with a sheet of ice.

"When the spectator begins to look around him from this elevated height, a confused impression of immensity is the first effect produced upon his mind; but the blue colour of the canopy above him, deep almost to blackness, soon arrests his attention. He next surveys the mountains, many of which, from the clearness of the air, are to his eye within a stone's throw from him; and even those of Lombardy (one of which appears of an altitude but little inferior to that of Mont Blanc) seem to approach his neighbourhood; while those on the other side of the vale of Chamouni, glittering with the sunbeams, are to the view directly below his feet, and affect his head with giddiness. On the other hand, all objects, of which the distance is great, and the level low, are hid from his eye by the blue vapour which intervenes, and through which I could not discern the Lake of Geneva, (at the height of 15,700 English feet, which, according to M. de Saussure, was the level on which I stood,) though even the Mediterranean Sea must have been within the line of vision. The air was still, and the day so remarkably fine, that I could not discover in any part of the heavens the appearance of a single cloud.

"As the time of the sun passing the meridian now approached, I prepared to take my observation. I had with me an admirable Hadley's sextant, and an artificial horizon, and I corrected the mean refraction of the sun's rays. Thus I was enabled to ascertain with accuracy, that the latitude of the summit of Mont Blanc is 45° 49' 59" north.

"I now proceeded to such other observations as the few instruments which I had brought permitted me to make. At twelve o'clock the mercury in the thermometer stood at 38° in the shade; at Chamouni, at the same hour, it stood, when in the shade, at 78°. I tried the effect of a burning-glass on paper, and on a piece of wood, which I had brought with me for the purpose, and found (contrary, I believe, to the generally received opinion,) that its power was much greater than in the lower regions of the air. Having continued two hours on the summit of the mountain, I began my descent at half an hour after twelve. I found that, short as my absence had been, many new rents were opened, and that several of those which I had passed in my ascent were considerably wider. In less than six hours we arrived at the hut in which we had slept the evening before, and should have proceeded much further down the mountain, had we not been afraid of passing the Glacier de la Coté at the close of the day, when the snow, from the effect of the sunbeams, was extremely rotten. Our evening's repast being finished, I was soon asleep; but in a few hours I was awakened with a tormenting pain in my face and eyes. My face was one continued blister, and my eyes I was unable to open; nor was I without apprehensions of losing my sight for ever, till my guides told me, that if I had condescended to have taken their advice, of wearing, as they did, a mask of black crape, the accident would not have befallen me, but that a few days would perfectly restore the use of my eyes. After I had bathed them with warm water for half an hour, I found, to my great satisfaction, that I could open them a little; on which I determined upon an instant departure, that I might cross the Glacier de la Coté before the sun was sufficiently high for its beams to be strongly reflected from the snow. But, unluckily, the sun was already above the horizon; so that the pain of forcing open my eyes in the bright sunshine, in order to avoid the chasms and other hazards of my way, rendered my return more irksome than my ascent. Fortunately, one of the guides, soon after I had passed the glacier, picked up in the snow a pair of green spectacles, which M. Bourret had lost, and which gave me wonderful relief.

"At eleven o'clock of August 10, after an absence of fifty-two hours, of which twenty were passed in the hut, I returned again to the village of Chamouni. From the want of instruments, (the scale of the barometer I had being graduated no lower than twenty inches, which was not sufficiently extended,) the observations I made were but few, yet the effects which the air in the heights I visited produced on the human body, may not perhaps be considered as altogether uninteresting; nor will the proof I made of the power of the lens on the summit of Mont Blanc, if confirmed by future experiments, be regarded as of no account in the theories of light and heat. At any rate, the having determined the latitude of Mont Blanc may assist in some particulars the observations of such persons as shall visit it in future; and the knowledge which my journey has afforded, in addition to that which is furnished by M. de Saussure, may facilitate the ascent of those who, with proper instruments, may wish to make on that elevated level, experiments in natural philosophy."

CHAP. XLI.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MOUNTAINS.--(Concluded.)

Description of Vesuvius--Hecla--Etna.

----------The fluid lake that works below, Bitumen, sulphur, salt, and iron scum, Heaves up its boiling tide. The lab'ring mount Is torn with agonizing throes. At once, Forth from its side disparted, blazing, pours A mighty river, burning in prone waves, That glimmer thro' the night, to yonder plain. Divided there, a hundred torrent streams, Each ploughing up its bed, roll dreadful on, Resistless. Villages, and woods, and rocks, Fall flat before their sweep. The region round, Where myrtle walks, and groves of golden fruit Rose fair, where harvest wav'd in all its pride, And where the vineyard spread its purple store, Maturing into nectar,--now despoil'd Of herb, leaf, fruit, and flow'r, from end to end Lies buried under fire, a glowing sea! Mallet.

VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS.

VESUVIUS,--is a celebrated volcano of Italy, six miles east of Naples. This mountain has two tops; one only of which goes by the name of Vesuvius, the other being now called Somma; but Sir William Hamilton is of opinion, that the latter is what the ancients called Vesuvius.

The perpendicular height of Vesuvius is only three thousand seven hundred feet, though the ascent from the foot to the top is three Italian miles. One side of the mountain is well cultivated and fertile, producing great plenty of vines; but the south and west sides are entirely covered with cinders and ashes, while a sulphureous smoke constantly issues from the top, sometimes attended with the most violent explosions of stones, the emission of great streams of lava, and all the other attendants of a most formidable volcano.

The first eruption recorded in history, took place in the year 79; at which time the two cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum were entirely buried under the stones and ashes thrown out. Incredible mischief was also done to the neighbouring country, and numbers of people lost their lives, among whom was Pliny the elder. It is the opinion of the best judges, however, that this eruption was by no means the first that had ever happened: the very streets of those cities which were at that time overwhelmed, are unquestionably paved with lava. Since that time thirty different eruptions have been recorded, some of which have been extremely violent. In 1538, a mountain three miles in circumference, and a quarter of a mile in perpendicular height, was thrown up in the course of one night.

In 1766, Sir William Hamilton began to observe the phenomena of this mountain; and since that time the public have been favoured with more exact and authentic accounts of the various changes which have taken place in Vesuvius, than were to be obtained before. The first great eruption taken notice of by this gentleman was that of 1769, when Vesuvius never ceased for ten years to send forth smoke, nor were there many months in which it did not throw out stones, scoriæ and cinders, which increasing to a certain degree, were usually followed by lava; so that from the year 1767 to 1769 there were nine eruptions, some of which were very considerable.

In the month of August that year, an eruption took place, which, for its extraordinary and terrible appearance, may be reckoned among the most remarkable of any recorded concerning this or any other volcano. During the whole of July, the mountain continued in a state of fermentation. Subterraneous explosions and rumbling noises were heard; quantities of smoke were thrown up with great violence, sometimes with red-hot stones, scoriæ, and ashes; and towards the end of the month, these symptoms increased to such a degree, as to exhibit, in the night, the most beautiful fireworks.

On Thursday the fifth of August, the volcano appeared most violently agitated: a white and sulphureous smoke issued with unceasing impetuosity from its crater, one puff seeming to impel another; so that a mass of vapour was soon accumulated, to all appearance, four times the height and size of the volcano itself. These clouds of smoke were exceedingly white, resembling an immense accumulation of bales of the whitest cotton. In the midst of this very white smoke, vast quantities of stones, scoriæ, and ashes, were thrown up to the height of two thousand feet; and a quantity of liquid lava, seemingly very heavy, was lifted up just high enough to clear the rim of the crater, and take its way down the sides of the mountain. This lava, having run violently for some hours, suddenly ceased, just before it had reached the cultivated parts of the mountain, near four miles from the spot whence it issued.

The heat, all this day, was intolerable at the towns of Somma and Ottaiano; and was sensibly felt at Palma and Lauri, which are much farther off. Reddish ashes fell so thick on the two former, that the air was darkened to such a degree, that objects could not be distinguished at the distance of ten feet. Long filaments of a vitrified matter, like spun-glass, were mixed, and fell with these ashes; several birds in cages were suffocated; and the leaves of the trees in the neighbourhood of Somma were covered with white and very corrosive salt. About twelve at night, on the seventh, the fermentation of the mountain seemed greatly to increase. Our author was watching the motions of the volcano from the mole at Naples, which has a full view of it. Several awfully fine and picturesque effects had been observed from the reflection of the deep red fire within the crater of Vesuvius, and which mounted high amongst those huge clouds on the top of it; when a summer storm, called in that country a tropea, came on suddenly, and blended its heavy watery clouds with the sulphureous and mineral ones, which were already, like so many other mountains, piled up on the top of the volcano. At this moment a fountain of fire was shot up to an incredible height, casting so bright a light, that the smallest objects were clearly distinguishable at any place within six miles or more of Vesuvius. The black stormy clouds, passing swiftly over, and at times covering the whole or part of the bright column of fire, at other times clearing away and giving a full view of it, with the various tints produced by its reverberated light on the white clouds above, in contrast with the pale flashes of forked lightning that attended the tropea, formed such a scene as no combination of language can express. One of the king's gamekeepers, who was out in the fields near Ottaiano while this storm was at its height, was surprised to find the drops of rain scald his face and hands; a phenomenon probably occasioned by the clouds having acquired a great degree of heat in passing through the above-mentioned column of fire.

On the eighth, the mountain was quiet till towards six P. M. when a great smoke began to gather over its crater; and about an hour after, a rumbling subterranneous noise was heard in the neighbourhood of the volcano; the usual throws of red-hot stones and scoriæ began and increased every instant. The crater, viewed through a telescope, seemed much enlarged by the violence of the explosions on the preceding night; and the little mountain on the top was entirely gone. About nine, a most violent report was heard at Portici and its neighbourhood, which shook the houses to such a degree as made the inhabitants run out into the streets. Many windows were broken, and walls cracked, by the concussion of the air on this occasion, though the noise was but faintly heard at Naples. In an instant, a fountain of liquid transparent fire began to rise, and, gradually increasing, arrived at last to the amazing height of ten thousand feet and upwards. Puffs of smoke, as black as can possibly be imagined, rapidly succeeded one another, and, accompanying the red-hot transparent and liquid lava, interrupted its splendid brightness here and there by patches of the darkest hue. Within these puffs of smoke, at the very moment of emission, a bright but pale electrical fire was observed playing briskly about in zigzag lines. The wind was south-west, and, though gentle, was sufficient to carry these puffs of smoke out of the column of fire, and a collection of them by degrees formed a black and extensive curtain behind it; in other parts of the sky it was perfectly clear, and the stars bright. A fiery fountain of such immense magnitude, on the dark ground just mentioned, made the finest contrast imaginable; and the blaze of it, reflected from the surface of the sea, which was at that time perfectly smooth, added greatly to this sublime spectacle. The lava, mixed with stones and scoriæ, having risen to the amazing height already mentioned, was partly directed by the wind towards Ottaiano, and partly falling, still red-hot and liquid, upon the top of Vesuvius, covered its whole cone, as well as that of the summit of Somma, and the valley between them.

The falling matter being nearly as inflamed and vivid as that which was continually issuing fresh from the crater, formed with it one complete body of fire, which could not be less than two miles and a half in breadth, and of the extraordinary height above mentioned, casting a heat to the distance of at least six miles round. The brushwood on the mountain of Somma was soon in a blaze; and the flame of it being of a different colour, from the deep red of the matter thrown out by the volcano, and from the silvery blue of the electrical fire, still added to the contrast of this most extraordinary scene. The black cloud increasing greatly, spread over Naples, and threatened the city with speedy destruction; for it was charged with electrical fire, which kept constantly darting about in bright zigzag lines. This fire, however, rarely quitted the cloud, but usually returned to the great column of fire whence it proceeded; though once or twice it was seen to fall on the top of Somma, and set fire to some dry grass and bushes. Fortunately, the wind carried back the cloud just as it reached the city, and had begun to occasion great alarm. The column of fire, however, still continued, and diffused such a strong light, that the most minute objects could be discerned at the distance of ten miles or more from the mountain. Mr. Morris informed our author, that at Sorrento, which is twelve miles distant from Vesuvius, he read the title page of a book by that volcanic light.

All this time the miserable inhabitants of Ottaiano were involved in the utmost distress and danger by the showers of stones which fell upon them, and which, had the eruption continued for a longer time, would most certainly have reduced their town to the same situation with Herculaneum and Pompeii.

The mountain of Somma, at the foot of which the town of Ottaiano is situated, hides Vesuvius from the view of its inhabitants; so that till the eruption became considerable, it was not visible to them. On Sunday night, when the noise increased, and the fire began to appear above the mountain of Somma, many of the inhabitants flew to the churches, and others were preparing to quit the town, when a sudden and violent report was heard; soon after which, they found themselves involved in a thick cloud of smoke and ashes, a horrid clashing noise was heard in the air, and presently fell a vast shower of stones and large pieces of scoriæ, some of which were of the diameter of seven or eight feet, which must have weighed more than 100lbs. before they were broken, as some of the fragments which Sir William Hamilton found in the streets still weighed upwards of 60lbs. When these large vitrified masses either struck against one another in the air, or fell on the ground, vivid sparks of fire proceeded from them, which communicated to every thing that was combustible. These masses were formed of the liquid lava; the exterior parts of which were become black and porous, by cooling in their fall through such a vast space; whilst the interior parts, less exposed, retained an extreme heat, and were perfectly red. In an instant, the town and country about it were on fire in many parts, for there were several straw huts in the vineyards, which had been erected for the watchmen of the grapes, all of which were burnt to the ground. A great magazine of wood in the heart of the town became one sheet of fire; and had there been much wind, the flames must have spread universally, and the inhabitants have perished in their houses; for it was impossible for them to make their escape by flight. Some, who attempted it with pillows, tables, chairs, the tops of wine casks, &c. on their heads, were either knocked down by the falling masses, or soon driven to make a speedy retreat under arches, and in the cellars of their houses. Many were wounded, but only two persons died of their wounds. To add to the horror of the scene, incessant volcanic lightning was darting its corruscations about the black cloud that surrounded the inhabitants, and the sulphureous smell and heat would scarcely allow them to draw their breath.

In this dreadful situation they remained about twenty-five minutes, when the volcanic storm ceased all at once, and Vesuvius assumed a sullen silence. Sometime after the eruption had ceased, the air continued greatly impregnated with electrical matter. The duke of Cottosiano told our author, that having, about half an hour after the great eruption had ceased, held a leaden bottle, armed with a pointed wire, out at his window at Naples, it soon became considerably charged: but whilst the eruption was in force, its appearance was too alarming to allow any one to think of such experiments. He was informed also by the prince of Monte Mileto, that his son, the duke of Populi, who was at Monte Mileto on the 8th of August, had been alarmed by a shower of cinders that fell there, some of which he had sent to Naples, weighing two ounces; and that stones of an ounce weight had fallen upon an estate of his, ten miles farther off. Monte Mileto is about thirty miles from the volcano. The Abbé Cagliani also related, that his sister, a nun in a convent at Manfredonia, had written to inquire after him, imagining that Naples must have been destroyed, when they, at so great a distance, had been so much alarmed by a shower of ashes which fell on the city at eleven P. M. as to open all the churches, and go to prayers. As the great eruption began at nine, these ashes must have travelled 100 miles in two hours.

Nothing could be more dismal than the appearance of Ottaiano after this eruption. Many of the houses were unroofed, and some lay half buried under the black scoriæ and ashes; all the windows toward the mountain were broken, and some of the houses themselves burnt; the streets were choked up with ashes, and in some narrow places it was not less than four feet deep. A few of the inhabitants, who had just returned, were employed in clearing them away, and piling them up in hillocks, to get at their ruined houses.

The palace of the prince of Ottaiano is situated on an eminence above the town, and nearer the mountain. The steps leading up to it were deeply covered with volcanic matter; the roof was totally destroyed, and the windows broken; but the house itself being strongly built, had not suffered much dilapidation. An incredible number of fragments of lava were thrown out during the eruption, some of which were of immense magnitude. The largest measured by Sir William Hamilton was 108 feet in circumference, and seventeen in height: this was thrown at least a quarter of a mile clear of the mouth of the volcano. Another, sixty-six feet in circumference, and nineteen in height, being nearly of a spherical figure, was thrown out at the same time, and fell near the former: this last had all the marks of being rounded, nay, almost polished, by continual exposure to rolling torrents, or the still rougher beat of a sea-shore. Our author conjectures that it might be a spherical volcanic salt, such as that of forty-five feet in circumference mentioned by M. de St. Fond, in his Treatise on Extinguished Volcanoes. A third, of sixteen feet in height, and ninety-two in circumference, was carried much farther, and lay in the valley between Vesuvius and the Hermitage: it appeared, also, from the large fragments that surrounded this mass, that it had been much larger while in the air.

Vesuvius continued to emit smoke for a considerable time after this great eruption, so that our author was apprehensive that another would soon ensue; but from that time nothing comparable to the above has taken place. From the period of this great eruption, to 1786, our informant kept an exact diary of the operations of Vesuvius, with drawings; which shewed, by the comparative quantity of smoke emitted each time, the degree of fermentation within the volcano. The operations of these subterraneous fires, however, appear to be very capricious and uncertain: one day there will be the appearance of a violent fermentation, and the next every thing will be calmed; but whenever there has been a considerable ejection of scoriæ and cinders, it has been constantly observed, that the lava soon made its appearance, either by boiling over the crater, or forcing its way through the crevices in the conical part of the mountain.

In the year 1794, there was a very tremendous eruption, and the mischief done was very considerable: the lava covered and totally destroyed 5000 acres of rich vineyards and cultivated land, and drove the inhabitants of Torre del Greco from the town, a great part of the houses being either buried, or so injured as to be uninhabitable; the damage done in the vineyards by the ashes was also immense. Eruptions of this volcano also took place in 1804 and 1805; but this article will conclude by noticing only the eruption that happened on the evening of the 31st of May, 1806, when a bright flame rose from the mountain to the height of about 600 feet, sinking and rising alternately, and affording so clear a light, that a letter might have been read at the distance of a league round the mountain. On the following morning, without any earthquake preceding, as had been customary, the volcano began to eject inflamed substances from three new mouths, pretty near to each other, and about 650 feet from the summit. The lava took the direction of Torre del Greco and Annunciata, approaching Portici on the road leading from Naples to Pompeii.

Throughout the whole of the 2d of June, a noise was heard, resembling that of two armies engaged, when the discharges of artillery and musketry are very brisk. The current of lava now resembled a wall of glass in a state of fusion; sparks and flashes issuing from it from time to time with a powerful detonation. Vines, trees, houses, in short, whatever objects it encountered on its way, were instantly overthrown and destroyed. In one part, where it met with the resistance of a wall, it formed a cascade of fire. In a few days, Portici, Resina, and Torre del Greco, were covered with ashes thrown out by the volcano; and on the 9th, the two former places were deluged with a thick black rain, consisting of a species of mud, filled with sulphureous particles.

On the 1st of July, the ancient crater had wholly disappeared, being filled with ashes and lava, and a new one was formed in the eastern part of the mountain, about 600 feet in depth, and having about the same width at the opening. Several persons, on the above day, descended about half way down this new mouth, and remained half an hour very near the flames, admiring the spectacle presented by the liquid lava, which bubbled up at the bottom of the crater, like the fused matter in a glasshouse. This eruption continued until September, made great ravages, and was considered as one of the most terrible that occurred within the memory of the oldest inhabitants. Sir William Hamilton observes, that the inhabitants of Naples, in general, pay so little attention to the operations of this volcano, that many of its eruptions pass unnoticed by at least two-thirds of them. It is remarkable to observe, with what readiness and sang froid they inhabit the towns and villas on the brow of the mountain, and how quickly they return to spots which have suffered the most severely. The inhabitants are not much alarmed by a stream of lava, which moves slowly, from which they can always remove, and carry off their moveable property; their greatest danger consists in the clouds of burning ashes, which fly to a great distance, and the fall of which can neither be anticipated nor avoided.

MOUNT HECLA.--This is a volcano of Iceland, and one of those whose operations are the most powerful of any in the world. It was visited in 1722, by Dr. Van Troil, a Swedish gentleman, together with Mr. (afterwards Sir Joseph) Banks, Dr. Solander, and Dr. James Lind, of Edinburgh. On their first landing, they found a tract of land sixty or seventy miles in extent, entirely ruined by lava, which appeared to have been in the highest state of liquefaction. Having undertaken a journey to the top of the mountain, they travelled from 300 to 360 English miles, over an uninterrupted tract of lava, and had at length the pleasure of being the first who had arrived at the summit of the mountain.

Hecla, according to their accounts, is situated in the south part of the island, about four miles from the sea coast; and is divided into three parts at the top, the middle point being the highest. From an exact observation with Ramsden's barometer, it is 5000 feet above the level of the sea. They were obliged to quit their horses at the first opening from which the fire had burst. They describe this as a place with lofty walls and high glazed cliffs, unlike any thing which they had ever seen before. A little higher up they found a large quantity of grit and stones; and still farther, another opening, which, though not deep, descended lower than that of the highest point. Here, they imagined, they plainly discerned the effects of boiling water; though not far from thence the mountain was covered with snow, excepting some spots, which difference they perceived to be occasioned by the hot vapour issuing from the crevices in the mountain. As they ascended towards the top, they found the spots become larger; and about 200 yards below the summit, a hole about a yard and a half in diameter was observed, whence issued so hot a steam, that they could not measure the degree of heat with the thermometer.

The cold began now to be very intense; Fahrenheit's thermometer, which at the foot of the mountain was at fifty-four, now fell to twenty-four; the wind also became so violent, that they were sometimes obliged to lie down, for fear of being blown down the most dreadful precipices. On the very summit, they experienced at the same time a high degree of heat and of cold; for, in the air, Fahrenheit's thermometer stood constantly at twenty-four, but when set on the ground, rose to 153; the barometer stood at 22.247. Though they wished very much to remain here for some time, they found that they could not effect their purpose with safety; they therefore descended quickly.

The mountain seems to be made up, not of lava, but of sand, grit, and ashes; which are thrown up with discoloured stones, partly melted by the fire. Several sorts of pumice stones were found on it, among which was one with some sulphur. Sometimes the pumice was so much burnt, that it was as light as tow. Its form and colour were sometimes very fine, but at the same time so soft, that it was difficult to remove it from one place to another. The common lava was found in both large and small pieces; as well as a quantity of black jasper, burned at the extremities, and resembling trees and branches. Some slate, of a strong red colour, was observed among the stones thrown out by the volcano. In one place the lava had taken the form of chimney-stacks half broken down.

As they descended the mountain, they observed three openings. In one, every thing looked as red as brick; from another, the lava had flowed in a stream about fifty yards broad, and, after proceeding some length, had divided into three large branches. Further on they perceived an opening, at the bottom of which was a mount in form of a sugar loaf; in throwing up of which, the fire appeared to have exhausted itself. The reason that no one before them had ever ascended to the top of this mountain, was partly owing to superstition, and partly to the steepness and difficulty of the ascent, which was in a great measure removed by an eruption in 1766.

We now proceed to describe the celebrated MOUNT ETNA.--

Now Etna roars with dreadful ruins nigh, Now hurls a bursting cloud of cinders high, Involv'd in smoky whirlwinds to the sky; With loud displosion to the starry frame, Shoots fiery globes and furious floods of flame; Now from her bellowing caverns burst away Vast piles of melted rocks in open day. Her shatter'd entrails wide the mountain throws, And deep as hell her flaming centre glows. Warton.

Etna is a famous volcanic or burning mountain in Sicily, situated on the eastern coast, not far from Catania. The height of this mountain is more than 10,000 feet above the level of the sea, and its circumference at the base is 180 miles. Over its sides are seventy-seven cities, towns, and villages, the number of the inhabitants of which is about 115,000. From Catania to the summit, the distance is thirty miles; and the traveller must pass through three distinct climates, which may be denominated the torrid, the temperate, and the frigid. Accordingly, the whole mountain is divided into three distinct regions, called the fertile, the woody, and the barren.

The first, or lowest region, extends through a beautiful ascent from twelve to eighteen miles. The city of Catania, and several villages, are situated in this first zone, and it abounds in pastures, orchards, and various kinds of fruit trees. Its great fertility is ascribed to the decomposition of lava, and of those vegetables which have been introduced by the arts of agriculture, and the exertions of human industry. The figs and fruit in general, in this part, are reckoned the finest in Sicily. The lava of this region flows from a number of small mountains, which are dispersed over the immense declivity of Etna.

The woody region, or temperate zone, extends from eight to ten miles in a direct line, towards the top of the mountain; and comprehends a surface of about forty or forty-five square leagues. It forms a zone of the brightest green all around the mountain, which exhibits a pleasing contrast to its white and hoary summits. It is called the woody region, because it abounds with oaks, beeches, and firs. The soil is similar to that of the lower region; the air is cool and refreshing, and every breeze is loaded with a thousand perfumes, the whole ground being covered over with the richest aromatic plants. Many parts of this space are the most heavenly spots upon earth; and if Etna resemble Hell within, it may with equal justice be said to resemble Paradise without.

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