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Title: The romance of natural history, second series

Author: Philip Henry Gosse

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Most recently updated: July 16, 2016

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE
OF NATURAL HISTORY, SECOND SERIES ***

THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL
HISTORY.

FASCINATION.

Front.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,
PAUL'S WORK.

THE ROMANCE
OF

NATURAL HISTORY.
BY

PHILIP HENRY GOSSE, F.R.S.

Second Series.
LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
M.DCCC.LXI.

CONTENTS.

I. THE EXTINCT.
PAGE
Death of Species—Some Died in Early Historic 1
Ages—Some Dying Now—Changes of Land and
Water—Tertiary State of Europe—Dinothere of
Germany—Sivathere of India—Gigantic Tortoise
—Pachyderms of Siberia—Rhinoceros—
Mammoth—Mastodon of America—Great
Quadrupeds of South America—Sloths—Habits
of Mylodon—Macrauchen—Toxodon—Ancient
Australia and its Colossal Birds—Ancient Britain
—Its Flora and Fauna—Irish Elk—Carnivores—
Chronology of the Tertiary Era—
Contemporaneous Existence of Man with the
Fossil Fauna—Gigantic Tortoise—Condition of
Siberian Pachyderms—Discovery of the Remains
—Contemporary Fauna of Britain—Chinese and
Siberian Traditions—Indian Traditions of the
Mastodon—State of its Remains—Its Food—
Comparative Lateness of Geologic Processes in
America—Possibility that the Mastodon was a
Beast of Burden—Darwin on the South American
Sloths—Freshness of their Remains—
Synchronism with Existing Creatures—Birds of
New Zealand—Maori Tales—Evidence of Recent
Existence—Story of an English Seaman—
Examination of its Truth—Fossil Eggs—
Comparison of Dimensions—Larger Eggs in
Madagascar—Æpyornis—Its Present Existence
Possible—Discovery of the Notornis—Tertiary
Britain—Fossil Man—Worked Flints—Associated

with Fossil Bones—Species—Age of Man—
Alluvium of the Nile—Conclusions from it
Delusive—Rates of Geologic Changes Variable—
Examples—Evidence of Contemporaneity of Man
with the Tertiary Fauna—Irish Elk—State of its
Remains—Traditionary and Documentary
Evidence of its Recent Existence—Slaughtered by
Man—Proof of this Fact—Great Accumulation of
Skulls at Lough Gûr—Weapons found with Elk
Relics—Proofs of its having been Cooked—
Manner of Hunting the Elk—Ancient Irish Poem
on Animals—No Allusion to the Elk in it—This
Explained—Notices of Early Oxen—Their Fossil
Relics—Cæsar's Account of the Urus—Wild Oxen
in Ancient Greece and Western Asia—Guy of
Warwick and the Dun Cow—The Turnbulls—The
Urus Fossil in Britain—Vast Size of Fossil Oxen
—Scanian Fossil Ox bearing a Spear-wound—
Other Ancient Oxen—European Bison—British
Bears—Period of their Extinction—Extinction of
the Wolf—Beaver Extinct in Britain—Almost
Extinct in Europe—Dodo—Accounts of Voyagers
—Seen in London—Museum Relics—Paintings—
Stelleria—Cheiromys—Moho—Kaureke—Manu-
mea—Nestor of Norfolk Island—Great Auk—Its
Recent Abundance—Catalogue of Specimens and
Eggs in Cabinets—Falkland Fox—Musk Ox—
Hand-tree of Mexico—Attempt to Estimate the
Rate of Species-extinction—Perhaps One a Year
—Question of Continuous Creation of Species—
Causes of Extinction—Thoughts of Owen and
Darwin—Geographic Distribution an Important
Element—Fauna Peculiar to Islands—Red Grouse
—Precariousness of its Existence,
II. THE MARVELLOUS.

Vulgar Love of Marvels—False Causes—Counter
Tendency of Science—Blood-Showers—Traced to
Butterfly-discharges—Worms in Horse Pond—
Crimson Snow—Discharges of Birds—Real Red
Rain—Waters turned to Blood—Oscillatoria—
Infusoria—"Raining Cats and Dogs"—Snail-
showers—Frog-showers—At Portobello—At
Leeds—On the Continent—Fish-showers—The
Aberdare Shower—Explanations and Criticisms—
Veritable Fish-showers in South America—In
India—In Ceylon—Torpidity of Fishes in Mud—
Lepidosiren—Its Structure—Amphibious Fishes
—Climbing Perch—Salarias of Ceylon—
Provisional Structure, 96
III. MERMAIDS.
The Oannes of Berosus—Assyrian
Representations of Mermen—Dagon and Atergatis
—Universal Belief in Mermaids—Opinion of
Swainson—Sirens in Dongola—Museum
Specimens—Japanese Ingenuity—Accounts of
Living Specimens—Assumed to be Cow-whales
—Indian Accounts—Scandinavian Myths—
Mermaids in Shetland—A Love Story—Cavern in
Skye—Veritable Narratives—Hudson's Report—
Steller's Sea-ape—Rencontre of Weddell's Seaman
—Merman seen at Landscrone—Mermaid
Captured by Six Shetlandmen—Comments on the
Story—Critical Examination of it, 125
IV. THE SELF-IMMURED.
Toads Found in Wood and Stone—Difficulties— 146
Bell's Caution—Current Explanations—Mr
Bartlett's Toad in Fir-tree—His Letter in Reply—
Mr Bree's Toad in Sandstone—Mr Peacock's Toad
in Lias—Toad in Tamarind-wood in India—
Comments on the Report—Toad in Flint at Blois

—Toad in Iron Ore—Audi alteram partem—Mr
Plant's Disappointment—Seven Frogs in Nodules
of Limestone—Toad Immured in Old Wall—Frog
in Freestone—Toads deep in Stiff Clay—
Experiments—Dr Buckland Immures Toads in
Oolitic Limestone and Sandstone—Results—Dr
Buckland's Conclusions—Toads Inclosed in
Plaster of Paris—Critical Examination of the
Experiments—Objections to the Conclusions—
Evidence rather in Favour of Common Belief—
Toad Sixteen Years in Closed-in Wall—Toad in
Mortar under a Horse-block—Indefinite Torpidity
of Wasps—Mr Bartlett Finds a Bat in a Vault
Closed for Twenty Years—Mr Smith Finds a Bat
in a Vault Closed for One Hundred and Six Years,
V. HYBERNATION OF SWALLOWS.
The Question—Popular Belief—Scientific
Statements of Swallows' Torpidity and
Submersion—Achard's Statement—White's
Account—Cases given by Bishop Stanley—
Supposed Torpidity of American Swift—
Hybernating Corn-crakes—Barrington's Reports
of Torpid Swallows—Curator Wall's Story—
Fitton's Story—Swallows in Britain during Winter
—Cases recorded by White—Montagu—Yarrell
—C. Bree—Bell—Hewitson—Harcourt—Rodd—
Hadfield—W. Bree—Johnston—Gurney—
Examination of the Evidence—Conclusion in
Favour of Torpidity, 191
VI. THE CRESTED AND WATTLED
SNAKE.
Seba's Museum—His "Thesaurus"—Figures of 211
Curious Serpents—What could they have been?—
Proofs that they were Ophidian, not Piscine—
Reports of Wonderful Serpent in Jamaica—

Singular Character of its Habitat—Geological and
Botanical Features—Locale of Three-fingered
Jack—Crested Snake Killed here—Negro Stories
of its Voice—Heard of in Hayti—Author's Efforts
to obtain a Specimen—Occurrence of Two
Specimens,
VII. THE DOUBTFUL.
Viper Swallowing her Young—Conflicting
Statements—Physiologically not Impossible—
Reports of Witnesses—Mr Percival's Account—
Mr Wolley's Corroboration—Mr Bond's
Testimony—Case of the Rattlesnake—Seen by
Palisot de Beauvois—Case of the Common Lizard
—Comments on the Evidence.
Madame Merian—Her Truth Impeached—Her
Story of the Lantern-fly—Denials of its
Luminosity by Entomologists—Confirmation of it
by Lacordaire—By Spinola—By Wesmael—
English Insects only Occasionally Luminous—
Mole-cricket—The Cause of ignis fatuus—Crane-
fly—Luminous Caterpillars—Perhaps a Disease.
Madame Merian again Arraigned—Her Account
of Spiders Preying on Humming-birds—Mr
MacLeay's Denial and Proof of the Negative—
Comment on his Evidence—Langsdorff's
Evidence—Ceylon Spiders—Sir E. Tennent's
Criticisms—Collateral Evidence for the
Affirmative—Strong Webs of Nephila—The
Solfuga of India—Account of its Habits—Attacks
and Overcomes Small Birds—Captain Sherwill
Saw a Spider Eating a Bird in India—Moreau de
Jonnès' Direct Confirmation of Merian—Mr H.
Bates's Conclusive Testimony, 220
VIII. FASCINATION.

Power Attributed to Serpents of Paralysing their
Prey—Dr Bird's Story of Black Snake—
Rattlesnake and Squirrel—Cobra and Lizard—
African Snake and Mouse—Snake and Frog—
Habits of the Boomslange—Snake and Shrike—
Snake and Mouse—Dr Evans's Observations on
Serpents at the Zoological Gardens—Ringed
Snake and Hedge Sparrow—Snake and Robin—
Indian Serpent and Eel—Attempted Explanations
—Mr Martin's Observations—Barton Attributes
the Phenomena to Maternal Love—Explanation
Inadequate—The Power Exercised by Other
Animals—Lizard and Butterfly—Scorpion and
Fly—Stoats and Hares—Foxes and Pullets—
Eagle and Rabbit—Attractive Power of Fire—
Entomologist's Bull's-eye Lamp—Yard-fire in
Alabama—Insects come to the Fire—Titmouse
around a Gas-lamp—Bell Rock Lighthouse visited
by Herring-gull—Fire Fascinates Toads in Africa, 242
IX. SERPENT-CHARMING.
Revulsion Inspired by the Serpent—Persons 263
Professing Immunity against Venomous Serpents
—Scriptural Allusions—The Ancient Psylli and
Marsi—Babylonian Magician—Atyr—Immunity
Distinct from Serpent-charming—Hexagon the
Ambassador—Posterity of Psylli in Sennaar—
Bruce's Curious Account—Various Plants
Antidotic to Serpent-venom—Experiments on
Simaba Cedron—Peruvian Serpents and
Remedies—Various South American Antidotes—
Vejuco of Venezuela—Grass of Dahomey—
Immunity of Mangouste—Anecdotes—Of
Hedgehog—Bruce's Account of the Cerastes—
Hasselquist's Observations—Psyllic Woman—
Power of Spittle—Influence of Music on Serpents
—Proceedings of Egyptian Charmers—

Rattlesnake Charmed by a Flute—Cobra of India
Attracted by Music—Occasional Failures and
Fatalities—Anecdotes—Comments—Psylli in
London—Are the Poison-fangs Extracted?—
Power of Snake-stones—Napier's and Tennent's
Accounts—Faraday's Analysis—Plant-remedies,
X. BEAUTY.
Delight in Beauty—Divine Appreciation of it— 302
Magnificent Flower in a Thicket—Beauty of Deer
—Pet Fawn—Eye of Gazelle—Spotted Fur—
Zebra-stripes—Birds—Spoonbills on the Amazon
—Carolina Parakeet—Cock of the Rock—Soft
blending in the Goatsuckers—Resplendent Trogon
—Metallic Colours—Rifle-bird—Plume-birds—
Iridescent Hues—Sun-birds—Humming-birds—
Mexican Names—Jamaican Humming-birds—
Mango—Long-tail—Cause of changeable Lustre
—Angle of Light—Other Examples—Region of
the Amazon and Rio Negro—Birds—Fiery Topaz
Humming-bird—Cerro of Potosi—Night-blowing
Cactus—Bar-tail Comet—Pheasant tribe—
Chinese Pheasants—Fire-back of Java—Argus of
Malacca—Impeyan of India—Polyprectons—
Peacock—Wild Peacock-shooting—Paradise-
birds—Emerald—His Vanity in Dress—Splendour
of Insects—Metallic Beetles—Soft Refulgence—
Gem-scales—Butterflies—Changes of Hue—
Opalescence—Ray on the "Cui bono?"—Smith on
South American Butterflies—Splendour of
Spiders—in Jamaica—in Borneo—Tortoise-
beetles—Beauty of Plants—Mosses—Ferns—
Palms—Grasses—Bamboo—in Jamaica—in
Madagascar—Plantains—Scene in Tahiti—Beauty
exceeds our Power of Imbibing it—Flowers—
Orchideæ—Sobralia—Cypripedium—
Anæctochilus—Dendrobium—Huntleya—Scene

in Guiana—Death of Reiss—Rhododendrons of
Himalayas—of Borneo—Lightning-tree of
Madagascar—Flamboyant—Barbadoes Pride—
Burmese tree—Le Bois Immortel—Scene in
Tartary—Microscopic Beauties of London Pride,
XI. PARASITES.
Fleas on fleas ad infinitum—Intestinal Worms—
Economy of Creation—Epiphyte Vegetation—
Life in a Sea-weed—Orchids in the Tropics—
Parasitic Fig-trees—Lianes—in Ceylon—
Parasitism in Insects—Ichneumons—Kirby's
Discovery of Stylops—Economy—Oil-beetle—
Medusa and Shrimp—Medusa parasitic on
Medusa—Fish in Stomach of Starfish—Crab and
Sponge—Hermit Crab and Polype—Parasites in
Corals—Ostrich parasitic on Ostrich—Cuckoo
and Cowpen birds—Veneration of Small Birds for
Cuckoo—Slavery among Ants—Nigger-hunting, 359
APPENDIX.
Sea-serpent—Additional Testimonies to its
Existence—Statement of Consul Grattan—
Communication from Mr Stephen Cave, 387

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PLATE PAGE
I. FASCINATION (Frontispiece).
II. ENCOUNTER WITH A MOA, 36
III. SPEARING THE ANCIENT ELK, 56
IV. THE CLIMBING PERCH, 122
V. TOAD IN A HOLE, 158
VI. BIRD-EATING SPIDER, 240
VII. SNAKE-CHARMING, 278
VIII. ANTELOPES, 304
IX. PLUME-BIRD, 310
X. PEACOCK-SHOOTING, 326

THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY.

I.

THE EXTINCT.
If it is a scene of painful interest, as surely it is to a well-constituted
mind, to stand by and watch the death-struggles of one of the nobler brutes,
—a dog or an elephant, for example,—to mark the failing strength, the
convulsive throes, the appealing looks, the sobs and sighs, the rattling
breath, the glazing eye, the stiffening limbs—how much more exciting is
the interest with which we watch the passing away of a dying species. For
species have their appointed periods as well as individuals: viewed in the
infinite mind of God, the Creator, from the standpoint of eternity, each
form, each race, had its proper duration assigned to it—a duration which,
doubtless, varied in the different species as greatly as that assigned to the
life of one individual animal differs from that assigned to the life of another.
As the elephant or the eagle may survive for centuries, while the horse and
the dog scarcely reach to twenty years, and multitudes of insects are born
and die within a few weeks, so one species may have assigned to its life, for
aught I know, a hundred thousand years as its normal period, and another
not more than a thousand. If creation was, with respect to the species, what
I have elsewhere proved it was with respect to the individual,[1]—a violent
irruption into the cycle of life—then we may well conceive this to have
taken place at very varying relative periods in the life-history of the
different species;—that is to say, that at a given date, (viz., that of creation)
one species might be just completing, ideally, its allotted course, another
just commencing, and a third attaining its meridian.
Certain it is, that not a few species of animals have died during the
present constitution of things. Races, which we know on indubitable
evidence to have existed during the dominion of man, have died out, have
become extinct, so that not a single individual survives. The entire totality
of individuals which constituted the species, have, in these cases, ceased to
be. Some of these seem to have died at a very early era of human history;
but others at a comparatively recent period, and some even within our own
times. Even within the last twenty years several animals have been taken, of
which it is highly probable that not a single representative remains on the
earth; while there are others yet again, which we know to be reduced to a

paucity so extreme, that their extinction can scarcely be delayed more than
a few years at most. Thus we may consider ourselves as standing by the
dying-beds of these creatures, with the consciousness that we shall soon see
them no more; that the sentence is gone forth against them; that their sands
are running to the last grains, and that no effort of ours can materially
prolong their existence. The facts from which these conclusions are drawn
are highly curious, and I shall endeavour to lay them, with as much brevity
as they will allow, before my readers.
On that prochronic hypothesis, by which alone, as I conceive, the facts
revealed by geological investigation can be reconciled with the unerring
statements of Scripture,—every word of which is truth, the truth of a "God
that cannot lie,"—we may assume the actual creation of this earth to have
taken place at that period which is geologically known as the later Tertiary
Era, or thereabout. When, on the third day, "the waters under the heaven
were gathered together into one place, and the dry land appeared," it is not
necessary to suppose that the form assumed by the emerging land was
immediately that which it now has; we may, on the other hand, I think,
assume as likely, that successive or continuous changes of elevation
followed, which have been protracted, perhaps constantly decreasing in
extent and force, to the present hour.[2]
Perhaps between the six days' work of Creation and the Noachic Flood,
Europe became much altered in outline, and in elevation. It may have been,
at first, a great archipelago, agreeing with the epithet by which it is
designated in early Scripture, "the Isles,"[3] and by which it was
subsequently known for ages. The Pyrenees, the Alps, and the Apennines,
already emerged, were slowly uniting, and the Carpathians, the Balkan, the
Taurus, and the Caucasus, were uprearing, while the vast regions to the
north were still an expanse of open sea. England was probably united with
the newly-formed European continent, and embraced Ireland in one great
mass of unbroken land, which stretched far away into the Atlantic.
Volcanoes were active in the north of Ireland, and in the west of Scotland,
pouring forth those floods of fiery lava which have cooled into the
columnar forms seen at the Giant's Causeway and the Cave of Fingal.
Slowly the north of Europe emerged, and the great south-west expanse of
Britain sank beneath the sea, leaving, it may be, the large island of Atlantis
in mid-ocean, to be submerged by a later catastrophe.

Probably changes very similar were coevally taking place in Asia and
North America, while the vast flat alluvial regions of South America were,
perhaps, even still more recently formed, and a great Pacific continent was
in course of subsidence, of which Australasia and Polynesia are the existing
remains.
Such changes of elevation, and of the continuity of land, must effect
considerable alterations of climate; and, therefore, it is not surprising to
know that, in earliest ages, animals and plants flourished in regions to
which they would now be altogether unfitted, and that many races existed
then which have since died out; for geological and climatal modifications
are among the most easily conceivable causes of the decease of species.
In the great swamps of emerging Germany, and in the, as yet, only half-
drained valleys of Switzerland, lurked then the heavy Dinothere. Huger
than the hugest elephant, he carried an enormous body of twenty feet in
length, vast and barrel-like, which even his columnar limbs of ten feet long
scarcely sufficed to raise from the ground. His uncouth head, elephantine in
shape, was furnished with a short proboscis; and two tusks, short and
strong, projected from the lower jaw, not curving upward, as in the
elephant, but downward, as in the walrus. In the teeming marshes lurked
this ungainly beast, half immersed, digging out with his mighty pickaxe-
tusks the succulent roots that permeated the soft soil, which his sensitive
trunk picked up, and conveyed to his mouth.
On the southern slopes of the slowly-rising Himalayas, already clothed
with forests of teak, and palm, and bamboo, revelled the Sivathere, another
heavy creature, of the bulk of a rhinoceros, and therefore not more than half
equalling the German colossus. He too was a strange subject. With a
proportionally enormous head, in form somewhat between that of the
elephant and of the rhinoceros, minute sunken piggish eyes, and a short
proboscis like that of the tapir, he carried two pairs of dissimilar horns. On
the forehead were placed one pair, seated upon bony cores, not unlike those
of our short-horn oxen. Behind these there rose another pair, large and
massive, which were palmated and branching, like those of the fallow-deer,
but on a gigantic scale. What sort of a body, and what kind of limbs,
furnished the complement of this curiously-compound head, we do not
exactly know; but surely it must have been a very remarkable form, as it

browsed quietly and blamelessly, among the luxuriant shrubs of those sun-
facing slopes.
In the same regions a land Tortoise of enormous bulk, far vaster than the
vastest of now existing species, to which that ponderous one which will
march merrily away with a ton weight on its back, is a mere pigmy, shook
the earth with its waddle, and the forests with its hoarse bellowing. Broad
roads, like our highways, were beaten by it through the jungle, along which
it periodically travelled to the cool springs, leisurely sauntering, and
tarrying to munch the fleshy gourds and cactuses that bordered its self-made
track.
The plains of Siberia, stretching away towards the Arctic Ocean,
sheltered countless hosts of huge pachydermatous quadrupeds. A species of
Rhinoceros, not less bulky than those of the present age, roamed to the very
verge of the Icy Sea; its hide, tough and leathery, was destitute of folds, but
was clothed with tufts of rigid gray hair,—an ornament which is denied to
our existing degenerates. Two horns, the front one of unusual massiveness
and length, were seated, as in several of the African kinds, one behind the
other, and were wielded by a head of great strength and development.
More remarkable still was that great hairy Elephant, called the
Mammoth, which appears to have swarmed in those cold plains by myriads.
Of equal dimensions to the Indian species of the present age, this denizen of
the north had far more enormous curving tusks, and instead of the naked
hide of those we are familiar with, his body was encased in black hair, with
a thick under stratum of red curled wool, and bore a long mane on the ridge
of the neck.
There was, at the same time, a quadruped, nearly allied to the elephants,
but differing from them in some technical characters. With a body equally
bulky, but considerably longer, it had shorter limbs, a broader head, small
tusks in the lower, as well as large curving ones in the upper jaw, and
probably a trunk intermediate between the elephant's and the tapir's. Truly
cosmopolite as this great Mastodon was, for we dig up his bones from all
parts of the world, he had his head-quarters in North America, where, from
his dimensions and his numbers, he must have formed a very characteristic
feature of the primeval swamps and forests. There, with his tusks, he

grubbed up the young trees, whose juicy roots he ground down with his
great mammillary molar teeth, or chewed up to a pulp the sapwood of the
recent branches and spicy twigs. And ever and anon he would resort to the
broad saline marshes,—the "Licks," as they are now called,—to lick up the
crystallised salt on their margins, so grateful to all herbivorous quadrupeds.
Here, in his eagerness to gratify his palate with the pungent condiment, he
would press farther and farther into the treacherous quagmire, till he began
to sink, and then, in his terror, he would plunge and flounder, getting more
and more deeply bemired, till at length he could struggle no more, and the
bog would close over him, and he would be no more seen till some
spectacled geologist of this nineteenth century, note-book in hand, would go
and dig up his remains, marvelling at the freshness with which they had
been preserved in the antiseptic peat.
But let us look at South America, where, as the great back-bone chain of
the Andes is being elevated out of the sea, the torrents and cataracts are
pouring down from its sides immense quantities of crumbled rock and pasty
mud, which, deposited upon the vast tabular field, brought by the upheaving
just to the level of the sea, forms that grand alluvial plain unequalled on the
face of the globe for extent, which is clothed with the mighty forests of
Guiana and Brazil, or with the tall grass and thistles of the Pampas. The
torrents still fall; and, meandering through this glorious plain, unite and
form the most majestic of rivers, ever depositing the rich alluvium, and thus
sensibly augmenting, to this day, the breadth of their noble continent, and
their own length.
Strange creatures riot here in these primal ages. The young land, hot and
moist,—moist with the unevaporated water of the depositing rivers, and hot
with the influence of the submarine volcano which is lifting it, as well as
with the beams of the tropical sun,—brings forth from its steaming bosom,
the most gigantic trees in the most profuse luxuriance. And animal life
teems too, in this riant vegetation. Millions of insects,—ants, and termites,
and beetles,—are busy at work upon the trunks of the great trees, eating
them down, and swarming in their immense populous nests, beyond all
imaginings. Surely they will soon eat up the entire forest, dense and rapid as
it grows, and there will be nothing left but cities of insects. No fear! See
those great waddling beasts[4] with stout short legs, and enormous hoof-like
claws so bent inward that the creatures are obliged to walk on the edge of

their paws,—they are equally busy with the insects, tearing apart with their
powerful claws the earthy nests as fast as they are built, and devouring the
makers themselves by wholesale. Here is a wonderful creature, a vast
armadillo, with a body as big as a rhinoceros, covered with a convex oval
shield, formed of hexagonal plates accurately fitted to each other. See how
he approaches a fallen tree, which his unerring instinct tells him is
perforated through and through, and filled with the swarming millions of
ants; with his powerful jaws he munches up the entire mass; the thin and
papery partitions of the dusty wood are ground to powder, and the ants are
licked in and chewed into a black pulp between those curious cylinders of
teeth.
But lo! here are mightier creatures yet! See the vast Mylodon, the
Scelidothere, and the still more colossal Megathere. Ponderous giants these!
The very forests seem to tremble under their stately stride. Their immense
bulk preponderates behind, terminating in a tail of wonderful thickness and
solidity: the head is mean and awakens no terror; the eye lacks lustre and
threatens no violence, though the whole form betokens vast power, and the
stout limbs are terminated by the same stout, inbent, sharp hoof-claws. One
of them approaches that wide-spreading locust-tree; he gazes up at the huge
mud-brown structures that resemble hogsheads affixed to the forks of the
branches, and he knows that the luscious termites are filling them to
overflowing. His lips water at the tempting sight; have them he must. But
how? that heavy sternpost of his was never made for climbing; yet see! he
rears himself up against the tree; is he about to essay the scaling? Not he: he
knows his powers better. He gives it one embrace; one strong hug; as if to
test its thickness and hold upon the earth. Now he is digging away below,
scooping out the soft soil from between the roots,—and it is marvellous to
note how rapidly he lays them bare with those great shovel-like claws of
his. Now he rears himself again; straddles wide on his hind feet, fixing the
mighty claws deep in the ground; plants himself firmly on his huge tail, as
on the third foot of a tripod, and once more grasps the tree. The enormous
hind quarters, the limbs and the loins, the broad pelvis, the thick spinal cord
supplying abundant nervous energy to the swelling muscles, inserted in the
ridged and keeled bones, all come into play, as a point d'appui for the
Herculean effort. "And now conceive the massive frame of the Megathere
convulsed with the mighty wrestling, every vibrating fibre reacting upon its

bony attachment with the force of a hundred giants: extraordinary must be
the strength and proportions of the tree, if, when rocked to and fro, to right
and left, in such an embrace, it can long withstand the efforts of its
assailant."[5] It yields; the roots fly up; the earth is scattered wide upon the
surrounding foliage; the tree comes down with a thundering crash, cracking
and snapping the great boughs like glass; the frightened insects swarm out
at every orifice; but the huge beast is in upon them; with his sharp hoofs he
tears apart the crusty walls of the earth-nests, and licks out their living
contents, fat pupæ, eggs and all, rolling down the sweet morsels, half
sucking, half chewing, with a delighted gusto that repays him for all his
mighty toil.
While the heavy giant is absorbed in his juicy breakfast, see, there
lounges along his neighbour, the Macrauchen. Equally massive, equally
heavy, equally vast, equally peaceful, the stranger resembles a huge
rhinoceros elevated on much loftier limbs; but his most remarkable feature
is an enormously long neck, like that of the camel, but carried to the altitude
of that of the giraffe. Thus he thrusts his great muzzle into the very centre of
the leafy trees, and gathering with his prehensile and flexible lip the
succulent twigs and foliage, he too finds abundance of food for his immense
body, in the teeming vegetation, without intruding upon the supply of his
fellows.
And what enormous mass is suddenly thrust up out of the quiet water of
yonder igaripé? A hoarse, hollow grunt, as it comes up, tells us that it is
alive, and now we discern that it is the head of an animal—the Toxodon.
Half hidden as it is under the shadow of the fan-palms, and the broad,
arrowy leaves of the great arums that grow out of the lake, we see the little
piggish eyes, set far up in the great head, and wide apart, peeping with a
curious union of stupidity and shrewdness; the immense muzzle and lips;
the broad cheeks armed with stiff projecting bristles; and, as the creature
opens its cavernous mouth to seize a floating gourd, an extraordinary array
of incurving teeth, strangely bowed so as to make a series of arches of
immense power. Now, with his strong front teeth, he tears up the great
fleshy arum-roots from the clay of the bank, and grinds them to pulp; and
now, with another grunt, the vast bristly head sinks beneath the water, and
we see it no more. Hundreds of other creatures are straying around,—sloths,
bats, and monkeys, and birds of gay plumage, on the trees; ant-eaters and

cavies, lizards and snakes, on the ground; butterflies and humming-birds
hovering in the air; tapirs and turtles and crocodiles in the waters;—but
these are matters of course:—we are only thinking of such as have passed
away and left no descendants to perpetuate their forms to our own times.
Away to the great Austral land—in our day minished to the insular
Australia and New Zealand and a few satellite isles—but then, in the
morning of creation, possibly stretching far to the north and on either hand,
so as to include the scattered groups of Polynesia in one great continent,
and even to reach so far as Madagascar on the west. This was the region of
gigantic fowls, and of marsupial quadrupeds. Kangaroos of eight or nine
feet in stature leaped over the primeval bush, and wombats and dasyures of
elephantine bulk burrowed in the hill sides, and great lion-like beasts
prowled about the plains. But surely the most characteristic feature of the
scene was impressed by the birds! Vast struthious birds, which would have
looked down with supreme contempt on the loftiest African ostrich, whose
limb-bones greatly exceeded in bulk those of our dray horses, whose three-
toed feet made a print in the clay some eighteen inches long, and whose
proud heads commanded the horizon from an elevation of twelve feet above
the ground,—terrible birds, whose main development of might was in the
legs and feet, being utterly destitute of the least trace of wings—these
strode swiftly about the rank ferny brakes, possessing a conscious power of
defence in the back stroke of their muscular feet, and fearless of man or
beast, mainly nocturnal in their activity, concealing themselves by day in
the recesses of the dense forests, where the majestic trees were interwoven
with cable-like climbers, or couching in the midst of tall reeds and
aroideous plants that margined the great swampy lakes of these regions.
But what of our own land? What of these distant isles of the Gentiles in
that early day, when the enterprising sons of Cain, migrating from the
already straitened land of Nod, were pushing their advancing columns, with
arts and arms, in all directions over the young earth? Did any of them reach
to the as yet insular Europe, settling themselves along the margins of its
deep gulfs and draining basins? Perhaps they did, and even explored the
utmost limits of the great Atlantic island, on the remains of which we live.
What did they find here? A land of mountain and valley, of plain and down,
of lake and river, of bog and fell, of forest and field, in some features much
as now: where the oak, and elm, and ash covered great tracts, and the birch

and fir clothed the hills; but where the yew and the laurel grew side by side
with the custard-apple and the fan-palm, and the ground was overrun with
trailers of the gourd and melon kind, but where grasses were few and
scarce, the exquisite order Rosaceæ, with its beautiful flowers and grateful
fruit, was rarely seen, and the aromatic Labiatæ—the thyme, and mint, and
sage—were as yet unknown.
And the beasts that already tenanted this fair land were for bulk and
power worthy of the domain. The Dinothere and the Mastodon wallowed
and browsed where great London now crowds its princely palaces. Through
the greenwood shades of the forests of oak wandered hippopotamuses and
rhinoceroses of several kinds, the long-tusked mammoth, and two or three
species of horses. Two gigantic oxen—a bison and a urus—roamed over the
fir-clad hills of Scotland, and a curious flat-headed ox, of small size and
minute horns, made Ireland its peculiar home. That island, too, was the
metropolis of a colossal fallow-deer, whose remains, ticketed as those of the
Irish Elk, astonish us in our museums. It stood seven feet in height at the
withers, and waved its branching antlers, eleven feet wide, twelve feet and
upwards above the ground;[6] yet its magnificent stature could not preserve
it from a not infrequent fate, that of becoming intombed in the deep bogs of
its native isle. Britain had, moreover, a stag of scarcely less gigantic
proportions, with the reindeer of the north, and the smaller kinds with
which we are now familiar.
All these herbivores, and numberless smaller genera, some now extinct,
some surviving, were kept in check by powerful predatory tyrants, for
whose representatives we must now look to the jungles of India or the
burning karroos of Southern Africa. The Lion and the Tiger stalked over
these isles, and a terrible tiger-like creature, the Machairode, of even
superior size and power to the scourge of the Bengal jungle, with curved
and saw-edged canine-teeth, hung upon the flanks of the cervine and bovine
herds, and sprang upon the fattest of them. Then, too, there was a vast Bear,
huger and mightier than the fearful grizzly bear of America, which haunted
caves, and prowling around forced down with its horrid paws the shaggy
bull, and broke his stout neck by main force, and dragged the body home to
devour at leisure. And many of these caves, the holes and chasms of the
limestone districts, were inhabited by a gigantic species of Hyena, which
seems to have existed in great numbers, so that the caverns are strewn all

over, from end to end, with thousands of teeth and disjointed bones, both of
the hyenas themselves and of the other carnivores; shewing that there they
lived and died in successive generations; and, mainly, of other creatures, of
very varied species, great and small, most of them cracked, and crushed,
and gnawed, shewing the plain marks of the powerful conical teeth of those
obscene nocturnal animals.
Thus I have endeavoured to draw a picture, vague and imperfect, I know,
of some of the more remarkable and prominent features of the primeval
earth, limiting the sketch to those forms which we know only by their fossil
remains. In endeavouring to paint their contour and general appearance, and
still more their habits and instincts, conjecture must be largely at work—a
conjecture, however, which takes for its basis the anatomical exigencies of
the osseous structure, and the analogy of existing creatures the most nearly
related to the fossil.
These forms, many of them so huge and uncouth, are well known as
having tenanted various regions of the earth during what is known as the
Tertiary Era, in its later periods. They certainly do not exist in those regions
now. When did their life—their species-life—terminate? I have been
assuming that they were upon the earth, as living sentient beings, in the
earliest age of what we call the historic period—that is, according to the
chronology of the Word of God, which must be true, within the last six
thousand years. This assumption is so heterodox, that unsupported by
evidence, it would be generally rejected; let us then inquire what evidence
there is that man was an inhabitant of the globe contemporaneously with
these huge giants of the bestial creation.
I do not pretend to offer positive evidence concerning the synchronism of
all the animals I have been describing with man; but, as there is no doubt
that they were all contemporaneous, inter se, if we can attain to good
grounds for concluding his co-existence with some of them, it may be no
unfair presumption that the case was so with the others.
And first, with respect to the Colossochelys Atlas, that vast fossil land
tortoise of the Sewalik hills, in the north of India, whose carapace may have
covered an area of twelve or fifteen feet in diameter, and whose entire
length, as in walking, when head and tail were protruded, could not have

been much less than thirty feet. The discoverers of this interesting relic, Dr
Falconer and Major Cauntley, have discussed the question of its probable
cessation of existence with some care; and they have come to the
conclusion "that there are fair grounds for entertaining the belief, as
probable, that the Colossochelys Atlas may have lived down to an early
period of the human epoch, and become extinct since." This they infer on
two grounds: first, from the fact that, in the same strata, which are not
limited to the Sewalik hills, but extend, with the remains of this immense
tortoise, all over the great Indian area, from Ava to the Gulf of Cambay,
other tortoises, crocodiles, &c., which were contemporary with the
Colossochelys, have survived to the present time; and, secondly, from
mythologic and cosmogonic traditions of many eastern nations, having
reference to a tortoise of such gigantic size as to be associated in the current
fables with an elephant.[7]
Elian, the Greek naturalist, quoting Megasthenes, a still older authority,
who resided several years in India, and who collected a good deal of
interesting information concerning the country, reports that in the sea
around Ceylon there were found tortoises of such enormous dimensions that
huts were made of their shells, each shell being fifteen cubits (or twenty-
two feet) long; so that several people were able to find comfortable shelter
under it from the rain and sun.[8] And both Strabo and Pliny[9] assert that the
Chelonophagi, who inhabited the shores of the Red Sea and the Persian
Gulf, converted the enormous shells of the turtles which they caught into
roofs for their houses and boats for their little voyages. It has been
suggested that the Colossochelys may have given origin to these statements;
but I rather think the great sea-turtles of the genus Chelone are referred to,
the convex shells of which are known in our own day to reach to a length of
eight feet or upwards.
The circumstances attending the discovery of the rhinoceros and elephant
of Siberia are very curious and interesting; since of them we have not the
fossilised skeletons, but the carcases preserved in a fresh state, as if just
dead, with (in one case) the flesh upon the bones in an eatable state, and
actually forming the food of dogs and wolves, the skin entire, and covered
with fur, and even the eyes so perfectly preserved that the pupils could be
distinctly seen.

In 1771, in the frozen gravelly soil of Wilhuji, in the northern part of
Siberia, an animal was found partially exposed. It was twelve feet in length;
its body was enveloped in a skin which had the thickness and firmness of
sole-leather, but was destitute of folds. Short hair, strongly planted in the
pores of the skin, grew on the face in tufts; it was rigid in texture, and of a
grey hue, with here and there a black bristle, larger and stiffer than the rest.
Short ash-grey hair was observed to clothe the legs, in moderate profusion.
The eyelids and eyelashes were still visible; the remains of the brain were
still in the cavity of the skull, and the flesh of the body, in a putrefying
condition, was still beneath the skin. On the nose there were indications of a
horn having been seated, around which the integument had formed a sort of
fold.
Thus the creature was known to be a Rhinoceros, and the head and feet
were lifted, and conveyed to St Petersburg, where they are still preserved in
the Imperial Museum. Men of science soon remarked that in very many
points this specimen differed from any species now known; and, indeed, a
hairy rhinoceros was, in itself, an anomaly. Subsequent investigations have
revealed that the same species, known as Rhinoceros tichorhinus, inhabited
Siberia in great numbers, and is now extinct.
Nearly thirty years afterwards a still more interesting revelation occurred.
The shores of the Icy Ocean had yielded a vast number of tusks, not
distinguishable from those of the known elephants, and capable of being
worked up by ivory-manufacturers, so that they occupied a well-recognised
place in the commercial markets, and they constitute to this day the
principal supply of the Russian ivory-turners. A fisherman living at the
mouth of the Lena, being one day engaged in collecting tusks, saw among
some ice-blocks an uncouth object. The next year he observed it still further
exposed, and in the following season, 1801, he saw that it was an enormous
animal, having great tusks, one of which, with the entire side of the carcase,
projected from the frozen mass. He knew it to be a Mammoth, for so the
fossil elephants were called, and observed it with interest. The next season
was so cold that no change took place; but in 1803, the melting of the ice
proceeded so far that the gigantic animal fell down from the cliff entire, and
was deposited on the sand beneath. The following season the fisherman,
Schumachoff, cut out the tusks, which he sold for fifty rubles, and two years
after this the scene was visited by Mr Adams, in the service of the Imperial

Court, who has given an interesting account of his observations, made, it
must be remembered, in the seventh year after the first discovery:—
"I found the Mammoth," observes this gentleman, "still in the same
place, but altogether mutilated ... the Jakutski of the neighbourhood having
cut off the flesh, with which they fed their dogs during the scarcity. Wild
beasts, such as white bears, wolves, wolverines, and foxes, also fed upon it,
and the traces of their footsteps were seen around. The skeleton, almost
entirely devoid of its flesh, remained whole, with the exception of one fore-
leg. The head was covered with a dry skin; one of the ears, well preserved,
was furnished with a tuft of hairs. All these parts have necessarily been
injured in transporting them a distance of 7330 miles (to St Petersburg); but
the eyes have been preserved, and the pupil of one can still be
distinguished.
"The Mammoth was a male, with a long mane on the neck. The tail and
proboscis were not preserved. The skin, of which I possess three-fourths, is
of a dark-grey colour, covered with reddish wool and black hairs; but the
dampness of the spot, where it had lain so long, had in some degree
destroyed the hair. The entire carcase, of which I collected the bones on the
spot, was nine feet four inches high, and sixteen feet four inches long,
without including the tusks, which measured nine feet six inches along the
curve. The distance from the base or root of the tusk to the point is three
feet seven inches. The two tusks together weighed three hundred and sixty
pounds, English weight, and the head alone four hundred and fourteen
pounds.
"I next detached the skin of the side on which the animal had lain, which
was well preserved. This skin was of such extraordinary weight that ten
persons found difficulty in transporting it to the shore. After this I dug the
ground in different places, to ascertain whether any of its bones were
buried, but principally to collect all the hairs which the white bears had trod
into the ground while devouring the flesh. Although this was difficult from
the want of instruments, I succeeded in collecting more than a pood (thirty-
six pounds) of hair. In a few days the work was completed, and I found
myself in possession of a treasure which amply recompensed me for the
fatigues and dangers of the journey, and the considerable expenses of the
enterprise.... The escarpment of ice was thirty-five to forty toises high; and,

according to the report of the Tungusians, the animal was, when they first
saw it, seven toises below the surface of the ice, &c. On arriving with the
Mammoth at Borchaya, our first care was to separate the remaining flesh
and ligaments from the bones, which were then packed up. When I arrived
at the Jakutsk, I had the good fortune to repurchase the tusks, and from
thence expedited the whole to St Petersburg. The skeleton is now in the
Museum of the Academy, and the skin still remains attached to the head and
feet. A part of the skin, and some of the hair of this animal were sent by Mr
Adams to Sir Joseph Banks, who presented them to the Museum of the
Royal College of Surgeons. The hair is entirely separated from the skin,
excepting in one very small part, where it still remains attached. It consists
of two sorts, common hair and bristles, and of each there are several
varieties, differing in length and thickness. That remaining fixed on the skin
is of the colour of the camel, an inch and a-half long, very thick-set, and
curled in locks. It is interspersed with a few bristles about three inches long,
of a dark-reddish colour. Among the separate parcels of hair are some rather
redder than the short hair just mentioned, about four inches; and some
bristles nearly black, much thicker than horse hair, and from twelve to
eighteen inches long. The skin, when first brought to the Museum, was
offensive; it is now quite dry and hard, and where most compact, is half-an-
inch thick. Its colour is the dull black of the living elephants."[10]
To me this narrative possesses an intense interest, and I have gazed with
great curiosity on the bit of dried and blackened leather that is preserved in
the Museum in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, knowing it to have presented the
primal freshness of life within the present century. I cannot help thinking
that both the rhinoceros and this elephant roamed over the plains of Siberia,
not only since the creation of man, but even since the Deluge. The freshness
of their state shews that the freezing up of their carcases must have been
sudden, and immediate upon death. What supposition so natural as that,
perhaps in a blinding snowstorm, they slipped into a crevice in the ice-cliff,
were snowed up instantly, and thus preserved by the antiseptic power of
frost to this age? The glaciers of the north may hold multitudes more of
these and kindred creatures, some of which may yet be disinterred, or
thawed out, and may lift yet more the curtain which so tantalisingly covers
the conditions of their life-history. These two huge Pachyderms are
certainly extinct now; yet their remains, scattered over so vast an area, are

everywhere associated with those of other animals which were indubitably
contemporary with them, and whose species-life is continued to our own
times. Some of these, as the great bear and the musk-ox of the sub-polar
regions, we know to be in the habit of migrating northward in spring, and
southward in autumn. That no lack of suitable food would be found, even in
such high latitudes, for browsing quadrupeds, appears from the fact that,
even beyond the parallel of 75° north, large birch-trees are found embedded
in the cliffs, in abundance sufficient to be largely used as common fuel, and
still retaining their woody fibre, their bark, branches, and roots. The climate
then was not greatly different from what it is now, when the birch, as a tree,
reaches to about 70°.
It is interesting to observe that both this elephant and this rhinoceros
were inhabitants of England also; and that at the same period as the cavern
bear, the hyena, the lion, and the machairode, the baboon, the bison, and the
urus, the Irish elk, and the extinct horse; at the same time too, as the rein-
deer, the stag, the black bear, the wolf and fox, the beaver, the wild cat, the
hare, and rabbit, the otter and badger, the wild hog, the rat and mouse, all
our present shrews, the mole, the stoat and polecat, the noctule and the
horse-shoe bats. And curious it is to note, as we go over this list, how some
of the creatures enumerated are long extinct everywhere, some have been
long extinct in England, but are still found elsewhere, some have more
recently become extinct here, but at different eras, some are nearly
extinguished, and some are yet abundant in different degrees.
I do not attach much importance to the traditions of the Siberians, that the
tusks and skeletons which they find belonged to a large subterraneous
animal, which could not bear the light; nor to those of the Chinese,
respecting a similar burrowing quadruped of prodigious bulk, which they
call, by a sort of irony, tyn-schu, or the mouse that hides himself. The fables
may have easily been formed from the observation of the fossil bones, and
do not necessarily imply any memory of the living original.
The two examples of the exhumation of Pachydermata in a fresh state,
which I have given in detail, are by no means the only cases that have
occurred. It is the universally-received belief throughout Siberia, that
Mammoths have been found with the flesh quite fresh and filled with blood;
probably meaning that the animal juices flowed when thawed. Isbrand Ides

mentions a head on which the flesh, in a decaying state, was present; and a
frozen leg, as large as the body of a man; and Jean Bernhard Müller speaks
of a tusk, the cavity of which was filled with a substance which resembled
coagulated blood.
Again, in the voyage of Sarytschew, particulars are given of the
discovery of a Mammoth on the banks of the Alaseia, a river which flows
into the Arctic Ocean, beyond the Indigirska. It had been dislodged by a
flood, and somewhat injured; but the carcase was still almost entire, and
was covered with the skin, to which in some places long hair remained
attached.
These statements might reasonably have been esteemed either fables or
gross exaggerations, but for the subsequent discovery of the rhinoceros and
elephant whose remains have been brought to Europe. Read in the light of
these accounts, the earlier stories take the dignity of authentic history; and it
is interesting to note how well these details agree with those observed by
the accurate Adams;—the long hair, for example, with which the Alaseia
carcase was clothed being the very counterpart of that upon the Lena
elephant; though à priori we should have looked for a very different
condition in the integument of these huge Pachyderms.
If we look now at the great Mastodon, that elephantine beast, which with
a stature equal to that of the tallest African elephant combined a much
greater length of body and bulk of limb, we shall see some reason for
concluding that the period of its decease is not indefinitely removed from
our own era. Its remains occur in greatest abundance in North America; and
it is interesting to observe that among several of the aboriginal tribes of Red
men there were extant traditions of the Mastodon as a living creature. Dim,
vague, and distorted these traditions are; but so far from our rejecting them
in toto on that account, we ought rather to consider these characters as
evidence of their antiquity. When semi-savage nations present us with
orally-preserved accounts of very remote objects or actions, we look, as a
matter of course, for a considerable element of the wild, and extravagant,
and absurd in them. If we found nothing but what was reasonable, and
consistent, and intelligible, we should say in a moment, this account cannot
have been transmitted very far. The question, in the case before us, is not,
we must remember, the precise habits and instincts of the Mastodon, but

whether the Indians knew anything at all of the Mastodon having ever been
a living animal. Now, as I have observed, they had. M. Fabri, a French
officer who had served in Canada, informed Buffon that the Red men spoke
of the great bones which lay scattered in various parts of that region as
having belonged to an animal which, after their oriental style, they named
Le Père aux Bœufs. The Shawnee Indians believed that with these enormous
animals there existed men of proportionate development, and that the Great
Being destroyed both with thunderbolts. Those of Virginia stated that, as a
troop of these terrible quadrupeds were destroying the deer, the bisons, and
the other animals created for the use of the Indians, the Great Man slew
them all with His thunder, except the big bull, who, nothing daunted,
presented his enormous forehead to the bolts, and shook them off as they
fell, till, being at last wounded in the side, he fled towards the great lakes,
where he is to this day.
Evidence of the comparatively-recent entombment of these remains
exists, however, of another character. They do not in general appear to have
been rolled, but to have lived where they are now found; in some instances,
as along the Great Osage River, being imbedded in a vertical position, as if
the animals had been suddenly bogged in the swampy soil. Nor is there any
great accumulation of earth upon them generally. All along the edges of that
great saline morass called, from the abundance of these animal relics, Big
Bone Lick, and on the borders, the skeletons are found sunk in the soft
earth, many of them not more than a yard or two below the surface, and
some even scarcely covered. With them are found in large numbers the
bones of the existing bison, the wapiti-stag, and other herbivores, which
still throng to the same place, for the same reasons, and meet the same fate.
Comparative anatomy determines, from the structure of the bones of the
head in the Mastodon, that it must have carried a proboscis like that of the
elephant. This, though wholly fleshy, has left traces of its existence. Barton
reports that, in 1762, out of five skeletons which were seen by the natives,
one skull still possessed what they described as a "long nose" with the
mouth under it. And Kalm, in speaking of a skeleton, discovered by the
Indians in what is now the State of Illinois, says that the form of the trunk
was still apparent, though half decomposed. The preservation of these
perishable tissues in this case must doubtless be attributed to the salt with
which the bog-earth is saturated. Still more recently a skeleton was found in

Virginia, which contained a very interesting proof of the food of the animal:
a mass of twigs, grass, and leaves, in a half-bruised state, enclosed in a sort
of sac, lay within the cavity of the body, doubtless the contents of the
stomach. Some of the twigs could be identified as those of existing species
of trees and shrubs, among them a species of rose, still common in the
region.
All this is very strong evidence that the deposition of these remains
cannot have taken place in a very remote era,—that, in fact, it must have
been since the general deluge recorded in the Word of God.
Hugh Miller has an interesting observation concerning the actual date of
geologic phenomena in North America, compared with that of their
counterparts in the Old World. He says, "The much greater remoteness of
the mastodontic period in Europe than in America is a circumstance worthy
of notice, as it is one of many facts that seem to indicate a general
transposition of at least the later geologic ages on the opposite sides of the
Atlantic. Groups of corresponding character on the eastern and western
shores of this great ocean were not contemporaneous in time. It has been
repeatedly remarked that the existing plants and trees of the United States,
with not a few of its fishes and reptiles, bear in their forms and
constructions the marks of a much greater antiquity than those of Europe.
The geologist who set himself to discover similar types on the eastern side
of the Atlantic, would have to seek for them among the deposits of the later
tertiaries. North America seems to be still passing through its later tertiary
ages; and it appears to be a consequence of this curious transposition, that
while in Europe the mastodontic period is removed by two great geologic
eras, from the present time, it is removed from it in America by only one."
[11]

Professor Agassiz has expressed opinions of the same character, adducing
the present existence in America of several forms of animals, which are
known in this hemisphere only in a fossil state.[12]
I cannot refrain from adding the following combination of fact and
speculation, from the pen of an accomplished traveller in Mexico. It opens
up a new train of ideas:—

"Some time before our visit, a number of workmen were employed on
the neighbouring estate of Chapingo, to excavate a canal over that part of
the plain from which the waters have gradually retired during the last three
centuries. At four feet below the surface, they reached an ancient causeway,
of the existence of which there was of course not the most remote
suspicion. The cedar piles, by which the sides were supported, were still
sound at heart. Three feet below the edge of this ancient work, in what may
have been the very ditch, they struck upon the entire skeleton of a
Mastodon, embedded in the blue clay. Many of the most valuable bones
were lost by the careless manner in which they were extricated; others were
ground to powder on their conveyance to the capital, but sufficient
remained to prove that the animal had been of great size. My informant
measured the diameter [qu. circumference?] of the tusk, and found it to be
eighteen inches.
"Though I should be very glad to take shelter under the convenient Quien
sabe? the use of which I have suggested to you, I could not avoid, at the
time I was in Mexico, putting my isolated facts together, and feeling
inclined to believe that this country had not only been inhabited in
extremely remote times, when the valley bore a very different aspect from
that which it now exhibits, or which tradition gives it, but that the extinct
race of enormous animals, whose remains would seem, in the instance I
have cited, to be coeval with the undated works of man, may have been
subjected to his will, and made instrumental, by the application of their
gigantic force, to the transport of those vast masses of sculptured and
chiselled rock which we marvel to see lying in positions so far removed
from their natural site.
"The existence of these ancient paved causeways also, not only from
their solid construction over the flat and low plains of the valley, but as they
may be traced running for miles over the dry table-land and the mountains,
appears to me to lend plausibility to the supposition; as one might inquire,
to what end the labour of such works, in a country where beasts of burden
were unknown?
"But I leave this subject to wiser heads and bolder theorists. Had the
Mammoth of Chapingo been discovered with a ring in his nose, or a bit in
his mouth, a yoke on his head, or a crupper under his tail, the question

would have been set at rest. As it is, there is plenty of room for conjecture
and dispute."[13]
With respect to the great extinct Mammalia of South America, we find
Mr Darwin, to whom we are indebted for our knowledge of so many of
them, continually expressing his wonder at the comparatively modern era of
their existence. After having enumerated nine vast beasts, which he found
imbedded in the beach at Bahia Blanca, within the space of 200 yards
square, and remarked how numerous in kinds the ancient inhabitants of the
country must have been, he observes that "this enumeration belongs to a
very late tertiary period. From the bones of the Scelidotherium, including
even the kneecap, being entombed in their proper relative positions, and
from the osseous armour of the great armadillo-like animal being so well
preserved, together with the bones of one of its legs, we may feel assured
that these remains were fresh and united by their ligaments when deposited
in the gravel with the shells. Hence we have good evidence that the above-
enumerated gigantic quadrupeds, more different from those of the present
day than the oldest of the tertiary quadrupeds of Europe, lived whilst the sea
was peopled with most of its present inhabitants."[14]
Of the remains of the Mylodon, and of that strange semi-aquatic creature
the Toxodon, he says, they appeared so fresh that it was difficult to believe
they had lain buried for ages under ground. The bones were so fresh, that
they yielded, on careful analysis, seven per cent. of animal matter, and
when heated in the flame of a spirit-lamp, they not only exhaled a very
strong animal odour, but actually burned with a small flame.
Mr Darwin's interest was excited by the evidences everywhere present of
the immensity of this extinct population. "The number of the remains
imbedded in the great estuary-deposit which forms the Pampas, and covers
the gigantic rocks of Banda Oriental, must be extraordinarily great. I
believe a straight line drawn in any direction through the Pampas would cut
through some skeleton or bones.... We may suppose that the whole area of
the Pampas is one wide sepulchre of these extinct gigantic quadrupeds."[15]
The whole plain of South America from the Rio Plata to the Straits of
Magellan has been raised from the sea within the species-life of the existing
sea-shells, the old and weathered specimens of which, left on the surface of

the plain, still partially retain their colours! Darwin infers, as certain, from
data which he has adduced, that the Macrauchen, that strange giraffe-
necked pachyderm, lived long after the sea was inhabited by its present
shells, and when the vegetation of the land could not have been other than it
is now. And if the Macrauchen, then the Toxodon, the Scelidothere, the
Megathere, the Mylodon, the Glyptodon, the Glossothere, and all the rest of
the quaint but mighty host of gone giants, that once thronged these austral
plains.
Evidence for the recent existence of the colossal ostrich-like birds of
New Zealand is stronger still. It is about twenty-one years since the first
intimation was given to scientific Europe of the remains of such animals,
through some bones sent by the Rev. W. Williams to Dr Buckland. From
these, and a collection soon afterwards sent home, Professor Owen
established the genus Dinornis, identifying five species, the largest of
which, D. giganteus, he concluded to have stood about ten feet in height.
The remains have since been obtained in great profusion, and the result of
further investigations by the Professor has been the establishment of three
other genera, viz., Palapteryx, Nestor, and Notornis,—the latter a large bird
allied to the Rails and Coots.
A very interesting communication from Mr Williams accompanied one of
the consignments, extracts of which I will quote. It bears date "Poverty Bay,
New Zealand, 17th May 1842." "It is about three years ago, on paying a
visit to this coast, south of the East Cape, that the natives told me of some
extraordinary monster, which they said was in existence in an inaccessible
cavern on the side of a hill near the river Wairoa; and they shewed me at the
same time some fragments of bone taken out of the beds of rivers, which
they said belonged to this creature, to which they gave the name of Moa.
When I came to reside in this neighbourhood I heard the same story a little
enlarged; for it was said that this creature was still existing at the said hill,
of which the name is Wakapunake, and that it is guarded by a reptile of the
Lizard species, but I could not learn that any of the present generation had
seen it. I still considered the whole as an idle fable, but offered a large
reward to any who would catch me either the bird or its protector." These
offers procured the collection of a considerable number of fossil bones, on
which Mr Williams makes the following observations:—

"1. None of these bones have been found on the dry land, but are all of
them from the banks and beds of fresh-water rivers, buried only a little
distance in the mud.... All the streams are in immediate connexion with hills
of some altitude.
"2. This bird was in existence here at no very distant time, though not in
the memory of any of the inhabitants: for the bones are found in the beds of
the present streams, and do not appear to have been brought into their
present situation by the action of any violent rush of waters.
"3. They existed in considerable numbers,—(an observation which has
since been abundantly confirmed.)
"4. It may be inferred that this bird was long-lived, and that it was many
years before it attained its full size. (The writer grounds this inference on
the disparity in dimensions of the corresponding bones, supposing that they
all belonged to one and the same species; which, however, was an
erroneous assumption.)
"5. The greatest height of the bird was probably not less than fourteen or
sixteen feet. The leg-bones now sent give the height of six feet to the root of
the tail.
"Within the last few days I have obtained a piece of information worthy
of notice. Happening to speak to an American about these bones, he told me
that the bird is still in existence in the neighbourhood of Cloudy Bay, in
Cook's Straits. He said that the natives there had mentioned to an
Englishman belonging to a whaling party, that there was a bird of
extraordinary size to be seen only at night, on the side of a hill near the
place, and that he, with a native and a second Englishman, went to the spot;
that, after waiting some time, they saw the creature at a little distance,
which they describe as being about fourteen or sixteen feet high. One of the
men proposed to go nearer and shoot, but his companion was so
exceedingly terrified, or perhaps both of them, that they were satisfied with
looking at the bird, when, after a little time, it took the alarm, and strode off
up the side of the mountain.
"This incident might not have been worth mentioning, had it not been for
the extraordinary agreement in point of the size of the bird [with my

deductions from the bones]. Here are the bones which will satisfy you that
such a bird has been in existence; and there is said to be the living bird, the
supposed size of which, given by an independent witness, precisely agrees."

ENCOUNTER WITH A
MOA.
The story told of the whaler appears to me to bear marks of truth. The
bold essay to explore, the terror inspired by the gigantic figure, especially in
the solemnity of night, the description of the manners of the bird running
and striding, so like those of the Apteryx, with which its bones shew the
Moa to have been closely allied, and the inglorious return of the party
without achieving any exploit, are all too natural to permit the thought that
no more than inventive power has been at work.
And well may the colossus have inspired fear. The bones sent to London
greatly exceed in bulk those of the largest horse. The leg-bone of a tall man
is about one foot four inches in length, and the thigh of O'Brien, the Irish
giant, whose skeleton, eight feet high, is mounted in the Museum of the
Royal College of Surgeons, is not quite two feet. But the leg-bone (tibia) of

the Dinornis we know measured as much as two feet ten inches, and we
have no reason to suppose, considering the disparity that exists in the
specimens examined, that we have seen by any means the largest.
Additional reason for supposing these magnificent birds to have existed
not long ago, is found in the fact that specimens of their eggs have been
preserved. The circumstances attendant on the discovery and identification
of these possess a remarkable interest. In the volcanic sand of New Zealand
Mr Walter Mantell found a gigantic egg, which we may reasonably infer to
be that of either Dinornis or Palapteryx, of the magnitude of which he gives
us a familiar idea by saying that his hat would have been but just large
enough to have served as an egg-cup for it. This is the statement of a man of
science, and therefore we may assume an approximate degree of precision
in the comparison.
I do not know the size of Mr Mantell's hat, but I find that the transverse
diameter of my own is six inches or a little more. If we may take this as the
shorter diameter of the ovoid, the longer would probably be about eight and
a half inches; dimensions considerably greater than those of the Ostrich's
egg (which are about six and a quarter in length), but not what we should
have expected from a bird from twelve to fourteen feet in height. And this
the rather when we consider that the egg of the New Zealand Apteryx, to
which these birds manifest a very close affinity, is one of dimensions that
are quite surprising in proportion to the bulk of the bird. The Apteryx is
about as big as a turkey, standing two feet in height, but its egg measures
four inches ten lines by three inches two lines in the respective diameters.
The egg of the Dinornis giganteus, to bear the same ratio to the bird as this,
would be of the incredible length of two feet and a half, by a breadth of one
and three quarters! Possibly this specimen, though indubitably the egg of
one of this great family of extinct birds, may after all be that of one of the
subordinate species.
But about the same time as Mr Mantell's discovery, one of equal interest
was made in Madagascar. The master of a French ship obtained, in 1850,
from natives of the island, three eggs, of far greater size, and fragments of
the leg-bones of an immense bird. These, on their arrival at Paris, formed
the subjects of valuable investigations by M. Isidore Geoffroy St Hilaire[16]
and Professor Owen.[17]

The native statement was, that one of the eggs had been found entire in
the bed of a torrent, among the debris of a land-slip; that a second egg, with
some fragments of bone, was subsequently found in a formation which is
stated to be alluvial; a third egg, which the natives had perforated at one
end, and used as a vessel, was also found. This last egg was broken in the
carriage, the other two arrived in Europe entire.
These two, though nearly alike in size, differed considerably in their
relative proportions and shape, the one being shorter and thicker, with more
equal ends than the other. The following table shews the dimensions of both
compared with those of an ostrich's egg:—

Ovoid Ellipsoid Ostrich
egg. egg. egg.
ft. in. li. ft. in. li. ft. in. li.
Longer
2 10 9 2 9 6 1 6 0
circumference
Shorter
2 4 3 2 5 6 1 4 6
circumference
Extreme length 1 0 8 1 0 5 0 6 4

M. Geoffroy St Hilaire estimates the larger of the two to contain 10⅛
quarts, or the contents of nearly six eggs of the Ostrich, or sixteen of the
Cassowary, or a hundred and forty-eight of the Hen, or fifty thousand of the
Humming bird.[18]
The fragments of bone indicated a bird of the same natural affinities as
the New Zealand colossi, and of dimensions not widely remote from theirs.
Professor Owen thinks that it did not exceed in height or size Dinornis
giganteus, and that there is a probability that it was slightly smaller. The
Madagascar bird has been named Æpyornis maximus.
The fragments of the egg of the New Zealand bird (still uncertain as to
the species to which it is to be referred) shew that the shell was absolutely
thinner, and therefore relatively much thinner than that of the Ostrich's egg;
the air-pores, too, have a different form, being linear, instead of round, and
the surface is smoother. In these qualities, the New Zealand egg resembles
that of the Apteryx; in the thickness and roughness of the egg of Æpyornis

there is more similarity to those of the Ostrich and Cassowary. The colour
of the Madagascar egg is a dull greyish yellow; but it is possible that this
may be derived from the soil in which it has long been imbedded. The
fragments of the New Zealand egg are white, like the eggs of the Apteryx
and Ostrich: those of the Emu and Cassowary are light green.
The willing fancy suggests the possibility that, in an island of such
immensity as Madagascar, possessing lofty mountain-ranges, covered with
the most magnificent forests, where civilised man has only yet touched one
or two spots on the seaward borders, but where these slight explorations
have educed so many wondrous animals, so many strange forms of
vegetable life, the noble Æpyornis may yet be stalking with giant stride
along the fern-fringed hill-sides, or through the steaming thickets; though in
the more contracted area of New Zealand its equally ponderous cousins, the
Dinornis and the Palapteryx, may have sunk beneath the persevering
persecutions of man.
Yet another item of evidence bearing on the recent if not present
existence of these great fowls has recently come to light:—the most
interesting discovery that one of the genera whose fossil remains had been
found associated with theirs is really extant in New Zealand. I refer to the
Notornis.
At a meeting of the Zoological Society of London, held on the 13th
November 1850, Dr Mantell made the following communication relative to
this discovery:—
"It was in the course of last year, on the occasion of my son's second visit
to the south of the middle island, that he had the good fortune to secure the
recent Notornis, which I now submit, having previously placed it in the
hands of the eminent ornithologist Mr Gould, to figure and describe. This
bird was taken by some sealers who were pursuing their avocations in
Dusky Bay. Perceiving the trail of a large and unknown bird on the snow,
with which the ground was then covered, they followed the footprints till
they obtained a sight of the Notornis, which their dogs instantly pursued,
and, after a long chase, caught alive in the gully of a sound behind
Resolution Island. It ran with great speed, and on being captured uttered
loud screams, and fought and struggled violently. It was kept alive three or

four days on board the schooner, and then killed, and the body roasted and
eaten by the crew, each partaking of the dainty, which was declared to be
delicious. The beak and legs were of a bright red colour. My son secured the
skin, together with very fine specimens of the Kapapo or ground parrot
(Strigops), a pair of Huias (Neomorpha), and two species of Kiwikiwi,
namely Apteryx Australis, and A. Oweni. The latter very rare bird is now
added to the collection of the British Museum."
"Mr Walter Mantell states, that, according to the native traditions, a large
Rail was contemporary with the Moa, and formed a principal article of food
among their ancestors. It was known to the North Islanders by the name
'Moho,' and to the South Islanders by that of 'Takahe;' but the bird was
considered by both natives and Europeans to have been long since
exterminated by the wild cats and dogs; not an individual having been seen
or heard of since the arrival of the English colonists. On comparing the
head of the bird with the fossil cranium, and mandibles, and the figures and
descriptions in the 'Zoological Transactions' (Plate lvi.), my son was at once
convinced of their identity. It may not be irrelevant to add, that in the course
of Mr Walter Mantell's journey from Banks's Peninsula along the coast to
Otago, he learned from the natives that they believed there still existed in
that country the only indigenous terrestrial quadruped, except a species of
rat, which there are any reasonable grounds for concluding New Zealand
ever possessed. While encamping at Arowenua, in the district of Timaru, the
Maoris assured them that about ten miles inland there was a quadruped
which they called Káureke, and that it was formerly abundant, and often
kept by their ancestors in a domestic state as a pet animal. It was described
as about two feet in length, with coarse grizzly hair; and must have more
nearly resembled the otter or badger than the beaver or the
Ornithorhynchus, which the first accounts seem to suggest as the probable
type. The offer of a liberal reward induced some of the Maoris to start for
the interior of the country where the Káureke was supposed to be located;
but they returned without having obtained the slightest trace of the
existence of such an animal. My son, however, expresses his belief in the
native accounts, and that, if the creature no longer exists, its extermination
is of very recent date. In concluding this brief narrative of the discovery of a
genus of birds once contemporary with the colossal Moa, and hitherto only
known by its fossil remains, I beg to remark that this highly interesting fact

tends to confirm the conclusions expressed in my communication to the
Geological Society, namely, that the Dinornis, Palapteryx, and related
forms, were coeval with some of the existing species of birds peculiar to
New Zealand, and that their final extinction took place at no very distant
period, and long after the advent of the aboriginal Maoris."
Mr Gould then read a paper pointing out the zoological characters of the
bird discovered by Mr Mantell, which he had no hesitation in identifying as
the species formerly characterised, from its osseous remains, by Professor
Owen, under the name of Notornis Mantelli. Mr Gould, in adverting to the
extreme interest with which the present existence of a species which was
certainly contemporary with the Moa must be regarded, pointed out, from
the preserved skin, which was on the table, how accurate a prevision of its
character had been made by Professor Owen, when investigating the
fragments from which our first knowledge of it had been derived.[19]
At length I come home to Great Britain and Ireland—the "nice little, tight
little islands" where so many of our sympathies properly centre, where
natural-history facts and all other facts interest us so much more than
parallel facts elsewhere, and where, above all, there are so many more lights
streaming into the darkness, and bringing out truth. Let us again look back
to the period of the Bison, and Reindeer, and Elk, of the Elephant, and
Hippopotamus, and Rhinoceros, of the Lion and the Hyena, and the great
Cave Bear, and search among the vanishing traces of the far past for
glimpses of evidence when their age ceased to be.
Some dim light falls on the obscurity from the discovery of the fossil
remains of man himself—the human bones found by Dr Schmerling in a
cavern near Liege, the remains mentioned by M. Marcel de Serres and
others in several caverns in France, associated with fossil relics of this
period. But more from the occurrence of flints, apparently fashioned by
human art, in superficial deposits, together with the same extinct fossils of
the tertiary. Even at the very moment that I write this sheet, my eye falls on
the report[20] of an important meeting of the Ethnological Society, for the
purpose of discussing this very subject of "The flint implements found
associated with the bones of extinct animals in the Drift." Many of the
leading geologists and archæologists were present, for the matter has

become one of absorbing interest, conflicting, as the facts seem to do, with
some assumptions received as unquestioned verities in Geology.
These flints, which seem indubitably to have been chipped into the forms
of arrow-heads, lance-heads, and the like, have been found in France in
large numbers, as also in other parts of the continent, and in England. They
resemble those still used by some savage tribes. In this very neighbourhood,
as in the cavern called Kent's Hole near Torquay, and in one more recently
examined at Brixham, they are found mixed up with the bones of the
Rhinoceros, of the Cave Bear, and the Hyena, At Menchecourt, near
Abbeville, they occur in a deposit of sand, sandy clay, and marl, with bones
of the same animals, and others, their contemporaries. Concerning this bed,
Mr Prestwich, in a paper read before the Royal Society, May 26, 1859, says
that it must be referred to those usually designated as post pliocene, but that
the period of its deposit was anterior to that of the surface assuming its
present outline, so far as some of its minor features are concerned. "He does
not, however, consider that the facts of necessity carry man back in past
time more than they bring forward the great extinct mammals towards our
own time, the evidence having reference only to relative, and not to absolute
time; and he is of opinion that many of the later geological changes may
have been sudden, or of shorter duration than generally considered. In fact,
from the evidence here exhibited, and from all that he knows regarding the
drift phenomena generally, the author sees no reason against the conclusion
that this period of man and the extinct mammals—supposing their
contemporaneity to be proved—was brought to a sudden end by a
temporary inundation of the land; on the contrary, he sees much to support
such a view on purely geological considerations."[21]
At the meeting of the Ethnological Society just held, there seems to have
been an increasing tendency to admit the hypothesis of the continuance of
the Mammalia of the Tertiary into the human era. Mr Evans, who exhibited
specimens taken at a depth of twenty to thirty feet, from a stratum of coarse
fresh-water gravel, lying on chalk, and containing an entire skeleton of an
extinct Rhinoceros, and overlaid by sandy marl containing existing shells,
shewed that the deposit had certainly not been disturbed till the present
time, so that the gravel, the bones, and the flints had been deposited
coetaneously. He suggested "that the animals supposed to have become
extinct before man was created might have continued to exist to more

recent periods than had been admitted." And this opinion found support
from other leading geologists.
That this conclusion would throw the existence of man to an era far
higher than that assigned to him by the inspired Word, is, I know, generally
held; and certain investigations, made in the alluvial deposit of the Nile,[22]
are considered to prove that man has been living in a state of comparative
civilisation in the Nile Valley for the last 13,500 years. But that conclusion
absolutely rests on the supposition that the rate of increase formed by the
annual deposit of the Nile mud has been always exactly the same as now,—
a supposition, not only without the least shadow of proof, but also directly
contrary to the highest probability, nay, certainty, in the estimation of those
who believe in the Noachian deluge. For surely the drainage of the entire
plain of North Africa after that inundation must have produced an alluvium
of vast thickness in a very brief time; while beneath that deposit the works
of the antediluvian world might well be buried. Yet the possibility of there
ever having been any greater rate of deposit than within the last 3000 years,
the recorder of those investigations, in his unseemly haste to prove the
Bible false, strangely leaves wholly out of his consideration.
So, doubtless, concerning other deposits containing fossil remains, whose
extreme antiquity is assumed from the known rate of surface-increase now,
we ought to remember that we have not a tittle of proof that the rate of
increase has not at certain remote periods been suddenly and immensely
augmented. There are many facts on record which tend to shew that the rate
at which geologic changes take place in certain localities affords no reliable
data whatever to infer that at which phenomena apparently quite parallel
have occurred in other localities. An upheaval or a subsidence of one part of
a country may rapidly effect a great change in the amount of soil or gravel
precipitated by streams, without destroying or changing their channels, and
yet the deposit may be made sufficiently gradually to allow the burial of
shells or of bones of creatures which lived and died on the spot.
The degradation of a cliff, either suddenly or gradually, might throw a
vast quantity of fragments into a rapid stream, and cause a deposit of gravel
of considerable breadth and thickness in a comparatively short period of
time,—say a century or two.

Sir Charles Lyell has adduced examples of very rapid formation of
certain stony deposits, which should make us cautious how we assert that
such and such a thickness must have required a vast number of years. In one
of them there is a thickness of 200 or 300 feet of travertine of recent
deposit, while in another, a solid mass thirty feet thick was deposited in
about twenty years. There are countless places in Italy where the formation
of limestone may be seen, as also in Auvergne and other volcanic districts.
[23]

From these and similar considerations it seems to me by no means
unreasonable that the four thousand years which elapsed between the
Creation and the commencement of Western European history should have
been amply sufficient for many of those geological operations whose results
are seen in what are known as the later Tertiary deposits,—the crag, the
drift, the cavern-accumulations, and the like. And, as a corollary to this, that
the great extinct Mammalia may have extended into this period, and thus
have been contemporary with man, for a greater or less duration, according
to the species; some, probably, having been extinguished at a very early
period of the era, while others lived on to the time I have named, or even
later.
But have we nothing better for this conclusion than an assumption of the
possibility, and a more or less probable conjecture? Yes; we have some facts
of interest to warrant it, or I should not have ventured to introduce the
subject in this work. There are facts,—besides the admixture of human
workmanship with the animal remains in undisturbed deposits—direct
evidence, not altogether shadowy, of the co-existence of the extinct animals
with living men.
And first, I would mention some circumstances bearing analogy to the
exhumation of the fresh Pachyderms of Siberia. Some years ago, a portion
of the leg of an Irish Elk, so-called, (Megaceros hibernicus,) with a part of
the tendons, skin, and hair upon it, was dug up with other remains from a
deposit on the estate of H. Grogan Morgan, Esq., of Johnstown Castle,
Wexford, and is now in that gentleman's possession. This leg was exhibited,
and formed the subject of a lecture at the time by Mr Peile, veterinary
surgeon, Dublin.

It has been ascertained that the marrow in some of the bones blazes like a
candle; that the cartilage and gelatine, so far from having been destroyed,
were not apparently altered by time.[24] Archdeacon Maunsell actually made
soup of the bones, and presented a portion thereof to the Royal Dublin
Society (whether they enjoyed it I have not heard; it must have been "a little
high," I fear). They are frequently used by the peasantry for fuel. On the
occasion of the rejoicings for the victory at Waterloo, a bonfire was made of
these bones, and it was observed that they gave out as good a blaze as those
of horses, often used for similar purposes.[25]
Pepper, in his "History of Ireland," states that the ancient Irish used to
hunt a very large black deer, the milk of which they used as we do that of
the cow, and the flesh of which served them for food, and the skin for
clothing. This is a very remarkable record; and is confirmed by some
bronze tablets found by Sir William Betham, the inscriptions on which
attested that the ancient Irish fed upon the milk and flesh of a great black
deer.
According to the "Annals of the Four Masters," Niel Sedamin, a king of
Ireland before the Christian era, was so called because "the cows and the
female deer were alike milked in his reign." The art of taming the wild deer
and converting them into domestic cattle is said to have been introduced by
Flidisia, this monarch's mother. Deer are said to have been used to carry
stones and wood for Codocus when his monastery was built, as also to carry
timber to build the castle of a king of Connaught. These may have been red
deer, but as there is good proof that the giant deer was really domesticated,
it seems more likely that such offices should have been performed by the
latter than by the former.
An interesting letter from the Countess of Moira, published in the
"Archæologia Britannica," gives an account of a human body found in
gravel under eleven feet of peat, soaked in the bog-water; it was in good
preservation, and completely clothed in antique garments of deer-hair,
conjectured to be that of the Giant Elk.
A skull of the same animal has been discovered in Germany in an ancient
drain, together with several urns and stone-hatchets. And in the museum of
the Royal Dublin Society there exists a fossil rib bearing evident token of

having been wounded by some sharp instrument which remained long
infixed in the wound, but had not penetrated so deep as to destroy the
creature's life. It was such a wound as the head of an arrow, whether of flint
or of metal, would produce.
In the year 1846, a very interesting corroboration of the opinion long held
by some that the great broad-horned Deer was domesticated by the ancient
Irish, was given by the discovery of a vast collection of bones at Lough
Gûr, near Limerick. The word Gûr is said to mean "an assemblage," so that
the locality is "the Lake of the Assemblage," commemorating perhaps the
gathering of an army or some other host at the spot. In the midst of the lake
is an island, which is described as being so completely surrounded with
bones and skulls of animals "that one would think the cattle of an entire
nation must have been slaughtered to procure so vast an assemblage."
The skulls are described as belonging to the following animals:—The
giant deer (females); a deer of inferior size; the stag; another species of
stag; the fallow deer; the broad-faced ox; the hollow-faced ox; the long-
faced ox; another species of ox; the common short-horned ox; the goat; and
the hog.
The principal points of interest centred in the Giant Deer or so-called
Irish Elk. The skulls of these, as of all the larger animals, "were broken in
by some sharp and heavy instrument, and in the same manner as butchers of
the present day slaughter cattle for our markets, and in many cases the
marrow-bones were broken across, as if to get at the marrow."
Of course, if this was indubitable, the conclusion was inevitable, that the
Giant Deer was not only contemporary with man, but was domesticated by
him with other quadrupeds, and used for food. Professor Owen, however,
contended that the skulls of the Giant Deer were not females but males,
from which the horns had been forcibly removed, and that the holes in the
foreheads were made by the violent wrenching off of the horns tearing away
a portion of the frontal bone from which they grew.
In reply to this opinion, Mr H. D. Richardson of Dublin, whose personal
acquaintance with the relics of this noble species is peculiarly extensive,
shewed that certain variations of proportion on which the learned Professor
relied to prove the skulls to be male, were of no such value, individual

animals presenting great discrepancies in these respects: that the total
absence of cornuous peduncles from the sides of the forehead, and of the
elevated bony ridge, conclusively proved the sex to be female, which was
permanently destitute of horns; and that in no case could it be said that the
ridge was forced away, since the violence was confined to a small hole in
the centre of the forehead.
To put the matter to test, Mr Richardson experimented on two perfect
male skulls. In the one instance the force was applied to the beam of the
horns, and the result was their fracture where they are united to the
peduncles. In the other case the force was applied to the peduncles
themselves, to ascertain whether it was possible to wrench them and the
ridge away from the face, when the consequence was, that the skull was
completely riven asunder. Indeed to any one who looks at the position of
the horns in this animal, and their implantation, it must be self-evident that
their violent removal must tear away the entire forehead, and not leave a
central hole. Mr Edward Newman who subsequently examined the
specimens speaks decidedly on this point:—"I have not the least hesitation
in expressing my firm conviction that the fractures were the result of human
hands, and were the cause of the death of the animals. These two fractured
skulls correspond too exactly with each other, and with that of a bullock
with which I compared them, to have resulted from accident: the edges of
the fractures wore the appearance of having been coeval with the interment
or submergence of the skulls, and presented a very strikingly different
appearance from a fracture recently made, and which I had the opportunity
of examining. There were several skulls of the male of the same species,
one bearing enormous antlers, but none exhibiting the slightest trace of
frontal fracture."[26]
A circumstance of much importance is that these skulls were found in
company with those of many well-known domestic animals, as the ox, the
goat, and the hog. These skulls were similarly fractured. As it is evident that
their demolition was produced by the butcher's pole-axe, why not that of the
elk-skulls?
"At the first cursory glance, it may appear somewhat strange that the
skulls of the males should invariably have been found entire, and that even
the recent discovery at Lough Gûr should form no exception.

"I do not, however, find any difficulty here. In the first place, we may
fairly suppose that males, like our bulls, were not equally prized as food. In
the second place, the size, as well as the position of the antlers, would
render it next to an impossibility to give the desired blow with the pole-axe.
In the third place, the greater strength and thickness of the skull would
almost to a certainty render the blow unavailing; and in the fourth place,
supposing the females domesticated, and the occasional tenants of sheds
and other buildings, we may well imagine that the males were excluded
from such buildings by the enormous size of their antlers. Perhaps a few
only of the males, as in our cattle, were suffered to become adult, one male
sufficing for many females. Perhaps the males were allowed free range, the
females only being permitted at stated seasons to accompany them. In fine,
the more we investigate probabilities, the more we reason from present
experience and knowledge, the less difficulty shall we find in the way of
believing the gigantic deer of Ireland an animal coeval with man and
subservient to his uses."[27]
In a communication subsequently made to the Zoologist by Mr
Richardson, he gives the following additional evidence:—"In the collection
of the late Mr Johnston, of Down, which had been left by his uncle, an
attorney, and in which everything was labelled with the accuracy and
precision of that profession, is a small brass spear, with a piece of wood still
in the socket, with a label, stating it to have been found in a marl-pit, among
the bones of a deer. An excise-officer told me that he saw, found in a marl-
pit, at Mentrim in Meath, the skeleton of a deer, and a man, and a long
knife: the latter, I believe, is rather a short sword, now, I think, in the
collection of Mr Petrie, of Dublin, who told me that some such tradition had
accompanied it into his possession.... Dr Martin informs me that on the
banks of the river Suir, near Portland, Waterford, and on nearly every farm,
are found, near springs, spaces of frequently seventy feet in diameter,
consisting of stones, broken up as if for roads, and lying together in a mass.
These stones were evidently purposely broken, and all much of one size,
and are charred. These spaces are many feet in depth. The tradition
respecting them is current among the peasantry, that here in olden time, a
great deer was killed and baked in these stone-pits, the stones having been
previously heated like a kiln, and they also distinguish the animal as the

'Irish Elk.' These places are called in Irish by a name signifying the 'Buck's
Den.'"

SPEARING THE ANCIENT
ELK.
From all these testimonies combined, can we hesitate a moment in
believing that the Giant Deer was an inhabitant of Ireland since its
colonisation by man? It seems to me that its extinction cannot have taken
place more than a thousand years ago. Perhaps at the very time that Cæsar
invaded Britain the Celts in the sister isle were milking and slaughtering
their female elks, domesticated in their cattlepens of granite, and hunting
the proud-antlered male with their flint arrows and lances. It would appear,
that the mode of hunting him was to chase and terrify him into pools and
swamps, such as the marl-pits then were; that, having thus disabled him in
the yielding bogs, and slain him, the head was cut off, as of too little value
to be worth the trouble of dragging home; that the under jaws and tongue
were cut off; and that frequently the entire carcase was disjointed on the
spot, the best parts only being removed. This would account for the so

frequent occurrence of separate portions of the skeleton, and especially of
skulls, in the bog-earth. No doubt so large an animal would not long survive
in a state of freedom, after an island so limited in extent as Ireland became
peopled throughout; and supposing the females to have been domesticated,
it is quite conceivable that the difficulty or even danger of capturing or
domesticating the males, may have caused the species soon to become
extinct in captivity, when it no longer continued to exist in a wild state.
Thus we may perhaps account for the certainly remarkable fact that no
native Irish name has been recognised as belonging to it;—remarkable,
because the Irish tongue is particularly rich in distinctive names for natural
objects. There exists a very curious ancient poem in that language which
professes to enumerate the whole fauna of the island. It is founded on the
legend that Fian MacCumhaill was made prisoner by Cormac MacArt, king
of Erinn; that the victor promised to give him freedom on condition that, as
a ransom, a pair of each wild animal found in Ireland were brought before
him on the green of Tara. Cailte MacRonain, the foster-brother of the
captive general undertook the task, and succeeded in bringing the collection
before the king within a twelvemonth; and in the poem, he is supposed to
narrate to St Patrick the detail and result of his enterprise. Of this poem,
which is considered to be as early as the ninth century, the reader may like
to see the following translation by Mr Eugene Curry, containing the
zoological portion:—

"I then went forth to search the lands,
To see if I could redeem my chief,
And soon returned to noble Tara,
With the ransom that Cormac required.

"I brought with me the fierce Geilt,[28]
And the tall Grib[29] with talons,
And the two Ravens of Fid-dá-Beann,
And the two Ducks of Loch Saileann.

"Two Foxes from Sliabh Cuilinn,
Two Wild Oxen[30] from Burren,
Two Swans from the dark wood of Gabhran,
And two Cuckoos from the wood of Fordrum.

"Two Toghmalls[31] from Fidh-Gaibhle,
Which is by the side of the two roads,
And two Otters after them,
From the brown-white rock of Dobhar.

"Two Gulls from Tralee hither,
Two Ruilechs[32] from Port Lairge (Waterford),
Four Snags[33] from the River Brosna,
Two Plovers from the rock of Dunán.

"Two Echtachs[34] from the lofty Echtghe,
Two Thrushes from Letter Longarie,
Two Drenns[35] from Dun Aife,
The two Cainches[36] of Corraivte.

"Two Herons from the hilly Corann,
The two Errfiachs[37] of Magh Fobhair,
The two Eagles of Carrick-na-Cloch,
Two Hawks from the wood of Caenach.

"Two Pheasants from Loch Meilge,
Two Water-hens from Loch Eirne,
Two Heath-hens from the Bog of Mafa,
Two Swift Divers from Dubh Loch.

"Two Cricharans[38] from Cualann,
Two Titmice from Magh Tualang,
Two Choughs from Gleann Gaibhle,
Two Sparrows from the Shannon.

"Two Cormorants from Ath Cliath,
Two Onchus[39] from Crotta Cliach,
Two Jackdaws from Druim Damh,
Two Riabhogs[40] from Leathan Mhaigh.

"Two Rabbits from Dumho Duinn,
Two wild Hogs from circular Cnoghbha,
Two Peatáns[41] from Creat Roe,

Two wild Boars[42] from green-sided Tara.

"Two Pigeons out of Ceis Corann,
Two Blackbirds out of Leitir Finnchoill,
Two black Birds (?) from the strand of Dabhan,
Two Roebucks from Luachair Deaghaidh.

"Two Fereidhins[43] from Ath Loich,
Two Fawns from Moin mor,
Two Bats out of the Cave of Cnoghbha,
Two Pigs[44] from the lands of Ollarbha.

"Two Swallows out of Sidh Buidhe,
Two Iaronns[45] from the wood of Luadraidh,
Two Geisechtachs[46] from Magh Mall,
Two charming Robins from Cnamh Choill.

"Two Woodcocks from Coillruadh,
Two Crows from Lenn Uar,
Two Bruacharans[47] from Sliabh-da-Ean,
Two Barnacle-Geese from Turloch Bruigheoil.

"Two Naescans[48] from Dun Daighre,
Two Yellow-ammers from the brink of Bairne,
Two Spireogs[49] from Sliabh Cleath,
Two Grey Mice from Limerick.

"Two Corncrakes from the Banks of Shannon,
Two Wagtails from the brinks of Birra,
Two Curlews from the Harbour of Galway,
Two Sgreachógs[50] from Muirtheimhne.

"Two Geilt Glinnes[51] from Glenn-a-Smoil,
Two Jackdaws from great Ath Mogha,
Two fleet Onchus[52] from Loch Con,
Two Cats out of the Cave of Cruachain.

"Two Goats from Sith Gabhran,

Two Pigs[53] of the Pigs of Mac Lir,
A Ram and Ewe both round and red,
I brought with me from Aengus.

"I brought with me a Stallion and a Mare,
From the beautiful stud of Manannan,
A Bull and a white Cow from Druim Cain,
Which were given me by Muirn Munchain."
No known allusion occurs in this poem to the Giant Deer.[54] First,
however, we must remember that no small number of the animals
mentioned are quite unrecognisable; and that of those names to which an
explanation is given, many are probably incorrectly rendered. Secondly, if it
could be absolutely shewn that no allusion exists to that fine beast, it would
not at all disprove its existence a thousand years before. Supposing that the
Megaceros became extinct soon after the colonisation of Ireland, and that
this was several centuries before the Christian era, the distinctive name by
which it had been known might well have died out and become extinct also,
among a people unacquainted with letters. Or if a dim tradition of the
animal and of its name still lingered here and there, it might well be omitted
from a catalogue which professed to give the creatures actually collected in
a living state at a given period. It would have been interesting to have been
able to identify the Great Elk, but its introduction would have been a
glaring anachronism.
The enumeration of nearly a hundred and sixty quadrupeds and birds
either indigenous to or naturalised in Ireland at so early a period, possesses,
I say, a peculiar interest.
If the editor's suggestion is correct, that the Echtach was a bovine animal,
then we have three distinct mentions of this family in the poem,—the Wild
Oxen, the Echtachs, and the Bull and White Cow. The second and third of
these were probably domesticated animals; the first one expressly "Wild."
Now at least five distinct species of Oxen are known to have inhabited
Europe and the British Isles during the later periods of the Tertiary era,
which have been named respectively, Bison priscus, Bos primigenius,
frontosus and longifrons, and Ovibos moschatus. Of these, skulls of Bos
frontosus and B. longifrons have been dug up in some numbers in Ireland.

Some of these bear, in the perforation of the forehead, evident proof of
having been slaughtered secundum artem, and therefore of having been
domesticated. But one large skull of the longifrons type, now in the
Museum of the Royal Irish Academy, has a cut in the forehead, into which
can be accurately fitted several of the narrow bronze "celts," or arrow-heads
so frequently dug up in Ireland; a pretty fair proof that this animal was
killed by the hunter's arrow, and was therefore wild.
No bovine animals of the true taurine race are now known to exist in an
aboriginally wild state; but at the epoch of our earliest historical knowledge
of central and western Europe it was far otherwise. Cæsar, describing, under
the name of Urus, certain wild oxen of the great Hercynian forest, says,
"These Uri are little inferior to elephants in size, but are bulls in their
nature, colour, and figure. Great is their strength, and great their swiftness,
nor do they spare man or beast when once they have caught sight of him.
These, when trapped in pitfalls, the hunters unsparingly kill. The youths,
exercising themselves by this sort of hunting, are hardened by the toil, and
those among them who have killed most, bringing with them the horns, as
testimonials, acquire great praise. But these Uri cannot be habituated to
man, nor made tractable, not even when taken young. The great size of the
horns, as well as the form and quality of them, differs much from those of
our oxen."
It is probable that this race extended widely over Europe, and even into
Asia. Herodotus mentions Macedonian wild oxen, with exceedingly large
(ὑπερμεγαθια) horns; and Philip of Macedon killed a wild bull in Mount
Orbela, which had made great havoc, and produced much terror among the
inhabitants; its spoils he hung up in the Temple of Hercules. The Assyrian
artists delighted to sculpture on the royal bas-reliefs of Nineveh the
conquest of the wild bull by the prowess of their Nimrod monarchs, and the
figures, in their minute anatomical characters, well agree with the
descriptions and remains of the European Urus. The large forest that
surrounded ancient London was infested with boves sylvestres among other
wild beasts, and it is probable that these were Uri. The legendary exploit of
Guy, Earl of Warwick, in freeing the neighbourhood from a terrible dun
cow, whether historically true or not, shews the existence of formidable
wild bovines in the heart of England, and the terror they inspired among the
people. The family of Turnbull, in Scotland, are traditionally said to owe

their patronymic to a hero who turned a wild bull from Robert the Bruce,
when it had attacked him while hunting.
What has become of the terrible Uri which lived in Europe at the
commencement of the Christian era? Advancing civilisation has rooted
them out, so that no living trace of them remains, unless the cream-white
breed which is preserved in a semi-wild state in some of our northern parks
be their representatives; or, as is not improbable, their blood may still
circulate in our domestic oxen.
Yet there is no doubt of the identity of a species found abundantly in
Britain in the Tertiary deposits, and named by Owen Bos primigenius, with
the Urus of Cæsar. This fossil bull was as certainly contemporary in this
island with the elephant, and the hyena, and the baboon, and, strange to say,
with the reindeer, and the musk-ox, too—thus combining a tropical, a
temperate, and an arctic fauna in our limited island at the same period!
What a strange climate it must have been to suit them all!
Professor Nilsson, who has paid great attention to fossil oxen, mentions a
skull of this species which must have belonged to an animal more than
twelve feet in length from the nape to the root of the tail, and six feet and a
half in height. Again, the skull of a cow in the British Museum, figured by
Professor Owen, measures thirty inches from the crown to the tips of the
jaws! What a beast must this have been! Would not the slaughter of such a
"Dun Cow" as this in single combat have been an exploit worthy of a
doughty earl?
That this ancient fossil bull was really contemporary with man in
Scandinavia is proved by evidence which is irrespective of the question of
its identity with Cæsar's Urus. For one of Professor Nilsson's specimens
"bears on its back a palpable mark of a wound from a javelin. Several
celebrated anatomists and physiologists, among whom," he says, "I need
only mention the names of John Müller, of Berlin, and Andreas Retzius, of
Stockholm, have inspected this skeleton, and are unanimous in the opinion
that the hole in question upon the backbone is the consequence of a wound,
which, during the life of the animal, was made by the hand of man. The
animal must have been very young, probably only a calf, when it was
wounded. The huntsman who cast the javelin must have stood before it. It

was yet young when it died, probably not more than three or four years
old."
We may, then, assume as certain that the vast Bos primigenius of Western
Europe lived as a wild animal contemporaneously with man; and as almost
certain (assuming its identity with the Urus) that it continued to be
abundant as late as the Christian era.
The Bos frontosus is a middling-sized bovine. "Its remains," says
Professor Nilsson, "are found in turf-bogs in Southern Scandinavia, and in
such a state as plainly shews that they belonged to a more ancient period
than that in which tame cattle existed in Sweden. This species lived in
Scandinavia contemporaneously with the Bos primigenius, and the Bison
Europæus.... If ever it was tamed, and thereby in the course of time
contributed to form some of the tame races of cattle, it must have been the
small-horned, often hornless, breed, which is to be found in the mountains
of Norway, and which has a high protuberance between the setting-on of the
horns above the nape."
This species occurs in a fossil state in some numbers in Ireland; it has
also been found in England. It is by some supposed to be the origin of, or, at
least, to have contributed blood to, the middling Highland races with high
occiput, and small horns.
There is more certainty of the co-existence of the small B. longifrons
with man. Some of the evidence I have already adduced. "Within a few
years," says a trustworthy authority, "we have read in one of the scientific
periodicals,—but have just now sought in vain for the notice,—of a quantity
of bones that were dug up in some part of England, together with other
remains of what seemed to be the relics of a grand feast, held probably
during the Roman domination of Britain, for, if we mistake not, some
Roman coins were found associated with them. There were skulls and other
remains of Bos longifrons quite undistinguishable in form from the antique
fossil, whether wild or domesticated, which, of course, remains a question."
[55]

Professor Owen conjectures that this species may have contributed to
form the present small shaggy Highland and Welsh cattle,—the kyloes and

runts; and a similar breed in the northern parts of Scania may have had a
similar origin.
In the Bison priscus, the fossil remains of which occur in many parts of
Europe, and more sparsely in Great Britain,[56] we have an example of a
noble animal, which, contemporary with all those which have been
engaging our attention, survives to the present hour, but is dying out, and
would have long ago been extinguished, probably, but for the fostering
influence of human conservation. For the species is considered as
absolutely identical with the Bison Europæus of modern zoology, the Bison
or Wisent of the Germans, the Aurochs of the Prussians, the Zubr of the
Poles, that formidable creature, which is maintained by the Czar in an ever-
diminishing herd in the vast forests of Lithuania,[57] and which, perhaps,
still lingers in the fastnesses of the Caucasus. This, the largest, or at least
the most massive of all existing quadrupeds, after the great Pachyderms,
roamed over Germany in some numbers as late as the era of Charlemagne.
Considerably later than this it is reckoned among the German beasts of
chase, for in the Niebelungen Lied, a poem of the twelfth century, it is said,

"Dar nach schlouch er schiere, einen wisent und einen elch,
Starcher ure viere, und einen grimmen schelch."

"After this he straightway slew a bison and an elk,
Of the strong uri four, and a single fierce schelch."[58]

It is a formidable beast, standing six feet high at the shoulders, where it is
protected by a thick and profuse mane. Specimens have been known to
reach a ton in weight. It manifests an invincible repugnance to the ox.
There are several other animals of note which, like the Bison, were once
common inhabitants of these islands, but have long been extinct here,
though more genial circumstances have preserved their existence on the
continent of Europe. Of the great Cave Bear, no evidence of its period
exists, that I know of, except that which may be deduced from the
commixture of its remains with those of other animals of whose recent date
we have proof. But there is another kind of Bear, whose relics in a fossil
state are not uncommon in the Tertiary deposits, viz., the common Black
Bear (Ursus arctos) of Europe.
This savage animal must have early succumbed to man. The "Triads"[59]
mention bears as living here before the Kymri came. The Roman poets
knew of their existence here: Martial speaks of the robber Laureolus being
exposed on the cross to the fangs of the Caledonian Bear; and Claudian
alludes to British bears. The Emperor Claudius, on his return to Rome after
the conquest of this island, exhibited, as trophies, combats of British bears
in the arena. In the Penitential of Archbishop Egbert, said to have been
compiled about A.D. 750, bears are mentioned as inhabiting the English
forests, but they must have gradually become rare, for the chase-laws of
Canute, at the beginning of the eleventh century, are silent about them. In
Doomsday Book, we find incidental notice of this animal, for the city of
Norwich is said to have been required to furnish a bear annually to Edward
the Confessor, together with "six dogs for the bear,"—no doubt for baiting
him. This seems to have been the latest trace on record of the bear in
Britain; unless the tradition may compete with it, which states that one of
the Gordon family was empowered by the king of Scotland to carry three

bears' heads on his banner, as a reward for his prowess in slaying a fierce
bear.
In Ireland it seems to have become extinct even yet earlier. Bede says the
only ravenous animals in his day were the wolf and the fox; Donatus, who
died in A.D. 840, distinctly says it was not a native of the island in his time;
and Geraldus Cambrensis does not enumerate it as known in the twelfth
century. Neither is it included in the ransom-beasts of Cailte's collection.
Yet a native Irish name for the bear—Mathghambain—occurs in an old
glossary[60] in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin; and the late Wm.
Thomson says that a tradition is current of its having once been an Irish
animal; and it is associated with the wolf as a native beast in the stories
handed down from generation to generation to the present time.
The wolf, however, survived in both islands to a much later era. In the
days of the Heptarchy it was a terrible pest; King Edgar commuted the
punishment of certain offences into a requisition for a fixed number of
wolves' tongues; and he converted a heavy tax on one of the Welsh princes
into an annual tribute of three hundred wolves' heads. These laws continued
to the time of Edward I., when the increasing scarcity of the animal
doubtless caused them to fall into disuse. Mr Topham, in his Notes to
Somerville's "Chase," says, that it was in the wolds of Yorkshire that a price
was last set on a wolf's head. The last record of their occurring in
formidable numbers in England is in 1281; but for three centuries after this,
the mountains and forests of Scotland harboured them; for Hollinshed
reports that in 1577 the wolves were very troublesome to the flocks of that
country. Nor were they entirely destroyed out of this island till about a
century afterwards, when the last wolf fell in Lochaber, by the hand of Sir
Ewen Cameron of Lochiel. In Ireland the last wolf was slain in 1710.
Thus here we are able to lay our finger on the exact dates when a large
and rapacious species of animal actually became extinct so far as the British
Isles are concerned. And if the species had been confined in its geographical
limits, as many other species of animals are, to one group of islands, we
should know the precise date of its absolute extinction.
The Beaver was once an inhabitant of British rivers. Its remains are
found in Berkshire, Cambridgeshire, Yorkshire, and elsewhere, associated

with the other Mammalia of the fresh-water deposits and caves, but not in
any abundance. No record of its actual existence, however, in these counties
exists, nor anywhere else but in Wales and Scotland, whose mountain
streams and rugged ravines afforded it shelter till after the Norman
Conquest. It was very rare even then, and for a hundred years before; for
the laws of Howel Dda, the Welsh king, who died in 948, in determining the
value of peltry, fix the price of the beaver's skin at a hundred and twenty
pence, when the skins of the stag, the wolf, the fox, and the otter, were
worth only eightpence each, that of the white weasel or ermine at
twelvepence, and that of the marten, at twenty-four pence. The appropriate
epithet of Broad-tail (Llostllyddan) was given it by the Welsh. Giraldus
Cambrensis, who travelled through Wales in 1188, gives, in his Itinerary, a
short account of the beaver, but states that the river Teivy in Cardiganshire,
and one other river in Scotland, were the only places in Great Britain, where
it was then found. In all probability it did not long survive that century, for
no subsequent notice of it as a British animal is extant. Tradition, however,
still preserves the remembrance of its presence in those indelible records,
names of places. "Two or three waters in the Principality," says Pennant,
"still bear the name of Llyn yr afangc,—the Beaver Lake.... I have seen two
of their supposed haunts: one in the stream that runs through Nant Francon;
the other in the river Conwy, a few miles above Llanrwst; and both places,
in all probability, had formerly been crossed by beaver-dams."
If, as naturalists of the highest eminence believe, there is specific
difference between the beaver of Europe and that of America, then we may
say that our species is fast passing away from the earth. A few colonies yet
linger along the banks of the Danube, the Weser, the Rhone and the
Euphrates, but they consist of few individuals, ever growing fewer; and the
value of their fur exciting cupidity, they cannot probably resist much longer
the exterminating violence of man.
The causes which led to the extinction of these animals in our islands are
then obvious, and are thus playfully touched by the late James Wilson:
—"The beaver might have carried on business well enough, in his own
quiet way, although frequently incommoded by the love of peltry on the
part of a hat-wearing people; but it is clear that no man with a small family
and a few respectable farm servants, could either permit a large and hungry
wolf to be continually peeping at midnight through the keyhole of the

nursery, or allow a brawny bruin to snuff too frequently under the kitchen
door (after having hugged the watch-dog to death) when the servant-maids
were at supper. The extirpation then of at least two of these quondam
British species became 'a work of necessity and mercy,' and might have
been tolerated even on a Sunday, (between sermons,) especially as
naturalists have it still in their power to study the habits of similar wild
beasts, by no means yet extinct, in the neighbouring countries of France and
Germany."[61]
Perhaps the example of recent extinction most popularly known is that of
the Dodo, a very remarkable bird, which about two centuries ago existed in
considerable abundance, in the isles of Mauritius, Bourbon, and Rodriguez.
It was a rather large fowl, incapable of rising from the ground, by reason of
the imperfect development of its wings, of massive, uncouth figure,
predisposed to fatness, and noted for the sapidity of its flesh. Two skulls
and two unmatched feet of this strange bird are preserved in European
museums; and these shew that its nearest affinities were with the pigeon-
tribe, of which we know some species of terrestrial habits, but none
approaching this bird in its absolute confinement to the earth.
In the reports of numerous voyagers who visited these islands from the
end of the fifteenth century to the middle of the seventeenth, we have many
accounts of the appearance and habits of this bird, evidently sketched from
the life. Some of the descriptions, as also the figures by which they are
illustrated, are quaint enough; as, for example, that graphic sketch hit off by
old Sir Thomas Herbert, who saw the bird in his travels in 1634:—
"The Dodo," he says, "comes first to our description. Here
and in Dygarrois (and nowhere else that I cd ever see or heare
of) is generated the Dodo. (A Portuguize name it is, and has
reference to her simplenes) a bird which for shape and rareness
might be call'd a Phœnix (wer't in Arabia); her body is round
and extreame fat, her slow pace begets that corpulencie; few of
them weigh lesse than fifty pound: better to the eye than the
stomack: greasie appetites may perhaps commend them, but, to
the indifferently curious, nourishment, but prove offensive. Let's
take her picture: her visage darts forth melancholy, as sensible of
nature's injurie in framing so great and massive a body to be

directed by such small and complementall wings, as are unable
to hoise her from the ground, serving only to prove her a bird;
which otherwise might be doubted of: her head is variously
drest, the one halfe hooded with downy blackish feathers; the
other perfectly naked; of a whitish hue, as if a transparent lawne
had covered it; her bill is very howked and bends downwards,
the thrill or breathing place is in the midst of it; from which part
to the end, the colour is a light greene mixt with a pale yellow;
her eyes be round and small, and bright as diamonds; her
cloathing is of finest downe, such as ye see in goslins; her trayne
is (like a China beard) of three or foure short feythers; her legs
thick, and black, and strong; her tallons or pounces sharp; her
stomack fiery hot, so as stones and yron are easilie digested in
it; in that and shape, not a little resembling the Africk oestriches:
but so much, as for their more certain dyfference I dare to give
thee (with two others) her representation."[62]
It is pretty certain that a living specimen was about the same time
exhibited in England. Sir Hamon L'Estrange tells us distinctly that he saw
it. His original MS. is preserved in the British Museum, and with some
blanks caused by the injury of time, of no great consequence, reads as
follows:—
"About 1638, as I walked London streets, I saw the picture
of a strange fowl hong out upon a cloth. vas and
myselfe with one or two more Gen. in company went in to see
it. It was kept in a chamber, and was a greate fowle somewhat
bigger than the largest Turky Cock and so legged and footed but
stouter and thicker and of a more erect shape, coloured before
like the breast of a yong Cock Fesan and on the back of dunn or
deare coulour. The keeper called it a Dodo and in the ende of a
chimney in the chamber there lay an heap of large pebble stones
whereof hee gave it many in our sight, some as bigg as nutmegs
and the keeper told us shee eats them conducing to digestion and
though I remember not how farre the keeper was questioned
therein yet I am confident that afterwards shee cast them all
agayne."[63]

It is probable that this very specimen passed into the museum of
Tradescant, who, in the Catalogue of "The Collection of Rarities preserved
at Lambeth," dated 1656, mentions the following: "Dodar from the Island
Mauritius: it is not able to flie being so bigg." Willoughby the ornithologist,
a most unexceptionable testimony, says that he saw this specimen in
Tradescant's museum: it is mentioned also by others;—as by Llhwyd in
1684, and by Hyde in 1700. It passed, with the rest of the Tradescant
Collection, to Oxford, and thus became part of the Ashmolean Museum,—
and being in a decayed condition, was ordered to be destroyed by the
authorities, who had no apprehension of its value, in 1755. The skull and
one foot, however, were preserved, and are still in the Museum at Oxford.
Remains of the Dodo have been dug up in the Mauritius, and are in the
Paris Museum, and in that of the Zoological Society of London. The bird
certainly does not exist there now, nor in either of the neighbouring islands.
In the British Museum there is a fine original painting, once the property
of George Edwards, the celebrated bird painter, representing the Dodo
surrounded by other minor birds and reptiles. Edwards states that "it was
drawn in Holland, from a living bird brought from St Maurice's Island, in
the East Indies. It was the property of Sir Hans Sloane at the time of his
death, and afterwards becoming my property, I deposited it in the British
Museum as a great curiosity."
Professor Owen has discovered another original figure of this interesting
form in Savary's painting of "Orpheus and the Beasts," at the Hague. The
figure, though small, displays all the characteristic peculiarities, and agrees
well with Edwards' painting, while evincing that it was copied from the
living bird.
It is possible that there were two species of Dodo; which would explain
certain discrepancies in the descriptions of observers. At all events we have
here one, if not more, conspicuous animal absolutely extinguished within
the last two hundred years.
Just about a century ago a great animal disappeared from the ocean,
which, according to Owen, was contemporary with the fossil elephant and
rhinoceros of Siberia and England. Steller, a Russian voyager and naturalist,
discovered the creature, afterward called Stelleria by Cuvier, in Behring's

Straits; a huge, unwieldy whale-like animal, one of the marine pachyderms,
allied to the Manatee, but much larger, being twenty-five feet long, and
twenty in circumference. Its flesh was good for food, and from its inertness
and incapacity for defence, the race was extirpated in a few years. Steller
first discovered the species in 1741, and the last known specimen was killed
in 1768. It is believed to be quite extinct, as it has never been met with
since.
Nearly a century ago, Sonnerat found in Madagascar, a curious animal,
(Cheiromys,) which in structure seems to connect the monkeys with the
squirrels. So rare was it there that even the natives viewed it with curiosity
as an animal altogether unknown to them; and, from their exclamations of
astonishment rather than from its cry, the French naturalist is said to have
conferred upon it the name of Aye-aye, by which it is now known. Not a
specimen, as I believe, has been seen since Sonnerat's day, so that, if not
actually obliterated, the species must be on the verge of extinction.
Species are dying out in our own day. I have already cited the interesting
case of the Moho, that fine Gallinule of New Zealand, of which a specimen
—probably the last of its race,—was obtained by Mr Walter Mantell; and
that of the Káureke, the badger-like quadruped of the same islands, which
was formerly domesticated by the Maoris, but which now cannot be found.
The Samoa Isles in the Pacific recently possessed a large and handsome
kind of pigeon, of richly-coloured plumage, which the natives called Manu-
mea, but to which modern naturalists have given the name of Didunculus
strigirostris. It was, both by structure and habit, essentially a ground
pigeon, but not so exclusively but that it fed, and roosted too, according to
Lieut. Walpole, among the branches of tall trees. Mr T. Peale, the naturalist
of the U. S. Exploring Expedition, who first described it, informs us that
according to the tradition of the natives, it once abounded; but some years
ago these persons, like more civilised folks, had a strong desire to make
pets of cats, and found, by means of whale-ships, opportunities of procuring
a supply; but the consequence of the introduction of "pussy,"—for under
this familiar old-country title were the exotic tabbies introduced—was the
rapid diminution of the handsome Manu-mea. Pussy did not fancy yams
and taro—the vegetable diet on which the natives regaled—and took to the
woods and mountains to search for something better. There she met with the

feeble-winged Didunculus scratching the soft earth for seeds, and with a
purr and a mew soon scraped acquaintance with the stranger. Pussy
declared she loved him well, and so she did—too well, in fact; she felt "as if
she could eat him up,"—and did. The news soon spread among the tabbies
that there were sweet birds in the woods, and the result is the almost total
disappearance of poor Manu-mea. Like the Dodo, it has ceased to be, but at
the hand of a more ignominious foe. The Samoan may truly say to his
former pet, "Cecidisti, O Manu-mea, non manu meâ, sed ungue felino." So
rare had the bird become, that during the stay of the Expedition only three
specimens could be procured, and of these two were lost by shipwreck. I do
not know whether another has been met with since. Probably they are all
gone; for that was twenty years ago.
When Norfolk Island,—that tiny spot in the Southern Ocean since so
stained with human crime and misery—was first discovered, its tall and
teeming forests were tenanted by a remarkable Parrot with a very long and
slender hooked beak, which lived upon the honey of flowers. It was named
Nestor productus. When Mr Gould visited Australia in his researches into
the ornithology of those antipodeal regions, he found the Nestor Parrot
absolutely limited to Philip Island, a tiny satellite of Norfolk Island, whose
whole circumference is not more than five miles in extent. The war of
extermination had been so successful in the larger island that, with the
exception of a few specimens preserved in cages, not one was believed to
survive. Since then its last retreat has been harried, and Mr J. H. Gurney
thus writes the dirge of the last of the Nestors:—
"I have seen the man who exterminated the Nestor productus from Philip
Island, he having shot the last of that species left on the island; he informs
me that they rarely made use of their wings, except when closely pressed;
their mode of progression was by the upper mandible; and whenever he
used to go to the island to shoot, he would invariably find them on the
ground, except one, which used to be sentry on one of the lower branches of
the Araucaria excelsa, and the instant any person landed, they would run to
those trees and haul themselves up by the bill, and, as a matter of course,
they would there remain till they were shot, or the intruder had left the
island. He likewise informed me that there was a large species of hawk that
used to commit great havoc amongst them, but what species it was he could
not tell me."[64]

I have before mentioned that Professor Owen had recognised the species
in fossil skulls from New Zealand, associated with remains of Dinornis,
Palapteryx, and Notornis. Thus it appears that the long-billed Parrot is an
ancient race, whose extreme decrepitude has just survived to our time;—
that it first became extinct from New Zealand, then from Norfolk Island,
and lastly from Philip Island. Peace to its ashes!
Mr Yarrell, in his "History of British Birds,"[65] commences his account
of one of them in these words:—"The Great Auk is a very rare British Bird,
and but few instances are recorded of its capture. The natives in the
Orkneys informed Mr Bullock, on his tour through these islands several
years ago, that only one male had made its appearance for a long time,
which had regularly visited Papa Westra for several seasons. The female,
which the natives call the queen of the Auks, was killed just before Mr
Bullock's arrival. The king or male, Mr Bullock had the pleasure of chasing
for several hours in a six-oared boat, but without being able to kill him, for
though he frequently got near him, so expert was the bird in its natural
element that it appeared impossible to shoot him. The rapidity with which
he pursued his course under water was almost incredible. About a fortnight
after Mr Bullock had left Papa Westra, this male bird was obtained and sent
him, and at the sale of his collection, was purchased for the British
Museum, where it is still carefully preserved."
This fine bird, which was larger than a goose, is believed to be extinct.
Mr Bullock's specimen was taken in 1812; another was captured at St Kilda
in 1822, another was picked up dead near Lundy Island in 1829, and yet
another was taken in 1834, off the coast of Waterford.
On the north coast of Europe the bird is equally rare; not more than two
or three, at the utmost, having been procured during the present century.
During that period, however, it has haunted one or two breeding-rocks on
the south coast of Iceland, in some abundance. In the years 1830 and 1831,
as many as twenty-seven were obtained there, and from that time till 1840,
about ten more. The last birds obtained on the Iceland coast were a pair,
which were shot on their nest in 1844. The last taken in any locality, so far
as is known, was one shot in 1848, by a peasant, on the Island of Wardoe,
within the Arctic Circle.

Two centuries ago, the Great Auk was not uncommon on the shores of
New England; and, off the great fishing-banks of Newfoundland, it appears
to have been very abundant. "Its appearance was always hailed by the
mariner approaching that desolate coast as the first indication of his having
reached soundings on the fishing-banks. During the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries these waters, as well as the Iceland and Faroe coasts,
were annually visited by hundreds of ships from England, France, Spain,
Holland, and Portugal; and these ships actually were accustomed to
provision themselves with the bodies and eggs of these birds, which they
found breeding in myriads on the low islands off the coast of
Newfoundland. Besides the fresh birds consumed by the ship's crew, many
tons were salted down for further use. In the space of an hour, these old
voyagers tell us, they could fill thirty boats with the birds. It was only
necessary to go on shore, armed with sticks to kill as many as they chose.
The birds were so stupid that they allowed themselves to be taken up, on
their own proper element, by boats under sail; and it is even said that on
putting out a plank it was possible to drive the Great Auks up and out of the
sea into boats. On land the sailors formed low enclosures of stones, into
which they drove the Penguins [or Auks], and, as they were unable to fly,
kept them there enclosed till they were wanted for the table."
"In 1841, a distinguished Norwegian naturalist, (too early, alas! lost to
science,) Peter Stuwitz, visited Tunk Island, or Penguin Island, lying to the
east of Newfoundland. Here, on the north-west shore of the island, he found
enormous heaps of bones and skeletons of the Great Auk, lying either in
exposed masses or slightly covered by the earth. On this side of the island
the rocks slope gradually down to the shore; and here were still standing the
stone fences and enclosures into which the birds were driven for slaughter."
[66]

It is just possible that the bird may yet haunt the inaccessible coast of
East Greenland, but ships sailing between that country and Iceland never
meet with it at sea. Nor did Graah observe it during his toilsome researches
east of Cape Farewell. The numerous fishing craft that every season crowd
the shores of Newfoundland and Labrador forbid the notion that it yet
lingers there; for the great market-value set upon the bird and its eggs for
collections would prevent its existence there from being overlooked. The
numerous Polar voyages of discovery, and the annual fleets of whalers,

would certainly have discovered it, if it still haunted the more northern
regions. It is possible that a few isolated individuals may still survive; but it
is the habit of the bird, as of most sea-fowl, to breed in society in bare
seaward rocks, and the circumstance that no breeding station is known to be
now frequented by the Great Auk renders it but too probable that it also
must be classed among the species that were.
The interest attached to this now extinct bird has induced some
correspondents of the Zoologist to attempt an enumeration of the
specimens, both of the bird and of its eggs, (which from their great size, as
well as from their rarity, have always had a value with collectors,) known to
be preserved in cabinets. The result is that English collections contain 14
birds and 23 eggs; those of continental Europe, 11 birds and 20 eggs; the
United States, 1 bird and 2 eggs:—the total being 26 birds and 45 eggs.
It would appear that the rock off the south of Iceland which was the chief
breeding resort of the Great Auk, and which from that circumstance bore
the name or "Geir-fulga Sker," sank to the level of the sea during a volcanic
disturbance in or about the year 1830. "Such disappearance of the fit and
favourable breeding-places of the Alca impennis," observes Professor
Owen, "must form an important element in its decline towards extinction."
One might think that there would be rocks enough left for the birds to
choose a fresh station; but really we do not know what are the elements of
choice in such a case: some peculiarities exist which make one particular
rock to be selected by sea-fowl, when others apparently to us as suitable are
quite neglected; but we do not know what they are. Possibly when Geir-
fulga Sker sank, there was no other islet fit to supply the blank. Possibly,
too, the submersion took place during the breeding season, drowning the
eggs or young. If this was the case, it would indeed be "a heavy blow and
great discouragement" to the dwindling Alcine nation.
Mr Darwin speaks of a large wolf-like Fox (Canis antarcticus) which at
the time of his voyage was common to both the Falkland Islands, but
absolutely confined to them. He says, "As far as I am aware, there is no
other instance in any part of the world, of so small a mass of broken land,
distant from a continent, possessing so large an aboriginal quadruped
peculiar to itself. Their numbers have rapidly decreased; they are already
banished from that half of the island which lies to the eastward of the neck

of land between St Salvador Bay and Berkeley Sound. Within a very few
years after these islands shall have become regularly settled, in all
probability this fox will be classed with the Dodo, as an animal which has
perished from the face of the earth."[67]
The Musk Ox (Ovibos moschatus), a long-haired ruminant, resembling
what you would suppose a cross between a bull and a sheep might be,—
formerly an inhabitant of Britain with the Elephant and the Hyena, but now
found only on the polar margins of North America,—is becoming very
scarce; and it is probable that before long its last representative will leave
its bones with those of the lamented Franklin and his companions.
From the more perishable character of vegetable tissues we have far less
data for determining the extinction of plant species; but analogy renders it
highly probable that these also have died out, and are dying in a
corresponding ratio with animals. I am not aware that a single example can
be adduced of a plant that has certainly ceased to exist during the historic
era. But Humboldt mentions a very remarkable tree in Mexico, of which it
is believed only a single specimen remains in a state of nature. It is the
Hand-tree (Cheirostemon platanoides), a sterculaceous plant with large
plane-like leaves, and with the anthers connected together in such a manner
as to resemble a hand or claw rising from the beautiful purplish-red
blossoms. "There is in all the Mexican free States only one individual
remaining, one single primeval stem of this wonderful genus. It is supposed
not to be indigenous, but to have been planted by a king of Toluca about
five hundred years ago. I found that the spot where the Arbol de las Manitas
stands is 8825 feet above the level of the sea. Why is there only one tree of
the kind? Whence did the kings of Toluca obtain the young tree, or the
seed? It is equally enigmatical that Montezuma should not have possessed
one of these trees in his botanical gardens of Huaxtepec, Chapoltepec, and
Iztapalapan, which were used as late as by Philip the Second's physician,
Hernandez, and of which gardens traces still remain; and it appears no less
striking that the Hand-tree should not have found a place among the
drawings of subjects connected with Natural History, which Nezahual
Coyotl, king of Tezcuco, caused to be made half a century before the arrival
of the Spaniards."

There is an example of this interesting plant growing in one of the
conservatories at Kew, but I do not know whence it was obtained. It has
been asserted that it grows wild in the forests of Guatemala.
Leaving plants out of consideration from lack of adequate data, we find
that a considerable number of species of animals have certainly ceased to
exist since man inhabited the globe. There have been, doubtless, many
others that have shared the same fate, which we know nothing about. It is
only within the last hundred years that we have had anything approaching
to an acquaintance with the living fauna of the earth; yet, during that time
some seven or eight creatures we know have been extinguished. Fully half
of these,—the Auk, the Didunculus, the Notornis, and the Nestor,—within
the last ten years! It would really seem as if the more complete and
comprehensive an acquaintance with the animals of the world became, the
more frequently this strange phenomenon of expiring species was presented
to us. Perhaps it is not extravagant to suppose that—including all the
invertebrate animals, the countless hosts of insects, and all the recondite
forms that dwell in the recesses of the ocean—a species fades from
existence every year. All the examples that have been given were either
Mammalia or Birds, (the Colossochelys only excepted:) now these, though
the most conspicuous and best known, are almost the least populous classes
of living beings. There is no reason whatever for concluding that the law of
mortality of species does not extend to all the other classes, vertebrate and
invertebrate, in an equal ratio, so that my estimate will appear, I think, a
very moderate one. Yet it is a startling thought, and one which the mind
does not entertain without a measure of revulsion, that the passing of every
century in the world's history has left its fauna minus a hundred species of
animals that were denizens of the earth when it began. I was going to say
"left the fauna so much poorer;" but that I am not sure of. The term would
imply that the blanks are not filled up; and that, I repeat, I am not sure of.
Probability would suggest that new forms are continually created to supply
the lack of deceased ones; and it may be that some, at least, of the creatures
ever and anon described as new to science, especially in old and well-
searched regions, may be newly called into being, as well as newly
discovered. It may be so, I say; I have no evidence that it is so, except the
probability of analogy; we know that the rate of mortality among
individuals of a species, speaking generally, is equalled by the rate of birth,

and we may suppose this balance of life to be paralleled when the unit is a
species, and not an individual. If the Word of God contained anything either
in statement or principle contrary to such a supposition, I would not
entertain it for a moment, but I do not know that it does. I do not know that
it is anywhere implied that God created no more after the six days' work
was done. His Sabbath-rest having been broken by the incoming of sin, we
know from John v. 17, that He continued to work without interruption; and
we may fairly conclude that progressive creation was included as a part of
that unceasing work.
I know not whether my readers will take the same concern as I do in this
subject of the dying-out of species, but to me it possesses a very peculiar
interest. Death is a mysterious event, come when and how it will; and surely
the departure from existence of a species, of a type of being, that has
subsisted in contemporary thousands of individuals, for thousands of years,
is not less imposingly mysterious than that of the individual exemplar.
We do not know with any precision what are the immediate causes of
death in a species. Is there a definite limit to life imposed at first? or is this
limit left, so to speak, to be determined by accidental circumstances?
Perhaps both: but if the latter, what are those circumstances?
Professor Owen says:—"There are characters in land animals rendering
them more obnoxious to extirpating influences, which may explain why so
many of the larger species of particular groups have become extinct, whilst
smaller species of equal antiquity have survived. In proportion to its bulk is
the difficulty of the contest which the animal has to maintain against the
surrounding agencies that are ever tending to dissolve the vital bond, and
subjugate the living matter to the ordinary chemical and physical forces.
Any changes, therefore, in such external agencies as a species may have
been originally adapted to exist in, will militate against that existence in a
degree proportionate to the size which may characterise the species. If a dry
season be gradually prolonged, the large mammal will suffer from the
drought sooner than the small one; if such alteration of climate affect the
quantity of vegetable food, the bulky herbivore will first feel the effects of
stinted nourishment; if new enemies be introduced, the large and
conspicuous animal will fall a prey while the smaller kinds conceal
themselves and escape. Small quadrupeds, moreover, are more prolific than

large ones. Those of the bulk of the mastodons, megatheria, glyptodons, and
diprotodons, are uniparous. The actual presence, therefore, of small species
of animals in countries where larger species of the same natural families
formerly existed, is not the consequence of degeneration—of any gradual
diminution of the size—of such species, but is the result of circumstances
which may be illustrated by the fable of 'the Oak and the Reed;' the smaller
and feebler animals have bent and accommodated themselves to changes to
which the larger species have succumbed."[68]
"We do not steadily bear in mind," remarks Mr Darwin, "how profoundly
ignorant we are of the condition of existence of every animal; nor do we
always remember that some check is constantly preventing the too rapid
increase of every organised being left in a state of nature. The supply of
food, on an average, remains constant; yet the tendency in every animal to
increase by propagation is geometrical; and its surprising effects have
nowhere been more astonishingly shewn, than in the case of the European
animals run wild during the last few centuries in America. Every animal in
a state of nature regularly breeds; yet in a species long established, any
great increase in numbers is obviously impossible, and must be checked by
some means. We are nevertheless seldom able with certainty to tell in any
given species, at what period of life, or at what period of the year, or
whether only at long intervals, the check falls; or again, what is the precise
nature of the check. Hence probably it is, that we feel so little surprise at
one, of two species closely allied in habits, being rare and the other
abundant in the same district; or again, that one should be abundant in one
district, and another, filling the same place in the economy of nature, should
be abundant in a neighbouring district, differing very little in its conditions.
If asked how this is, one immediately replies that it is determined by some
slight difference in climate, food, or the number of enemies: yet how rarely,
if ever, we can point out the precise cause and manner of action of the
check! We are, therefore, driven to the conclusion that causes generally
quite inappreciable by us, determine whether a given species shall be
abundant or scanty in numbers.
"In the cases where we can trace the extinction of a species through man,
either wholly or in one limited district, we know that it becomes rarer and
rarer, and is then lost; it would be difficult to point out any just distinction
between a species destroyed by man or by the increase of its natural

enemies. The evidence of rarity preceding extinction, is more striking in the
successive tertiary strata, as remarked by several able observers; it has often
been found that a shell very common in a tertiary stratum is now most rare,
and has even long been thought to be extinct. If, then, as appears probable,
species first become rare and then extinct—if the too rapid increase of
every species, even the most favoured, is steadily checked, as we must
admit, though how and when it is hard to say—and if we see, without the
smallest surprise, though unable to assign the precise reason, one species
abundant, and another closely-allied species rare in the same district—why
should we feel such great astonishment at the rarity being carried a step
further to extinction? An action going on, on every side of us, and yet
barely appreciable, might surely be carried a little further, without exciting
our observation. Who could feel any great surprise at hearing that the
Megalonyx was formerly rare compared with the Megatherium, or that one
of the fossil Monkeys was few in number compared with one of the now
living Monkeys? and yet, in this comparative rarity, we should have the
plainest evidence of less favourable conditions for their existence. To admit
that species generally become rare before they become extinct—to feel no
surprise at the comparative rarity of one species with another, and yet to call
in some extraordinary agent and to marvel greatly when a species ceases to
exist, appears to me much the same as to admit that sickness in the
individual is the prelude of death—to feel no surprise at sickness—but
when the sick man dies to wonder, and to believe that he died through
violence."[69]
Geographical distribution is an important element in this question of
extinction. A species that is spread over a wide region is far more likely to
survive than one which is confined to a limited district; and extraneous
influences acting prejudicially will exterminate a species which is confined
to an island much sooner than if it had a continent to retire upon. We have
seen how the Nestor Parrot became extinct in New Zealand, while it
survived in Norfolk Island, because the former was colonised by the Maori
race, while the latter remained in its virginity. But how quickly did the poor
Parrot succumb as soon as man set his foot on Norfolk and Philip Islands!
And how brief was the lease of life accorded to the Didunculus, when once
the "Pussies" found their way to the little Samoa isles!

Very many islands have a fauna that is to a great extent peculiar to
themselves. I know that, in Jamaica, the Humming-birds, some of the
Parrots, some of the Cuckoos, most of the Pigeons, many of the smaller
birds, and, I think, all of the Reptiles, are found nowhere else. Nay, more,
that even the smaller islands of the Antilles have each a fauna of its own,
unshared with any other land;—its own Humming-birds, its own Lizards
and Snakes; its own Butterflies and Beetles, its own Spiders, its own Snails,
its own Worms. How likely are some of these very limited species to
become extinguished! By the increasing aggressions of clearing and
cultivating man; by slight changes of level; even by electric and meteoric
phenomena acting very locally. I find that, in Jamaica, many of the animals
peculiar to the island are not spread over the whole surface, limited as that
is, but are confined to a single small district. In some cases, the individuals
are but few, even in that favoured locality; how easily we may conceive of a
season drier than ordinary, or wetter than ordinary, or a flood, or a hurricane
of unusual violence, or a volcanic eruption, either killing outright these few
individuals, or destroying their means of living, and so indirectly destroying
them by starvation. And then the species has disappeared!
The common Red Grouse, so abundantly seen during the season hanging
at every poulterer's and game-dealer's shop in London, is absolutely
unknown out of the British Isles. It could not live except in wide,
unenclosed, uncultivated districts; so that when the period arrives that the
whole of British land is enclosed and brought under cultivation, the
Grouse's lease of life will expire. We owe it to our hard-worked members of
Parliament to hope that this condition of things may be distant.

II.

THE MARVELLOUS.
The vulgar mind is very prone to love the marvellous, and to count for a
prodigy every unusual phenomenon, every occurrence not perfectly
accountable on any hypothesis which is familiar to them. The poetical
period of history in every country is full of prodigies; for in the dawn of
civilisation the physical laws of nature are little understood, and multitudes
of natural phenomena are either referred to false causes, or, being
unreferrible to any recognised cause, are set down as mere wonders. It is the
province of science to dispel these delusions, to expose the undiscovered,
but by no means undiscoverable, origins of unusual events, and thus to be
continually narrowing the limits of the unknown. These limits, however,
have not even yet quite reached the minuteness of a mathematical point;
and there are a few marvels left for the indefatigable rummagings of
modern science to explain.
Perhaps the predominant tendency of uneducated minds in the present
day is rather to attribute effects to false causes, than to leave them without
any assignable cause. It is much easier for an unreasoning person to say that
Tenterden steeple is the cause of Goodwin Sands, than to leave Goodwin
Sands quite unaccounted for; or to say, the plant-lice suddenly appear
crowding the rose-twigs, "the east wind has cast a blight," or "it is
something in the air," than "I do not know how to account for their
appearance." To a reflecting person, indeed, who weighs forces, the east
wind appears as incompetent to the production of living animals as the tall
tower to the origination of a sand-bank; and this, though he might be able to
suggest nothing a whit more competent. What should he do in such a case?
Manifestly this—test the actual existence and conditions of the
phenomenon; see that it really has occurred; and, if the fact cannot be
denied, admit it as a fact, and wait further light as to its causation.
I do not by any means presume to declare the universal "why and
because" of every familiar or unfamiliar occurrence: I leave that to more
pretentious philosophers; smiling occasionally in my sleeve at the egotism
which cannot see its own non-sequiturs. But still less can I consent to set

aside every phenomenon which I cannot explain, with the common
resource,—"Pooh! pooh! there must be some mistake!" Rather would I say,
"There must still be some ignorance in me: near as I have reached to the
summit of the ladder of knowledge, there must be still one or two rongs to
be mounted before I can proclaim my mastery of all, absolutely all, the
occult causes of things. Therefore, till then I must be content with the
lowlier task of patiently accumulating evidence."
At various times and in various places popular superstition has been
excited by the occurrence of what have been called showers of blood. The
destruction of cities and of kingdoms has been, according to historians,
preceded by this awful omen. Yet this has been explained by a very natural
and accountable phenomenon. In the year 1553, the hedges and trees, the
stones of the pathway, and the clothes of many persons, were sprinkled
copiously with drops of red fluid, which was supposed to be blood, till
some observant person noticed the coincident appearance of unusual
swarms of butterflies, and marked that the coloured drops proceeded from
them. Again, at Aix la Chapelle in 1608, the same awful appearance
occurred, especially on the walls of a particular churchyard. M. Peiresc, an
able naturalist, residing at Aix, traced the phenomenon here to the same
cause. Just before, he had found a large chrysalis, which he had enclosed in
a box, in order to identify the species to which it belonged. A few days after,
hearing a rustling, he opened the box, and discovered a beautiful butterfly
evolved from the pupa, which had left upon the floor of its prison a large
red stain. He saw that the character of this deposit agreed exactly with that
of the ominous drops abroad, and remarking an unusual abundance of the
same kind of butterfly, he conceived that he had revealed the cause of the
terrific phenomenon. He was confirmed in this belief by the circumstance
that the supposed blood-drops were not found in the streets of the town, nor
upon the roofs of the houses, where they must have occurred had they fallen
from the sky; and, moreover, that it was rare to see any on the exposed parts
of stones, walls, &c.; but rather under the protection of angles, and in slight
cavities—which agrees well with the habits of the insects in question. No
doubt this was the true explanation of the phenomenon, but it does not say
much for the powers of observation which could have attributed it to blood,
for the colour is by no means that of blood, especially dried blood, but
much more crimson; and the earthy deposit, resembling chalk, which

copiously remains after the fluid part has evaporated, would in a moment
convince any one who was in the habit of comparing things which differ,
that, whatever the substance was, blood it certainly was not.
I myself not long ago met with an appearance which bore a much closer
resemblance to drops of blood than this, and which yet was referrible to a
widely different origin. In the neighbourhood of Ashburton, in Devon, a
quarter of a mile or so from the town, there is a shallow horse-pond, the
bottom of which consists of an impalpable whitish mud, much indented
with hoof-holes and other irregularities. In these, the water being dimly
clear from settlement, I observed what looked exactly like blood, in
numerous patches, the appearance being as if two or three drops of blood
had fallen in one spot, half-a-dozen in another, and so on. The colour was
true, and even when I alighted, and looked carefully on the spots, they had
just that curdled appearance that drops of blood assume when they fall into
still water. But there appeared on minute examination a constant intestine
motion in each spot, which caused me to bring my eye closer, when I
discovered that I had been egregiously deceived. Each apparent drop of
blood was formed of a number of slender worms, about as thick as a hog's
bristle, and an inch and a half long, of a red hue, which protruded the
greater part of their length from the mud, in a radiating form, each
maintaining a constant undulatory movement. There were more or fewer
centres of radiation, the circles frequently interrupted by, and merging into,
others, just as drops of blood crowded together would do. On the slightest
disturbance the little actors shrank out of sight into the soft mud; but by
scooping up a little of this I contrived to get a number of them into a phial,
which, as the sediment settled, were seen at the bottom playing as if in their
pond. On examination of the specimens with a microscope I found them to
be minute Annelids, such as I have described, apparently of the genus
Lumbriculus of Grube, with two rows of bristle-pencils, and two bristles in
a pencil. The body was transparent and colourless, and the red hue was
given by the great and conspicuous longitudinal blood-vessels, and by the
lateral connecting vessels, which viewed sidewise took the form of loops.
The animals soon died in captivity, but I kept some for three or four days
alive.
I have elsewhere referred to the curious phenomenon of crimson snow,
and to the uncertainty which still hangs over its cause. I have lately met

with another explanation, which seems sufficiently guaranteed to be
depended on, though, as the red snow occurs in places where this cause
cannot operate, it only shews that similar results may be produced by
diverse agencies. A certain resemblance between the facts and those
adduced by M. Peiresc will warrant my quoting them. Mr Thomas
Nicholson, in a visit to Sowallik Point, in Prince Regent's Inlet, thus
describes what he saw:—"The summit of the hill forming the point is
covered with huge masses of granite, while the side, which forms a gentle
declivity towards the bay, was covered with crimson snow. It was evident,
at first view, that this colour was imparted to the snow by a substance lying
on the surface. This substance lay scattered here and there in small masses
bearing some resemblance to powdered cochineal, surrounded by a lighter
shade, which was produced by the colouring matter being partly dissolved
and diffused by the deliquescent snow. During this examination our hats
and upper garments were observed to be daubed with a substance of a
similar red colour; and a moment's reflection convinced us that this was the
excrement of the little Auk, myriads of which bird were continually flying
over our heads, having their nests among the loose masses of granite. A
ready explanation of the origin of the red snow was now presented to us,
and not a doubt remained in the mind of any of us that this was the correct
one. The snow on the mountains of higher elevation than the nests of these
birds was perfectly white; and a ravine at a short distance, which was filled
with snow from top to bottom, but which afforded no hiding-place for these
birds to form their nests, presented an appearance uniformly white."[70]
After all, however, real bonâ fide rain does sometimes descend, which, if
not blood-red, is at least red. "M. Giovanni Campani, Professor of
Chemistry at the University of Siena, has just published a letter, addressed
to Professor Matteucci, on a most singular phenomenon which occurred at
Siena in December last. On the 28th of that month, about seven A.M., the
inhabitants of the northwestern part of the city witnessed with surprise the
curious phenomenon of a copious fall of rain of a reddish hue, which lasted
two hours; a second shower of the same colour occurred at eleven A.M.,
and a third at two P.M., but that of the deepest red fell the first time. But
what adds to the strangeness of the occurrence is that it was entirely
confined to that particular quarter of the town, and so nicely was the line
drawn that the cessation of the red colour was ascertained in one direction

to be at about two hundred mètres from the meteorological observatory, the
pluviometer of which received colourless rain at exactly the same time. The
temperature during the same interval varied between 8 deg. and 10 deg.
Centigrade (46 and 50 Fahrenheit). The wind blew from the S.W. at the
beginning of the phenomenon, and afterwards changed to W.S.W. None of
the rural population in the immediate vicinity of Siena remarked the
occurrence, so that most probably the rain that fell round the town was
colourless. The same phenomenon, strange to say, recurred in exactly the
same quarter of the town on the 31st of December, and again on the 1st of
January, the wind being W.N.W., and the temperature respectively 35 and
39·42 deg., Fahrenheit. Each time, however, the red colour diminished in
depth, its greatest strength having at no time exceeded that of weak wine
and water. A similar occurrence is recorded as having taken place in 1819 at
Blankenburg, when MM. Meyer and Stopp found the water to contain a
solution of chloride of cobalt. Professor Campani, who is now engaged, in
conjunction with his colleague, Professor Gabrielli, in analyzing the red
water collected, has ascertained that in this instance it contains no chloride
of cobalt, and, moreover, that the colour must be owing to some solution,
since the water has deposited no sediment."[71]
The occasional occurrence of large masses of water stained of a vivid red
hue, and for the most part suddenly, and without any ostensible cause, has
not unreasonably been recorded as a prodigy, rivalling one of the plagues of
Egypt—the turning of the waters into blood.
"I remember," says Mr Latrobe, "the report reaching Neufchatel, through
the medium of the market-people passing from the one lake to the other,
(some time during the winter,) that the waters of the lake of Morat had
suddenly become the colour of blood, though I could meet with no one
whose testimony was sufficiently clear and unequivocal to establish the
fact. This, joined to my not having the leisure then to go and see for myself,
caused the matter to slip from my memory entirely, till I found myself in the
neighbourhood. Here the circumstance was fully confirmed to me in a
manner not to be questioned; and having since met with a paper, written by
M. de Candolle, of Geneva, on the subject, I shall take what is there stated
as my best guide in mentioning the facts as they occurred:—

"It appears that this singular phenomenon began to excite the attention of
the inhabitants of Morat as early as November last year, and that it
continued more or less observable during the whole of the winter.
"Mr Trechsel, a gentleman resident at Morat, to whom M. de Candolle
applied, on hearing the report, for information and specimens of the
colouring matter, stated—That during the early hours of the day no
extraordinary appearance was observable in the lake; but that a little later,
long parallel lines of reddish matter were seen to extend along the surface
of the water, at some short distance from the banks. This, being blown by
the wind towards the more sheltered parts of the shore, collected itself about
the reeds and rushes, covering the surface of the lake with a light foam;
forming as it were different strata of various colours, from greenish black,
grey, yellow, and brown, to the most delicious red. He adds, that this matter
exhaled a pestiferous odour during the day, but disappeared at the approach
of night. It was further observed, that during tempestuous weather it
vanished altogether. Many small fishes were seen to become intoxicated
while swimming amongst it, and after a few convulsive leaps, to lie
motionless on the surface.
"The naturalists of Geneva decided, from the specimens sent, that it was
an animal substance, which, if not the Oscillatoria subfusca,[72] was nearly
allied to it.
"Soon after the beginning of May it disappeared entirely. It is not known
that this phenomenon has appeared before in the lake of Morat within the
memory of man. Tradition states the same to have happened the year
preceding the great battle."[73]
A few years ago, in one of my tanks of sea-water, there occurred a
phenomenon much like this. Patches of a rich crimson-purple colour formed
here and there on the surface, which rapidly grew on all sides till they
coalesced. If allowed to be a few days undisturbed, the entire surface of the
water became covered with a pellicle of the substance, which spread also
over the stones and shells of the bottom, and the sides of the vessel. It could
be lifted in impalpable laminæ on sheets of paper. I found it difficult to keep
it within bounds, and impossible to get quite rid of it, till, after some
months, I lost it by the accidental breaking of the vessel. Under the

microscope, this proved an Oscillatoria, which I could not identify with any
of the described species in Harvey's Phytologia: the filaments creeping and
twining with the peculiar vermicular movements of the genus.
Blood-like waters are sometimes produced by a rapid evolution of
infusorial animalcules. Of these the most effective are Astasia hæmatodes,
and Euglena sanguinea; both of them minute spindle-shaped creatures of a
pulpy substance, and sanguine hue. They are produced occasionally in
incalculable numbers, increasing with vast rapidity by means of
spontaneous division. Ehrenberg suggests that the miracle of blood-change
performed on the Nile and on all other collections of water in Egypt by
Moses (Exod. vii. 17-25) may have been effected by the agency of these
animalcules. Of course it would require Divine power as much to educe
uncounted millions of animalcules at the word of command, as to form real
blood, so that no escape from the presence of Deity would be gained by
admitting the supposition; but the words of the inspired narrative seem to
render it untenable.
To return to showers. "If it should rain cats and dogs,"—is a phrase
which is in many mouths; but probably no one has heard it transferred from
the subjunctive to the indicative mood. Why not, however, if it rains snails,
frogs, fishes, and feathers? That these animals and animal products are
really poured down from the atmosphere, I can adduce some evidence; the
value of which my readers may weigh when they have heard the pleadings.
In that venerable newspaper, Felix Farley's Journal, for July 1821, there
was "an account of a wonderful quantity of snail-shells found in a piece of
land of several acres near Bristol, that common report says fell in a
shower." This shell-storm attracting much attention at the time, Mr Wm.
Baker, of Bridgewater, asked information from the Curator of the Bristol
Institution, who thus cleared up the mystery:—"The periwinkles are indeed
wonderful. They descended, forsooth, in a heavy rain-like shower on the
field of Mr Peach, as a due punishment for his disrespect to the virtues of
our late queen. The shower was so intense, that the umbrella of an old lady
passing by was broken to pieces, and the fragments lifted in the air by the
whirlwind, which picked up all the periwinkles on the neighbouring hills,
and dropped them three inches thick on Mr Peach's field! But you know the
story of 'The Three Black Crows;' and thus the whole is reduced to no

periwinkle rain, no whirlwind; but turns out to be our old friend Helix
virgata, making its annual pilgrimage in search of a mate, and occurring
one in almost every square inch in the field in question."
Provincial newspapers seem to have a special power of reporting such
natural history facts, which rarely survive investigation. The Stroud Free
Press, for May 23, 1851, tells us that "an extraordinary scene was witnessed
at Bradford, about twelve miles from Bristol, on Saturday week, when that
village was visited by a heavy shower of snails. They might have been
gathered by bushels." Mr J. W. Douglas, the eminent entomologist,
immediately asked some pertinent questions anent the shower; but whether
it was that the witnesses were grieved at his profanely comparing such
prodigies to Professors Morison and Holloway's cures, or whether they had
no more definite intelligence to communicate, certes echo answered not.
We fear we must give up snails. But frogs! everybody knows that toads
and frogs fall from the sky. According to travellers in tropical America, the
inhabitants of Portobello assert that every drop of rain is changed into a
toad; the more instructed, however, believe that the spawn of these animals
is raised with the vapour from the adjoining swamps, and being driven in
the clouds over the city, the ova are hatched as they descend in rain. 'Tis
certain that the streets after a night of heavy rain are almost covered with
the ill-favoured reptiles, and it is impossible to walk without crushing them.
[74] But heretic philosophers point to the mature growth of the vermin,
many of them being six inches in length, and maintain that the clever
hypothesis just mentioned will scarcely account for the appearance of these.
In the Leeds Mercury for June 1844, there occurred the following
statement:—"In the course of the afternoon of Monday last, during the
prevalence of rather heavy rain, the good people of Selby were astonished
at a remarkable phenomenon. It was rendered forcibly apparent, that, with
the descent of the rain, there was a shower of another description, viz. a
shower of frogs. The truth of this was rendered more manifest by the
circumstance that several of the frogs were caught in their descent by
holding out hats for that purpose. They were about the size of a horse-bean,
and remarkably lively after their aerial but wingless flight. The same
phenomenon was observed in the immediate neighbourhood."

The editor of the Zoologist immediately asked for confirmation of the
stated facts, from resident persons of science; but notwithstanding the
circumstantiality of the account, and especially the reported actual capture
of the little sprawlers in hats, no one replied to the demand, and we are
compelled to conclude that the report would not bear critical investigation.
Yet incredulity may be pushed too far even here. For, in the continental
journals many more such statements occur than in those of this country, and
some of them vouched by apparently indisputable authority. If my readers
will refer to L'Institut. tom. ii. (1834) pp. 337, 346, 347, 353, 354, 386, 409;
tom. iv. (1836) pp. 221, 314, 325; tom. vi. (1838) p. 212, they will find
mention made of this phenomenon,—showers of toads. In two or three of
these cases, the toads were not only observed in countless numbers on the
ground, during, and after, heavy storms of rain, but were seen to strike upon
the roofs of houses, bounding thence into the streets; they even fell upon the
hats, umbrellas, and clothes of the observers, who were out in the storm,
and, in one instance, were actually received into the outstretched hand.[75]
Much more recently, namely, early in 1859, the newspapers of South
Wales recorded a shower of fish in the Valley of Aberdare. The repeated
statements attracted more notice than usual, and the Rev. John Griffith, the
vicar of the parish, communicated the following results of his inquiries to
the Evening Mail:—
"Many of your readers might, perhaps, like to see the facts connected
with this phenomenon. They will be better understood in the words of the
principal witness, as taken down by me on the spot where it happened. This
man's name is John Lewis, a sawyer in Messrs Nixon and Co.'s yard. His
evidence is as follows:—'On Wednesday, February 9, I was getting out a
piece of timber for the purpose of setting it for the saw, when I was startled
by something falling all over me—down my neck, on my head, and on my
back. On putting my hand down my neck I was surprised to find they were
little fish. By this time I saw the whole ground covered with them. I took
off my hat, the brim of which was full of them. They were jumping all
about. They covered the ground in a long strip of about eighty yards by
twelve, as we measured afterwards. That shed (pointing to a very large
workshop) was covered with them, and the shoots were quite full of them.
My mates and I might have gathered bucketfuls of them, scraping with our

hands. We did gather a great many, about a bucketful, and threw them into
the rain-pool, where some of them now are. There were two showers, with
an interval of about ten minutes, and each shower lasted about two minutes
or thereabouts. The time was eleven A.M. The morning up-train to
Aberdare was just then passing. It was not blowing very hard, but
uncommon wet, just about the same wind as there is to-day (blowing rather
stiff), and it came from this quarter (pointing to the S. of W.). They came
down with the rain in "a body, like."' Such is the evidence. I have taken it
for the purpose of being laid before Professor Owen, to whom, also, I shall
send to-morrow, at the request of a friend of his, eighteen or twenty of the
little fish. Three of them are large and very stout, measuring about four
inches. The rest are small. There were some—but they are since dead—
fully five inches long. They are very lively.—Your obedient servant,
"John Griffith,
"Vicar of Aberdare and Rural Dean.
"Vicarage, Aberdare, March 8."
The specimens which were forwarded to Professor Owen were exhibited
in a tank at the Zoological Gardens in the Regent's Park: they consisted of
minnows (Leuciscus phoxinus) and Smooth-tailed sticklebacks
(Gasterosteus leiurus.) A savant thus endeavoured to "enlighten" the
uninitiated on the matter:—"On reading the evidence it appears to me most
probably only a practical joke of the mates of John Lewis, who seem to
have thrown a pailful of water with the fish in it over him, and he appears to
have returned them to the pool from which they were originally taken. The
fish forwarded are very unlike those taken up in whirlwinds in tropical
countries, and we must make allowance for unintentional exaggerations of
quantity, &c., in an account given a month after the event had occurred."
This "appears to me" a beautiful example of critical acumen. My readers
will do well to look at it for a moment; as they may thus learn how to sift
the grain of truth out of the bushel of chaff. Reverentèr procedamus!
The main (is it not the only?) objection to the honest sawyer's statement
is that "the fish are very unlike those taken up in whirlwinds in tropical
countries." That is, that, seeing the phenomenon occurs in Great Britain, it
is most unfortunate that the fishes are British species. Now, in India, when

such things occur, it is always Indian species that are taken up; ergo, it
ought to be Indian species here. But these are "very unlike" the Indian
fishes; ergo, it is manifestly a humbug.
Then, does it not strike one as palpably probable, when once one's dull
intellect has been "enlightened" by the brilliant suggestion,—that the
worthy sawyer who had a pail of water soused upon him, thought it was a
heavy shower of rain? Very heavy, no doubt; indeed he says it was
"uncommon wet." To be sure, he thought there were two showers, each
lasting about two minutes, with an interval of ten minutes between them;
but this little error might be easily made, for doubtless a bucket of water
poured on one's head might well be equivalent to two showers of rain, or
even ten, for that matter. To be sure, moreover, there was a considerable
quantity of fish:—"The whole ground was covered with them: they were
jumping all about: they covered the ground in a long strip of about eighty
yards by twelve, as we measured afterwards: the shed was covered with
them, and the shoots were quite full of them.... My mates and I might have
gathered bucketfuls of them: we did gather about a bucketful." Yes, yes: but
all were originally in the pail of water thrown over you, John. How stupid
you were, not to perceive that! How there was room for any water at all in
the pail, seeing there were so many fish, you say you don't know; but that is
your stupidity, John! There must have been room for water, for it was
"uncommon wet;" and the water was in the pail, for the Doctor says so.
Uncommon fishy, too, I should think; but let that pass. Where the mates
collected the pail of live fishes for their pleasant and profitable hoax, and
how, and when,—the sceptic might wonderingly ask; but a hoax it was. Ipse
dixit.
However, the verdict did not obtain universal assent; and an excellent and
well-known naturalist, Mr Robert Drave, residing in the vicinity, ventured
modestly to indicate a dissent. "I think actual fact will excuse the otherwise
apparently unbecoming assumption in me, of opposing such high authority
by a contrary opinion, for from information obtained from many sources,
and very careful and minute inquiry, I am quite convinced that a great
number of fish did actually descend with rain over a considerable tract of
country. The specimens I obtained from three individuals, resident some
distance from each other, were of two species, the common minnow and the

three-spined stickleback; the former most abundant, and mostly very small,
though some had attained their full size."[76]
If now we look to other lands, we shall find that the descent of fishes
from the atmosphere, under conditions little understood, is a phenomenon
which rests on indubitable evidence. Humboldt has published interesting
details of the ejection of fish in large quantities from volcanoes in South
America. On the night between the 19th and 20th of June, 1698, the summit
of Carguairazo, a volcano more than 19,000 feet in height, fell in, and all
the surrounding country for nearly thirty-two square miles was covered
with mud and fishes. A similar eruption of fish from the volcano of
Imbaburu was supposed to have been the cause of a putrid fever which
raged in the town of Ibarra seven years before that period.
These facts are not inexplicable. Subterraneous lakes, communicating
with surface-waters, form in deep cavities in the declivities, or at the base of
a volcano. In certain active stages of ignition, these internal cavities are
burst open, and their contents discharged through the crater. Humboldt
ascertained that the fishes in question belonged to a curious and ill-favoured
species of the Siluridæ,—the Pimelodes Cyclopum.
Showers of fishes, however, do occur, which cannot be connected with
volcanic agency. Dr Buist, in an interesting paper published in the Bombay
Times in 1856, has collected a number of authentic examples of this
phenomenon. The author, after enumerating the cases just cited, and others
of similar character, in which fishes were said to have been thrown out from
volcanoes in South America, and precipitated from clouds in various parts
of the world, adduces the following instances of similar occurrences in
India:—"In 1824," he says, "fishes fell at Meerut, on the men of her
Majesty's 14th Regiment, then out at drill, and were caught in numbers. In
July 1826, live fish were seen to fall on the grass at Moradabad during a
storm. They were the common Cyprinus, so prevalent in our Indian waters.
On the 19th of February 1830, at noon, a heavy fall of fish occurred at the
Nokulhatty factory, in the Daccah Zillah; depositions on the subject were
obtained from nine different parties. The fish were all dead; most of them
were large; some were fresh, others were rotten and mutilated. They were
seen at first in the sky, like a flock of birds, descending rapidly to the
ground; there was rain drizzling, but no storm. On the 16th and 17th of

May, 1833, a fall of fish occurred in the Zillah of Futtehpoor, about three
miles north of the Jumna, after a violent storm of wind and rain. The fish
were from a pound and a-half to three pounds in weight, and of the same
species as those found in the tanks in the neighbourhood. They were all
dead and dry. A fall of fish occurred at Allahabad, during a storm in May
1835; they were of the chowla species, and were found dead and dry after
the storm had passed over the district. On the 20th of September 1839 after
a smart shower of rain, a quantity of live fish, about three inches in length,
and all of the same kind, fell at the Sunderbunds, about twenty miles south
of Calcutta. On this occasion it was remarked that the fish did not fall here
and there irregularly over the ground, but in a continuous straight line, not
more than a span in breadth. The vast multitudes of fish, with which the low
grounds round Bombay are covered, about a week or ten days after the first
burst of the monsoon, appear to be derived from the adjoining pools or
rivulets, and not to descend from the sky. They are not, as far as I know,
found in the higher parts of the island. I have never seen them, though I
have watched carefully, in casks collecting water from the roofs of
buildings, or heard of them on the decks or awnings of vessels in the
harbour, where they must have appeared had they descended from the sky.
One of the most remarkable phenomena of this kind occurred during a
tremendous deluge of rain at Kattywar, on the 25th of July 1850, when the
ground around Rajkote was found literally covered with fish; some of them
were found on the top of haystacks, where probably they had been drifted
by the storm. In the course of twenty-four successive hours twenty-seven
inches of rain fell, thirty-five fell in twenty-six hours, seven inches in one
hour and a-half, being the heaviest fall on record. At Poonah, on the 3d of
August 1852, after a very heavy fall of rain, multitudes of fish were caught
on the ground in the cantonments, full half a mile from the nearest stream.
If showers of fish are to be explained on the assumption that they are
carried up by squalls or violent winds, from rivers or spaces of water not far
away from, where they fall, it would be nothing wonderful were they seen
to descend from the air during the furious squalls which occasionally occur
in June."
Sir E. Tennent adds the following examples:—"I had an opportunity, on
one occasion only, of witnessing the phenomenon which gives rise to this
popular belief. I was driving in the cinnamon gardens near the fort of

Colombo, and saw a violent but partial shower descend at no great distance
before me. On coming to the spot, I found a multitude of small silvery fish
from one and a half to two inches in length, leaping on the gravel of the
high road, numbers of which I collected and brought away in my palankin.
The spot was about half a mile from the sea, and entirely unconnected with
any watercourse or pool.
"Mr Whiting, who was many years resident at Trincomalee, writes me
that he 'had been often told by the natives on that side of the island that it
sometimes rained fishes; and on one occasion (he adds) I was taken by
them, in 1849, to a field at the village of Karrancotta-tivo, near Batticaloa,
which was dry when I passed over it in the morning, but had been covered
in two hours by sudden rain to the depth of three inches, in which there was
then a quantity of small fish. The water had no connexion with any pond or
stream whatsoever.' Mr Cripps, in like manner, in speaking of Galle, says: 'I
have seen in the vicinity of the fort, fish taken from rain-water that had
accumulated in the hollow parts of the land that in the hot season are
perfectly dry and parched. The place is accessible to no running stream or
tank; and either the fish, or the spawn from which they were produced, must
of necessity have fallen with the rain.'"[77]
Mr J. Prinsep, the eminent secretary to the Asiatic Society of Bengal,
found a fish in the pluviometer at Calcutta, in 1838.[78]
It is a highly curious fact that the pools, reservoirs, and tanks in India and
Ceylon are well provided with fish of various species, though the water
twice every year becomes perfectly evaporated, and the mud of the bottom
becomes converted into dust, or takes the condition of baked clay, gaping
with wide and deep clefts, in which not the slightest sign of moisture can be
detected. This is the case with temporary hollows in the soil, which have no
connexion with running streams or permanent waters, from which they
might be supposed to receive a fresh stock of fish.
Two modes of accounting for this strange phenomenon have obtained
currency. The one is that received by those Europeans who are content with
any solution of a difficulty, without too closely testing it; viz., that the fishes
fall with the rains from the air. The actual occurrence of such showers rests,
as we have just seen, on good evidence; but, admitting the fact, it must be a

rare phenomenon, whereas the presence of fish in the new-made pools is
universal. Again, if the rains brought them in such abundance as to stock all
the pools, an equal number would fall on the dry ground, which is not
pretended to be the case. The other accepted solution is that which has
received the sanction of Mr Yarrell, who observes—"The impregnated ova
of the fish of one rainy season are left unhatched in the mud through the dry
season, and from their low state of organisation as ova, the vitality is
preserved till the occurrence and contact of the rain and the oxygen of the
next wet season, when vivification takes place from their joint influence."
[79]

This may be fully allowed, yet it does not meet the exigences of the case.
Sir E. Tennent and others have shewn that it is not young fishes just escaped
from the egg which appear in the new-formed pools, but full-grown fishes,
fit for the market; a fact well known to the Singalese fishermen, who resort
to the hollows as soon as the monsoon has brought rain; and they invariably
take in these pools, which a day or two before were as dry as dust, plenty of
fishes fully grown, a foot or eighteen inches long, or longer.
Neither of these hypotheses, then, will account for the fact: and we must
admit that the fishes of these regions have the instinct to burrow down in
the solid mud of the bottom, at the approach of the dry season, and the
power of retaining life, doubtless in a torpid condition, until the return of
the periodic rains, as Theophrastus long ago observed.[80]
The Lepidosiren, a very remarkable genus of animals from Africa and
South America, affords a curious illustration of this power. It is altogether a
highly singular creature, and has attracted a great deal of notice because its
organisation belongs to two types: it is, so to speak, placed midway between
the great classes of Reptiles and Fishes, the characters which identify it with
either being almost equally balanced. Professor Owen and other eminent
physiologists regard it as a fish, while Professor Bischoff, with others
equally learned, consider it an Amphibian reptile.
It is the habits of this strange creature, however, which induce me to
notice it here. An inhabitant of rivers and ponds, which are swollen by
periodic rains, and subject to entire or partial desiccation by long droughts,

it is liable to be left by the retreating waters, exposed to the burning sun,
under which it would presently die, but for a special provision.
The animal has the instinct to bury itself in the mud of the bottom, on the
approach of the droughts, penetrating to a depth of several feet. There it
coils itself into a ball, with the tail folded over the nose, but so as to leave
the nasal apertures uncovered; and, probably by its wrigglings, it forms a
cavity or chamber in the clay, which becomes lined with a membranous
slough thrown off from its body. Meanwhile the water evaporates, the mud
dries, bakes, and cracks under the torrid heat of the dry season, thus
allowing air to penetrate down to the retreat of the torpid mud-fish, in
sufficient quantity for its very sluggish respiration. Here it lies inactive for
five or six months, until the wet season again sets in, and the returning
floods cover the old beds, soften the baked clay, revivify the imprisoned
animal, and restore it to liberty and aquatic locomotion.
To meet these strange conditions of life, the Lepidosiren is furnished with
a twofold apparatus for respiration; the one aquatic, consisting of gills,
ordinarily contained in a branchial chamber, (but in one species, at least,
external,) suited for the separation of oxygen from the water, and the other
aerial, consisting of true lungs, closely resembling those of serpents, though
manifestly only a modification of the well-known swim-bladder of many
fishes,—by means of which the animal breathes atmospheric air, during its
periodic captivity.
The same emergency is met by other species in another way. It does not
appear that the Lepidosiren has the power of voluntarily forsaking the
water, or of travelling on land, notwithstanding its twofold respiration; but
some of the fishes of the tropics certainly resort to this mode of evading the
fatal contingency of being baked out by the evaporating power of the
periodical dry season.
Theophrastus, the contemporary of Aristotle, mentions fishes found in the
Euphrates which in the dry seasons leave the vacant channels and crawl
over the ground in search of water, moving along by fins and tail.[81]
Pallegoix gives three kinds of fish in Siam, which leave the tanks and
channels and travel through the grass;[82] and Sir John Bowring states that
in ascending the river Meinam to Bangkok, he was amused with the sight of

fish leaving the stream, gliding over the wet banks, till they disappeared
among the trees of the jungle.[83] The Hydragyræ of Carolina in like manner
leave the drying pools, and seek the nearest water in a straight line, though
at a considerable distance. And Sir R. Schomburgk tells us that certain
species of Dora in Guiana have the same habit, and are occasionally met
with in such numbers in their terrestrial travels that the negroes fill baskets
with them.[84]
These fishes, provincially called Hassars, project themselves on their
bony pectoral fins, aiding their advance by the elastic spring of the tail
exerted sidewise, proceeding in this manner nearly as fast as a man can
walk. The strong scaly bands which envelop the body facilitate the march,
in the same way as the transverse plates (scuta) on the belly of serpents,
which take hold of the ground, as the ribs perform the office of feet. The
Indians know that these fishes have the power of carrying a supply of water
in a reservoir, for the keeping of the gills in a moist condition. If they fail in
finding water, they are said to burrow in the still soft mud, and pass the dry
season in torpidity like the Lepidosiren.
The common eel is well known to have this habit of travelling with us; I
well remember my surprise, when a boy, at finding an eel in a grassy
meadow one dewy summer evening, at a considerable distance from water.
Since then I have seen a small species of Antennarius, running quickly to
and fro on the surface of the great beds of floating sea-weed in the Gulf
stream, progressing by means of its pectorals and ventrals quite out of
water, with the utmost facility.

THE CLIMBING PERCH.
The most celebrated example of this faculty, however, is the climbing
perch (Anabas scandens) of India. The vagaries of this little fish have been
recorded from the earliest times, and numerous modern witnesses have
borne record to its powers. Mr E. Layard once encountered several
travelling along a hot dusty gravel-road in the mid-day sun.[85] Daldorf, a
Danish zoologist of reputation, asserts that he has seen this species in the
act of climbing palm-trees, effecting its ascent by means of fins and tail,
with the aid of its spinous gill-covers. There is, however, some doubt
whether he was not under mistake in this, though the fact of its crawling up
the banks and living out of water is abundantly known.
On the coasts of Ceylon, according to its accomplished historian,—on the
rocks which are washed by the surf, there are multitudes of a curious little
fish, (Salarias alticus,) which possesses the faculty of darting along the
surface of the water, and running up the wet stones, with the utmost ease
and rapidity. By aid of its pectoral and ventral fins and gill-cases, it moves
across the damp sand, ascends the roots of the mangroves, and climbs up
the smooth face of the rocks in search of flies; adhering so securely as not

to be detached by repeated assaults of the waves. These little creatures are
so nimble, that it is almost impossible to lay hold of them, as they scramble
to the edge, and plunge into the sea on the slightest attempt to molest them.
They are from three to four inches in length, and of a dark-brown colour,
almost indistinguishable from the rocks they frequent.[86]
In all these cases probably, the power of sustaining a protracted privation
of water depends on a peculiar structure of the pharynx, which is divided by
membranous plates into cells which the fish can fill at pleasure with water,
and by ejecting small portions at a time can moisten its gills, and thus
preserve the filaments of these organs in a fit condition to maintain the
circulation and oxygenation of the blood. These labyrinthal water-chambers
are particularly numerous and complicated in the Anabas just mentioned.
This, however, has no analogy with the lung of the Lepidosiren.

III.

MERMAIDS.
According to Berosus there came up from the Red Sea, on the shore
contiguous to Babylonia, a brute creature named Oannes, which had the
body of a fish, above whose front parts rose the head of a man; it had two
human feet, which projected from each side of the tail; it had also a human
voice and human language. This strange monster sojourned among the rude
people during the day, taking no food, but retiring to the sea again at night;
and continued for some time, teaching them the arts of civilised life. Other
ancient authors, as Polyhistor and Apollodorus, allude to the same tradition;
and we gather that the portrait of the learned stranger (not painted from the
life, we may presume, considering the condition of the people when he
appeared, unless we may suppose it to have been the effort of one of his
pupils in the pictorial art under his instruction) was preserved at Babylon to
the historic period.
In an elaborate sculpture of the later Assyrian period, discovered by M.
Botta at Khorsabad, a maritime expedition is portrayed, and the sea around
the ships is filled with various marine animals, and among them the
compound mythic forms of winged bulls and bull-lions, in which the
Assyrians delighted, together with a figure composed of the body and tail of
a fish extended horizontally, and the perpendicular trunk and foreparts of a
man, crowned with the sacred cap, possibly representing the traditional
Oannes.
The god Dagon of the Philistines, and the goddess Atergatis of the
Syrians were worshipped under the same combination of the human and
piscine forms, and the Tritons of classical mythology perpetuated the idea.
It is curious that in almost all ages and in almost all countries there
should have prevailed a belief in the actual living existence of creatures like
this. Was the mythological symbol the origin of the persuasion? Or is there
any marine animal uniting so much of the general form of the fish with that
of man as to have given the conception of the idol? A naturalist of deserved
eminence has maintained, on purely scientific grounds, that such an animal

must exist,—that the laws of nature absolutely require such a being; and
though the amount of force which his reasoning, possesses will be
estimated differently according as we reject or accept the hypothesis of the
circularity of the great plan of nature, we may as well see what he has to say
for a marine primate,—be he man or ape, mermaid or mermonkey.
"There is yet," says Mr Swainson, "another primary type necessary to
complete the circle of the quadrumanous animals, and it is that which we
have elsewhere distinguished as the natatorial; but of such an animal we
have only vague and indefinite accounts. It will be seen that, throughout the
whole class of quadrupeds, the aquatic types are remarkably few, and in
general scarce; and that they contain fewer forms or examples than any
other, and are often, in the smaller groups, entirely wanting. To account for
this is altogether impossible; we can only call attention to the fact, as
exemplified in the aquatic order of Cetacea, in that of the Feræ, in the
Pachydermata, in the circle of the Glires, and in all the remaining natatorial
types of the different circles of quadrupeds. We do not implicitly believe in
the existence of mermaids as described and depicted by the old writers—
with a comb in the one hand and a mirror in the other; but it is difficult to
imagine that the numerous records of singular marine animals, unlike any
of those well known, have their origin in fraud or gross ignorance. Many of
these narratives are given by eye-witnesses of the facts they vouch for—
men of honesty and probity, having no object to gain by deception, and
whose accounts have been confirmed by other witnesses equally
trustworthy. Can it be supposed that the unfathomable depths of ocean are
without their peculiar inhabitants, whose habits and economy rarely, if ever,
bring them to the surface of the watery element? As reasonably might a
Swiss mountaineer disbelieve in the existence of an ostrich, because it
cannot inhabit his Alpine precipices, as that we should doubt that the rocks
and caverns of the ocean are without animals destined to live in such
situations, and such only. The natatorial type of the Quadrumana, however,
is most assuredly wanting. Whatever its precise construction may or might
have been, it would represent and correspond to the seals in the circle of the
Feræ, or rapacious quadrupeds; while a resemblance to the Simiadæ, or
monkeys, must be considered an essential character of any marine animal
which is to connect and complete the circular series of types in the
Quadrumana."

Mr Swainson absolutely excludes Man from the zoological circle, on
grounds which few naturalists are disposed to think sufficient; else we
might suggest that man himself is the natatorial type of the Primates.
Taking this author's own selection[87] of the characters which mark the
natatorial types of animals, for our guide, we find that the largest size, the
smallest fore-limbs, the most obtuse muzzle, the most carnivorous appetite,
and the most natatory habits (for I do not know that the Apes, or the
Sapajous, or the Lemurs, or the Bats, ever take to the water voluntarily,
whereas savage Man is always a great swimmer), belong to Man, and so,
Swainsonio ipso judice, constitute him the true aquatic primate. But if so,
we do not want a merman or mermonkey; nay, we should not know where
to insert him in the zoological circle if we found him; he would be
awkwardly de trop.
But yet nature has an awkward way of mocking at our impossibilities;
and it may be that green-haired maidens with oary tails lurk in the ocean
caves, and keep mirrors and combs upon their rocky shelves. Certainly the
belief in them is very widely spread, and occasionally comes to us from
quarters where we should hardly have looked for it. A negro from Dongola
assured Prince Puckler Muskau that in the country of Sennaar there was no
doubt that Sirens (mermaids) still existed, for that he himself had seen more
than one.[88]
In my boyhood I well recollect being highly excited by the arrival in our
town, at fair-time, of a "show," which professed to exhibit a mermaid,
whose portrait, on canvas hung outside, was radiant in feminine loveliness
and piscine scaliness. I fondly expected to see the very counterpart within,
how disposed I did not venture to imagine, but alive and fascinating, of
course. Had I not seen her picture? I joyfully paid my coppers, but oh!
woful disappointment! I dimly saw, within a dusty glass case, in a dark
corner, a shrivelled and blackened little thing which might have been
moulded in mud for aught I could see, but which was labelled,
"MERMAID!" So great was my disgust, so bitter my feelings of shame and
anger at having been so grossly taken in, that I did not care to observe what
might have been noteworthy in it. I read afterwards that it was a very
ingenious cheat; the trunk and head of a monkey had been grafted on to the
body and tail of a large salmon-like fish, and the junction had been so
cleverly effected, that only a very close examination detected the artifice. It

professed to have been brought from China, but possibly was an
importation even thither, if Steinmetz is correct. According to this writer,
"A Japanese fisherman contrived to unite the upper half of a monkey to the
lower half of a fish, so neatly as to defy ordinary inspection. He then gave
out that he had caught the creature alive in his net, but that it had died
shortly after being taken out of the water; and he derived considerable
pecuniary profit from his cunning in more ways than one. The exhibition of
the sea-monster to Japanese curiosity paid well; but yet more productive
was the assertion that the half-human fish, having spoken the few minutes it
existed out of its native element, had predicted a certain number of years of
wonderful fertility, and a fatal epidemic, the only remedy for which would
be possession of the marine prophet's likeness. The sale of these pictured
mermaids was immense. Either this composite animal, or another, the
offspring of the success of the first, was sold at the Dutch factory, and
transmitted to Batavia, where it fell into the hands of a speculating
American, who brought it to Europe, and here, in the years 1822-3,
exhibited his purchase as a real mermaid at every capital, to the admiration
of the ignorant, the perplexity of the learned, and the filling of his own
purse. Indeed, the mermaids exhibited in Europe and America, to the great
profit of the enterprising showmen, have all been of Japanese manufacture."
[89]

This, however, will not account for the frequent reports of the living
creatures having been seen, and unbelievers have to form some other
hypothesis. In the tropical seas the cow-whales, uncouth marine
pachydermata, have been assumed to be the originals of these stories.
Megasthenes reported that the sea which washed Taprobane, the modern
Ceylon, was inhabited by a creature having the appearance of a woman; and
Ælian improves the account by stating that there are whales having the form
of satyrs. 'Tis true the Manatee and the Dugong are rather mer-swine than
mer-maids; but there is something in the bluff round head which may
remind a startled observer of the human form divine. Sir Emerson Tennent
considers that this rude approach to the human outline, and the attitude of
the mother while suckling her young, pressing it to her breast with one paw,
while swimming with the other, the head of both being held perpendicularly
above water, and then, when disturbed, suddenly diving and displaying her
broad fin-like tail,—these, together with her habitual demonstrations of

strong maternal affection, may probably have been the original from which
the pictures of the mermaid were portrayed, and thus that earliest invention
of mythical physiology may be traced to the Arab seamen and to the
Greeks, who had watched the movements of the Dugong in the Red Sea and
Indian Ocean.
The early Portuguese settlers in India had no doubt that true mermen
were found in those seas; and the annalist of the exploits of the Jesuits
narrates that seven of these monsters, male and female, were captured at
Manaar in 1560, and carried to Goa, where they were dissected by Demas
Bosquez, physician to the Viceroy, and "their internal structure found to be
in all respects conformable to the human." Making allowance for the very
limited acquaintance which the worthy physician was likely to have made
with human anatomy by actual autopsy, this statement goes for little:—the
real resemblance, assuming them to have been Dugongs, was about the
same as that presented by the hog, whose inwards are popularly believed by
our own country people to be in very close accordance with those of
"Christians."
Sir E. Tennent has embellished his book with a very taking portrait of the
mermaid on the Dugong hypothesis; shewing two females, each holding a
baby [is it right to say merbaby?], emerging from the sea-wave; they do
look, to be sure, sufficiently human, but the well-known monogram of our
clever friend Wolf in the corner of the cut suggests shrewd doubts that the
portraits were not "ad viv."
It is, perhaps, among the Scandinavian races that the belief in the
merman has reached its culminating point. So many particulars are
inculcated concerning the mode and conditions of life of these submarine
beings, that the most intimate relations appear to have subsisted between
the terrestrial and the aquatic peoples. According to the creed of the
Norsemen, there exists, far beneath the depths of the ocean, an atmosphere
adapted to the breathing organs of beings resembling in form the human
race, endowed with surpassing beauty, with limited supernatural powers,
but liable to suffering, and even to death. Their dwelling is in a vast region,
situate far below the bottom of the sea, which forms a canopy over them,
like the sky over us, and there they inhabit houses constructed of the pearly
and coralline productions of the ocean. Having lungs not adapted to a

watery medium, but formed for breathing atmospheric air, it would be
impossible for them to pass through the volume of waters that separates our
world from theirs, if it were not that they possess the power of entering the
skin of some marine animal, whose faculties they thus temporarily acquire,
or of changing their own form and structure so as to suit the altered
condition through which they are to travel. The most ordinary shape they
assume is, as everybody knows, that of man (that is, their own proper form)
from the waist upward, but below that of a fish. Whether they now breathe
by gills or lungs, the anatomists, it seems, have not yet determined; we must
presume the former alternative, since else it is not apparent what they have
gained by their piscine metamorphosis of tail; though where the branchiæ
are situate we are a little at a loss to imagine. These, however, are matters
which doubtless the scientific world will one day determine: it seems
certain that they do thus acquire an amphibious nature, so as not only to
exist submerged in the waters, but to land on the shores of our sunny world,
where they frequently doff their fishy half, resume their proper human
form, and pass muster while they pursue their investigations here.[90]
Unfortunately, but one of these resources can ever be availed of by any
individual mer-man or -maid, nor can any "son or daughter of the ocean
borrow more than one sea-dress of this kind for his own particular use;
therefore if the garb should be mislaid on the shores he never can return to
his submarine country and friends. A Shetlander, having once found an
empty seal-skin on the shore, took it home and kept it in his possession.
Soon after, he met the most lovely being who ever stepped on the earth,
wringing her hands with distress, and loudly lamenting, that, having lost her
sea-dress, she must remain for ever on the earth. The Shetlander, having
fallen in love at first sight, said not a syllable about finding this precious
treasure, but made his proposals, and offered to take her for better or for
worse, as his future wife! The merlady, though not, as we know, much a
woman of the world, very prudently accepted the offer! I never heard what
the settlements were, but they lived very happily for some years, till one
day, when the green-haired bride unexpectedly discovered her long-lost
seal-skin, and instantly putting it on, she took a hasty farewell of everybody,
and ran towards the shore. Her husband flew out in pursuit of her, but in
vain! She sprang from point to point, and from rock to rock, till at length,

hastening into the ocean, she disappeared for ever, leaving the worthy man,
her husband, perfectly planet-struck and inconsolable on the shore!"[91]
Nor are there lacking in the rocky cliffs of our own northern islands fit
lodgings for these sea kings and queens. The gifted pen of Sir Walter Scott
has sketched one of these from his own observation: "Imagination can
hardly conceive anything more beautiful than the extraordinary grotto
discovered not many years since upon the estate of Alexander MacAllister,
Esq. of Strathaird [in Skye]. The first entrance to this celebrated cave is
rude and unpromising: but the light of the torches with which we were
provided, was soon reflected from the roof, floor, and walls, which seemed
as if they were sheeted with marble, partly smooth, partly rough with
frostwork and rustic ornaments, and partly seeming to be wrought into
statuary. The floor forms a steep and difficult ascent, and might be
fancifully compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whitening
and foaming down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested and consolidated
by the spell of an enchanter. Upon attaining the summit of this ascent, the
cave opens into a splendid gallery, adorned with the most dazzling
crystallizations, and finally descends with rapidity to the brink of a pool, of
the most limpid water, about four or five yards broad. There opens beyond
this pool a portal arch, formed by two columns of white spar, with beautiful
chasing upon the sides, which promises a continuation of the cave. One of
our sailors swam across, for there is no other mode of passing, and
informed us (as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the
enchantment of MacAllister's cave terminates with this portal, a little
beyond which there was only a rude cavern, speedily choked with stones
and earth. But the pool on the brink of which we stood, surrounded by the
most fanciful mouldings, in a substance resembling white marble, and
distinguished by the depth and purity of its waters, might have been the
bathing grotto of a naiad. The groups of combined figures projecting or
embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, are exquisitely elegant and
fanciful. A statuary might catch beautiful hints from the singular and
romantic disposition of those stalactites. There is scarce a form or group on
which active fancy may not trace figures or grotesque ornaments, which
have been gradually moulded in this cavern by the dropping of the
calcareous water hardening into petrifactions. Many of these fine groups
have been injured by the senseless rage for appropriation of recent tourists;

and the grotto has lost, (I am informed,) through the smoke of torches,
something of that vivid silver tint which was originally one of its chief
distinctions. But enough of beauty remains to compensate for all that may
be lost."[92]
But these tales are the nugæ canoræ of the naturalist. Once more,—Is
there any substratum of truth underlying these fancies? or must they be
unhesitatingly dismissed to the region of fable? Certainly, if there were not
two or three narratives which have an air of veracity and dependableness,
bearing out the belief to some slight extent, I should not have noticed it
here.
How simple and circumstantial is this story told by old Hudson, the
renowned navigator! a man whose narrative is more than usually dry and
destitute of everything like, not only imagination, but even an imaginative
aspect of ordinary circumstances. On the 15th of June, when in lat. 75°,
trying to force a passage to the pole near Nova Zembla, he records the
following incident: "This morning one of our company looking overboard
saw a mermaid; and calling up some of the company to see her, one more
came up, and by that time she was come close to the ship's side, looking
earnestly on the men. A little after, a sea came and overturned her. From the
navel upward, her back and breasts were like a woman's, as they say that
saw her; her body as big as one of us; her skin very white; and long hair
hanging down behind, of colour black. In her going down they saw her tail,
which was like the tail of a porpoise, and speckled like a mackerel. Their
names that saw her were Thomas Hilles and Robert Rayner."[93]
Whatever explanation be attempted of this apparition, the ordinary
resource of seal or walrus will not avail here. Seals and walruses must have
been as familiar to these Polar mariners as cows to a dairy-maid. Unless the
whole story was a concerted lie between the two men, reasonless and
objectless,—and the worthy old navigator doubtless knew the character of
his men,—they must have seen, in the black-haired, white-skinned creature,
some form of being as yet unrecognised.
Steller, a zoologist of some repute, who examined the natural history of
the Siberian seas, reports having seen, near Behring's Straits, a strange
animal, which he calls a Sea-ape. "It was about five feet long, with a head

like a dog's; the ears sharp and erect, and the eyes large; on both lips it had
a kind of beard; the form of the body was thick and round, but tapering to
the tail, which was bifurcated, with the upper lobe longest; the body was
covered with thick hair, grey on the back, and red on the belly. Steller could
not discover any feet or paws. It was full of frolic, and sported in the
manner of a monkey, swimming sometimes on one side of the ship and
sometimes on the other, and looking at it with seeming surprise. It would
come so near the ship that it might be touched with a pole; but if any one
stirred, it would immediately retire. It often raised one third of its body
above the water, and stood upright for a considerable time; then suddenly
darted under the ship, and appeared in the same attitude on the other side;
this it would repeat for thirty times together. It would frequently bring up a
sea plant, not unlike a bottle-gourd, which it would toss about and catch
again in its mouth, playing numberless fantastic tricks with it."
There is nothing in this description which would exclude it from well-
recognised zoological classification. It is highly probable that it was one of
the seal tribe, but of a species, perhaps a genus, not yet identified. All
analogy would suggest that fore-paws must have been present in an animal
with a dog-like head, and clothed with hair; but they were perhaps small,—
smaller even than in other Phocadæ, and may have been so concealed in the
long hair, or held so closely pressed to the body, as not to be visible. The
only other difficulty is in the posterior extremity. This is described by
Steller in terms that imply a true piscine tail, expanded in a direction
vertical to the plane of the body, and of that peculiar form called
heterocercal, which distinguishes the cartilaginous families of Fishes, the
Sharks and Rays. But the animal was indubitably a Mammal; and therefore
we may almost with certainty assume that, if the body terminated in a
natatory expansion, it would be, as in the whales, and manatees, a
horizontal expansion, and not a vertical one. But if the strange creature was
indeed, as I conclude, of the Phocine type, we have only to suppose the tail,
which is usually very small in this family, to have been so greatly
developed, as to exceed the united hind feet, which may have been small,
and the appearance, seen momentarily, and in the wash of the waves, might
well seem that of a heterocercal tail.
Captain Weddell, well known for his geographical discoveries in the
extreme south of the globe, relates the following story: "A boat's crew were

employed on Hall's Island, when one of the crew, left to take care of some
produce, saw an animal whose voice was even musical. The sailor had lain
down, and about ten o'clock he heard a noise resembling human cries; and
as daylight in these latitudes never disappears at this season, he rose and
looked around; but, on seeing no person, returned to bed; presently he heard
the noise again; rose a second time, but still saw nothing. Conceiving,
however, the possibility of a boat being upset, and that some of the crew
might be clinging to some detached rocks, he walked along the beach a few
steps, and heard the noise more distinctly, but in a musical strain. Upon
searching round he saw an object lying on a rock a dozen yards from the
shore, at which he was somewhat frightened. The face and shoulders
appeared of human form, and of a reddish colour; over the shoulders hung
long green hair; the tail resembled that of the seal, but the extremities of the
arms he could not see distinctly. The creature continued to make a musical
noise while he gazed about two minutes, and on perceiving him it
disappeared in an instant. Immediately when the man saw his officer, he
told this wild tale, and to add weight to his testimony, (being a Romanist,)
he made a cross on the sand which he kissed, as making oath to the truth of
his statement. When I saw him, he told the story in so clear and positive a
manner, making oath to its truth, that I concluded he must really have seen
the animal he described, or that it must have been the effects of a disturbed
imagination."[94]
The green hair in this description is the most suspicious element; it is so
exactly that attributed to the poetical mermaids, and so entirely without
precedent in the whole range of known zoology,—that, if taken literally, I
fear it would condemn the narrative. But among the Antarctic seals, both
golden yellow fur, and black fur, are found; and if hairs of these two colours
were about equally intermingled, the result would be an olive-green, as we
see in some of the monkeys; and then some allowance must doubtless be
made for imagination, in one little accustomed to precise observation, and
"somewhat frightened" withal. I should say, with little hesitation, that this
creature was of the seal family, only that the seaman's daily habits brought
him into the most familiar contact with various kinds of seals; and, unless
the animal in question had differed notably from such as he was acquainted
with, he would not have been so affected by the phenomenon. In such
stories, the sorts of creatures familiar to the observation of the narrator, and

the amount of surprise produced in his mind by the stranger,—must always
be carefully estimated, as important elements in the formation of our
judgment.
To come nearer home, Pontoppidan records the appearance of a merman,
which was deposed to on oath by the observers: "About a mile from the
coast of Denmark, near Landscrona, three sailors, observing something like
a dead body floating in the water, rowed towards it. When they came within
seven or eight fathoms, it still appeared as at first, for it had not stirred; but
at that instant it sunk, and came up almost immediately in the same place.
Upon this, out of fear, they lay still, and then let the boat float, that they
might the better examine the monster, which, by the help of the current,
came nearer and nearer to them. He turned his face and stared at them,
which gave them a good opportunity of examining him narrowly. He stood
in the same place for seven or eight minutes, and was seen above the water
breast high. At last they grew apprehensive of some danger, and began to
retire; upon which the monster blew up his cheeks, and made a kind of
lowing noise, and then dived from their view. In regard to his form, they
declare in their affidavits, which were regularly taken and recorded, that he
appeared like an old man, strong-limbed, with broad shoulders, but his arms
they could not see. His head was small in proportion to his body, and had
short curled black hair, which did not reach below his ears; his eyes lay
deep in his head, and he had a meagre face, with a black beard; about the
body downwards this merman was quite pointed like a fish."[95]
But the most remarkable story that I know of in recent times, is that
adduced by Dr Robert Hamilton, in his able History of the Whales and
Seals, in the Naturalist's Library, he himself vouching for its general truth,
from personal knowledge of some of the parties: "It was reported that a
fishing-boat, off the island of Yell, one of the Shetland group, had captured
a mermaid by its getting entangled in the lines!! The statement is, that the
animal was about three feet long, the upper part of the body resembling the
human, with protuberant mammæ like a woman; the face, the forehead, and
neck, were short and resembling those of a monkey; the arms, which were
small, were kept folded across the breast; the fingers were distinct, not
webbed; a few stiff long bristles were on the top of the head, extending
down to the shoulders, and these it could erect and depress at pleasure,
something like a crest. The inferior part of the body was like a fish. The

skin was smooth, and of a grey colour. It offered no resistance, nor
attempted to bite, but uttered a low plaintive sound. The crew, six in
number, took it within their boat, but superstition getting the better of
curiosity, they carefully disentangled it from the lines, and a hook which
had accidentally fastened in its body, and returned it to its native element. It
instantly dived, descending in a perpendicular direction.
"After writing the above, (we are informed) the narrator had an interview
with the skipper of the boat and one of the crew, from whom he learned the
following additional particulars. They had the animal for three hours within
the boat; the body was without scales or hair; was of a silvery grey colour
above, and white below, like the human skin; no gills were observed; nor
fins on the back or belly. The tail was like that of the dog-fish: the mammæ
were about as large as those of a woman; the mouth and lips were very
distinct, and resembled the human.
"This communication was from Mr Edmonston, a well-known and
intelligent observer, to the distinguished Professor of Natural History in the
Edinburgh University, and Mr E. adds a few reflections, which are so
pertinent, that we shall avail ourselves of them. That a very peculiar animal
has been taken, no one can doubt. It was seen and handled by six men, on
one occasion, and for some time, not one of whom dreams of a doubt of its
being a mermaid. If it were supposed that their fears magnified its supposed
resemblance to the human form, it must at all events be admitted that there
was some ground for exciting these fears. But no such fears were likely to
be entertained; for the mermaid is not an object of terror to the fisherman; it
is rather a welcome guest, and danger is to be apprehended only from its
experiencing bad treatment. The usual resources of scepticism, that the seals
and other sea-animals, appearing under certain circumstances, operating on
an excited imagination, and so producing ocular illusion, cannot avail here.
It is quite impossible that, under the circumstances, six Shetland fishermen
could commit such a mistake."[96]
There is, no doubt, much in this account which signally distinguishes it
from all other statements with which it can be compared, except that of
Hudson's sailors, with which it well coincides. The protuberant mammæ,
resembling those of a woman; the human, or at least simian face, forehead,
and neck, and especially the mouth and lips; the distinct unwebbed fingers;

the erectile crest of bristles; the nature of the surface,—without scales or
hair; the colour; and the tail,—like that of a fish;—are all very remarkable
points; and unless we conclude the entire story to be a lie, a mere barefaced
hoax,—must necessarily indicate a creature of which scientific zoology
knows absolutely nothing.
It is observable that, here again, the tail is said to have been piscine and
heterocercal, "like that of the dog-fish:" while the naked skin, and the
colour—silvery grey above and white below,—will well agree with the
characteristics common to the smaller Squalidæ.
It is a pity that an account like this, avouched by six witnesses, was not
thoroughly sifted. I have no doubt that, if a person tolerably conversant with
zoology, and accustomed to the habit of cross-examination, had examined
these six eye-witnesses separately, making full notes of what each could
remember to have observed, and had then checked each deposition by all
the others, a mass of testimony would have been accumulated that would in
an instant have convinced any candid inquirer what measure of truth lay in
the story. Points in which the whole six, or even three or four, agreed, might
unhesitatingly have been set down as correct: suggestive questions, (not,
however, suggesting the sort of answer,) as, "Had the creature so and so, or
so and so?" could not have received the same reply from all the deponents,
without being worthy of credence: even the points on which they would
have differed might themselves have been instructive to an intelligent
inquirer. I do not know that any such precautionary measures were resorted
to in this case, and the tale must remain as we get it; but I make these
observations for the purpose of suggesting, in the event of any similar
occurrence, the advantage of separate examination in getting at the truth.
On a review of the whole evidence, I do not judge that this single story is a
sufficient foundation for believing in the existence of mermaids; but, taken
into combination with other statements, it induces a strong suspicion that
the northern seas may hold forms of life as yet uncatalogued by science.

IV.

THE SELF-IMMURED.
Turning from reputed beings of which the very existence is the subject of
doubt, let us consider one or two well-known and homely creatures, about
which a certain degree of romantic interest hovers, because conditions of
life are attributed to them by popular faith, which the general verdict of
science denies.
One of the most remarkable examples in this category of dubitanda, is
the oft-repeated case of Toads and similar animals found inclosed within the
solid wood of living trees, or even within blocks of stone, with no
discernible communication with the external air, or at least no aperture by
which they could have entered their prison, yet, in every instance, alive.
That insuperable difficulties stand a priori in the way of our believing in
such conditions, no one familiar with animal physiology can deny; for, as
Mr Bell observes, to believe that a Toad inclosed within a mass of clay, or
other similar substance, shall exist wholly without air or food, for hundreds
of years, and at length be liberated alive and capable of crawling, on the
breaking up of the matrix,—now become a solid rock,—is certainly a
demand upon our credulity which few will be ready to answer.
Yet, after all, it is a question that must not be decided a priori: it must
rest upon evidence. It may be that here, too, fact is stranger than fiction; and
we must not shut our eyes and ears to concurrent credible testimony, if it
happen to bear witness to facts which we cannot account for. Truth will
certainly be upon us, even though, ostrich-like, we thrust our head into a
bush, and maintain that we cannot see it.
The learned historian of British Reptiles speaks with his characteristic
candour upon the point. He admits that the many concurrent assertions of
credible persons, who declare themselves to have been witnesses of the
emancipation of imprisoned Toads, forbid us hastily to refuse our assent, or
at least to deny the possibility of such a circumstance; while he demands
better and more cautious evidence to authorise our implicit faith in these
asserted facts.[97]

The ordinary mode of accounting for the phenomena, supposing them to
be narrated in good faith, is that the animal "fell into the hollow where the
men were at work, and was taken up by them in ignorance of the mode in
which it had come there," or that "it may have hidden in the hollow of a tree
during the autumn and winter, and on the return of spring found itself so far
inclosed within its hiding-place as to be unable to escape." This latter
suggestion would be more worthy of attention were the winter season the
period in which, in our climate, periodical additions are made to the living
wood, so as to narrow the entrance, or in which augmentations of bulk
occurred to Toads, so as to prevent them from getting out where they got in;
—but unfortunately the reverse of both suppositions is true. As to the
former suggestion, while it may possibly serve to dismiss a few of the
published statements, there are others which it would be absurd to explain
thereby.
True to its principles of never shutting the door to the investigation of
any natural history subject, the Zoologist has, during the eighteen years of
its existence, been a medium for collecting and preserving facts bearing on
this question. The pages of this periodical form an invaluable storehouse to
the philosophic naturalist, who wishes to pursue his science undeterred by
the ridicule of sciolism or the frown of authority. Let us search its treasures,
then, expecting to find stories of diverse grades of credibility, of which the
editor wisely leaves his readers to judge for themselves.
In May 1844, the Rev. J. Pemberton Bartlett of Kingston, in Kent, an
experienced naturalist, mentions the following fact as having just come
under his own notice:—"Only a few weeks since, in cutting down a fir-tree
here, the workman discovered, completely imbedded in the centre, a Toad,
which had doubtless been there some years, as the tree had completely
grown over it; it must have been kept alive by absorbing the moisture of the
tree. It was not in a completely torpid state, and after being exposed to the
air a few hours, it crawled in true toad-like style. The age of the tree in
which it was found was, as far as I could judge from the number of circles,
about twenty-five years."[98]
In reply to an inquiry whether he himself saw the Toad, and counted the
timber-rings, Mr Bartlett favours me with the following note:—

"Exbury Parsonage, near Southampton,
February 22, 1861.
"Dear Sir,— ... I quite believe that Toads do live in stone, but I have
found it very difficult to get the facts from eye-witnesses. The imbedded
Toad in the fir-tree, mentioned by me in the Zoologist, I saw, and, as stated
there, I counted the rings of the tree. I believe it to have been the common
Toad; but it looked rather more flabby, and not quite so round in its
proportions, as toads generally do; in fact, instead of being 'puffed up' as
they commonly are, it was considerably down in the mouth, from its close
imprisonment! The cavity in which it was fixed appeared to have been
originally a crack or fissure in the side of the tree; whether caused by decay,
or made by a nuthatch or some other bird, I cannot say. The wound
appeared to have healed, as the bark had apparently closed over it. The
question now arises, Was the Toad young when it got into the hollow? and
did it grow after it became a prisoner? Or had it come to years of discretion,
when it took that unfortunate step, or rather crawl, into the cavity where it
was so long to be imprisoned? And why did it remain there so quietly, while
the bark gradually grew over its prison-house? The answer that I should
give to the first of these questions would be, that probably it had arrived at a
state of toadhood when it took refuge in the tree, and did not grow
afterwards. My theory why it remained ensconced there so quietly is this,
that probably it might have been accustomed for some time to take refuge
by day in this hole, from whence it would set out on its nocturnal rambles,
and probably 'not go home till morning;' that on some occasion, 'when
daylight did appear,' it returned to its accustomed haunt, and there squatted,
winking and puffing, after its night's exploits, as toads are wont to do; that,
on that luckless day, some felled tree or trees were laid up against the fir-
tree that contained its abode, and that the tree or trees remained there till the
bark closed so as to prevent its escape. What makes this idea the more
probable is that the place where the fir-tree grew had, for probably years,
been used as a place to store felled timber, as it was used for that purpose at
the time I saw the Toad.
"After the discovery of this Toad in the fir-tree, I tried several
experiments on Toads, by burying them in closely-sealed flower-pots, at a
depth of nearly three feet. I much regret that I cannot find my notes on the
subject; but I remember perfectly the main facts of one. The Toad was

placed in a flower-pot, with another turned over it, and well cemented
together—the two holes in both pots being also closely cemented up. It was
buried between two and three feet deep in the garden. At the end of three
months I took it up, and weighed the Toad, and found it had lost a very little
in weight. This I did again at the end of three months more; it was then
quite lively, and had lost again but little in weight. I replaced it as before,
and on taking it up the third time, I found the pots had, probably the cement
not having been dry when buried, slipped on one side, and the moisture had
got in, and consequently the poor Toad was dead, as well as buried! Now,
surely if a Toad could live six months hermetically sealed in a flower-pot,
without air or food—why not a much longer time?...—Believe me, yours
faithfully,
"J. Pemberton Bartlett."
The Rev. W. J. Bree of Allesley, also an excellent zoologist, alluding to
some queries by Mr E. Newman, communicated the following facts:—"I
quite agree with you that the statements about Toads found in solid stone
are mostly very unsatisfactory. One instance of the kind I have seen, as
briefly stated, Mag. Nat. Hist., ix. 316. The Toad appeared to me neither
more nor less than our common species, although I certainly did not
examine it scientifically. The stone was the new red sandstone of geologists;
and was brought up, as I was told, some yards from below the surface. I
understood the Toad, and the two portions of stone in which it was found
inclosed, were deposited in some medical museum at Birmingham. The
animal would not have been discovered but for an accident: the workmen
were carting the stone away, and the block containing the Toad happened to
be placed on the top of a great load, and accidentally fell from the cart to
the ground, and, breaking by the fall, brought to light the incarcerated
reptile, which, I conclude, was somewhat injured by the fall, as there was a
fresh wound on one side of the head, and it appeared to be blind of one eye.
The Toad died, I was informed, the second day after it was discovered,
partly, in all probability, in consequence of the injury. When I say the block
of stone was solid, this statement requires some qualification: the two parts
of the stone fitted together exactly, and quite close, except where the cavity
was in which the Toad lay; but from this cavity there was evidently a flaw
on one side towards the extremity, and a discolouring of the substance of
the sandstone, so that although the two portions fitted together, they might

not have been (on one side of the cavity) very firmly united. This
circumstance, perhaps, may detract from the value of the example;
nevertheless, it is unaccountable how the animal could have got into the
position in which it was found: it is not conceivable, I think, that it should
have been there ever since the first formation of the rock, and there
certainly appeared to be no means by which it could have entered the rock
in its present state, even admitting (what we know to be the fact) that Toads
have the power of getting in and out of a very small orifice."
The author of the next account, signed "E. Peacock," is unknown to me;
and it does not appear whether he speaks from personal observation or not.
He says, "A few days ago, two labourers, employed at a stone quarry at
Frodingham, near Brigg, Lincolnshire, found, at a depth of five feet below
the surface of the ground, and between two blocks of stone (lias), a living
Toad: the interstice between the stones was filled with yellow clay, and
there did not appear the least possible aperture by which anything could
have passed."[99]
Even from remote India we have reports of the same phenomenon. A
correspondent from Serampore sends the Zoologist the following:—"Last
Wednesday, Feb. 7, 1849, on severing the branch of a tree, apparently of the
tamarind species, I found a Toad in the centre of the wood, entirely
excluded from light and air. The appearance of the animal was rather
extraordinary. The body seemed full of air, and the skin soft and puffy, and
of a light yellowish colour, with the exception of the extremities of the feet,
which were hard and dark. The creature when exposed to the air seemed
rather uncomfortable, and drew in its head just like a turtle when alarmed. It
was thrown into a tank, when the water around, to the space of about a foot
on either side, became perfectly white, like milk. It jumped out of the water
immediately, apparently not liking the coldness. I did not have opportunity
of observing it further, which I regret, as the animal got concealed in the
long grass on the side of the tank, and was thus lost. The general
supposition as to the mode by which animals get inclosed within trees, is
their taking shelter in the cavity of a tree when very young, and the growth
of the tree filling up the cavity, and thus imprisoning the animal. But this
supposition, if true in the present case, makes the circumstance now related
the more extraordinary. The tree is an old one, upwards of fifty feet high,
and having a trunk more than three feet in diameter; and the height from the

ground at which the Toad was found was about twelve feet. We must
suppose the Toad to have got into the tree when within a foot from the
ground: how many years old then must the animal be?"
The mention of the whitening of the water in which the Toad was
immersed is to my mind a strong corroboration of the veracity of the
preceding narrative. It is not a circumstance at all likely to occur to a mere
inventor, as it does not in the least bear on the question of incarceration, and
there is no attempt to explain it. I have occasionally seen fluids rendered
partially opaque by the outflow of a milky secretion from animals immersed
in them, as in the case of the curious Peripatus of Jamaica, which, when put
alive into spirits, discharges a considerable quantity of white fluid, which
diffuses in the alcohol. The Toad was probably distinct from our common
English species, but we know that the latter secretes a yellow acrid fluid in
some abundance in the follicles of its skin, and this might be poured out
under the excitement of alarm or anger.
In the summer of 1851, the Académie des Sciences was interested
(according to the public papers) with this question. In digging a well at
Blois, in June of that year, "some workmen drew up from about a yard
beneath the surface a large flint, weighing about fourteen pounds, and on
striking it a blow with a pickaxe, it split in two, and discovered, snugly
ensconced in the very centre, a large Toad. The Toad seemed for a moment
greatly astonished, but jumped out, and rather rapidly crawled away. He
was seized and replaced in the hole, when he settled himself down very
quietly. The stone and Toad, just as they were, were sent to the Society of
Sciences at Blois, and became immediately the subject of curious attention.
First of all, the flint, fitted together, with the Toad in the hole, was placed in
a cellar, and imbedded in moss. There it was left for some time. It is not
known if the Toad ate, but it is certain that he made no discharge of any
kind. It was found that if the top of the stone were cautiously removed in a
dark place he did not stir, but that if the removal were effected in the light,
he immediately got out and ran away. If he were placed on the edge of the
flint, he would crawl into his hole, and fix himself comfortably in. He
gathered his legs beneath his body; and it was observed that he took
especial care of one of his feet, which had been slightly hurt in one of his
removals. The hole is not one bit larger than the body, except a little where
the back is. There is a sort of ledge on which his mouth reposes, and the

bones of the jaws are slightly indented, as if from long resting on a hard
substance. Not the slightest appearance of any communication whatsoever
between the centre and the outside of the stone can be discovered, so that
there is no reason to suppose that he could have drawn any nourishment
from the outside. The committee, consisting of three eminent naturalists,
one of whom has made Toads his peculiar study for years, made no secret
of their belief that the Toad had been in that stone for hundreds, perhaps
thousands of years; but how he could have lived without air, or food, or
water, or movement, they made no attempt to explain. They accordingly
contented themselves with proposing that the present should be considered
another authentic case, to be added to the few hundreds already existing, of
Toads being found alive imbedded in stone, leaving it to some future savant
to explain what now appears the wonderful miracle by which Nature keeps
them alive so long in such places. But the distinguished M. Majendie
suggested that it was just possible that an attempt was being made to hoax
the Academy, by making it believe that the Toad had been found in the hole,
whereas it might only have been put in by the mischievous workmen after
the stone was broken. Terrified at the idea of becoming the laughing-stock
of the public, the Academy declined to take any formal resolution about the
Toad, but thanked the committee for its very interesting communication;
and so the subject dropped."
This statement does not, to be sure, bear about it that character of
precision which should mark the report of a scientific body, nor is it verified
by authority; but the terror ascribed to L'Académie at the idea of being
hoaxed, and the instant quashing of the inquiry, are so true to nature, so
accurately characteristic of our august associations of savans, that I cannot
help believing the story.
Here is another, which has the air of a bonâ fide account, though I have
no knowledge of the writer, nor does he himself seem to pretend to personal
autopsy of the discovery.
On Monday last, September 20, while some workmen were engaged in
getting iron ore at a place called Paswick, in the north of this county,
[Derby,] they came upon a solid lump of ore, which, being heavier than two
men could lift, they set to work to break with their picks, when, to their
surprise, in a cavity near the centre of the stone, they found a Toad alive.

The cavity was much larger than the Toad, being nearly six inches in
diameter, and was lined with crystals of what I suppose to be carbonate of
lime. The stone was about four yards from the surface of the ground; it is
now in the possession of Mr Haywood of Derby, by whose men it was
found; but unfortunately the Toad was not preserved after its death, which
took place almost immediately on its exposure to the atmosphere.[100]
Audi alteram partem. Mr Plant of the Salford Museum tells us, both in
sorrow and in anger, a story, doubtless more amusing to us who read it than
to him, of his adventures among the toad-finders. When geologising in the
neighbourhood of Chesterfield, a quarryman, whom he had invited to share
a bottle of porter, informed him in confidence that Toads inclosed in stone
were plentiful thereabout. "He said he had often found them, and that he
knew a stone before it was broken that would contain a Toad; giving me
long and circumstantial accounts of the whole phenomenon: and, to
convince me of the truth of his statement, he took me to the quarry (a
carboniferous sandstone) that I might see the stones out of which he said the
Toads had been released. I examined the stones and the whole quarry very
attentively, and listened to the emphatic testimony of other miners present.
After complying in an agreeable manner to their remark that the day was
warm, and the water of the quarry not much in favour, I made a simple
proposal of this nature:—I promised to pay to any one of them the sum of
twenty shillings for the next stone in which they found a Frog or Toad when
the stone was broken in two. They should catch the Frog if he bolted out of
the hole, replace him, and fit the stones together again, afterwards
despatching it to me in that condition. I further promised to pay the sum of
forty shillings to any one of them who should procure me a stone,
unbroken, in which he considered a Toad or Frog was imprisoned, if, on
breaking it myself, such turned out to be the case. These conditions were to
remain in force for twelve months; and as the means of conveyance to my
address, which I gave them, would occasion little or no trouble, the offer
was readily accepted by the miners; who also, to express their confidence in
soon being able to supply the order, proposed that it would be all safe if I
advanced a little cash on account; which however I resolutely declined
doing. And now what will the credulous believers in these 'Toads in stone'
who read the Zoologist say, when they learn that I visited the quarry twice
during the twelve months, in order to fetch the Toads which never came by

rail? I always found the men there blasting tons of new rock, splitting
stones for every building purpose, yet dry-throated and sullen; for, alas!
most unaccountably during that long twelve months they found plenty of
holes—not Toad holes—in the sandstone, but the reptiles had been banished
as effectually as ever they were from the Emerald Isle."[101]

TOAD IN A HOLE.
This was disheartening, certainly: and we do not wonder that Mr Plant
became "a total disbeliever in these 'simple tales.'" Still, it is just possible,
that immured Toads may exist, though Mikey of the Chesterfield quarry, in
hope of the advance, did brag a little too confidently of the commonness of
the occurrence. That, within one twelvemonth, within the limits of one
quarry, no such Toad turned up, even under the stimulus of the proffered
forty shillings, can scarcely be admitted to be absolutely conclusive proof
of the negative, at least not to us who were not placed in the painful
position of gullees. Mr Arthur Hussey of Rottingdean justly remarks, when
presenting some evidence per contra, that we should not think the
innocence of a culprit was established by his asserting, when sundry
witnesses affirmed they saw him commit the offence he was accused of,—
that he could produce ten times the number who would swear they did not
see him.
"During the summer of 1846," writes Mr Hussey, "in the formation of a
railroad, about half a mile from Pontefract, in Yorkshire, the works were

carried a 'depth of four feet through a rock betwixt lime and sandstone,
about the junction of the two formations:' the rock being so firm as to
require blasting. 'It is entirely free from beds of any kind, or what the
workmen term "backs," running up it,' but therein are 'an infinite number of
small nodules of a harder quality, entirely crystallised in the interior.' After
blasting, the labourers were much surprised to find among the fragments
several of these nodules, each one containing a Frog, as many as seven
having been counted after one 'shot.'
"These were not casually seen when exposed, and then disregarded, but
were examined in their stone prisons through very minute holes, some even
preserved in that state for a long period. For example, the relator states of
one specimen, 'I kept this Toad in a cellar for about five months, during
which time it ate nothing, and was without light, the hole in the stone being
covered with a piece of clay, and the whole kept moist and cool with water.'
Of another he says, 'The Frog lived only about a week, as I kept it in a place
which I think was too warm for it, and also not sufficiently dark and quiet.
When the Frogs were disturbed by the shots, their first desire seemed to be
to get under shelter of some stone, or into their old holes again, shewing
thereby that sight was not wanting, and bodily activity was perfect as far as
could be seen. One thing struck me as singular with regard to the Frog I
kept—its fresh, plump, and healthy appearance, its skin being soft and
transparent. One day, when I was holding my finger over the hole in the
stone, it pushed its head between my finger and the sides of the hole, and
drew its whole body after it on to the table, where it appeared more like a
skeleton than any living animal I have ever seen, but by degrees it extended
itself to its former dimensions.'
"Of the above curious occurrence my only knowledge is derived from the
account written to a distant friend, of which the substance has now been
extracted. The writer is an utter stranger, but he was officially employed in
the operations which resulted in the discoveries; and my information leads
me to believe his report deserving of confidence, for which reason I have
not hesitated to offer this abstract for publication in the Zoologist."[102]
The Rev. Alfred Charles Smith, an excellent and genial naturalist, favours
us with another case, introducing it incidentally in illustration of the general
habit he is denouncing of wantonly destroying animal life:—"As an

instance of this thoughtless cruelty, I must give an account that has just
come to my notice. Some labourers were pulling down an old wall, in the
thickness of which they found one of those phenomena—so frequently
heard of and so unsatisfactorily accounted for—a Toad completely
imbedded in stone and mortar. 'There was no doubt,' said the labourer who
described it, 'that he had been there for a great number of years, for there
was no hole or chink by which he could have entered or left the place of his
long sojourn.' 'Well,' said the listener to his account, 'but are you sure that
the Toad was alive when you found it?' 'No doubt of that, sir,' said the man,
'for he crawled out of his round hole and was moving away, when I knocked
him on the head with my pickaxe.'
"So here was this poor harmless creature, whose long incarceration in his
gloomy dungeon might have excited compassion in his favour, suddenly
released from his prison, only to be slain by his liberator!"[103]
The next is from the Caledonian Mercury. Newspaper zoology is
proverbially untrustworthy, and the editor of the Zoologist, who reprints the
paragraph, kindly adds a caveat for the benefit of his readers,—"Nimium ne
crede Mercurio!" But, nevertheless, let us look at it: alone it would stand for
little, but, remember, in such questions as this the evidence is cumulative.
"There is at present to be seen at Messrs Sanderson and Sons, George
Street, Edinburgh, an extraordinary specimen of natural history—a Frog
which had been discovered alive in freestone rock. A few months ago, while
some colliers in the employ of Mr James Nasmyth (lessee of Dundonald
Colliery, in Fife, the property of R. B. Wardlaw Ramsay, Esq. of Whitehill),
were engaged in taking out the pavement of the seam coal, which was
freestone, they discovered a cavity in which a Frog was lying. On touching
it the Frog jumped about for some time, and a bucket of water being
procured, it was put into it, and taken to the surface. On reaching it, the
animal was found to be dead. It was at the depth of forty-five fathoms, or
ninety yards from the surface, in a perpendicular line of strata, consisting of
alternate layers of coal and freestone, with ironstone, and about four
hundred yards from the outcrop surface. The Frog seems to have much of
the same character as the present species. It is very attenuated, which
cannot be wondered at, considering its domicile for so many ages, its
original existence being of course considered contemporaneous with the
formation of the freestone rock in which it was contained."[104]

Now, again, we get the statement of a careful working naturalist, Mr
Thomas Clark of Halesleigh. He cannot, indeed, give personal authority for
what he records; but the confidence of such a man in his informant is an
element not without its value. "March 25, 1859. In the early part of this
month, two live Toads were dug out from the bottom of a bed of stiff brick
clay, in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater, at the depth of fourteen feet
from the surface of the ground; a third was killed by the spade before they
were observed. This bed of clay rests on peat, and the Toads were found at
the junction of the two beds, in a small domed cavity, about the size of the
crown of a man's hat. On being exposed to the air, they uttered a squeaking
cry, resembling that of a rat, but in about a minute they seemed reconciled
to their new destiny, and moved freely about. They were kept in a jar for a
few days, and then placed at liberty in a garden, where I suppose they are
still living. The living ones were about two inches in length, but narrow in
proportion, and of a rather lighter colour than Toads usually are; the one
which was killed was very much larger. The clay under which they were
buried had been gradually dug out from the surface since about the
beginning of the year, but the last five feet of depth was not dug till the day
on which they were discovered. After about two feet of the surface, the clay
is very close and adhesive, and far too moist to admit of cracks being
formed in it, even in the driest summers."[105]
To this communication inserted in the Zoologist, Mr Newman added a
note asking the name of any scientific man who was present at the
exhumation. Mr Clark replies:—"I am unable to give such a name, further
than as the intelligent foreman of the brickyard, Thomas Duddridge, (who
witnessed the exhumation by one of the labourers of the yard,) may be
entitled to the appellation; but no one, however high his scientific
attainments, could be more careful than he was to give me correct
information, or more exact in his statements; and if, after minute inquiry, I
had not been fully satisfied of the correctness of his account, I should not
have sought to occupy the pages of the Zoologist with its recital. On
shewing him the notice in the Zoologist, he said it was impossible for
anything to be more correct; and he added, that the little cavity which the
Toads occupied was quite smooth in every part, apparently by their long-
continued movements,—as smooth, to use his own illustration, as the inside
of a China bowl."[106]

Numerous experiments have been made with a view to test the possibility
of these reputed facts. If Toads do so commonly become voluntarily or
accidentally immured, and remain without light, food, or even air, for many
years, and yet survive, let us put some Toads into similar circumstances,
keep them shut up, and, after the lapse of a sufficient interval, examine
them, and see whether they are alive or dead. "Experimentum faciemus in
corpore vili," as the village doctor said to his assistant over the sick
traveller.
Probatum est! Besides the case mentioned in Mr Bartlett's letter (ante, p.
149), the late Dr Buckland, in November 1825, instituted a series of careful
experiments, which are thus narrated by himself:—"In one large block of
coarse oolitic limestone, twelve circular cells were prepared, each about one
foot deep and five inches in diameter, and having a groove or shoulder at its
upper margin fitted to receive a circular plate of glass, and a circular slate to
protect the glass: the margin of this double cover was closed round and
rendered impenetrable to air and water by a luting of soft clay. Twelve
smaller cells, each six inches deep and five inches in diameter, were made
in another block of compact siliceous sandstone, viz., the Pennant Grit of
the coal formation near Bristol; these cells also were covered with similar
plates of glass and slate, cemented at the edge by clay. The object of the
glass covers was to allow the animals to be inspected, without disturbing
the clay so as to admit external air or insects into the cell. The limestone is
so porous that it is easily permeable by water, and probably also by air; the
sandstone is very compact.
"On the 26th of November 1825, one live Toad was placed in each of the
above-mentioned twenty-four cells, and the double cover of glass and slate
placed over each of them, and cemented down by the luting of clay. The
weight of each Toad in grains was ascertained and noted by Dr Daubeny
and Mr Dillwyn at the time of their being placed in the cells; that of the
smallest was 115 grains, and of the largest 1185 grains. The large and small
animals were distributed in equal proportion between the limestone and
sandstone cells.
"These blocks of stone were buried together in my garden beneath three
feet of earth, and remained unopened until the 10th of December 1826, on
which day they were examined. Every Toad in the smaller cells of the

compact sandstone was dead, and the bodies of most of them so much
decayed that they must have been dead some months. The greater number
of those in the larger cells of porous limestone were alive. No. 1, whose
weight when immured was 924 grains, now weighed only 698 grains. No.
5, whose weight when immured was 1185 grains, now weighed 1265
grains. The glass cover over this cell was slightly cracked, so that minute
insects might have entered: none, however, were discovered in this cell; but
in another cell whose glass was broken, and the animal within it dead, there
was a large assemblage of minute insects; and a similar assemblage also on
the outside of the glass of a third cell. In cell No. 9, a Toad which when put
in weighed 988 grains, had increased to 1116 grains, and the glass cover
over it was entire; but as the luting of the cell within which this Toad had
increased in weight was not particularly examined, it is probable there was
some aperture in it by which small insects found admission. No. 11 had
decreased from 936 grains to 652 grains.
"When they were first examined in December 1826, not only were all the
small Toads dead, but the larger ones appeared much emaciated, with the
two exceptions above mentioned; we have already stated that these
probably owed their increased weight to the insects which had found access
to the cells, and become their food.
"The death of every individual of every size in the smaller cells of
compact sandstone, appears to have resulted from a deficiency in the supply
of air, in consequence of the smallness of the cells, and the impermeable
nature of the stone; the larger volume of air originally inclosed in the cells
of the limestone, and the porous nature of the stone itself, (permeable as it
is slowly by water, and probably by air,) seem to have favoured the duration
of life to the animals inclosed in them without food.
"It should be noticed that there is a defect in these experiments, arising
from the treatment of the twenty-four Toads before they were inclosed in
the blocks of stone. They were shut up and buried on the 26th of November,
but the greater number of them had been caught more than two months
before that time, and had been imprisoned all together in a cucumber frame
placed on common garden earth, where the supply of food to so many
individuals was probably scanty, and their confinement unnatural, so that
they were in an unhealthy and somewhat meagre state at the time of their

imprisonment. We can therefore scarcely argue with certainty from the
death of all these individuals within two years, as to the duration of life
which might have been maintained had they retired spontaneously, and
fallen into the torpor of their natural hibernation in good bodily condition.
"The results of our experiments amount to this: all the Toads, both large
and small, inclosed in sandstone, and the small Toads in the limestone also,
were dead at the end of thirteen months. Before the expiration of the second
year all the large ones also were dead; these were examined several times
during the second year through the glass covers of the cells, but without
removing them to admit air; they appeared always awake, with their eyes
open, and never in a state of torpor, their meagreness increasing at each
interval in which they were examined, until at length they were found dead;
those two also which had gained an accession of weight at the end of the
first year, and were then carefully closed up again, were emaciated and dead
before the expiration of the second year.
"At the same time that these Toads were inclosed in stone, four other
Toads of middling size were inclosed in three holes, cut for this purpose on
the north side of the trunk of an apple-tree; two being placed in the largest
cell, and each of the others in a single cell. The cells were nearly circular,
about five inches deep and three inches in diameter; they were carefully
closed up with a plug of wood, so as to exclude access of insects, and
apparently were air-tight; when examined at the end of a year, every one of
the Toads was dead, and their bodies were decayed.
"From the fatal result of the experiments made in the small cells cut in
the apple-tree and the block of compact sandstone, it seems to follow that
Toads cannot live a year excluded totally from atmospheric air; and, from
the experiments in the larger cells within the block of oolitic limestone, it
seems also probable that they cannot survive two years entirely excluded
from food; we may therefore conclude that there is a want of sufficiently
minute and accurate observation in those so frequently recorded cases,
where Toads are said to be found alive within blocks of stone and wood, in
cavities that had no communication whatever with the external air. The fact
of my two Toads having increased in weight at the end of the year,
notwithstanding the care that was taken to inclose them perfectly by a luting
of clay, shews how very small an aperture will admit of insects sufficient to

maintain life. In the cell No. 5, where the glass was slightly cracked, the
communication though small was obvious, but in the cell No. 9, where the
glass cover remained entire, and where it appears certain, from the
increased weight of the inclosed animal, that insects must have found
admission, we have an example of these minute animals finding their way
into a cell to which great care had been taken to prevent any possibility of
access.
"Admitting, then, that Toads are occasionally found in cavities of wood
and stone with which there is no communication sufficiently large to allow
the ingress and egress of the animal inclosed in them, we may, I think, find
a solution of such phenomena in the habits of these reptiles, and of the
insects which form their food. The first effort of the young Toad, as soon as
it has left its tadpole state and emerged from the water, is to seek shelter in
holes and crevices of rocks and trees. An individual which, when young,
may have thus entered a cavity by some very narrow aperture, would find
abundance of food by catching insects, which, like itself, seek shelter within
such cavities; and may soon have increased so much in bulk as to render it
impossible to get out again through the narrow aperture at which it entered.
A small hole of this kind is very likely to be overlooked by common
workmen, who are the only people whose operations on stone and wood
disclose cavities in the interior of such substances.
"In the case of Toads, Snakes, and Lizards, that occasionally issue from
stones that are broken in a quarry, or in sinking wells, and sometimes even
from strata of coal at the bottom of a coal-mine, the evidence is never
perfect to shew that the reptiles were entirely inclosed in solid rock. No
examination is ever made until the reptile is first discovered by the breaking
of the mass in which it was contained, and then it is too late to ascertain,
without carefully replacing every fragment, (and in no case that I have seen
reported has this ever been done,) whether or not there was any hole or
crevice by which the animal may have entered the cavity from which it was
extracted. Without previous examination it is almost impossible to prove
that there was no such communication. In the case of rocks near the surface
of the earth, and in stone quarries, reptiles find ready admission to holes and
fissures. We have a notorious example of this kind in the Lizard found in a
chalk-pit, and brought alive to the late Dr Clark. In the case also of wells
and coal-pits, a reptile that had fallen down the well or shaft, and survived

its fall, would seek its natural retreat in the first hole or crevice it could find,
and the miner dislodging it from this cavity, to which his previous attention
had not been called, might in ignorance conclude that the animal was coeval
with the stone from which he had extracted it.
"It remains only to consider the case (of which I know not any
authenticated example) of Toads that have been said to be found in cavities
within blocks of limestone, to which, on careful examination, no access
whatever could be discovered, and where the animal was absolutely and
entirely closed up with stone. Should any such case ever have existed, it is
probable that the communication between this cavity and the external
surface had been closed up by stalactitic incrustation, after the animal had
become too large to make its escape. A similar explanation may be offered
of the much more probable case of a live Toad being entirely surrounded
with solid wood. In each case, the animal would have continued to increase
in bulk so long as the smallest aperture remained by which air and insects
could find admission; it would probably become torpid as soon as this
aperture was entirely closed by the accumulation of stalactite or the growth
of wood. But it still remains to be ascertained how long this state of torpor
may continue under total exclusion from food and from external air: and,
although the experiments above recorded shew that life did not extend two
years in the case of any one of the individuals which formed the subjects of
them, yet, for reasons which have been specified, they are not decisive to
shew that a state of torpor, or suspended animation, may not be endured for
a much longer time by Toads that are healthy and well fed up to the moment
when they are finally cut off from food, and from all direct access of
atmospheric air.
"The common experiment of burying a Toad in a flower-pot covered with
a tile, is of no value unless the cover be carefully luted to the pot, and the
hole at the bottom of the pot also closed, so as to exclude all possible access
of air, earthworms, and insects. I have heard of two or three experiments of
this kind, in which these precautions have not been taken, and in which at
the end of a year the Toads have been found alive and well.
"Besides the Toads inclosed in wood and stone, four others were placed
each in a small basin of plaster of Paris, four inches deep and five inches in
diameter, having a cover of the same material carefully luted round with

clay; these were buried at the same time and in the same place with the
blocks of stone, and on being examined at the same time with them in
December 1826, two of the Toads were dead, the other two alive, but much
emaciated. We can only collect from this experiment, that a thin plate of
plaster of Paris is permeable to air in a sufficient degree to maintain the life
of a Toad for thirteen months.
"In the 19th Vol., No. I, p. 167, of Sillimans American Journal of Science
and Arts, David Thomas, Esq. has published some observations on Frogs
and Toads in stone and solid earth, enumerating several authentic and well-
attested cases. These, however, amount to no more than a repetition of the
facts so often stated and admitted to be true, viz., that torpid reptiles occur
in cavities of stone, and at the depth of many feet in soil and earth; but they
state not anything to disprove the possibility of a small aperture, by which
these cavities may have had communication with the external surface, and
insects have been admitted.
"The attention of the discoverer is always directed more to the Toad than
to the minutiæ of the state of the cavity in which it was contained."
The importance of these experiments, the care with which they were
instituted, the deserved reputation of the experimenter, and the philosophic
character of his inferences, will, I trust, apologise for the extent of this
quotation. I do not think, however, that the question is settled by them; and
I will venture to make one or two comments on the facts and on the
observations.
Dr Buckland allows that the circumstances of the incarceration of his
Toads were not natural. This seems to me an element of more importance
than he attributes to it. They were shut up while in active life, after having
been confined for two months on scanty food;—"So that they were in an
unhealthy and somewhat meagre state at the time of their imprisonment."
We do not know what conditions, what natural provisions precede torpidity
and are essential to it; but possibly there are some, which in these cases
were compulsorily precluded by human interference. It is stated that the
animals that survived to the second year were always found awake when
examined,—"never in a state of torpor." But Toads that had hid themselves
would have been torpid during the winter months; and thus we have a

sufficient proof that a natural condition of body had been by some means
prevented. The experiment would be much more fair to the Toad, and much
more conclusive to me, if the animal were inclosed during the depth of its
winter-sleep, care being taken to handle it as little as possible.
As it was, however, most of the Toads inclosed in the limestone survived
upwards of thirteen months. This surely is a very remarkable fact. Take the
case of No. 9. Here was a Toad, nearly full grown, which had been shut up
in a stone cell, covered with a plate of glass carefully luted down all round,
so as to exclude air, buried under three feet of earth, so as to exclude the
smallest gleam of light; yet, at the expiration of thirteen months, the cell
being examined in winter, when normally all Toads ought to be sound
asleep, this Toad was wide awake, not in the least emaciated, but so thriving
in its strange dungeon as actually to have made 128 grains of flesh! to have
actually increased in weight at the rate of 12½ per cent.!
Dr Buckland says, "It is probable there was some aperture in the luting
by which small insects found admission." But this is altogether a petitio
principii: it absolutely begs the question at issue. Are not these insects
entirely gratuitous? The luting was, of course, carefully laid on: there could
be no drying to cause contraction, buried as it was in the earth; the glass
was uninjured; no orifice was detected; and yet, forsooth, it must be
assumed that "small insects found admission." Then, too, consider the
problem. It is not the possibility that a microscopically minute insect or two
may have managed in some inscrutable way to insinuate themselves, but
insects sufficient to support this large Toad for thirteen months, and to make
it at the end of that time 128 grains heavier than it was when first inclosed!
There is the fact, as stated by this careful observer; and I am sure his
hypothesis of intrusive insects will not account for it.
I might make similar remarks on No. 5. The glass was "slightly cracked."
No insects were discovered in it; nor is any perceptible orifice alluded to;
yet this Toad had increased from 1185 grains to 1265 grains. The "slight
crack" in the glass makes this example less remarkable at first sight than the
other; but in reality it is equally inscrutable. Insects, however minute, do not
pass through glass merely cracked; but the requirement is the admission of
insects enough to make an increase of flesh of 80 grains' weight, besides
maintaining the waste of the Toad during thirteen months. Where, in each

case, was the excrement corresponding to such an augmentation? An insect-
diet, as every naturalist knows, leaves a very considerable residuum of
indigestible, incorruptible, chitinous matter: the fœcal remains of an insect-
diet sufficient to keep an adult Toad in condition for thirteen months, and
leave him 128 grains heavier than at first, would form no inconsiderable or
inconspicuous mass. Yet the silence of the observer on so conclusive an
evidence proves that it was utterly wanting.
The Toads which survived longest were the largest specimens. Perhaps it
requires a condition of peculiar vigour to bear the incarceration. Even these
were all dead before two years had elapsed. But then it must be
remembered that they had been disturbed: they had been taken out, handled,
and weighed, and replaced; and during the second year they had been
examined "several times." Air, it is true, was not admitted in these later
examinations; but light was; and it may be that the absence of all external
stimulus (and light is a potent one) is indispensable to the prolongation of
vitality under conditions so abnormal.
No one supposes that incarceration in solid rock is an ordinary event in
the life of even a Toad. However it occur,—granting that it may occur,—it
must surely be a rare accident happening to an individual here and there,
from which millions of Toads are exempt. We may reasonably suppose, too,
that not one in a hundred so accidentally incarcerated would survive, the
accident in the majority of cases proving fatal. If we bear in mind these not
unreasonable presumptions, we shall not hastily decide that all the recorded
discoveries of Toads immured are proved false and impossible, because we
have not succeeded in finding a case of longevity out of four-and-twenty
Toads, many of them little ones, which we took and violently immured at
our pleasure.
To my own mind these interesting experiments are far more corroborative
than contradictory of the popular belief. The amazing fact remains, that an
adult vertebrate air-breathing animal can certainly live, and increase in size,
shut up in a stone cell, debarred from light and air and food, for a period
between one and two years! What have we parallel to this in the whole
range of natural history? C'est le premier pas qui coûte. After the first year
has passed so auspiciously, why may not a second? a third? and so
indefinitely—under circumstances peculiarly favouring? It is by no means

certain that there are not such favouring circumstances, because we cannot
precisely predicate what they are. And if we admit the reported cases to be
—only a few of them—true, we cannot evade the conclusion, that the
longevity of these imprisoned Toads must be immense, incalculable. For a
Toad that emerges when a block of stone is split up, from a matrix that fits
(say somewhat roughly, if you please) its form and size, must have been
there ever since the stone was in a soft state, how long soever that may have
been. Nor does it in the least affect the question, that there may have been
some minute crack in the matrix through which insects, sufficient to support
life, entered. This circumstance, I say, if satisfactorily proved, would not
touch the question of time. And surely it is a marvel of colossal magnitude
that a vertebrate animal should have maintained its life shut up in a mass of
stone ever since the deposition of the matter in a solid form, even though
we be able to eliminate from it the element of total abstinence during the
entire period.
But facts are upon record which prove the possibility of Toads surviving
a protracted incarceration, effected by man, and therefore without their will.
In 1809, on opening a gap in a wall at Bamborough, in Northumberland, for
the passage of carts, a Toad, which had been incarcerated in the centre of a
wall, was found alive, and set at liberty. A mason, named George Wilson,
when building this wall, sixteen years before, had wantonly immured the
animal, in a close cavity formed of lime and stone, just sufficient to contain
it, and which he plastered so closely as seemingly to prevent the admission
of air. When discovered, it seemed at first, as must naturally be supposed, in
a very torpid state; but it soon recovered animation and activity, and, as if
sensible of the blessings of freedom, made its way to a collection of stones,
and disappeared.[107]
Mr F. W. L. Ross of Broadway House, near Topsham, an acute and
experienced naturalist, narrates the following circumstances:—"In the year
1821, I was residing in the country, and in my court-yard was a set of stone
steps for mounting on horseback. These being useless to me, I desired they
might be removed. On taking them down, the lowest step, a coarse red
conglomerate, measuring about three feet in length, ten inches in depth, and
about fourteen in width, was raised by a heavy bar. It had been well bedded
in mortar, in which, while soft, a Toad had been evidently placed, as there
was no appearance of any way by which it could have found ingress or

egress, the mould or cast being as perfect as if taken in plaster. On the
removal of the stone, the Toad remained torpid for a few minutes, when it
seemed to revive, and then crept out. From the owners of the property I
ascertained that the steps had been placed there forty-five years before, and,
to the best of their knowledge, had never been moved.
"The second account is from a clergyman, and originated in my
informing him of the above. He caused a pit to be dug in his garden, six feet
deep; at the bottom was laid a slate, on which a full-sized Toad was placed,
with an inverted flower-pot over it. The hole and edges were well luted with
clay; the pit was then filled in, and on that day twelve months reopened,
when the Toad was found alive, and as well as when inclosed in its living
tomb. If, therefore, it could exist in such a state for twelve months, it is not
impossible that it might do so for a much longer period."[108]
These curious facts derive confirmation and augmented interest from
some apparently parallel conditions observed of other animals, widely
removed in the organic scale from the Reptilia, and that on both sides.
Some glimpses of an indefinitely protracted torpidity in Wasps are given to
us in a communication from an eminent entomologist, Mr G. Wailes of
Newcastle, to the Entomological Society of London, and published in their
"Proceedings" of March 5, 1860. These Rip Van Winkles of the insect race
choose, it seems, the tops of loftiest mountains for going to their long sleep.
Who knows what might be found if a clever insect-hunter were to go stone-
turning on the peaks of Ararat? Read the following, young enterprising
entomologists! and set out.
"It is very evident that we have a great deal yet to learn about the Social
Wasps, and therefore the following remarks as to Vespa vulgaris may be
interesting. Ever since 1829 I have, at intervals, searched the summit of
Skiddaw (3022 feet) for specimens of Leistus montanus, and on every
occasion have taken out from underneath the loose fragments of the slate
perfectly torpid females of this Wasp, with the wings, legs, antennæ, &c.,
precisely in the state in which we find them during winter in the lower
lands. Not unfrequently I have met with dead specimens which seemed to
have perished in the same dormant state, and been there for a year or two at
least. Mr Smith, in his catalogue of the British Vespadæ, under this species,
states that Mr Wollaston found the female abundant under stones on the

extreme summit of Gribon Oernant, near Llangollen, in September 1854,
adding, 'probably hybernating for the winter,' but had evidently forgotten
my writing to him on the subject. My visits to the mountain have extended
from the latter end of June to the latter end of August, and therefore it
necessarily follows that either these specimens of the female Wasp were
those of the previous year, or that this sex appears much earlier in the
season than has hitherto been supposed. But in either case the question
arises, why are they torpid during these the hottest months of the year? It is
quite true that the temperature of the altitude is below that of the plains,
especially during the night, and I have myself been enveloped in falling
sleet and snow more than once, both in June and August, though, as a rule,
the Cumberland mountains seldom have a thick covering of snow, and often
only a few inches once or twice in the winter. Still, the temperature of
ordinary mountains always approaches that of the plains in summer, and,
one would have expected, was in Britain at least sufficiently high to rouse
these Wasps in their winter quarters, when every other insect under the
same stones was active and stirring, and the air so warm and bright that
Larentia salicata and Crambus furcatillus were sporting in the mid-day sun
above them. Such, however, was not the case, and when turned out of their
snug, dry quarters, they allowed themselves to be handled and put into pill-
boxes just as they do in winter. We may therefore ask, when are these
sleepers to awake? for as the ground temperature reaches its maximum
during the months in which I have met with them, and Mr Wollaston has
found them in a similar state in September, when a declining temperature
has set in, we must conclude that for that year all prospect of their
subsequent issue from their retreats through the influence of heat is barred.
Can this be called hybernation, as it is usually understood? Or is there some
other cause of torpidity besides mere cold? Or are we to conclude that when
once put to sleep in these lofty regions, they wake no more unless kindly
removed into a milder clime by a stray entomologist, when, as I have
always noticed, they become as active as those of the warm lowlands?"[109]
Mr Westwood, in the conversation that ensued on this communication,
suggested that these female Wasps had been the founders of colonies in the
preceding spring, and, after performing their maternal duties, had retired to
die in the situations in which they were found by Mr Wailes. But with all
due deference to so great an authority, is not this another example of those

"explanations" which are thrown off without a due consideration of the
exigencies of the case in hand—explanations which really explain nothing?
For though this hypothesis might account for Wasps found under such
conditions in June, it will not do for the September findings. Insects that
had performed the end of their existence and had retired to die in June,
would not live through July and August, and be found alive in September.
Besides, Mr Wailes distinctly affirms, that they always become active when
removed to a milder clime, which is proof positive that they had not retired
to die. Mr Smith's hypothesis, that they are "probably hybernating for the
winter," will not account for their torpidity in June and July. Mr Westwood's
hypothesis, that they are moribund individuals after their spring work, will
not explain their vitality till September, and their revivification when
removed.
But these are insects; and the difference between vertebrate and
invertebrate life is so vast that, after all, the possibilities of the latter may
not have much bearing on those of the former. What, then, shall we say to
an indefinite prolongation of life under like dreary conditions in—Bats?
Bats, which are true vertebrata; and no amphibia grovelling at the bottom of
the vertebrate ladder, where the dim flame of spinal life is just glimmering
in the socket, but Mammalia, and those of nearly the highest type;—Bats,
which Linnæus associated with Homo sapiens himself in his first Order
Primates! Can these live for years shut up from light and food and air?
these great-chested, well-lunged, warm-blooded, aerial quadrupeds?
"Impossible! I would not believe it, if——" Stay! make no rash vows; but
read, weigh, and judge. Remember,—both the following statements are by
clergymen, each of whom is a well-known, careful, experienced naturalist.
"A very curious instance," says Mr Pemberton Bartlett, "of the great
length of time that a Bat can remain in a state of torpidity, came under my
notice about three weeks since; and as I believe instances of the kind are but
rarely observed, perhaps an account of the facts of the case may not prove
uninteresting. Upon opening a vault in Bishopsbourne church, the
bricklayer observed a large Bat clinging to the wall. Thinking it a curious
thing to find a Bat in a vault which he knew had not been opened for twenty
years, in the evening he sent it to me by his boy, who, when he arrived at
the door, was tempted to open the basket to look at the inmate, when most
unfortunately it made its escape, and flitted into a leaden spout which was

placed against the house, from whence I was unable to recover it. Upon
learning the particulars of its discovery, I made a careful search about the
vault, but was unable to trace any hole or crack through which the smallest
Bat could have crept. The bricklayer also informed me that there was no
place where a Bat could have entered, in the part where he opened the vault,
as the entrance was bricked up, and over the steps was a slab which fitted
close. If, indeed, it had been possible for a Bat to have got between this, the
brickwork at the entrance would most effectually have prevented it from
finding an asylum in the vault. The natural inference therefore is, that the
Bat must have got into the vault when it was last opened, and consequently
had been entombed since the year 1823! It was most unfortunate that I was
unable to decide what species it was; but, from the bricklayer's description,
I think it must have been Vespertilio Pipistrellus. When first taken out of the
vault it was in a torpid state, but the effects of the air may be imagined from
its taking the first opportunity to escape in the evening; it flew, however, far
more 'leaden winged' than ever bats are wont to fly, which was by no means
marvellous, when we consider it had been out of practice for twenty-one
years."[110]
The next account, by the Rev. A. C. Smith, of Yatesbury Rectory, Calne,
is one of peculiar interest. The narrator actually witnessed the discovery.
His investigation was pursued with the cautious care, and his statement is
made with the precision, which belong to science; and the details are so full,
and his remarks so appropriate, that though the story is somewhat long, I
cannot bring myself to abridge it. It bears date, Feb. 18, 1854. Of course,
the reader will note how these two narratives yield each other mutual
corroboration.
"While effecting some repairs in the pavement of the aisle of my church,
a short time since, the masons found it necessary to remove some bricks
from the solid wall of an adjacent vault, in order the better to adjust an iron
bar intended to support the superincumbent flagstone. It seems that one or
two bricks being removed, and several large and handsome coffins being
exposed to view, curiosity tempted one of the workmen to reach his hand in
with a lighted candle, in order to see the names and dates on the coffins; the
result of which investigation shewed that the last coffin was placed there in
1748. During this search I entered the church, just in time to witness the
extreme surprise, and the no little consternation, of the man, whose hand

had suddenly come in contact with a Bat, suspended from the roof of the
vault. The Bat was soon brought to light; and, in its half-torpid state, placed
in my hand. We then proceeded to make a very minute examination of this
vault with a lighted candle, in order to discover, if possible, by what means
the Bat could have penetrated to its resting-place: but, although our search
was very careful and long continued, we failed to discover the smallest
crack or crevice in which a pin could be thrust. The roof was an arch of
brick, surmounted by flagstones; the sides were solid masonry, bearing no
appearance internally of decay; and the position of the vault was very near
the centre of the church: so that I was much puzzled to account for the
occurrence of the Bat in a place apparently hermetically sealed for above a
hundred years; and knew not how to combat the opinion of the workmen,
that it must have been entombed there alive since the year 1748.
"I now proceeded to institute inquiries regarding the vault in which the
Bat was found. The marble monument above, recorded the names of an old
Wiltshire family long since extinct in these parts, and the dates of the three
coffins below, corroborating the statement of the brass plate, that the
individual last buried died A.D. 1748. Several old men in the parish
remembered an adjacent vault being opened, when they were boys, nearly
sixty years since: but all positively denied that the vault in question had
ever been opened in their lives: and one, a very old man, formerly clerk,
and whose then residence abutted on the churchyard, was very emphatic on
this point. So that I am constrained to believe that the vault has remained
untouched since it received its last occupant, a hundred and six years ago:
and I am the more convinced of this from the excessive freshness of the last
coffin, the brass plate and nails of which are as bright, and its whole
appearance as new, as if it had been placed there but yesterday, which
would not have been the case had the external air been admitted at any time
since the vault was closed.
"During the time of the examination of the vault, the Bat was held in my
hand, and above an hour must have elapsed since its capture before I was
enabled to take it to the Rectory, and place it under an inverted glass: by
this time the warmth of my hand had considerably revived it, and it
wandered round its prison, snuffing about with its curious nose, and
standing up, and trying to hook itself on to the smooth glass, which baffled
all its attempts. As it obstinately refused to eat small pieces of chopped

meat, with which I tempted it to break its fast, which may have continued a
hundred and six years, and after which I should have imagined it to be
ravenous; and as it lay on its side, apparently in a dying state, humanity
urged me to give it a chance of life, by restoring it to liberty, and I
accordingly carried it to the garden, where I placed it upon the turf, and
watched its movements. At first it clung to the blades of grass, and shivered
a good deal; presently it fluttered along the ground; soon it rose upon the
wing, though in an awkward manner, and although it sank several times, as
if about to fall to the ground, and as if it had not found the use of its wings,
(which might have been a little stiff for want of exercise, if they had been
closed above a hundred years), it passed behind a clump of trees and I saw
it no more; and then I began to regret, when too late, that I had not made
more efforts to keep it alive and watch its recovery. I know little of the
different species of Bats, but, from its diminutive size, and extremely long
ears, I should imagine it to be the Vespertilio auritus of Gilbert White.
"Now, if the hypothesis be deemed absurd that the Bat had been immured
in the vault since 1748, how then are we to account for its presence there?
For although I am aware that a Bat, and especially one of the smallest
species, would creep through a very small crack or crevice, yet the evidence
of my own senses, after a very close examination, convinces me that not
even the smallest crack existed between the bricks of the vault; and I think
the evidence no less conclusive that the vault has remained untouched for a
great number of years. Again, notwithstanding the disbelief of some, it is
very generally acknowledged that Toads do occasionally exist in blocks of
stone and in timber; and the material in which they are inclosed having
gradually formed around them, they must necessarily have been entombed,
in some well-authenticated cases, for a very long period of time. Why then,
I ask, should we deny that to be possible with the Bat, which we so readily
concede to be an occurrence by no means unusual with the Toad? I own,
that, taking all these things into account, and finding no other possible
solution for the mystery, I came to the conclusion, after mature deliberation,
that the Bat had been entombed in the vault since it last was opened in the
year 1748. That impression has increased upon longer reflection, and has
been further strengthened almost into certainty, from the perusal of a very
interesting and very similar case, recorded by the Rev. J. P. Bartlett in an
early volume of the Zoologist (Zool., 613.)[111] That gentleman states, that

on opening a vault which had been closed for twenty-one years, a Bat was
discovered in a torpid state; that he himself made a very careful search
about the vault, and was unable to discover any crack through which the
smallest Bat could have crept; that the vault was surrounded with
brickwork; the entrance was bricked up, and over the steps was placed a
close-fitting slab; and that he could come to no other conclusion than that
the Bat had been inclosed there for twenty-one years. I confess that I quite
agree in opinion with Mr Bartlett, and believe that the Bat discovered in the
vault in Bishopsbourne church crept in on the occasion of its last opening:
and so in the like manner with the one found in my own church; for
although there is unquestionably a vast difference between twenty-one and
a hundred and six years, yet, if we can establish the fact of a Bat remaining
torpid for the shorter period, I find no difficulty in understanding that a
sleep which would endure so long as that did, might be protracted to a far
longer period. It is most probable that many will differ from me in opinion,
and perhaps some will ridicule the idea: if they can discover any other
probable or even possible means of accounting for the presence of the Bat
in the vault, exclusive of a crack or chink in it, or of its having been opened
within the memory of living man, both of which views I firmly oppose, I
shall feel greatly obliged by their stating their opinions in the Zoologist:
meanwhile I hold to my belief, that the Bat had been there for not less than
one hundred and six years!"[112]

V.

HYBERNATION OF SWALLOWS.
What becomes of our swallows in the winter? They migrate, you reply, to
a warmer parallel. That is true, no doubt; though there have not been
wanting naturalists of respectable name who have maintained that none of
them ever leave the country. No doubt, however, they do migrate; but is this
true of the entire body, or only of a portion? That the whole hirundinal
population—swifts, swallows, martins, and bank-martins—disappear from
view, every one knows; for who ever saw any of the tribe wheeling and
traversing through the sky in the frosts of January or February? But so do
the Bats and the Butterflies. Now, the Bats hybernate with us, concealing
themselves in crevices, caves, hollow trees, unused buildings, and similar
places; so do the house-flies; so do the butterflies, some species at least, and
many other insects. Do the Swallows hybernate? That they do is a very old
opinion; and those homely but wide-spread rhymes that record so many
accepted facts in popular natural history, record this as a fact. Our rustic
children sing—

"The bat, the bee, the butterfly,
The cuckoo and the swallow,
The corn-crake and the wheat-ear,
They all sleep in the hollow."

Local variations—what we may call lectiones variæ—exist; for example,
in the south-east of our island, the third line runs,

"The corn-crake and the nightingale."

In the north of Europe an opinion has long prevailed that the Swallows
not only hybernate in a state of torpidity, but, like the frogs and toads, retire
to the bottoms of pools to spend that dreary season. In Berger's "Calendar of
Flora," published in the Amœnitates Academicæ, vol. iv., he puts down as
the phenomenon proper to the 22d of September, "Hirundo submergitur,"
talking, as Gilbert White remarks, as familiarly of the Swallows going
under water, as he would of his poultry going to roost at sunset. Klein, and

even Linnæus himself, adopted this strange opinion, which was considered
to rest upon good testimony, and that not only of the illiterate and
unobservant. Etmuller, who was Professor of Anatomy and Botany at
Leipsig in the middle of the seventeenth century, says, "I remember to have
found more than a bushel would hold of Swallows closely clustered among
the reeds of a fish-pond under the ice, all of them to appearance dead, but
with the heart still pulsating." And Derham, the acute author of "Physico-
theology," citing this statement, adds, "We had at a meeting of the Royal
Society, February 12, 1713, a further confirmation of Swallows retiring
under water in the winter from Dr Colas, a person very curious in these
matters, who, speaking of their way of fishing in the northern parts by
breaking holes and drawing their nets under the ice, saith, that he saw
sixteen Swallows so drawn out of the Lake of Lamrodt, and about thirty out
of the king's great pond in Rosneilen; and that at Schlehitten, near a house
of the Earl of Dohna, he saw two Swallows just come out of the waters, that
could, scarcely stand, being very wet and weak, with their wings hanging
on the ground; and that he observed the Swallows to be often weak for
some days after their appearance."[113]
The Academy of Upsal received the winter submersion of the Swallows
as an undoubted fact, and even Cuvier admits as "well authenticated, that
they fall into a lethargic state during winter, and even that they pass that
season at the bottom of marshy waters."[114] One would think that a
zoological statement which Linnæus and Cuvier accepted, must be fact; yet
it remains utterly improbable. In Germany, a reward of an equal weight in
silver was publicly offered to any one who should produce Swallows found
under water, but we are assured that no one was found to claim the money.
We may safely dismiss the notion of submersion till better authenticated;
but that of torpidity is still open to examination. Statements to the effect that
quantities of Swallows in a death-like condition have been found in hollow
trees, holes in cliffs, banks, &c., are even more common than those of their
submersion; and they seem to obtain credence in all the temperate or cold
regions where the Swallows are found. It is hard to think that a persuasion
so widely diffused can be wholly groundless.
Peter Collinson, the friend and correspondent of Linnæus, communicated
to the Royal Society the following statement by M. Achard:—"In the latter

end of March I took my passage down the Rhine to Rotterdam. A little
below Basel, the south bank of the river was very high and steep, of a sandy
soil, sixty or eighty feet above the water.
"I was surprised at seeing, near the top of the cliff, some boys tied to
ropes, hanging down doing something. The singularity of these adventurous
boys, and the business they so daringly attempted, made us stop our
navigation, to inquire into the meaning of it. The waterman told us they
were reaching the holes in the cliffs for Swallows or Martins, which took
refuge in them, and remained there all the winter, until warm weather, and
then they came abroad.
"The boys being let down by their comrades to the holes, put in a long
rammer, with a screw at the end, such as is used to unload guns, and,
twisting it about, drew out the birds. For a trifle I procured some of them.
When I first had them, they seemed stiff and lifeless; I put one of them in
my bosom, between my skin and shirt, and laid another on a board, the sun
shining full and warm upon it; and one or two of my companions did the
like. That in my bosom revived in about a quarter of an hour; feeling it
move, I took it out to look at it; but perceiving it not sufficiently come to
itself, I put it in again; in about another quarter, feeling it flutter pretty
briskly, I took it out, and admired it. Being now perfectly recovered, before
I was aware, it took its flight; the covering of the boat prevented me from
seeing where it went. The bird on the board, though exposed to a full sun,
yet, I presume from a chilliness of the air, did not revive so as to be able to
fly."[115]
On this account I may observe that Collinson would hardly have been the
medium of this communication, unless he had been satisfied of the probity
of his correspondent. The time was "the latter end of March," a fortnight at
least before the arrival of the Sand Martin—the earliest of our migrants; and
the whole enterprise of the boys, and the familiarity of the waterman with
the circumstance, as well as their assertions, shew that they, at least, had no
doubt about this being a case of hybernation. Yet the repeated exploration of
the Sand Martin's burrows in this country, in winter, has produced no birds.
White of Selborne, who was very much interested in the solution of this
question, mentions two instances—both, however, on hearsay evidence. A

clergyman assured him that, when he was a boy, some workmen, in pulling
down the battlements of a tower, early in spring, found two or three Swifts
among the rubbish, which appeared dead, but revived in the warmth. The
other account was that of the fall of a portion of the cliff near Brighton in
winter, when many persons found Swallows among the rubbish; but here
even White's informant did not see the birds, but was merely told of them.
[116]

Bishop Stanley, in his "Familiar History of Birds," has collected some
stories which appear circumstantial enough, if we could be quite sure they
were authentic; on which point the good bishop seems to give the weight of
his own character, since he observes that they are "cases which have come
to our knowledge, on the most respectable authority."
"On the 16th of November 1826, a gentleman residing near Loch Awe, in
Scotland, having occasion to examine an out-house, used as a cart-shed,
saw an unusual appearance upon one of the rafters which crossed and
supported the thatched roof. Upon mounting a ladder, he found to his
astonishment that this was a group of Chimney-swallows (Hirundo rustica)
which had taken up their winter quarters in this exposed situation. The
group consisted of five, completely torpid: and none of the tribe to which
they belonged had been seen for five or six weeks previously: he took them
in his hand, as they lay closely and coldly huddled together, and conveyed
them to his house, in order to exhibit them as objects of curiosity to the
other members of his family. For some time they remained to all appearance
lifeless; but the temperature of the apartment into which they were carried
being considerably raised by a good turf fire, they gradually evinced
symptoms of reanimation; and in less than a quarter of an hour, finding that
they were rather rudely handled, all of them recovered, so as to fly
impatiently round the room, in search of some opening by which they might
escape. The window was thrown up, and they soon found their way into the
fields, and were never seen again. A similar circumstance, though, from the
place of its discovery it must refer probably to Sand Martins, was related by
a gentleman who found two Swallows in a sand-bank at Newton, near
Stirling, quite dormant.
"Again, about half-a-dozen Swallows were found a few years ago, in a
torpid state, in the trunk of a hollow tree, by a countryman, who brought

them to a respectable person, by whom they were deposited in a desk,
where they remained forgotten till the following spring, when, one morning,
on hearing a noise, he opened the desk, and found one of them fluttering
about: the others also began to shew signs of life, and upon being placed out
of doors in the sun, speedily arranged their plumage, took wing, and
disappeared.
"On the 2d of November 1829, at Loch Ransa, in the island of Arran, a
man, while digging in a place where a pond had been lately drained off,
discovered two Swallows in a state of torpor; on placing them near the fire,
they recovered. One unfortunately escaped, but the other was kept by the
man, for the purpose of shewing it to some scientific persons."
In North America there is a curious species of Swift, (Acanthylis
pelasgia,) which associates in immense flocks to roost in chimneys and
hollow trees. It is the popular belief that these birds spend the winter in a
torpid condition in their roosting trees. Williams, in his "History of
Vermont," speaks of a large hollow elm which had been for many years
appropriated to this purpose. A farmer resident close to the tree was
persuaded that it was the winter dwelling-place of the Swifts, and avoided
felling it on that account. About the 1st of May, he always saw them come
out of it in large numbers, about the middle of the day, and in a short time
return. Then, as the weather grew warmer, they came forth in increased
multitudes in the morning, and did not return till night. A similar account
was given of another tree: the first appearance of the Swifts in spring was
always their emergence from its hollow trunk, and their last, in September,
was their ingress. Yet Wilson, the great ornithologist of America, argues, not
without some heat, yet with considerable force, that such a belief is
erroneous. Erroneous, certainly, the supposition that the whole body of the
Chimney-swifts so hybernate; but whether a few do or do not, his
arguments do not quite conclude.
The rustic quatrain, quoted in the outset of this disquisition, mentions the
Corncrake, as associated with the Swallow in this winter-sleep,—"in the
hollow." It is curious that two modern instances are on record of
hybernating Corncrakes, though this is certainly as migratory a species with
us as the Hirundinidæ. A farmer at Aikerness in Orkney, about midwinter, in
demolishing a mud-wall, found a Corncrake in the midst of it. It was

apparently lifeless; but being fresh to the feel and smell, it was placed in the
warmth. In a short time it began to move, and in a few hours was able to
walk about, and lived for two days in the kitchen; when refusing all food, or
rather, none that suited it being then obtainable, it died.[117]
"The second case occurred at Monaghan, in Ireland, where a gentleman,
having directed his labourers, in winter, to remove a large heap of manure,
that had remained undisturbed for a great length of time, perceived a hole,
which was supposed to have been made by rats; it penetrated to a great
depth, but at its termination, instead of rats, three Corncrakes were
discovered, as if placed there with the greatest care, not a feather being out
of its place, and apparently lifeless. The birds on examination were,
however, considered to be in a torpid state, and were placed near a fire in a
warm room. In the course of a short time a tremulous motion was observed
in one of their legs, and soon after a similar motion was noticed in the legs
and wings of the whole, which at length extended itself to their whole
bodies, and finally the birds were enabled to run and fly about the room."
[118]

Daines Barrington, the correspondent of Gilbert White and of Pennant,
was a firm believer in the winter sleep of Swallows with us. He mentions,
on the authority of Lord Belhaven, that numbers of Swallows had been
found in old dry walls and in sandhills near his lordship's seat in East-
Lothian; not once only, but from year to year, and that when they were
exposed to the warmth, they revived. He says, however, he cannot
determine the particular species.[119]
The same naturalist mentions many other instances in which they have
been reported to be found, but he cannot give his personal voucher for the
truth of the statements.
"As first in a decayed hollow tree, that was cut down near Dolgelly, in
Merionethshire; secondly, in a cliff near Whitby, in Yorkshire, where, in
digging out a fox, whole bushels of Swallows were found in a torpid
condition; thirdly, the Rev. Mr Conway, of Lychton, Flintshire, a few years
ago, between All Saints' and Christmas, on looking down an old lead mine
in that county, observed numbers of Swallows clinging to the timbers of the

shaft, seemingly asleep, and on flinging some gravel on them they just
moved, but never attempted to fly or to change their place."[120]
In some communications to the Zoologist for 1845, by the late Mr F.
Holme, of Oxford, I find the following statement:—"On the hybernation of
this species (the House-swallow) I was told many years since, by old Wall,
then keeper of the Kildare Street Museum, in Dublin, ... that after a heavy
snow, in the winter of 1825-26, on going into the mansarde to see whether
the snow had melted through, he found four Chimney-swallows perched
close together on a cross-beam, with their heads under their wings; but on
approaching his hand to them they flew off, and escaped into the open air."
[121]

Again, Mr J. B. Ellman of Battel, says, "There is a farmer named Waters,
residing at Catsfield, (adjoining parish,) who informs me he has frequently
(some years ago) dug Swallows out of banks in winter, while widening the
ditches in the brooks," &c.[122]
It is unfortunate that most of these and similar discoveries were "some
years ago;" and that, instead of increasing in frequency with the increase of
scientific research and communication, they strangely become more rare.
The same remark applies to the following statement: it is minute enough,
and circumstantially precise; but, unfortunately, it was "fifteen years ago."
The communicator is Edward Brown Fitton, Hastings, under date
September 8, 1849:—
"A labourer named William Joyce, who is now employed in excavating
part of the East Hill for the foundation of a house, told me yesterday, that,
in the month of December, about fifteen years ago, while he was working
for Mr William Ranger, who had the contract for cutting away the 'White
Rock,' which used to stand between this place and St Leonard's, the men
found an immense quantity of Swallows in a cleft of the rock. The birds
were clinging together in large 'clots,' and appeared to be dead, but were not
frozen together, the weather being rather warm for the season, nor were
they at all putrid or decayed. The men carried out at least three railway-
barrows full of birds, which were buried with the mould and rubbish from
the cliff as it was wheeled away. Some people from the town carried away a
few of the birds to 'make experiments with,' but Joyce never heard any more

of them. He mentioned the names of four persons now in Hastings, who
were then his fellow-labourers, and says, that forty or fifty of Mr Ranger's
men were on the spot when the birds were found, and can confirm what he
says, both as to the finding and the very great quantity of the birds. There
are many crevices in the seaward surface of the cliffs about here, which
apparently penetrate the cliff for several yards. The birds were found about
ten feet from the surface of the rock facing the sea, and not very high up."
[123]

There is yet another class of facts to be adduced, which has an important
bearing on the subject. At first sight, these facts appear less conclusive than
the asserted discoveries of the birds, because less direct; but I am inclined
to attach more value to them, because they are attested by so many and so
unexceptionable witnesses. I mean the sight of Swallows at large in these
islands during the winter months. Let us see some examples.
White of Selborne records several cases: thus, in 1773, twenty or thirty
House-martins were playing in the air all day on the 3d of November,[124]
after having disappeared from the 22d of October. In 1772, he saw three
House-swallows gliding by on the sea-shore at Newhaven, on the 4th of
November.[125] On another occasion, (the year not being recorded,) he saw,
on a sunny morning, a House-martin flying, at Oxford, on the 20th of
November.[126] On the 26th of November 1768, one of his neighbours saw a
Martin hawking briskly after flies.[127] And a very respectable gentleman
assured him that on a remarkably hot day, either in the last week in
December or the first week in January, he espied three or four Swallows in
the moulding of a window of Merton College, Oxford.[128]
Colonel Montagu remarks that "there are a variety of instances of the
Swallow and Martin having been seen flying in the months of November
and December, roused probably from a state of torpidity by an unusual
warmth of the air;"[129] and Captain H. W. Hadfield, commenting on this,
affirms that he has "more than once had ocular proof of their presence
during the winter months."[130] Yarrell gives examples of the late
appearance of the Swift. One was seen by Mr Blackwall on the 20th of
October 1815; a second in Perthshire on the 8th of November 1834; and a
third in Devonshire, by the Rev. Mr Cornish, on the 27th November 1835.

[131] In considering these cases, it is needful to bear in mind that the Swift
migrates from this country annually from the 1st to the 15th of August.
Mr C. R. Bree mentions the following case, which I record, not because it
was particularly late, but because the state of the season, and some other
circumstances which he remarks on are interesting:—"On the 25th of
October 1848, some workmen being engaged on the roof of my house, I
was surprised by the appearance of three Swallows flying about the men. I
had not seen one since the beginning of the month. By the side of the edge
of the gable-end of the house the plaster was broken away, forming a hole,
which led under the roof. While watching the birds, which came
occasionally quite close to my face, I saw first one, then another, alight
upon the ledge of the gable-end, near the hole. Now, I thought, I am to settle
the question of hybernation: but I was disappointed. Though I watched them
for several hours—though I sent the workmen to another part of the house,
yet, although they frequently settled about the hole, they never entered it.
They were evidently young birds, and had been disturbed. One of them
rested upon the chimney, and appeared weak and dull. I lost sight of them
during the day; but the following morning, the weather being warm, I saw
several flying about high up in the air. There is some mystery about these
things. Why have these late appearances been more remarked this year than
other years? How did the birds obtain food during the three weeks of bitter
cold weather when they were not seen in October?"[132]
On the 10th of December 1843, a specimen of the Swallow, an adult
bird, not a young of the season, (an important circumstance,) in full
plumage and good condition, was shot at Goole, in the West Riding, and
was sent to Mr R. J. Bell, of Derby, a good ornithologist,[133] who records
the fact. In 1852, that excellent naturalist, Mr Hewitson, of Oatlands, saw
two Chimney-swallows at Eshar on the 18th of November, and on the 21st
had four martins about his house.[134] In 1855, Mr E. Vernon Harcourt
reports the occurrence of several Martins skimming about at Uckfield on
the 23d of November; and on the 6th of December several Chimney-
swallows about the house at Hastings.[135] In the same season flocks of
Martins were hawking vigorously, in the vicinity of Penzance, to the 28th of
November, as witnessed by Mr E. H. Rodd.[136] Captain Hadfield again,
writing in 1856, gives extracts from his journals, whereby he records having
seen Swallows and Martins as late as November 3, 1841, December 2,

1842, November 13, 1852, November 22, 1853, November (about the
middle) 1854, and November 24 (Swallows) and December 2 (Martins)
1855. Of the last-mentioned occurrence he gives the following interesting
note:—"Dec. 2, 4 P.M. Observed eight Martins flying round the garden, and
occasionally alighting on the perpendicular face of the wall of a house near
my garden gate, to which they would cling for a few seconds, and then,
dropping off, whirl round, returning to the same spot, seemingly quite
unconscious of my presence and that of several others: they seemed bent on
effecting an entrance under the eaves of the house, by a small opening they
had discovered near a water-pipe that had been carried through the wall:
they were, I believe, all young birds of the season, as they appeared small,
their tails being also shorter than in the adults; they were weak on the wing,
but that may have arisen from their being benumbed by the cold, the
thermometer standing at 44° only at the above hour. There had been a bright
sun during the greater part of the day, but I had observed a white frost in the
morning. I conclude that these late birds were merely seeking a roosting-
place for the night, and not a place of concealment for the winter, although I
might have been excused, according to Cuvier, White, &c., had I thought
they were taking up their winter quarters; but I have not sufficient faith in
the theory to induce me to unslate a part of the roof to seek for them, which
might be done, however, at a trifling cost, provided permission were
obtained."[137]
It is rather a pity that the observer had not confidence enough to induce
him to make the investigation which he suggests.
Mr William Bree mentions as many as fifteen or twenty Martins and
Swallows sporting in the air near Temple Balsall on the 18th November
1846, adding that he has frequently seen individuals much later, but never
recollects to have seen so great a number together at that late period. And,
finally, Mr J. Johnston, jun., reports that he saw, in the afternoon of 18th
January 1837, three Swallows dipping and hawking as in summer, near
Wakefield.[138]
There is less evidence of the appearance of these birds before the
ordinary time of arrival of the migrants. But White, when a boy, observed a
Swallow for a whole day together on a sunny warm Shrove Tuesday, which
day could not fall out later than the middle of March, and often happened

early in February.[139] And Mr Samuel Gurney, jun., together with several
other persons, saw either a Martin or Swallow, on the 27th of March 1844.
[140]

If this last occurrence had stood alone, it would have been of slight
importance; for Yarrell mentions a single Swallow as having been seen by a
fisherman near the Eddystone as early as the 4th of April; and Sand-martins,
even as far north as Carlisle, before the end of March. It is just possible that
these may have been stragglers of the great army of migrants, arriving some
ten or fifteen days before their time; but considering the whole great array
of evidence, I rather believe that these too were hybernants, who had been
prematurely awakened from torpidity by unusually warm days.
The accounts of Hirundines having been found in a somnolent state in
winter may or may not be true; though the great number of such statements
in various and distant countries makes the indiscriminate rejection of them
even more difficult than the acceptance. But still there remains the
undeniable fact that it is quite an ordinary thing for birds of this family,
including all our four common species, to be seen with us through
November and December, and occasionally in January;—that is, for two or
three months after the great body of migrants have left the country. No one,
I suppose, pretends that migration of Swallows takes place in December or
January; therefore it is manifest that a certain number—more or fewer—
remain. What becomes of them? We certainly see them only occasionally:
where are they on the days on which they do not appear,—days extending
to several consecutive weeks? If they had not been torpid during those
weeks, if the more active functions of life had not been suspended, would
they not certainly have been starved? But the specimen shot on the 10th
December, and examined by Mr Bell, was in good condition, which is
consistent with but one alternative; either it had been well fed throughout
the preceding six weeks, or it had been hybernating. But the former
supposition implies that it had been habitually on the wing during that
period, as Swallows feed only on the wing; which could not have been the
case without its being noticed and recorded.
It is common to say that these occasional winter Swallows are the later
broods of young, which, being too infantile to migrate, are compelled to
linger in the country of their nativity, and becoming lethargic from the

advancing cold, at length die before the spring. But when this hypothesis is
looked at, it seems hardly tenable. In many of the instances recorded, the
specimens seen even late into the winter, are represented as gaily and
vigorously hawking for flies, or sweeping over the water as in summer. This
does not look like poor deserted orphans starved with the cold, retiring to
die; but birds in health, temporarily awakened from normal slumber by an
unusual temperature, and instantly ready for a full use of their faculties.
However, to settle the point by fact, Mr Bell distinctly states that his
specimen of December 10th was "an adult bird, not a young bird of the
season."
If it should be asked why they do not appear in January or February, as
well as November and December, the answer is obvious. The winter's
lethargy of hybernating warm-blooded vertebrates is much more readily
interrupted in the earlier part of the season than in the middle and latter part.
And this is natural; for the more intense cold of January benumbs and
suspends the vital functions far more completely, and the coma so
superinduced is sufficiently deep to resist the counteracting influence of a
few warm days, even though the temperature should be as high as on those
earlier days that awakened them, or even higher.
The aggregate evidence, then, seems to leave no room for reasonable
doubt, that a certain number of our Hirundinidæ,—few, indeed, as
compared with the vast migrant population, but still considerable, looked at
per se,—for some reason or other, evade the task of a southward flight, and
remain, becoming torpid, occasionally betrayed into a temporary activity,
and resuming their active life, about the same time, or occasionally a little
before the time, of the arrival of their congeners from abroad. It is, however,
desirable for the absolute settlement of the question, that specimens,
actually discovered in a lethargic condition, should come under the
observation of competent scientific naturalists, open to conviction, who
would leave them in situ, keeping an eye on them from time to time till the
return of warm weather in spring. It is not enough to take them into a warm
room, and to shew that they revive in such circumstances: we want to know
positively whether they will be resuscitated normally and naturally by the
vernal warmth, and come forth spontaneously to sport, and wheel, and
skim, and soar, and stoop, and hawk, and twitter,—among their travelled

fellows. Who will undertake to decide the point in this manner? He will
have achieved a name in science.

VI.

THE CRESTED AND WATTLED SNAKE.
About the middle of the last century there existed in Amsterdam a
Museum of natural history, which, though accumulated by the zeal and
industry of a private individual, far exceeded in extent and magnificence
any collection then in the world. It had been gathered by Albert Seba, a
wealthy apothecary in the Dutch East India Company's service, who
fortunately published an elaborate description of its contents. This great
work, "Locupletissimi Rerum Naturalium Thesauri accurata Descriptio,"—
in four volumes folio, published from 1734 to 1765,—is even now
remarkable for the accuracy and beauty of its copious engravings, which
still are referred to as authorities, though the descriptions are devoid of
scientific value. Many of these figures and descriptions, about whose reality
no shadow of doubt exists, are those of creatures which are altogether
unknown to modern science, and some of them are highly curious.
Serpents seem to have been a special hobby of Seba's; and he has
delineated a vast number of species. Among them are two[141] about which
a singular interest hangs. They are of rather small size; the one pale yellow,
marked with oval reddish spots, the other reddish, with five green
transverse bands. The head in each case has a horny-pointed muzzle, and
the cheeks are furnished with depending wattles of a coral-red hue.
From the expressions of wonder with which Seba introduces his
descriptions of these animals, it is evident that they were no ordinary forms.
He does not know whether to call them Eels or Serpents, the critical
characters, which in our day would instantly determine this point, being
then scarcely heeded. He calls them "marine," but whether on any other
evidence than the pendent processes of the cheeks, which he calls "fins,"
does not appear. But no fish known to naturalists will answer to these
representations. The pointed head, indeed, resembles in some respects that
of Murœna, but this genus of fishes is altogether destitute of pectoral fins,
while the vertically-flattened tail, and the long dorsal and anal fins
confluent around the extremity of the body in Murœna, are totally unlike
these figures. These and all similar fishes are, moreover, destitute of visible

scales; but in these the scaling is decidedly serpentine, and the second, in
particular, has large symmetrical plates across the belly, while the head in
both is shielded with broad plates like a Colubrine Snake. The tail is drawn
out to a long conical point, without the slightest appearance of compression
or of bordering fins. In one figure there is seen a little projecting point at the
edge of the lower belly, which at first sight suggests the idea of the anal
hook of a Boa, but which, by comparison with other figures, we discover to
be intended to represent the projection of the pre-anal scale. The very
minuteness of this character makes it valuable: its value was doubtless
unheeded by the artist, who merely drew what he saw; it is, however, a very
decisive mark of distinction between a serpent and a fish.
Seba records that he had received these Serpents from the Island of St
Domingo. This was at that time a flourishing French colony, and its natural
productions were far better known to Europe than they now are. When I
visited the neighbouring island of Jamaica in 1845-46, I heard accounts of a
wonderful animal occasionally seen in the eastern districts of the island,
which was reported as a Snake with a cock's comb and wattles, and which
crowed like a cock. A good deal of mystery attached to this strange Serpent.
It was appropriated to a very remarkable and peculiar character of
scenery:—A wild mountain-region, formed of white limestone, abounding
in narrow glens, bounded by abrupt precipices, and permeated by
whispering streams that frequently pour in slender cascades over the rocks.
The limestone rock rises in abrupt terraces, wall above wall, and its entire
surface is most singularly honeycombed, "as if wrought by a graving tool
into rough diamond-points," alternating with smooth and rounded holes of
various sizes, from that of a hazel-nut upward. In many of these hollows lie
the small land-shells of the country, bleached perfectly white, like the stone
itself, of the genera Helix, Cyclostoma, Helicina, Cylindrella, Achatina,
&c., many of them perfect, but many more in fragments. They exactly
resemble fossil shells in situ, but the species are absolutely identical with
those that crawl over the shrubs and trees in the same region. In very many
cases the dead shells accurately fit the hollows in the rock, whose interior is
impressed with the form and sculpturing of the shell in intaglio:—a most
curious and interesting fact, as it points to the very recent formation of the
region, the stone bearing evident tokens of having been in a plastic
condition when the shells were enveloped in it. Out of the hollows of the

rock, their roots fast grasping the sharp-edged projections and tooth-like
points of stone, and twining through the tortuous cavities, and insinuating
their fibrils into every minute hollow where water may lodge, grow many
tall trees of various kinds, interlaced with climbers, and hung with festoons
of lianes, that resemble long and twisted cords, thrown from one to another,
or depending from the branches towards the ground. The noble Agave, or
what we in England call the American Aloe, here throws out its broad,
fleshy, spine-edged leaves, and lifts its tall flower-stalk loaded with the
candelabra-like branches of bloom; and numerous thick Cacti, some erect
and massive, others whip-like, long and trailing, give a peculiar aspect to
the vegetation. Great tufts of Orchideœ,—the lovely Broughtonia, with its
thick ovate leaves, and racemes of elegant crimson flowers, the Brasavola,
with long leaves resembling porcupine-quills in form, and blossoms of
virgin white, the Oncidium, with its yellow and red flowers, like a score of
painted butterflies dancing in every breath, and many others,—crowd the
forks or droop from the twisted boughs of the trees.
This formation of honeycombed limestone is full of caverns, many of
which lead into one another in chains, and which have invested the region
with a sort of superstitious mystery. Runaway slaves and outlaws have
availed themselves of the facilities which its ravines and inaccessible
fastnesses afford, to defy capture; and during the rebellion of the Maroons,
it attained a considerable notoriety. There is one estate about eight miles
from Kingston, in the immediate vicinity of which the famous hero, Three-
fingered Jack, made his head-quarters. It is a district of wild torrents and
waterfalls of the most romantic character; "the imagination of no painter of
theatrical spectacles can surpass the wild wonders of the mountain-hold of
the real Three-fingered Jack. Part of the road by which you ascend the falls
is a subterranean passage; and caverns are entered by simple crevices which
seem mere chinks in the irregular surface of the rock, all which natural
peculiarities account for the mysterious disappearances which the mountain
hero was enabled to enact from his pursuers."
It was at this spot I first heard reliable tidings of the strange Crested
Snake. A medical gentleman of reputation informed me that he had seen, in
1829, a serpent of about four feet in length, but of unwonted thickness, dull
ochry in colour with well-defined dark spots, having on its head a sort of
pyramidal helmet, somewhat lobed at the summit, of a pale red hue. The

animal, however, was dead, and decomposition was already setting in. He
informed me that the negroes of the district were well acquainted with it;
and that they represented it as making a noise, not unlike the crowing of a
cock, and as being addicted to preying on poultry.
Nor is it in Jamaica alone that the Crested Snake is known. In the island
of St Domingo, whence Seba received his curious specimens, my friend Mr
Hill heard reports of it. A Spanish gentleman whom he was visiting in
Hayti, told him that he had seen it, and begged him to note it among the
remarkable things of the country. It was in that far east of the island, known
as the ancient Caciquedom of Higuey, where the Indians were of a more
warlike disposition than their meek brethren of the centre and west, and
where the cruelties perpetrated upon them by their Spanish invaders
reached such a superhuman pitch of diabolism, that even Las Casas says he
almost feared to repeat them. The limestone mountains are here of exactly
the same description as those in Jamaica, and the scenery assumes exactly
the same romantic character. My friend's Spanish informant had seen the
serpent with mandibles like a bird, with a cock's crest, with scarlet lobes or
wattles; and he described its habits,—perhaps rather from common fame
than from personal observation,—as a frequenter of hen-roosts, into which
it would thrust its head, and deceive the young chickens by its imitative
physiognomy, and by its attempts to crow, like their own Chanticleer. "Il
canta como un Gallo;" was the report in Hayti, just as in Jamaica.
I was much interested in this mysterious reptile, and mentioned in the
public papers my wish to possess a specimen. A gentleman of the vicinity,
Mr Jasper Cargill, was so desirous to oblige me that he offered a sovereign
for one; but though several persons were prompt to promise the capture, no
example was forthcoming.
After my return from Jamaica, the occurrence of two specimens found
came under the notice of my friend, but neither of them was preserved. Mr
Cargill had informed him that some years before, when visiting Skibo, in St
George's, an estate of his father's, in descending the mountain-road, his
attention was drawn to a snake of a dark hue, that erected itself from amid
some fragments of limestone-rock that lay about. It was about four feet
long, and unusually thick-bodied. His surprise was greatly increased on
perceiving that it was crested, and that from the side of the cheeks depended

some red-coloured flaps, like gills or wattles. After gazing at him intently
some time, with its head well erect, it drew itself in, and disappeared among
the fragmentary rocks.
The son of this gentleman met with another specimen under the
following circumstances, as detailed to me by my friend:—"It was, I think,
on Easter Eve, the 30th of March last, [1850,] that some youngsters of the
town came running to tell me of a curious snake, unlike any snake they had
ever seen before, which young Cargill had shot, when out for a day's sport
among the woodlands of a neighbouring penn. They described it as in all
respects a serpent, but with a very curious shaped head, and with wattles on
each side of its jaws. After taking it in hand and looking at it, they placed it
in a hollow tree, intending to return for it when they should be coming
home, but they had strolled from the place so far that it was inconvenient to
retrace their steps when wearied with rambling; but they had lost no time in
relating the adventure to me, knowing it would interest me much,
particularly as young Cargill's father had thought it a snake similar to the
one he had seen at Skibo, in St George's, or to the crested serpent for a
specimen of which, when in St Thomas's in the East, he had offered the sum
of twenty shillings. The youth that shot the snake fell ill on the following
morning with fever, and could not go back to the woodlands to seek it, but
he sent his younger brother who had been with him; but although he
thought he rediscovered the tree in which his brother had placed it, he could
not find the snake. He conjectured that the rats had devoured it in the night.
When this adventure was related to me, another youth, Ulick Ramsay, a
godson of mine, who came with the young Cargills to tell me of their
discovery, informed me that not long previously, he had seen in the hand of
the barrack-master-serjeant at the barracks in Spanish Town, a curious
snake, which he, too, had shot among the rocks of a little line of eminences
near the railway, about two miles out, called Craigallechie. It was a serpent
with a curious shaped head, and projections on each side, which he likened
to the fins of an eel, but said they were close up to the jaws. Here are,
unquestionably, two of the same snakes with those of Seba's Thesaurus,
taken near Spanish Town, and both about the honeycombed rocks that
protrude through the plain of St Catherine's in detached ridges and cones
and hummocks, being points of the greater lines of limestone, which have
been covered by the detritus of the plains, leaving masses of the under-

rocks here and there uncovered. These are the spots frequented, too, by the
Cyclura; and are continuations of our Red Hills—a country that so much
resembles the terraced cliffs and red-soil glens of Higuey.
It is remarkable that I have heard nothing more of this serpent of renown,
this true Basilisk, from that time till now; though I have no doubt my
Jamaica friends, who had become much interested in the matter, would have
communicated the specimen to me if any one had been obtained. There is,
however, sufficient evidence to assume the existence of such a form in the
greater Antilles, whether Seba's figures be identical with it or not.

VII.

THE DOUBTFUL.
A very curious and unaccountable habit is attributed to some Reptiles,
which, though asserted by many witnesses, at different times and in distant
countries, has not yet received the general assent of men of science. White
of Selborne, in one of his charming letters to Pennant, has the following
note:—"Several intelligent folks assure me that they have seen the Viper
open her mouth and admit her helpless young down her throat on sudden
surprises, just as the female Opossum does her brood into the pouch under
her belly, upon the like emergencies. Yet the London viper-catchers insist
on it, to Mr Barrington, that no such thing ever happens."[142]
The evidence of the London viper-catchers goes for no more than it is
worth; those whom Mr Barrington applied to,—how many and of what
experience I know not,—had not met with such a case. But negative
evidence is of little weight against positive. At the same time, others of the
same fraternity affirm the fact. There is, as Mr Martin observes, no
physiological reason against the possibility of the young maintaining life
for a brief period within the stomach of the parent. A swallowed frog has
been heard, by Mr Bell, to cry several minutes after it had been swallowed
by a snake; and the same excellent authority has seen another frog leap out
of the mouth of a snake which had swallowed it, taking advantage of the
fact that the latter gaped, as they frequently do, immediately after taking
food.
Mr Martin says he has conversed with several who had been assured by
gamekeepers and gardeners that the swallowing of the young by vipers had
been witnessed by them.[143] And Mr Blyth, a zoologist of established
reputation, observes,—"I have been informed of this by so many credible
eye-witnesses, that I cannot hesitate in yielding implicit credence to the
fact. One man particularly, on whose word I fully rely, tells me that he has
himself seen as many as thirteen young vipers thus enter the mouth of the
parent, which he afterwards killed and opened for the purpose of counting
them."[144]

Mr E. Percival, writing to the Zoologist, under date "64 Lincoln's-Inn-
Fields, Oct. 17, 1848," narrates the following facts:—"When in Scotland,
last autumn, I saw what at the time satisfied me that vipers really possessed
this faculty, though the evidence was scarcely as conclusive as might have
been wished. Walking along a sunny road, I saw a viper lying on the
parapet. She had apparently just been killed by a blow from a stick. Five or
six young ones, about four inches long, were wriggling about their
murdered parent, and one was making its way out of her mouth, at the time
when I approached. Whether this was the first time the young ones had seen
the light, or whether they were only leaving a place of temporary refuge, I
leave to more experienced observers than myself to determine."[145]
This communication brought out the following from the late Mr John
Wolley:—"Mr Percival's interesting note (Zool., 2305) on this subject
reminds me of a very similar anecdote, told me several years ago by a
gentleman who is an accurate observer, and who has had long experience in
all kinds of sports. He one day shot a viper, and almost immediately
afterwards it was surrounded by young ones, in what appeared to him the
most mysterious manner. But here the grand link was wanting which Mr
Percival has supplied,—the young ones were not seen to come out of their
mother's mouth. I may be allowed to mention an anecdote, told me in 1842,
by an illiterate shepherd of Hougham, near Dover: he met me catching
vipers, and, on my entering into conversation with him, he volunteered—
without any allusion of mine—to tell this curious story. One day his father
came suddenly upon a viper surrounded by her young, she opened her
mouth and they all ran down her throat; he killed her, and leaving her on the
ground, propped her mouth open between two pieces of stick; presently the
young ones crawled out: on the slightest alarm they retreated back again,—
and this they did repeatedly for several days, during which time many
people came to see it.[146] The young which White of Selborne cut out of
the old female, and which immediately threw themselves into attitudes of
defiance, had probably not then seen the daylight for the first time. Mr Bell,
in a note in Bennett's edition of White's 'Selborne,' mentions the wide-
spread belief in this alleged habit of the viper; but appears to consider the
fact not proved. Accounts of similar habits in foreign viviparous snakes,
common report, and, above all, Mr Percival's observation, leave no doubt
on my mind about the matter."

The most recent case on record that I have met with, is the following,
communicated to the Zoologist[147] for last December, by the Rev. Henry
Bond, of South Petherton:—
"Walking in an orchard near Tyneham House, in Dorsetshire, I came
upon an old adder basking in the sun, with her young around her; she was
lying on some grass that had been long cut, and had become smooth and
bleached by exposure to the weather. Alarmed by my approach, I distinctly
saw the young ones run down their mother's throat. At that time I had never
heard of the controversy respecting the fact, otherwise I should have been
more anxious to have killed the adder, to prove the case. As it was, she
escaped while I was more interested in the circumstance I witnessed than in
her destruction."
Exactly the same thing is told of the North American Rattlesnake. Hunter
says, that when alarmed, the young ones, which are eight or ten in number,
retreat into the mouth of the parent, and reappear on its giving a contractile
muscular token that the danger is past.[148]
M. Palisot de Beauvois asserts that he saw a large rattlesnake which he
had disturbed in his walks immediately coil itself up and open its jaws,
when in an instant five small ones that were lying by it rushed into its open
mouth. He concealed himself, and watched the snake, and in a quarter of an
hour saw her discharge them. He then approached a second time, when the
young ones rushed into the parent's mouth more quickly than before, and
the animal immediately moved off, and escaped. The phenomenon is said to
have been observed in regard to some of the venomous snakes of India, but
I cannot now refer to details.
Confirmation of a reported fact is sometimes derived from collateral
evidence, and such is not wanting in the present case. The phenomenon is
not confined to serpents; it has been observed in their near relatives, the
lizards. Mr Edward Newman, while guarding the subject with a
philosophical caveat, furnishes his readers with the following highly
interesting and germane statement:—"1st, My late lamented friend, William
Christy, jun., found a fine specimen of the common scaly lizard with two
young ones. Taking an interest in everything relating to Natural History, he
put them into a small pocket vasculum to bring home; but when he next

opened the vasculum the young ones had disappeared, and the belly of the
parent was greatly distended; he concluded she had devoured her own
offspring; at night the vasculum was laid on a table, and the lizard was
therefore at rest: in the morning the young ones had reappeared, and the
mother was as lean as at first. 2d, Mr Henry Doubleday, of Epping, supplies
the following information:—A person whose name is English, a good
observer, and one, as it were, brought up in Natural History, under Mr
Doubleday's tuition, once happened to set his foot on a lizard in the forest,
and while the lizard was thus held down by his foot, he distinctly saw three
young ones run out of her mouth. Struck by such a phenomenon, he killed
and opened the old one, and found two other young ones in her stomach,
which had been injured when he trod upon her. In both these instances the
narrators are of that class who do know what to observe, and how to
observe it; and the facts, whatever explanation they may admit, are not to be
dismissed as the result of imagination or mistaken observation."[149]
It is remarkable that all the serpents to which the phenomenon is
attributed are ovo-viviparous. Our common lizard, to which the facts just
narrated doubtless belong (Zootoca vivipara), has the same property, which,
however, appears to be by no means common among the Saurian races.
This coincidence, while it would afford a handle to the deniers of the stated
facts, in the assumption that the emergence of the living young from the
abdomen, or their presence within it, has given rise to the notion—may
have an essential significance and connexion with the phenomenon itself,
on the hypothesis of its truth. That endowment, whatever it be, which
enables the young to live and breathe in the abdominal cavity of the mother
before birth, may render it easier for them than for others not so endowed to
survive a temporary incarceration within the stomach after birth. Mr
Newman does not know how to believe that a young and tender animal can
remain in the strongly digestive stomach of a viper and receive no injury;
but he has forgotten to take into the account the well-ascertained power that
living tissues have the power of resisting the action of chemical re-agents
that would instantly take effect upon them when dead. The walls of the
stomach itself are not corroded by the gastric-juice which is rapidly
dissolving the piece of meat within it. If the young animals can do without
air for a while in their snug retreat, I do not think they would need fear the
digestive operation. Air, I should suppose, must be excluded from the

stomach, unless the parent have the power of swallowing air voluntarily, for
the emergency; but perhaps a cold-blooded animal like a reptile, with a
sluggish circulation and respiration, might do with very much less fresh air
than a mammal under similar conditions.
The proposed rationale of those who reject these statements,—that
female vipers in the last stage of pregnancy have been opened, and have
given freedom to living and active young, and that careless and unscientific
observers have leaped to the conclusion that their young must have entered
by the mouth,—will not stand before the testimony distinctly given by
witnesses, who have actually seen the young retreat into the mouth, and
have then found them within the body. No doubt the subject needs further
investigation by careful and unprejudiced naturalists; but the positive
evidence already adduced on the testimony of so many deponents, warrants
our accepting the phenomenon as a normal habit of certain species of
Saurians and Ophidians, though it may be somewhat rarely resorted to, and
that whatever physical difficulties may seem to stand in the way of its à
priori probability—difficulties which perhaps depend on our ignorance, and
which will disappear before the light of advancing knowledge.

The entomologists have fallen most ungallantly foul of Madame Merian,
a lady who resided in Surinam nearly two hundred years ago, and devoted
her attention to the native entomology, painting insects in a very admirable
manner. She is set down as a thorough heretic, not at all to be believed, a
manufacturer of unsound natural history, an inventor of false facts in
science.
Among other things, she speaks of a large hemipterous fly, which has in
consequence of her reports been named Fulgora lanternaria. This insect
has the head produced into a large inflated proboscis more than an inch in
length, which is said to carry an intense luminosity within its transparent
walls, as a candle is carried within a lantern. The fair observer says that the
first discovery which she made of this property caused her no small alarm.
The Indians had brought her several of these insects, which by daylight
exhibited no extraordinary appearance, and she enclosed them in a box until
she should have an opportunity of drawing them, placing it 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-
enclosed her brilliant guests in their place of confinement. She adds that the
light of one of these Fulgoræ is sufficiently bright to read a newspaper by:
and though the tale of her having drawn one of these insects by its own light
is without foundation, she doubtless might have done so if she had chosen.
This circumstantial and apparently truthful statement has brought no
small odium on the fair narrator. Other naturalists who have had
opportunities of seeing the insect in its native regions strongly deny its
luminosity. The inhabitants of Cayenne, according to the French
Dictionnaire d'Histoire Naturelle, aver that it does not shine at all; and this
is confirmed by M. Richard, a naturalist, who reared the species. The
learned and accurate Count Hoffmansegg states that his insect collector
Herr Sieber, a practised entomologist of thirty years' experience, who
during a sojourn of several years in Brazil took many specimens of the
Fulgora lanternaria, never saw a single one which was in the slightest
degree luminous. There is a kindred species in China, F. candelaria, very
common in those glazed boxes of insects which the Chinese sell to
mariners; this also has been supposed to emit light, but Dr Cantor assures us
that he has never observed the least luminosity in this species.
Thus it would seem that the obloquy which has fallen upon the ingenious
lady is not altogether undeserved, and that for the sake of a telling story, she
has been indeed "telling a story." But we may imagine her offended ghost
looking round and saying, "All these gentlemen merely say they have not
seen the light; now I say I have: is there no one who will verify my
statement?"
M. Lacordaire,—an authority on South American insects second to none,
says that he himself indeed never saw a luminous Fulgora all the time he
was collecting in Brazil and Cayenne, and that most of the inhabitants of
the latter country, when questioned on the subject, denied the fact, yet that
others of the natives as distinctly affirmed that it is luminous. He asks
whether it is not possible that the light may be confined to one sex, and thus
the conflicting testimony be reconciled; and gives it as his opinion that the

point is rather one which requires more careful observation, than one which
we can consider absolutely decided.[150]
Again, the Marquis Spinola, in an elaborate paper on this tribe, published
in the Annals of the Entomological Society of France,[151] strenuously
contends that the remarkable development of the frontal portion of the head
in the whole race is luminous. And finally, a friend of Mr Wesmael assured
him that he had himself seen the American Fulgora luminous while alive.
[152]

It may help to sustain our faith in the veracity of Madame Merian, to
know that there is some reason for attributing occasional luminosity to well-
known English insects, of which hundreds, and even thousands, have been
taken without manifesting a trace of the phenomenon. Mr Spence, in his
interesting Letter on Luminous Insects,[153] adduces the following evidence:
—Insects "may be luminous which have not hitherto been suspected of
being so. This seems proved by the following fact: A learned friend has
informed me, that when he was curate of Ickleton, Cambridgeshire, in 1780,
a farmer of that place, of the name of Simpringham, brought to him a mole-
cricket (Gryllotalpa vulgaris, Latr.), and told him that one of his people
seeing a Jack-o'-lantern, pursued it, and knocked it down, when it proved to
be this insect, and the identical specimen shewn to him.
"This singular fact, while it renders it probable that some insects are
luminous which no one has imagined to be so, seems to afford a clue to the,
at least, partial explanation of the very obscure subject of ignes fatui, and to
shew that there is considerable ground for the opinion long ago maintained
by Ray and Willughby, that the majority of these supposed meteors are no
other than luminous insects. That the large varying lambent flames
mentioned by Beccaria to be very common in some parts of Italy, and the
luminous globes seen by Dr Shaw cannot be thus explained, is obvious.
These were probably electrical phenomena; certainly not explosions of
phosphuretted hydrogen, as has been suggested by some, which must
necessarily have been momentary. But that the ignis fatuus mentioned by
Derham as having been seen by himself, and which he describes as flitting
about a thistle, was, though he seems of a different opinion, no other than
some luminous insect, I have little doubt. Mr Sheppard informs me that,
travelling one night between Stamford and Grantham on the top of the

stage, he observed for more than ten minutes a very large ignis fatuus in the
low marshy grounds, which had every appearance of being an insect. The
wind was very high: consequently, had it been a vapour it must have been
carried forward in a direct line; but this was not the case. It had the same
motion as a Tipula, flying upwards and downwards, backwards and
forwards, sometimes appearing as settled, and sometimes as hovering in the
air. Whatever be the true nature of these meteors, of which so much is said
and so little known, it is singular how few modern instances of their having
been observed are on record. Dr Darwin declares, that though in the course
of a long life he had been out in the night, and in the places where they are
said to appear, times without number, he had never seen anything of the
kind; and from the silence of other philosophers of our own times, it should
seem that their experience is similar."
A paper by Mr R Chambers on the subject adduces the additional
testimony of facts observed by good naturalists, as Dickson and Curtis the
eminent botanists, and Stothard the painter and entomologist, by his own
father Mr A. Chambers, and by Joseph Simpson, a fisherman living near
Boston, all of which strongly corroborate the probability that some, at least,
of the ignes fatui are produced by luminous insects.[154] Mr Main narrates
the case of a farmer who stated that he had pursued a Will-o'-the-wisp, and
coming up with it had knocked it down, when it proved to be an insect
"exactly like a Maggy-long-legs"—that is, the common Crane-fly (Tipula
oleracea), the very insect with which Mr Sheppard had compared the
motions of the luminous flame observed by him.[155] Mr Spence argues that
while gaseous emanations may be a cause of stationary ignes fatui, the same
cause will not explain those which flit along from place to place; and that
these are probably luminous insects, however rarely they may have come
under the notice of entomologists. "A very strong argument for the
possibility of some flying insects being occasionally luminous (in England)
is afforded by the facts ... of luminous caterpillars having been within these
few years observed for the first time since entomology has been attended to,
and that by observers every way competent. If caterpillars so very common
as those of Mamestra oleracea may sometimes, though so rarely, be
luminous, and if, as Dr Boisduval suggests, and is very probable, this
appearance was caused by disease, it is obvious that flying insects may be
also occasionally (though seldom) luminous from disease—a supposition

which will at once explain the rarity of the occurrence, and the
circumstance that insects of such different genera, and even orders, are said
to have exhibited this phenomenon."[156]
These highly curious facts should make observers cautious in strongly
denying statements made by others of phenomena, when they themselves
have not been so fortunate as to witness them, even though they may think
their opportunities to have been as favourable as those of the soi-disant
observer.[157]
But we have not yet dismissed Madame Merian. If acquitted of falsehood
here, she stands arraigned on a second charge of similar character.
In most tropical countries there are found hideous hairy spiders of
monstrous size and most repulsive appearance; short-legged, sombre-hued,
ferocious marauders of the night, that by day lurk in obscure retreats under
stones, or in burrows in the earth.
Guiana produces a formidable species of this sort (Mygale avicularia),
which measures three inches in length, and whose feet—though the genus
is, as I have said, comparatively short-limbed—cover an area some eight or
ten inches in diameter. Madame Merian has exquisitely figured the tragical
end of a tiny humming-bird, surprised by one of these monsters on her
eggs; the petite bird overthrown under the fangs of the sprawling spider, one
of whose feet is in the nest. It was on the authority of this lady that Linnæus
gave the name of avicularia to the species. Later naturalists have scouted
the whole story. Mr MacLeay, who resided in Cuba, says that there are
indeed there huge spiders, allied to our garden spider, which make a
geometric net, strong enough to embarrass small birds; but that these do not
attempt to catch such prey, and never molest birds at all. On the other hand,
he avers that the Cuban Mygale, an allied species to that of Guiana, makes
no web, and has no power of injuring birds. He put this to the test of
experiment; for having maimed a humming-bird, he thrust it into the
Mygale's hole, which, instead of seizing the victim, retreated as in fear out
of his den. This Mr MacLeay supposes to be conclusive; but a moment's
reflection will shew how equivocal is the evidence. The spider may not
have been hungry; or he may have been taken aback by the sudden
intrusion; or he might not choose to take prey that he had not stolen upon

and slaughtered suo more; or he may have muttered in the Arachnidan
language,—

"Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes."

Because a wolf will cower down in the corner of his lair (even a tiger has
been known to do so)—when a man suddenly enters his presence, and will
manifest the most abject fear, would it be philosophical to ridicule the tales
told of wolves pursuing and devouring men by night?
M. Langsdorff asked the people of Brazil if the Caranquexeira, or the
great Mygale of that country, fed upon humming-birds, when they answered
him, with bursts of laughter, that it only gratified its maw with large flies,
ants, bees, wasps, beetles, &c.; an answer which the traveller verified by his
own personal experience.[158] If M. Langsdorff means, which of course he
does, that he learned by personal observation that the spider ordinarily
feeds on insects, that fact is indubitable, and never has been doubted; but if
he means that he had experience that it eats only such prey, which is the
question at issue, it is plain that this experience proves no more than that he
never witnessed such a fact.
Percival, in his account of Ceylon, observes:—"There is an immense
spider here, with legs not less than four inches long, and having the body
covered with thick black hair." This was doubtless the Mygale of the island.
"The webs which it makes are strong enough to entangle and hold even
small birds, which form its usual prey." Alluding to this statement, Sir
Emerson Tennent says:—
"As to the stories told of the Mygale catching and killing birds, I am
satisfied, both from inquiry and observation, that, at least in Ceylon, they
are destitute of truth, and that (unless in the possible case of acute suffering
from hunger) this creature shuns all description of food except soft insects
and annelides." And yet he immediately adds:—"A lady at Marandan, near
Colombo, told me that she had, on one occasion, seen a little house-lizard
(gecko) seized and devoured by one of these ugly spiders."[159] Does he not,
then, credit his informant? Or are lizards included in the category of "soft
insects and annelides?"

Against this incredulity, resting on no better than negative evidence, one
might adduce collateral proof from analogy. There are spiders which feed
on vertebrate animals, and there are spiders whose webs catch birds. The
large and beautiful Nephila claripes of tropical America weaves strong
threads of yellow silk in the paths of the woods, converging to a web quite
strong enough to arrest a bird of weak flight. It must have been a species
allied to this, but certainly, I think, not the same, of which Dr Walsh speaks
in his "Travels in Brazil." "Among the insects is an enormous spider, which
I did not observe elsewhere. In passing through an opening between some
trees, I felt my head entangled in some obstructions, and on withdrawing it,
my straw hat remained behind. When I looked up I saw it suspended in the
air, entangled in the meshes of an immense cobweb, which was drawn like a
veil of thick gauze across the opening, and was expanded from branch to
branch of the opposite trees as large as a sheet ten or twelve feet in
diameter. The whole of this space was covered with spiders of the same
species but different sizes; some of them, when their legs were expanded,
forming a circle of six or seven inches in circumference.[160] They were
particularly distinguished by bright spots. The cords composing the web
were of a glossy yellow, like the fibres of silkworms, and equally strong."
There is a creature found in the tropical parts of both hemispheres, called
Solpuga, which though not exactly a spider, is yet so closely allied to that
family as to be in some measure responsible for its misdoings. It is about as
large as the Mygale, and, with sufficient general resemblance to it to
warrant its being popularly considered a spider, it has much the same habits
and appetites. Captain Hutton, in a most interesting memoir, describes the
details of an Indian species under the name of Galeodes vorax. Among
many other details, he says—"This species is extremely voracious, feeding
at night upon beetles, flies, and even large lizards; and sometimes gorging
itself to such a degree as to render it almost unable to move. A lizard, three
inches long, exclusive of tail, was entirely devoured; the spider sprung at it,
and made a seizure immediately behind the shoulder, never quitting its hold
until the whole was consumed. The poor lizard struggled violently at first,
rolling over and over in its agony, but the spider kept firm hold, and
gradually sawed away with its double jaws into the very entrails of the
victim. The only parts uneaten were the jaws and part of the skin, although
the lizard was at least five inches long from nose to extremity of tail. After

this meal, the spider remained gorged and motionless for about a fortnight,
being much swollen and distended.
"A young sparrow, about half grown, was placed under a bell-glass with a
Galeodes; the moment the luckless bird moved, the spider seized him by the
thigh, which he speedily sawed off, in spite of the sparrow's fluttering; and
then as the poor bird continued to struggle in pain, the savage seized him by
the throat, and soon put an end to his sufferings by cutting off the head. It
did not, however, devour the bird, nor any part of it, but seemed satisfied
with having killed it.
"On another occasion, I gave it a large garden-lizard, which was instantly
seized by the middle of the body; the lizard, finding that it could not shake
off its adversary, turned its head, and bit the Galeodes on the leg, which
obliged it immediately to quit its hold and retreat.
"On another occasion my friend, Dr Baddeley, confined one of these
spiders in a wall-shade with two young musk rats (Sorex Indicus), both of
which were killed by it."[161]
In an expedition to the Kurruckpoor Hills, south of Monghyr, Captain
Sherwill found upon the summit of Maruk, a table-topped hill of 1100 feet
elevation, several of the gigantic webs of the Epeira spider, some of which
measured (including the guy-ropes) from ten to twelve feet in diameter, the
reticulated portion being about five feet, in the centre of which the spider, of
a formidable size and very active, sits waiting for prey. "The webs," he
says, "from their great strength, offered a sensible resistance when forcing
our way through them. In the web of one of the spiders we found a bird
entangled, and the young spiders, about eight in number, feeding upon the
carcase. The bird was, with the exception of its legs and beak, entirely
enveloped in the web, and was much decomposed; the entwined web had
completely pinioned the wings of the bird, so as to render its escape
impossible. The bird was about the size of a field-lark, and was near the
centre of the web; the old spider was about a foot above the bird: we
secured, measured, and bottled him. Its dimensions were six inches across
the legs, and it was armed with a formidable pair of mandibles."[162]
It is clear, then, that there is nothing absurd or contrary to probability in
the statement that spiders attack, overcome, and devour birds. But Madame

Merian is here again favoured with direct witnesses to sustain her good
faith. M. Moreau de Jonnès expressly mentions, on his own authority, that
the South American Mygale climbs the branches of trees to devour the
young of humming-birds. But the most satisfactory statement is made by
Mr H. W. Bates, who has recently returned from the interior of Brazil after
many years spent in studying the entomology of that vast region. No one
will deny his competency as a witness. "Now I will relate to you," he says,
"what I saw in the month of June 1849, in the neighbourhood of Cameta. I
was attracted by a curious movement of the large gray-brown Mygale on
the trunk of a vast tree: it was close beneath a deep crevice or chink in the
tree, across which this species weaves a dense web, open for its exit and
entrance at one end. In the present instance the lower part of the web was
broken, and two pretty small finches were entangled in its folds; the finch
was about the size of the common siskin of Europe, and I judged the two to
be male and female; one of them was quite dead, but secured in the broken
web; the other was under the body of the spider, not quite dead, and was
covered in parts with the filthy liquor or saliva exuded by the monster. I was
on my return from a day's excursion by land at the time, with my boxes full
of valuable and delicate insects, and six miles from my house, and therefore
could not have brought the specimens home, even if I had wished, which I
did not, as the spider was a very common species, easily to be procured
nearer home. The species I cannot name; I sent several fine specimens,
stuffed, to London, in 1851; it is wholly of a gray-brown colour, and
clothed with coarse pile. Doubtless you will immediately know the exact
species to which I refer.
"If the Mygales did not prey upon vertebrated animals, I do not see how
they could find sufficient subsistence.

BIRD-EATING SPIDER.
"On the extensive sandy campos of Santarem, so bare in vegetation, there
are hundreds of the broad slanting burrows of the large stout species, (that
fine one, dark brown with paler lines down the legs, of which I sent
specimens in 1851.) The campos, I know, from close research, to be almost
destitute of insects, but at the same time to swarm with small lizards, and
some curious ground finches of the Emberiza group (one of which has a
song wonderfully resembling our yellow bunting of England), besides
which, vast numbers of the Caprimulgidæ and ground doves lay their eggs
on the bare ground.
"I believe this species of Mygale feeds on these animals and their eggs at
night. Just at the close of day, when I have been hurrying home, not liking
to be benighted on the pathless waste, I have surprised these monsters, who
retreated within the mouths of their burrows on my approach."[163]

VIII.

FASCINATION.
It is a notion of long standing and widely diffused, that certain
predaceous animals have a power, which, however, they only occasionally
exert, of paralysing the creatures on which they prey, so as utterly to take
away the faculty of flight, and even, in some circumstances, of drawing
them, as if by an irresistible influence, to their known and dreaded
destruction. This fascinating power has been most generally attributed to
serpents, and is supposed to reside in a peculiar glare and fixity of the eyes,
which appear to mesmerise the victims. If the gaze be interrupted, on either
part, though but for a moment, it is supposed that the spell is broken. Is
there any such power? or is it merely one of the many myths with which
popular natural history is still burdened, and which it is the province of real
science to explode? Let us gather together a few of the facts on which the
opinion rests.
I am not sure whether I ought to reckon as such the following statement,
for I do not know the value of the authority on which it rests. It is, however,
sufficiently curious.
Dr Bird, a somewhat appropriate authority in this case, mentions an
incident which happened in America. "Two boys lighted by chance upon a
large black snake; upon which one of them resolved to ascertain whether
the snake, so celebrated for its powers, could fascinate him. He advanced a
few steps nearer the snake, and made a stand, steadily looking on him.
When the snake observed him in that situation, he raised his head with a
quick motion, and the lad says, that at that instant there appeared something
to flash in his eyes, which he could compare to nothing more similar than
the rays of light thrown from a glass or mirror when turned in the sun-shine;
he said it dazzled his eyes; at the same time the colours appeared very
beautiful ... he felt as if he was in a whirlpool, and that every turn brought
him nearer to the centre. His comrade seeing him approach nearer to the
snake, immediately ran and killed it."[164]

There is, however, better authority than this for the belief in serpent-
mesmerism. Professor Kalm states of the Rattlesnake of North America,
that it will frequently lie at the bottom of a tree on which a squirrel is
seated. The snake fixes his eyes upon the little animal, and from that
moment it cannot escape: it begins a doleful outcry, runs up the tree a little
way, comes down again, then goes up, and afterwards comes still lower.
The snake continues at the bottom of the tree, with its eyes fixed on the
squirrel; and its attention is so entirely taken up, that a person accidentally
approaching may make a considerable noise, without so much as the snake's
turning about. The squirrel comes lower, and at last leaps down to the
snake, whose mouth is already wide open for its reception. The little animal
then, with a piteous cry, runs into its jaws and is swallowed.
Catesby, though he says he never saw the phenomenon himself, reports
the same thing on the testimony of many witnesses, who all agreed that the
animals, particularly birds and squirrels, no sooner spy the snake than they
skip from spray to spray, hovering and approaching gradually nearer their
enemy, regardless of any other danger; but with distracted gestures and
outcries descend, though from the top of the loftiest trees, to the mouth of
the snake, who, opening his jaws, takes them in and in an instant swallows
them.[165]
More recently Acrell tells the same story, as unquestionable. He declares
that as the snake, who is the most indolent of all serpents, lies under the
shade of a tree, opening his jaws a little, he fixes his brightly-glittering eyes
on any bird or squirrel which is in it. The squirrel, uttering a mournful and
feeble cry, leaps from bough to bough, as if seeking to escape, but presently,
as if struck with the fascination, he comes down the tree, and flings himself,
with a spring, into the very jaws of his enemy. A mouse, shut up with a
rattlesnake in an iron box, at first sat in one corner, the snake opposite to it.
The reptile fixed its terrible eye on the little trembler, which at length threw
itself into the mouth of the serpent.[166]
Lawson affirms that he has seen the phenomenon actually take place with
a squirrel and a rattlesnake.[167]
I said that the belief is widely spread. We have seen it in North America;
we will now look at it in Africa.

Captain Forbes incidentally mentions a case analogous to these. Passing
through some high grass at Ahomey, he observed, within an inch of his leg,
a small lizard, with its eyes fixed. It did not move at his approach. At the
same moment a cobra darted at it, and before he could raise his stick, bore
the victim away. The captain naturally enough was occupied with his own
narrow escape, and simply narrates the facts without comment; but the
fixity of the gaze, and the motionlessness of the lizard, were not a little
remarkable.[168]
Mr Ellis, in his charming volume on Madagascar and the Cape, makes
the following observations:—[169]
"In a country abounding, as Africa does, with serpents, I expected to hear
many anecdotes respecting them; and, conversing on one occasion with Mr
Pullen, a farmer who has lived many years in the country, and seemed to
have paid rather more than usual attention to this species of reptile, he said
he once saw a mouse running in a field, and that, coming in sight of a
snake, though at a considerable distance, it instantly stopped. The snake
fixed its eye on the mouse, which then crept slowly towards the snake, and,
as it approached nearer, trembled and shrieked most piteously, but still kept
approaching until quite close, when it seemed to become prostrate, and the
snake then devoured it. On another occasion he had watched a snake
capture a mouse in the same manner; but, as it was retreating, he followed,
and struck it on the back with a stick, when it opened its mouth, and the
mouse escaping, ran for some distance, then fell down; but after a minute
recovered and ran away. Another time he said he watched a snake in the
water, which had fixed its eye on a frog sitting amongst the grass on the
bank. The frog, though greatly alarmed, seemed unable to stir, until Mr
Pullen gradually pushed a rush growing near so that it intervened between
the eye of the snake and its intended victim, when the frog, as if suddenly
liberated, darted away. Mr Pullen's ideas were in accordance with the
popular notion, that the snake has the power of exercising some mesmeric
or other influence through the steady fixing of its eye, and that whatever
intercepts this gaze breaks, as it were, the charm, and sets the prisoner free."
A most important witness on this matter is Dr Andrew Smith, the learned
zoologist of South Africa, who thus soberly throws the weight of his own
thoroughly competent and most conclusive personal observations into the

affirmative scale. In his interesting account of the Boomslange, a serpent of
considerable size found in that region, he says:—
"As this snake, Bucephalus capensis, in our opinion, is not provided with
a poisonous fluid to instil into wounds which these fangs may inflict, they
must consequently be intended for a purpose different to those which exist
in poisonous reptiles. Their use seems to be to offer obstacles to the
retrogression of animals, such as birds, &c., while they are only partially
within the mouth; and, from the circumstance of these fangs being directed
backwards, and not admitting of being raised so as to form an angle with
the edge of the jaw, they are well fitted to act as powerful holders when
once they penetrate the skin and soft parts of the prey which their
possessors may be in the act of swallowing. Without such fangs escapes
would be common; with such, they are rare.
"The natives of South Africa regard the Bucephalus capensis as
poisonous; but in their opinion we cannot concur, as we have not been able
to discover the existence of any glands manifestly organised for the
secretion of poison. The fangs are enclosed in a soft, pulpy sheath, the inner
surface of which is commonly coated with a thin glairy secretion. This
secretion possibly may have something acrid and irritating in its qualities,
which may, when it enters a wound, occasion pain and even swelling, but
nothing of greater importance.
"The Bucephalus capensis is generally found upon trees, to which it
resorts for the purpose of catching birds, upon which it delights to feed. The
presence of a specimen in a tree is generally soon discovered by the birds of
the neighbourhood, who collect around it, and fly to and fro, uttering the
most piercing cries, until some one, more terror-struck than the rest,
actually scans its lips, and, almost without resistance, becomes a meal for
its enemy. During such a proceeding the snake is generally observed with
its head raised about ten or twelve inches above the branch round which its
body and tail are entwined, with its mouth open and its neck inflated, as if
anxiously endeavouring to increase the terror which it would almost appear
it was aware would sooner or later bring within its grasp some one of the
feathered group.

"Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless true
that birds, and even quadrupeds, are, under such circumstances, unable to
retire from the presence of certain of their enemies; and, what is even more
extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to advance from a situation of
actual safety into one of the most imminent danger. This I have often seen
exemplified in the case of birds and snakes; and I have heard of instances
equally curious, in which antelopes and other quadrupeds have been so
bewildered by the sudden appearance of crocodiles, and by the grimaces
and contortions they practised, as to be unable to fly or even to move from
the spot towards which they were approaching to seize them."[170]
It may have been the Boomslange to which Le Vaillant alludes, who says
that he saw, on the branch of a tree, a species of shrike, trembling as if in
convulsions; and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another branch, he
beheld a large species of snake, that was lying with outstretched neck, and
fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal. The agony of the bird was so
great, that it was deprived of the power of moving away; and when one of
the party killed the snake, the shrike was found dead upon the spot, and that
entirely from fear; for on examination it appeared not to have received the
slightest wound. The same traveller informs us, that a short time afterwards
he observed a small mouse, in similar agonising convulsions, about two
yards distant from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on
frightening away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his
hand.[171]
In a record, by Mr D. T. Evans, of some experiments with Venomous
Serpents, made at the Zoological Gardens, mainly with a view to test the
efficacy of a reputed remedy for their bite,—Simaba cedron—and which
were pursued with the utmost philosophic care, we find the following
interesting particulars:—"The attitudes and movements of the serpent
intending to bite were very striking and beautiful. In the first place, he
made, with the posterior half of his body, a bold curve, having a strong
prehensile 'purchase' on the floor of the cage, so as to secure a steady
fulcrum for the rapid dart made at the time of the bite. The upper half of the
body was raised some ten inches or a foot, the neck strongly arched, and the
head, bent at nearly right angles with the neck, was poised directly opposite
the prey. In such position the serpent remained a greater or lesser time
(sometimes as long as twenty minutes) according to circumstances. During

this interval, the slightest motion of the animal before him was followed by
an instantaneous and correspondent movement of the head and neck of the
serpent. The purpose seemed to be that of aim-taking, for the eyes were
intently fixed upon the prey; but I am by no means sure that the snake,
knowing that the latter cannot escape him, does not derive pleasure from
this prolonged and intent gaze. At all events, in one experiment, where the
head of a rattlesnake so engaged was sideways to the glass of the cage, and
near it, I observed, and called attention to the fact, a remarkable vermicular
motion along the course of the poison-gland to the opening of the angle of
the mouth, which we thought might afford him pleasure, and this continued
until the snake struck his prey.
"So far the Serpents. I now proceed to describe the peculiarities shewn by
the animals on which we experimented. Some philosophers have denied
innate ideas to man; these and some others have furthermore denied an
instinctive apprehension of danger in animals. They say that of itself, as
born, the hare has no dread of the hound: that its fear is acquired of
experience. I concur in neither of these opinions, and think the latter
altogether refuted by the conduct of the animals exposed to serpents in
these experiments. Not one of the guinea-pigs or rabbits (which were all
something under their full growth) had ever seen a serpent; yet when
introduced to the cage they shewed unequivocal symptoms of distress and
fear. In some instances they actually screamed before they were struck.
They generally shewed restlessness at first, but when the serpent, intending
to strike, poised himself in front, they became for a time, if not altogether,
motionless. Is there such a thing as 'fascination?' If by this is meant a
pleasurable paralysis of the animal's powers, I think it more than doubtful;
but a deprivation of the power of motion from terror may, perhaps, take
place. All, however, that I speak to is a perfectly motionless condition of
snake and prey, lasting several minutes."[172]
Nor are there wanting examples of the same power exercised by the
common Snake of our own country. I content myself with the following
two, both of very recent record:—
"Up the hill above Tyneham," writes the Rev. Henry Bond, last August,
"towards the sea, I was struck by the shrill cry and fluttering agitation of a
common hedge-sparrow, in a whitethorn bush. Regardless of my presence,

its remarkable motions were continued, getting, at every hop from bough to
bough, lower and lower down in the bush. Drawing nearer, I saw a common
snake coiled up, but having its head erect, watching the sparrow; the
moment the snake saw me it glided away, and the sparrow flew off with its
usual mode of flight."[173]
This anecdote brings out another by Mr John Henry Belfrage, of Muswell
Hill:—"When proceeding down the avenue here one morning, at a turn in
the path I saw a robin, which appeared to me spell-bound, so much so as to
allow a much closer approach than is usual even with that boldest of the
feathered tribe. On going nearer I perceived what I took to be the cause, in a
large common snake, which was lying coiled up on one side of the path,
with its head a little raised. My appearance broke the spell, and the robin
flew away; at the same time, the snake dropped its head and assumed a
perfectly inert appearance."[174]
A writer in the Journal of the Indian Archipelago thus reports the
mesmeric faculty exercised upon a certainly somewhat unlikely subject:
—"On approaching an almost dry drain, I saw a snake slowly extending his
coils, raising his head, and steadfastly gazing on what I saw to be an eel of
about a foot in length. The eel was directly opposite to the snake, and
glance seemed to meet glance, when the snake, having the requisite
proximity, darted on the eel and caught it about an inch behind the head,
and carried it off; but the captor was soon himself a captive, for with a blow
on his head I secured both."[175]
The mystery is, as usual in such cases, attempted to be explained away.
Man does not like mystery; scientific man least of all: it is humbling to the
pride of science to be obliged to confess that there exists anything
unaccountable to the initiated. Mr W. C. L. Martin thus "explains" the
statements of Dr A. Smith, and all such accounts:—"There is nothing
mysterious in all this; the snake does not mesmerise its prey, but merely so
terrifies it as to stupify it; besides, the victim may feel an impulse similar to
that which urges many nervous persons on the edge of a precipice, or top of
a lofty tower, to throw themselves down headlong, and which we have
heard such describe as resisted with difficulty; so may the panic-struck bird
feel an impulse to rush into danger which it might escape by flight."[176]

And again:—"Fear, amounting to panic, solicitude for its young, and
efforts to drive away the dreaded intruder, leading the bird to venture too
closely to the snake for its own safety, produce the results erroneously
attributed to the Reptile's fancied power of fascination by its glance, or by
some mystic property."[177]
Dr Barton, of Philadelphia, who, at the close of the last century,
published a memoir on the fascinating powers attributed to certain serpents,
advocated the same views. He considered that in almost every instance the
supposed power was exerted on birds at the particular season of
nidification, and that the whole hypothesis originated in the στοργη which
prompts them to protect their eggs or young. No doubt some of the
instances which have been reported as examples of fascination are capable
of such an explanation, but surely not all; and the fallacy, here again, as in
so many parallel cases, lies in the advocating of some theory which will
cover a certain number of the facts, and the ignoring of all such as will not
be so accounted for. Is it to be supposed that Dr A. Smith could not
distinguish between the condition of involuntary paralysis of the faculties
which he says he has often seen, and the insane boldness of nesting birds?
Had the mice, seen by Mr Pullen, had the frog, young ones to protect? Or
the squirrel mentioned by Kalm? or the mouse seen by Le Vaillant? or the
eel in the drain? But what is the value of a hypothesis,—so far as its claims
to solve this question are concerned,—which will not touch these cases?
When Mr Martin denies that there is anything mysterious in the matter, and
in the same sentence admits that "the victim may feel an impulse to rush
into the danger which it might escape," he just yields the whole point. I
venture to affirm that this is something mysterious, something totally
unaccountable. I ask what, and whence, and why, this strange impulse that
overcomes the first of all instincts, the prime law of self-preservation?
It does not explain the cause of the phenomenon, though it possibly helps
us to determine its proper seat, to learn that fascination belongs to other
animals besides the serpent tribes. We shall perhaps not err if we conclude
that the peculiarity resides not in the object, but in the subject; that it is a
mental emotion capable of being excited by objects having little in common
except the death-terror which they excite. I have no doubt that it is a phase
of extreme terror; the singularity of the phenomenon consists in the reversal
of ordinary instinctive laws which it induces. My readers will probably be

interested in the details of some cases in which the exciters of the emotion
were animals other than serpents. Here is one, apparently related with care
and truthfulness, though anonymous, in which the fascinator was as
unlikely as can be well imagined to excite, and the fascinatee to feel, the
emotion:—
"One evening, being seated in a room at Garrackpore, the window of
which was open, and the ceiling on one side sloped downwards towards the
window, my attention was attracted by a butterfly which chanced to fly into
the room. I observed its motions for a minute or two, when I thought there
was something that appeared unnatural in them, and the insect began to dart
to and fro in one direction, occasionally, however, varying its flight about
the room. I looked up to see what it could possibly be at, and instantly
observed an ordinary-sized lizard on the cloth of the upper ceiling. I had not
even then the most distant idea of what was really going on; but seeing the
butterfly dart every now and then at the lizard, I supposed it in play, till its
motions became less quick and animated. The lizard remained all this time
immovable, but at last suddenly shifted its ground to the sloping part of the
ceiling. The motions of the butterfly became still more languid, until at
length, to my utter surprise, I saw the lizard open its mouth, and the
butterfly flew directly into it. The lizard was about half a minute
swallowing it, wings and all. Until the last act of this curious scene, though
I well knew the lizard's object, I supposed it would probably make a leap at
the butterfly, yet had no idea of its succeeding, and expected to see the
butterfly fly away. Had I had an idea of the cause, I should have broken the
charm.
"From that moment I never had the least doubt of the power of
fascination: that power I conceive to be terror, which, if the object was
sufficiently terrible, I believe would act equally on man or any other
creature."[178]
Still more strange is it to hear of scorpions fascinating blue-bottle flies!
"On my arrival" says Mr Robert Hunter, "at Nágpur, in Central India, in
1847, I requested that the first scorpion found in the house might be
allowed to live for a few minutes, that I might have an opportunity of
observing its form and movements. In that part of India one has rarely to
wait long for such a visitant, and on an early evening my colleague, the

Rev. Mr Hislop, announced that there was a scorpion on the wall. A lamp
was set down on the floor, and we took convenient stations for noting what
might pass. Just then a large fly, of the genus Musca, made its appearance,
and soon became aware of the presence of the scorpion. A strong fury
seemed to seize it, irresistibly impelling it to an insane attack on the terrible
occupant of the wall: it flew at it with all the little force it could muster, the
scorpion meanwhile stretching out its lobster-like claw to catch it as it
came. At the first charge, the fly rebounded from the crustaceous
integument of its adversary, having done no more damage than if a child
were to apply its hand to the well-mailed body of a cuirassier. It seemed
amazed at its own audacity; and in a state of great apparent agitation
wheeled round, and taking precipitately to flight, soon put two or three
yards of safe space between itself and its formidable but wingless foe. We
now forcibly hoped 'the better part of valour' might be allowed to prevail.
But no! the tiny creature stood—it ventured to look—there glared still in
view the malignant form. What could the poor animal do but make a second
brilliant onset, in which it again eluded the outstretched claw of its enemy,
and, as before, was successful in effecting a retreat? 'Surely,' we mused, 'no
further knight-errantry will be attempted: the most exacting would consider
this enough.' But we were mistaken. Again and again did the fly return to
the combat, till in an unguarded moment it flew exactly into the open claw,
which closing, rendered escape impossible. The generosity of a Mouravieff
was scarcely to be looked for in the scorpion, which, as will be readily
believed, lost no time in devouring its gallant captive. Possibly the fly may
have been partly dazzled by the glare of the lamp. But undoubtedly it was in
the main fascination, induced by the sight of the dread figure on the wall,
that impelled it to begin the unequal contest, which could terminate only in
the loss of its life."[179]
After these cases, I fear my readers would see but little of the romantic in
stories of stoats mesmerising hares and rabbits, or foxes paralysing pullets.
The former are common enough,—the wretched hare creeping along with a
bewildered look, as if its back were broken, or screaming in helpless
immobility. I will confine myself to a single narrative furnished by Mr
Henry Bond, to whom this chapter is already indebted for one case. As he
was walking on the hillside above West Creech Farm, in Penbeck,
Somerset, last August, where the down is scattered with very low furze-

bushes, his attention was arrested by a cry of distress. It proceeded from a
rabbit which was cantering round in a ring, with a halting gait. He watched
it for some minutes; but, as the circle became smaller, and the rabbit more
agitated, he perceived a stoat turning its head with the rabbit's motion, and
fixing its gaze upon it. He struck a blow at the stoat, but missed it; its
attention was thus withdrawn from its intended victim, which instantly ran
away with great vigour in a straight direction.[180]
This is a remarkably good case; the circular movement of the rabbit; the
ever-diminishing circle; the rotation of the stoat; the fixity of its gaze; the
liberation of the rabbit the moment the stoat was disturbed; and the instant
recovery of its faculties on the breaking of the spell;—all these are
circumstances of the highest interest in a case avouched by so good a
naturalist as Mr Bond.
Mr J. H. Gurney reports the account of a respectable gamekeeper, who,
being much annoyed by the nightly visits of a fox to the poultry, could not
imagine how Reynard managed to effect his purpose, as they roosted on a
large spreading oak. One morning, however, just as day was dawning, he
heard a great noise among the poultry, and, looking out of the window, saw
a fox running round and round under the place where they sat, and soon
observed that the fowls began to fall from the tree in great confusion. The
fox immediately seized his victim, and the mystery was so far solved. A day
or two afterwards the fox, a very large male, was killed in an adjoining
paddock, and no further assaults were made upon the poultry.
In this case the result was possibly effected by vertigo; the birds,
bewildered and amazed in the dim light, followed with their eyes the course
of the sly depredator, as he ran swiftly in a circle beneath, until the frequent
turning of their heads made them giddy and unable to keep their balance.
But how did the fox know that such a result would follow?
The same gentleman gives, from his own observation, a case that is more
to the point. Here a bird is the mesmeric practitioner. "I once saw a golden
eagle which appeared entirely to fascinate a rabbit that was put into the
large cage in which the eagle was kept. As soon as the rabbit was
introduced, the eagle fixed his eye upon it, and the rabbit intently returned
the gaze, and began going round the eagle in circles, approaching nearer

each time, the eagle meanwhile turning on his axis (as it were) on the block
of wood upon which he was seated, and keeping his eye fixed upon that of
the rabbit.
"When the rabbit had approached very near to the bottom of the eagle's
perch, it stood up on its hind legs, and looked the eagle in the face; the
eagle then made his pounce, which appeared at once to break the charm,
and the rabbit ran for its life, but it was too late for it to escape the clutch of
the eagle, and the instant death which followed that tremendous squeeze."
[181]

I am not sure how far a parallelism exists between this animal fascination
by the eye, and that attraction which fire is well known to possess for many
creatures. Shelley sings of

"The desire of the moth for the star,"

as if it were a romantic passion for that which is bright and beautiful.
This is, of course, a poet's aspect; the insect-collector, who wants to fill his
cabinet—"my friend the weaver," who nightly pursues his "untaxed and
undisputed game"—well knows that the glare of his bull's-eye lamp will
attract the moths by thousands on a damp night in June. The little flitting
atoms pass and repass across the field of light, suddenly flashing into full
radiance, and in an instant relapsing into the darkness, unless his gauze net
is too rapid for them. I have often sat reading late at night with a candle in
the window, and observed with interest how many insects of all orders will
soon congregate on the outside; now and then some large moth coming up
with a dull thud, or a great mailed beetle dashing against the glass with a
crash that makes one look sharply up to see whether he has not cracked the
pane. In Jamaica I have taken many valuable beetles and other insects
around the candle-shades at an open window, which were not met with in
any other way.
So in Alabama, where it is customary in balmy autumn evenings for the
family to sit in the yard under the broad sheltering trees, by the flickering
light of the yard-fire. This fire is lighted at dusk on an iron tripod breast-
high, and kept up till bed-time. It is the duty of a negro urchin to keep it
constantly bright with splints of pine, so as to maintain a perpetual blaze, as

the object is to illuminate the yard and its contiguous offices. The little
"nigger" nods, of course, but the loud scolding voice of master, mistress, or
overseer, or any one else, rates him, and rouses him to duty, as soon as the
flame falls. It is pleasant to sit and watch the effect of the light, either
transmitted through or reflected from the quivering leaves of the
surrounding trees, the blaze now rising brightly and playing in tongue-like
flickering spires, now sinking and dying to a ruddy glow, then suddenly
reviving under the frightened watchfulness of the sable minister, who plays
the part of vestal virgin at this altar.
Large insects often play around this fire. Beetles "wheel their drony
flight" in buzzing circles round for a few turns, and are gone; and moths
come fluttering about, and often scorch their plumy wings. I have taken
some very fine Sphinges and other moths thus; and the only specimen I ever
saw of that very curious insect the Mole-cricket alive (a species distinct
from, but very closely allied to, our European insect) was one that suddenly
dashed into the ashes of the light-stand—a curious and interesting
circumstance, when connected with the opinion that I have before alluded
to, that the Gryllotalpa Europæa is one of the producers of the Ignis fatuus.
Birds also are attracted by light at night. I have read of a Titmouse that
was seen fluttering around a gas-lamp in the suburbs of London, and would
not be driven away; it at length made its entrance into the lamp through the
orifice at the bottom, and continued to flit around and across the jet. In
1832, a Herring-gull struck one of the mullions of the Bell Rock Light-
house with such force, that two of the polished plates of glass, measuring
about two feet square, and a quarter of an inch in thickness, were shivered
to pieces, and scattered over the floor in a thousand atoms, to the great
alarm of the keeper on watch, and the other inmates of the house, who
rushed instantly to the light-room. The gull was found to measure five feet
between the tips of the wings. In his gullet was a large herring, and in his
throat a piece of plate-glass of about one inch in length.
Dr Livingstone gives some curious examples of the attractive power of
fire over various creatures in South Africa, which he attributes to a sort of
fascination. "Fire," he says, "exercises a fascinating effect on some kinds of
toads. They may be seen rushing into it on the evenings without ever
starting back on feeling pain. Contact with the hot embers rather increases

the energy with which they strive to gain the hottest parts, and they never
cease their struggles for the centre, even when their juices are coagulating
and their limbs stiffening in the roasting heat. Various insects also are thus
fascinated; but the scorpions may be seen coming away from the fire in
fierce disgust, and they are so irritated as to inflict at that time their most
painful stings."[182]

IX.

SERPENT-CHARMING.
From the day when the solemn doom was pronounced,—"I will put
enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed,"
the serpent-form has begotten revulsion and dread in the human breast. And
deservedly; for a venomous serpent is a terrible enemy: the direful venom
of sin injected by "that old serpent, the Devil," is well symbolised by the
most potent of all lethic agencies,—the poison of the rattlesnake or the
cobra.
And yet in all ages there have been persons in the countries where the
most venomous snakes abound, who have professed, and have been
believed to enjoy, an absolute immunity from their bites, and even to
exercise some inexplicable power over them, whereby their rage is soothed,
and they are rendered for the time gentle and harmless. The Holy Scriptures
repeatedly allude to this ancient art. The Magicians of Egypt, who turned
their rods into serpents, are supposed to have had recourse to a secret
known, it is said, to the modern conjurors of the same country, who, by
pressing the nape of the neck of the cobra with their fingers, throw it into a
sort of catalepsy, by which its whole body becomes rigid like a rod, and
from which it is relieved by suddenly throwing it on the ground. Aaron's rod
was a veritable rod before and after the transaction, but changed into a
serpent by Divine miraculous energy: theirs were serpents made to assume
the appearance of rods for the moment by a cunning device.
Other and more direct allusions, however, occur to the art of serpent-
charming. Thus the obduracy of the wicked is compared to "the deaf adder
that stoppeth her ear; which will not hearken to the voice of charmers,
charming never so wisely."[183] And the Aseverity of the Chaldean invaders
is depicted under this imagery:—"Behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices,
among you, which will not be charmed, and they shall bite you, saith the
Lord."[184]
Among the ancient Romans the Psylli, a people of Africa, and the Marsi,
a German tribe who had settled in Italy, were reputed to have the power of

charming serpents, and to be endowed with immunity from the results of
their venom. Celsus, however, maintains that this power consisted in an
acquaintance with the fact, now well known, that animal poisons are hurtful
only when mingled with the blood. They may therefore be taken into the
mouth with perfect impunity. With reference to so great an authority,
however, there is more in the art and mystery of serpent-charming than this.
When Lucian describes the Babylonian magician as walking abroad, and
calling to him all the serpents that were near, with certain ceremonies, such
as the utterance of sacred words from an ancient book, lustrations made
with sulphur and a torch, and solemn marchings in a circle, and when he
asserts that the venomous reptiles, nolentes volentes, presented themselves
harmless at his feet,—he describes a scene which is sufficiently familiar to
European travellers in Egypt and India. And so, when Silius Italicus speaks
of Atyr, instructed how to disarm serpents of their dire venom, and to lull to
sleep the terrible water-snakes with his magic touch, he refers, whether
truly or falsely, to something of a more potent character than the feat by
which Queen Philippa saved the life of her royal husband.
Immunity from the poison of serpents, and serpent-charming, are two
things. The former, so far as it depends on the natural law already
mentioned, scarcely comes within the province of this work. But is there
not an innate immunity residing in some persons, and even in some peoples,
by which, without the operation of any recognised natural law, or even any
effort, they are securely protected either against the bites of venomous
serpents, or, at least, against the fatality which is the ordinary result of being
bitten?
The Psylli, according to Pliny, were so characteristically endowed with
this immunity, that they made it a test of the legitimacy of their children; for
they were accustomed to expose their new-born babes (only in doubtful
cases, we may suppose) to the most venomous serpents they could find;
assured that if their paternity was pure Psyllic, they would be quite
unharmed. Of this tribe was the ambassador Hexagon, who, boasting of his
power before the Roman consuls, submitted to the crucial test which they
suggested, of being inclosed in a vessel swarming with poisonous reptiles,
which, says the legendary story, hurt him not.

The same historian tells us that the Psylli, who formerly inhabited the
vicinity of the Greater Syrtis,—that is, the modern Tripoli and Barca,—
were conquered and almost exterminated by the Nasamones, who possessed
their land; but that a remnant fled to some distant region. It is not
improbable that the present inhabitants of Sennaar, on the south of Egypt,
may be the lineal descendants of these same Psylli; for, since Egypt was
densely peopled and highly cultivated, a barbarous tribe could scarcely have
made good their footing there; and as on the other side was the Great Desert
of the Sâhra, and on the north the sea, there was no resource open to them
but to creep along the desert edge of Egypt till they found a thinly-inhabited
land sufficiently savage to enable them to form a settlement. The first
region of this character that they could possibly find would be Nubia; and
there it is most interesting to know that there exists a people at the present
time, pretending to the same powers as the old Psylli. Bruce, whose
testimony, at first much impugned, has come to be received with
confidence, avouches that all the black people in the kingdom of Sennaar,
whether Funge or Nuba, are perfectly armed against the bite of either
scorpion or viper. They take the Cerastes—a little asp with two horns, of
the most deadly venom—into their hands at all times, put them into their
bosoms, and throw them at one another as children do balls, without ever
irritating them by this usage so much as to make them bite. One day when
the traveller was sitting with the brother of the prime minister of Sennaar, a
slave of his brought a Cerastes, which he had just taken out of a hole, and
was using with every sort of familiarity. Bruce expressed his suspicion that
the teeth had been drawn, but was assured that they were not, both by the
slave and by his master, who, taking the viper from him, wound it round his
arm, and at the traveller's desire, ordered the servant to accompany him
with it to his residence. Here Bruce, to test the power of the serpent, took a
chicken by the neck, and made it flutter; the seeming indifference of the
snake immediately gave place to eagerness, and he bit the fowl with great
signs of anger, which died almost immediately. Bruce considers that the
indifference was only seeming towards the man,—that it was indeed
powerlessness, for he constantly observed that, however lively the snake
was before, yet upon being seized by any of the blacks, it seemed as if taken
with sudden sickness and feebleness, frequently shut its eyes, and never
turned its mouth towards the arm of the person who held it.

How exactly this account agrees with the words of Silius,

"—— tactuque graves sopire chelydros."

The Nubian traveller informs us that the Arabs—meaning apparently the
Moslem blacks—have not this secret naturally, but that from infancy they
acquire an exemption from the mortal consequences attending the bites of
all venomous reptiles by chewing a certain root, and washing themselves (it
is not anointing) with an infusion of certain plants in water. This is by no
means improbable; and it were much to be desired that the root and the
plants were obtained and identified, that their preventive powers might be
tested by competent men of science. In all probability they would be found
to belong to the Quassia tribe, the natural order Simarubaceæ, plants of the
tropical regions of both continents, whose juices are of an intense bitterness.
An infusion of the chips of Quassia amara and of Simaruba amara is found
to be an effectual poison to flies; and the Brazilian Indians use an infusion
of Simaruba versicolor as a specific against the bite of serpents, and use it
with great effect in the pediculous diseases which are so common among
that people.
It was a plant of this order, Simaba cedron, on which experiments were
made a few years ago, at the Zoological Gardens, just before the lamentable
death, by the bite of the Cobra, of poor Gurling, who, indeed, assisted in
them. Mr Squire, the eminent chemist, was desirous of testing the powers of
this plant, which, dried and reduced to powder, is in high repute among the
Indians of South America as a serpentifuge. Dr Quain and Mr Evans
concurred in this desire; and, with the permission of the Zoological Society
of London, a series of experiments, of much interest, if not very conclusive
in their results, were performed at the Gardens, on the 8th July 1852.
The trials were made only on small animals, but in each case the alleged
remedy proved inefficacious. The experimenters, however, think that it
would be unsafe to reject the Simaba cedron as an antidote because it here
failed, inasmuch as death followed so rapidly that there was small
opportunity for its action. It is not until it shall have been tried and have
failed upon stronger animals, that, in the face of the experience of the
Indians in hot climates, it should be repudiated. The remedy was applied in
the form of an infusion poured down the throat of the bitten animal as

quickly as possible after the stroke, and of the moistened powder applied to
the wound. It seems to me worthy of consideration whether, in the light of
what Bruce says of the Nubians, a washing of the body with the infusion, or
an imbibition of it, or both, before the serpent's attack, might not be more
efficacious as a preventive either of the bite or of its results, than its
administration afterwards as a cure. Whatever be the substance with which
the Nubians wash themselves, it seems to communicate to the body some
quality, perhaps of odour, which repels and sickens serpents. Now, this may
reside in the intense bitterness of the Simarubaceæ; and it would be worth
while to try whether a rattlesnake or a puff-adder would strike a guinea-pig
that had just been bathed in an infusion of the Simaba, or to which a dose of
the same had just been administered, and if so, whether the bite then would
be fatal. Even if these experiments yielded no positive result, it would still
be open to consider whether the lapse of time, or a long sea-voyage, or
exposure to our moist climate, may not have deprived the powdered root of
the plant of antitoxic properties which it may have possessed when freshly
prepared in its native region.
Tschudi, whose researches into the natural history of Peru are replete
with interesting and valuable information, has some observations on the
native remedies for serpent-bites which I will cite, prefacing the extract
with a graphically terrible picture from his pen of the venomous reptiles
themselves:—
"The serpents are to be feared; and, on approaching them, it is not easy to
decide at the first view whether they belong to a poisonous or innoxious
species. In the forests, where the fallen leaves lie in thick moist layers, the
foot of the hunter sinks deep at every step. Multitudes of venomous
Amphibia are hatched in the half-putrescent vegetable matter; and he who
inadvertently steps on one of these animals may consider himself
uncommonly fortunate if he can effect his retreat without being wounded.
But it is not merely in these places, which seem assigned by nature for their
abode, that loathsome reptiles are found: they creep between the roots of
large trees, under the thickly-interwoven brushwood, on the open grass-
plats, and in the maize and sugar-cane fields of the Indians; nay, they crawl
even into their huts, and most fortunate is it for the inhabitants of those
districts that the number of the venomous, compared with the innoxious
reptiles, is comparatively small. Of the poisonous serpents, only a few kinds

are known whose bite is attended with very dangerous consequences. The
minamaru or jergon (Lachesis picta, Tsch.) is, at most, three feet long, with
a broad, heart-shaped head, and a thick upper lip. It haunts the higher
forests, while in those lower down his place is filled by his no less fearful
relative, the flammon, (Lachesis rhombeata, Prince Max.,) which is six or
seven feet in length. These serpents are usually seen coiled almost in a
circle, the head thrust forward, and the fierce, treacherous-looking eyes
glaring around, watching for prey, upon which they pounce with the
swiftness of an arrow; then, coiling themselves up again, they look
tranquilly on the death-struggle of the victim. It would appear that these
Amphibia have a perfect consciousness of the dreadful effect of their
poisonous weapon, for they use it when they are neither attacked nor
threatened, and they wound not merely animals fit for their food, but all that
come within their reach. More formidable than the two snakes just
described, but happily much less common, is the brown ten-inch-long viper
(Echidna ocellata, Tsch.). It is brown, with two rows of black circular spots.
The effect of its bite is so rapid that it kills a strong man in two or three
minutes. So convinced are the natives of its inevitably fatal result, that they
never seek any remedy: but immediately on receiving the wound lay
themselves down to die. In the montanas of Pangoa this viper abounds more
than in any other district: and never without apprehension do the cholos
undertake their annual journey for the coca harvest, as they fear to fall
victims to the bite of this viper. The warning sound of the rattle-snake is
seldom heard in the hot montanas, and never in the higher regions.
"Nature, who in almost all things has established an equilibrium, supplies
the natives with remedies against the bite of the serpent. One of the cures
most generally resorted to is the root of the amarucachu (Polianthes
tuberosa,[185] Linn.), cut into slips and laid upon the wound. Another is the
juice of the creeping plant called vijuco de huaco (Mikania huaco,[186]
Kunth), which is already very widely celebrated.
"This latter remedy was discovered by the negroes of the equatorial
province Choco. They remarked that a sparrow-hawk, called the huaco,
picked up snakes for his principal food, and when bitten by one it flew to
the vejuco and ate some of the leaves. At length the Indians thought of
making the experiment on themselves, and when bitten by serpents they
drank the expressed juice of the leaves of the vejuco, and constantly found

that the wound was thereby rendered harmless. The use of this excellent
plant soon became general, and in some places the belief of the preservative
power of the vejuco juice was carried so far that men in good health were
inoculated with it. In this process some spoonfuls of the expressed fluid are
drunk, and afterwards some drops are put into incisions made in the hands,
feet, and breast. The fluid is rubbed into the wounds by fresh vejuco leaves.
After this operation, according to the testimony of persons worthy of credit,
the bite of the poisonous snake fails for a long time to have any evil effect.
Beside the two plants mentioned above, many others are used with more or
less favourable results. The inhabitants of the montana also resort to other
means, which are too absurd to be detailed here: yet these medicines are
often of benefit, for their operation is violently reactive. They usually
produce the effect of repeated emetics and cause great perspiration. There is
much difference in the modes of external treatment of the wound, and
burning is often employed. I saw an Indian apply to his wife's foot, which
had been bitten, a plaster consisting of moist gunpowder, pulverised
sulphur, and finely-chopped tobacco mixed up together. He laid this over
the wounded part, and set fire to it. This application in connexion with one
of the nausea-exciting remedies taken inwardly had a successful result.
An English officer, engaged in the wars which freed the South American
republics from the Spanish dominion, thus speaks of a plant which is
probably the same Mikania. His account is curiously confirmatory of the
accuracy of Bruce:—
"Among the many medicinal and poisonous plants growing on the banks
of the Orinoco, one of the most singular is a species of vejuco, which, when
properly administered, proves a powerful preservative from the effects of
poisonous serpents. It even appears to deprive these reptiles either of their
power or inclination to use their fangs. Some of the leaves and small
branches are pounded, and applied in that state as a cataplasm to both arms;
the skin having been previously scarified freely above the elbows. This
species of inoculation is repeated, at stated intervals; the juice of the bruised
plant, diluted with water, being also occasionally drunk. Several soldiers,
belonging to General Tedeno's division, had undergone this treatment, and
frequently made the advantage they had thus acquired useful on a march.
They were thereby enabled to take shelter in deserted huts, which we dared
not enter on account of the snakes always lurking in such places; although

these men could bring them out in their hands, without sustaining any
injury. As they had been for some time in our company, we could ascertain
that they had not any snakes in their possession concealed for the purpose
of deception. Besides, they could have little or no inducement to practice an
imposition upon us, as they neither asked for, nor expected, any reward for
exhibiting their skill in destroying these reptiles."[187]
According to Captain Forbes, the negroes of Dahomey employ a grass, or
grass-like herb, with success. One of his hammock-men had been bitten by
venomous snakes repeatedly, but, his father being a doctor, he had escaped
injury. Walking one day through some long grass, the captain, pointing to
the bare legs of his servant, asked if there was not danger. "None," said he;
"my father picks some grass, and if on the same day the decoction is
applied, the wound heals at once."[188]
Some animals, especially those which prey upon serpents, seem to be
proof against their bites. The Ichneumons or Mangoustes of Africa and Asia
have long been celebrated for their immunity, and veritable stories have
been narrated of their having recourse to some herb, when bitten, after
which they successfully renewed the attack. Percival, in his account of
Ceylon, relates that a Mangouste placed in a close room where a venomous
serpent was, instead of darting at it, as he would ordinarily have done, ran
peeping about anxiously seeking some way of escape; but finding none it
returned to its master, crept into his bosom, and could by no means be
persuaded to face the snake. When, however, both were removed out of the
house into the open field, the Mangouste instantly flew at the serpent, and
soon destroyed it. After the combat the little quadruped suddenly
disappeared for a few minutes, and again returned. Percival concludes, not
unreasonably, that during its absence, it had found the antidotal herb, and
eaten of it. The natives state that the Mangouste resorts on such occasions to
the Ophiorhiza mungos, whose root is reputed a specific for serpents' bites.
This is a Cinchonaceous plant, so intensely bitter that it is called by the
Malays by a name which signifies earth-gall.[189]
Captain Forbes in his interesting account of Dahomey, alludes to these
combats, which he says he has witnessed in India. He says that the serpent
(Cobra) has usually the advantage at first, but the Mangouste retreating,
devours some wild herb, returns and presently conquers.

Sir Emerson Tennent inclines to refer the immunity of the Mangouste to
an inherent property. He remarks that the mystery of its power has been
"referred to the supposition that there may be some peculiarity in its
organisation which renders it proof against the poison of the serpent. It
remains for future investigation to determine how far this conjecture is
founded in truth; and whether in the blood of the Mongoos there exists any
element or quality which acts as a prophylactic. Such exceptional
provisions are not without precedent in the animal economy: the hornbill
feeds with impunity on the deadly fruit of the Strychnos; the milky juice of
some species of Euphorbia, which is harmless to oxen, is invariably fatal to
the zebra; and the tsetse fly, the pest of South Africa, whose bite is mortal to
the ox, the dog, and the horse, is harmless to man and the untamed creatures
of the forest."[190]
Our own hedgehog possesses the privilege of being unharmed by the
venom of the viper, as is manifest in its frequent contests with it. Mr Slater
has frequently seen combats between these animals, which always
terminated in favour of the hedgehog. The latter seemed perfectly
regardless of the many bites it received on the snout.[191]
To return to Bruce's statements. After describing the little horned viper of
Egypt, the Cerastes, and its insidious manner of creeping towards its victim
with its head averted, till within reach, when it suddenly springs and strikes,
he goes on to say: "I saw one of them at Cairo crawl up the side of a box, in
which there were many, and there lie still as if hiding himself, till one of the
people who brought them to us came near him, and though in a very
disadvantageous posture, sticking, as it were, perpendicularly to the side of
the box, he leaped near the distance of three feet, and fastened between the
man's forefinger and thumb, so as to bring the blood. The fellow shewed no
signs of either pain or fear, and we kept him with us full four hours, without
his applying any sort of remedy, or seeming inclined to do so.
"To make myself assured" (adds Bruce) "that the animal was in its perfect
state, I made the man hold him by the neck, so as to force him to open his
mouth and lacerate the thigh of a pelican, a bird I had tamed, as big as a
swan. The bird died in about thirteen minutes, though it was apparently
affected in fifty seconds; and we cannot think this was a fair trial, because a
very few minutes before it had bit the man, and so discharged part of its

virus, and it was made to scratch the pelican by force, without any irritation
or action of its own.

SNAKE-CHARMING.
"I will not hesitate to aver," he adds, "that I have seen at Cairo (and this
may be seen daily without trouble or expense) a man, who came from
above the catacombs, where the pits of the mummy-birds are kept, who has
taken a Cerastes with his naked hand from a number of others lying at the
bottom of the tub, has put it upon his bare head, covered it with the
common red cap he wears, then taken it out, put it in his breast, and tied it
about his neck like a necklace, after which it has been applied to a hen and
bit it, which has died in a few minutes;. and, to complete the experiment,
the man has taken it by the neck, and beginning at its tail, has ate it, as one
would do a carrot or a stock of celery, without any seeming repugnance."
[192]

A few years earlier than Bruce, Hasselquist, an enthusiastic young
naturalist, and one of the pupils of Linnæus, had visited the East. He paid
much attention to the subject, and records his judgment that there is no

delusion in serpent-charming, but that certain persons do really, in whatever
way they effect it, fascinate serpents. "They take the most poisonous vipers
with their bare hands, play with them, put them in their bosoms, and use a
great many more tricks with them, as I have often seen. The person I saw on
the above day had only a small viper, but I have frequently seen them
handle those that are three or four feet long, and of the most horrid sort. I
inquired and examined whether they cut out the viper's poisonous teeth: but
I have seen with my own eyes they do not: we may therefore conclude, that
there are to this day Psylli in Egypt; but what art they use is not generally
known. Some people are very superstitious; and the generality believe this
to be done by some supernatural art, which they obtain from invisible
beings; I do not know whether their power is to be ascribed to good or evil;
but I am persuaded that those who undertake it use many superstitions."
Subsequently we find some details of interest. "Now was the time (July)
to catch all sorts of snakes to be met with in Egypt, the great heats bringing
forth these vermin. I therefore made preparation to get as many as I could,
and at once received four different sorts, which I have described and
preserved in aqua vitæ. These were the Common Viper, the Cerastes of
Alpin, the Jaculus, and an Anguis Marinus. They were brought me by a
Psylle, who put me, together with the French consul, Sironcourt, and all the
French nation present, in consternation.
"They gathered about us to see how she handled the most poisonous and
dreadful creatures alive and brisk, without their doing or offering to do her
the least harm. When she put them into the bottle where they were to be
preserved, she took them with her bare hands, and handled them as our
ladies do their laces. She had no difficulty with any but the Viperæ
officinales, which were not fond of their lodging. They found means to
creep out before the bottle could be corked. They crept over the hands and
bare arms of the woman, without occasioning the least fear in her; she with
great calmness took the snakes from her body, and put them into the place
destined for their grave. She had taken these serpents in the field with the
same ease she handled them before us; this we were told by the Arab who
brought her to us. Doubtless this woman had some unknown art which
enabled her to handle those creatures. It was impossible to get any
information from her, for on this subject she would not open her lips."

He thus sums up the results of his investigations. "The circumstances
relating to the fascination of serpents in Egypt stated to me, were
principally:—
"1st.—That the art is only known to certain families, who propagate it to
their offspring.
"2d.—The person who knows how to fascinate serpents, never meddles
with other poisonous animals; such as scorpions, &c. There are different
persons who know how to fascinate these animals; and they again never
meddle with serpents.
"3d.—Those that fascinate serpents eat them both raw and boiled, and
even make broth of them, which they eat very commonly amongst them;
but in particular they eat such a dish when they go out to catch them. I have
been told that serpents, fried or boiled, are frequently eaten by the Arabians,
both in Egypt and Arabia, though they know not how to fascinate them, but
catch them either alive or dead.
"4th.—After they have eaten their soup, they procure a blessing from
their scheik, who uses some superstitious ceremonies, and, amongst others,
spits on them several times with certain gestures."
The blessing of the priest, Hasselquist pronounces correctly enough to be
mere superstition; we may fairly conclude that the eating of the snakes is
also irrelevant,—both of these circumstances being calculated to increase
popular wonder only, and to lead the observers from the true scent, which
probably is the employment of preventive simples. Hasselquist had been
told of a plant with which the charmers anointed or rubbed themselves
before they touched the serpents; but, as no such plant was produced to him,
he regarded it as fabulous. We have seen reason, however, to conclude that
the real key to the mystery lies there.[193]
The ancients believed that the human spittle was so fatal to serpents that
much of the secret of charming lay in the knowledge of this fact. Of course
this would make Psylli of all men; but there may be this measure of truth in
the supposition, that the natural exudations of a human body which has
been bathed or rubbed with a penetrating alexipharmic, may be so
impregnated with the odour, as to be peculiarly repellent of the snake.

Denham describes a scene of snake-charming in which the spittle played an
important part. A juggler brought him in a bag two venomous snakes, which
he set at liberty, beginning to beat a little drum. They immediately reared
themselves on their tails, moving in a sort of dance. The juggler played
various tricks with them, sometimes wreathing them round his neck, coiling
them in his bosom, or throwing them among the people. On pointing his
finger at their mouth, they immediately raised themselves in attitude to
spring forward and strike; but after having exasperated them to the utmost,
he had only to spit in their face, to make them retreat quite crest-fallen.
From his description these seem to have been of the genus Naia, upwards of
six feet long, and very venomous. The fangs, he says, had been extracted;
but still, to guard against all possible injury, the fellow who played tricks
with them had a large roll of cloth wound round the right arm.[194]
The influence of music on the serpents seems to be universally assumed
as a part of the professional snake-charmer's success. The ancient Psylli
who were employed to prevent the Roman camp from being troubled with
venomous serpents, marched around it, chanting mystic songs.[195] Johnson
describes the very clever snake-catchers of India as pretending to draw
them from their holes by a song, and by playing a plaintive tune on an
instrument somewhat resembling an Irish bagpipe.[196] He says, indeed, that
this is all delusion; but Forbes, in his "Oriental Memoirs," allows its reality.
A learned native of India assured Sir William Jones that he had frequently
seen the most venomous and malignant snakes leave their holes upon
hearing notes from a flute, which, as he supposed, gave them peculiar
delight.
The Egyptian snake-charmer assumes an air of mystery, strikes the walls
with a short palm-stick, whistles, makes a clucking noise with his tongue,
and says, "I adjure you, by God, if ye be above, or if ye be below, that ye
come forth; I adjure you by the most great Name, if ye be obedient, come
forth, and if ye be disobedient, die, die, die!"[197] The late Dr W. A.
Bromfield, in some extracts from his letters published in the Zoologist,[198]
confirms this:—"The chief actor was a fine-looking man, with a handsome
and intelligent, but peculiar cast of countenance. He carried a stick in his
hand, with which, on entering each apartment, he struck the wall several
times, uttering, in a low, measured tone, a form of exorcism in Arabic;
adjuring and commanding the serpent—which he declared, immediately on

the door being thrown open, was lurking in the walls or ceiling—to come
forth. Presently, the reptile would be seen emerging from some hole or
corner, with which every room, even in the better class of Egyptian houses,
abounds; on which the enchanter would draw the unwilling serpent towards
him, with the point of the stick, and when within reach put it in the bag he
carried about with him for that purpose."
Chateaubriand has drawn a graphic picture of the power of music on the
American Rattlesnake. The serpent happening to enter the encampment of
his party in Canada, a Canadian who could play on the flute, advanced, by
way of diversion, with his magic pipe, against it. On his approach the
haughty reptile curled itself into a spiral line, flattened its head, inflated its
cheeks, contracted its lips, displayed its envenomed fangs, and its bloody
throat; its double tongue glowed like two flames of fire; its eyes were
burning coals; its body, swollen with rage, rose and fell like the bellows of a
forge; its dilated skin assumed a dull and scaly appearance; and its rattle,
which sounded the denunciation of death, vibrated with extreme velocity.
The Canadian now began to play upon his flute: the serpent started with
surprise, and drew back its head. In proportion as it was struck with the
magic effect, its eyes lost their fierceness, the vibrations of its tail became
slower, and the sound which it emitted gradually became weaker and
ceased. The folds of the fascinated Serpent became less perpendicular upon
their spiral line, expanded by degrees, and sunk one after another upon the
ground, forming concentric circles. The colours recovered their brilliancy
on its quivering skin; and, slightly turning its head, it remained motionless
in the attitude of attention and pleasure. At this moment, the Canadian
advanced a few steps, producing with his flute sweet and simple notes. The
Reptile inclined its variegated neck, opened a passage with its head through
the high grass, and began to creep after the musician, stopping when he
stopped, and following him again as soon as he moved forward. In this
manner, to the astonishment both of Europeans and natives, he was led out
of the camp; and it was unanimously decreed, that the life of a creature so
sensible of the concord of sweet sounds should be spared.[199]
Some allowance in the colouring of this picture, which must be allowed
to be beautifully painted, may possibly be made to the poetical imagination
of the narrator, for Chateaubriand could not tell a story without
embellishing it suo more. We may, however, accept the main facts,

confirmed as they are by the experience of other observers in other
countries.
Mr Gogerly, a missionary of some standing in India observes that some
persons who were incredulous on the subject, after taking the most careful
precautions against any trick or artifice being played, sent a charmer into
the garden to prove his powers;—the man began to play upon his pipe, and
proceeding from one part of the garden to another, for some minutes
stopped at a part of the wall much injured by age, and intimated that a
serpent was within. He then played quicker, and his notes were louder,
when almost immediately a large Cobra di Capello put forth its hooded
head, and the man ran fearlessly to the spot, seized it by the throat, and
drew it forth. He then shewed the poison fangs, and beat them out;
afterwards it was taken to the room where his baskets were left, and
deposited among the rest. The snake-charmer, observes the same writer,
applies his pipe to his mouth, and sends forth a few of his peculiar notes,
and all the serpents stop as though enchanted; they then turn towards the
musician, and approaching him within two feet raise their heads from the
ground, and bending backwards and forwards, keep time with the tune.
When he ceases playing, they drop their heads and remain quiet on the
ground.
The Penny Magazine for April 1833, contains the following very precise
and circumstantial narrative, communicated by a gentleman of high station
at Madras:—"One morning, as I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and
shouting among my palankeen-bearers. On inquiry, I learned that they had
seen a large hooded snake, and were trying to kill it. I immediately went
out, and saw the snake creeping up a very high green mound, whence it
escaped into a hole in an old wall of ancient fortification; the men were
armed with their sticks, which they always carry in their hands, and had
attempted in vain to kill the reptile, which had eluded their pursuit, and in
his hole had coiled himself up secure, whilst we could see his bright eyes
shining. I had often desired to ascertain the truth of the report, as to the
effect of music upon snakes. I therefore inquired for a snake-catcher. I was
told there was no person of the kind in the village; but after a little inquiry, I
heard there was one in a village distant about three miles. I accordingly sent
for him, keeping a strict watch over the snake, which never attempted to
escape, whilst we, his enemies, were in sight. About an hour elapsed, when

my messenger returned bringing a snake-catcher. This man wore no
covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a small piece of
cloth round his loins; he had in his hands two baskets, one containing tame
snakes, the other empty: these and his musical pipe were the only things he
had with him. I made the snake-catcher leave his two baskets on the ground,
at some distance, while he ascended the mound with his pipe alone. He
began to play: at the sound of the music the snake came gradually and
slowly out of his hole. When he was entirely within reach, the snake-catcher
seized him dexterously by the tail and held him thus at arm's length; whilst
the snake, enraged, darted his head in all directions, but in vain: thus
suspended, he has not the power to round himself, so as to seize hold of his
tormentor. He exhausted himself in vain exertions; when the snake-catcher
descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket, and closed the lid:
he then began to play, and after a short time, raised the lid of the basket; the
snake darted about wildly, and attempted to escape; the lid was shut down
again quickly, the music always playing. This was repeated two or three
times; and in a very short interval, the lid being raised, the snake sat on his
tail, opened his hood and danced quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the
other basket, nor did he attempt again to escape. This, having witnessed
with my own eyes, I can assert as a fact."
Experienced and skilful as these men are, however, they do not invariably
escape with impunity. Fatal terminations to these exhibitions of the psyllic
art now and then occur, for there are still to be found "deaf adders, which
will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely." In
Madras, a few years ago, a noted serpent-charmer chanced one morning to
get hold of a Cobra of considerable size, which he got conveyed to his
home. He was occupied abroad all day, and had not time to get the
dangerous fangs extracted from the Serpent's mouth. This at least is the
probable solution of the matter. In the evening he returned to his dwelling,
considerably excited with liquor, and began to exhibit tricks with his snakes
to various persons who were around him at the time. The newly-caught
Cobra was brought out with the others, and the man, spirit-valiant,
commenced to handle the stranger like the rest. But the Cobra darted at his
chin, and bit it, making two marks like pin points. The poor juggler was
sobered in an instant. "I am a dead man," he exclaimed. The prospect of
immediate death made the maintenance of his professional mysticism a

thing of no moment. "Let the creature alone," said he to those about him,
who would have killed the Cobra; "it may be of service to others who are of
my trade. To me it can be of no more use. Nothing can save me." His
professional knowledge was but too accurate. In two hours he was a corpse!
The narrator saw him a short time after he died. His friends and brother
jugglers had gathered around him, and had him placed on a chair in a sitting
position. Seeing the detriment likely to result to their trade and interests
from such a notion, they vehemently asserted that it was not the envenomed
bite which had killed him. "No, no; he only forgot one little word—one
small portion of the charm." In fact, they declared that he was not dead at
all, but only in a sort of swoon, from which, according to the rules of the
cabalistic art, he would recover in seven days. But the officers of the
barracks, close to which the deceased had lived, interfered in the matter.
They put a guard of one or two men on the house, declaring that they would
allow the body to remain unburied for seven days, but would not permit any
trickery. Of course the poor serpent-charmer never came to life again. His
death, and the manner of it, gave a severe blow, as has been already hinted,
to the art and practice of snake-charming in Madras.
Roberts also mentions the instance of a man who came to a gentleman's
house to exhibit tame snakes, and on being told that a Cobra, or Hooded
Snake was in a cage in the house, was asked if he could charm it; on his
replying in the affirmative, the Serpent was released from the cage, and, no
doubt, in a state of high irritation. The man began his incantations, and
repeated his charms, but the Snake darted at him, fastened upon his arm,
and before night he was a corpse.
These failures, rare and abnormal as they confessedly are, do not by any
means disprove the reality of snake-charming; they certainly shew that the
men believe in their own powers. It may be, as some Europeans have
maintained, that in India, the exhibitors usually practise upon tame snakes,
from which they have already extracted the fangs, or even eradicated the
poison sacs,—an operation performed without difficulty by making an
incision beneath and behind each eye. Or it may be that the power of music
over these reptiles is ordinarily relied on, and that in rare instances this fails.
I have myself taken fierce and active lizards, in Jamaica, by a noose of
string, while whistling a lively tune. As soon as the whistling commenced,
the lizard would become still on the trunk or the branch of a tree, and so

remain unmoved, with a sleepy look all the while I was searching up the
string, preparing the noose, and presenting it to him, giving just a backward
glance of his eye, as the noose slipped over his head, the whistling going on
vigorously all the time, of course, till the cord being jerked tight, he
suddenly found himself dangling in the air at the end of a stick, and began
to wriggle and writhe, and scratch and bite furiously.
One thing seems clear from these accidents. The Indian samp-wallahs do
not use any infusion or unguent to stupefy and disarm their snakes, as do
those of Ethiopia. If these men just mentioned had been so protected they
would not have been killed, however rash or pot-valiant they might have
been. Indeed the accounts of Bruce and others of the African professors of
the psyllic art, and the phenomena of the serpents acted upon, differ greatly
from descriptions of parallel exhibitions in India, and suggest diverse
modes of explanation.
A dozen years ago there were a couple of oriental Psylli performing at the
Zoological Gardens. Mr Brodcrip has given a very graphic sketch of their
performance as he saw it in the Reptile House. The two Arabs took up their
position on the floor, the company standing in a semicircle at a respectful
distance.
"The old Arab said something to the young one, who stooped down ...
and took out a large deal-box, drew off the cover, thrust in his hand and
pulled out a large long Naia haje (the Egyptian species of Cobra). After
handling it and playing with it a little while, he set it down on the floor, half
squatted close to it, and fixed his eyes on the snake. The serpent instantly
raised itself, expanded its hood, and turned slowly on its own axis,
following the eye of the young Arab, turning as his head, or eye, or body
turned. Sometimes it would dart at him, as if to bite. He exercised the most
perfect command over the animal. All this time the old Arab stood still,
pensively regarding the operation; but presently he also squatted down,
muttering some words, opposite to the snake. He evidently affected the
reptile more strongly than his more mercurial relative, though he remained
motionless, doing nothing that I could see but fixing his eyes upon the
snake, with his face upon a level with the raised head of the serpent, which
now turned all its attention to him, and seemed to be in a paroxysm of rage.
Suddenly it darted open-mouthed at his face, furiously dashing its expanded

whitish-edged jaws into the dark hollow cheek of the charmer, who still
imperturbably kept his position, only smiling bitterly at his excited
antagonist. I was very close, and watched very narrowly; but though the
snake dashed at the old Arab's face and into it more than twice or thrice
with its mouth wide open, I could not see the projection of any fang.
"Then the old Arab, who, it was said, had had the gift of charming
serpents in his family for a long series of years, opened another box, and
took out four or five great lizards, and provoked the Naia with them,
holding them by the tails in a sort of four-in-hand style. Then the youth
brought out a Cerastes, which I observed seemed overpowered, as if, as the
country people say, something had come over it. He placed it on the floor;
but this serpent did not raise itself like the Naia, but, as the charmer stooped
to it, moved in a very odd, agitated manner, on its belly, regarding him
askant. I thought the serpent was going to fly at the lad, but it did not. He
took it up, played with it, blew or spit at it, and then set it down apparently
sick, subdued, and limp. He then took it again, played with it a second time,
gathered it up in his hand, put it in his bosom, went to another box, drew the
lid, and brought out more snakes, one of which was another Naia, and the
others of a most venomous kind.
"Now there were two Naias, with heads and bodies erect, obeying,
apparently, the volition of the charmers. One of the snakes bit the youth on
the naked hand, and brought blood; but he only spat on the wound and
scratched it with his nail which made the blood flow more freely. Then he
brought out more lizards of a most revolting aspect. By this time the floor
of the reptile house, that formed the stage of the charmers, began to put one
in mind of the incantation-scene in Der Freischutz, only that the principal
performers looked more like the Black Huntsman and one of his familiars
than Max and Caspar, and the enchanters' circle was surrounded with fair
ladies and their well-dressed lords, instead of the appalling shapes which
thronged round the affrighted huntsman at the casting of the charmed
bullets.
"The Arabs, holding the snakes by the tails, let their bodies touch the
floor, when they came twisting and wriggling on towards the spectators,
who now backed a little upon the toes of those who pressed them from
behind. Sometimes the charmers would loose their hold, when the serpents,

as if eager to escape from their tormentors, rapidly advanced upon the
retreating ring; but they always caught them by the tails in time, and then
made them repeat the same advances. I kept my position in front
throughout, and had no fear, feeling certain that Mr Mitchell, and those
under whose superintendence this highly amusing and instructive
establishment is so well conducted, would not have permitted the exhibition
to take place, if there had been the least danger. Besides this, I observed that
the charmers only used their own serpents, which they had, I presume,
brought with them; and I confess that the impression upon my mind was,
that they had been rendered innoxious by mechanical means."[200]
This last assumption the narrator subsequently found to be indubitably
true. What is said of the Cerastes, however, looks more like the effect of
something detrimental to the snake in the lad's odour, or in his spittle. Of
course no confidence can be placed in their statements, but it is noteworthy
that they both claimed to belong to a race over whom snakes have no
morbific power,—Psylli, in fact, of many generations.
Dr Davy asserts that in India, however, the poison fangs are not
extracted. He tells us that he has himself examined the snakes exhibited
(which are always Cobras) and have found the fangs uninjured. He
attributes the power of the charmers to their agility and courage, founded on
an intimate acquaintance with the habits and disposition of the reptiles. The
learned Doctor acting on this persuasion, says that he has himself
repeatedly irritated these serpents with impunity. They can be readily
appeased when irritated, by the voice and by gentle movements of the hand
in a circle, and by stroking them on the body.
A very curious subject, closely connected with serpent-charming, is the
power of extracting venom from a wound inflicted by reptiles, attributed to
the "snake-stone," which the Hindoos and Cingalese usually carry with
them. Captain Napier thus describes it:—
"These people generally have for sale numbers of snake-stones, which
are said to be equally an antidote against the bite of the serpent and the sting
of the scorpion. For the former I have never seen it tried: and to prove its
efficacy with the latter, the samp-wallah generally carries about in small
earthen vessels a number of these animals, one of which he allows to

wound him with his sting. The snake-stone, which is a dark, shining,
smooth pebble, about the size and shape of a French bean, on being applied
to the wound, instantly adheres to it, and by a power of suction appears to
draw out the poison, which is supposed to be contained in the small bubbles
which, on the immersion of the stone into a glass of water are seen in great
numbers to rise to the surface.
"My first idea on beholding the samp-wallah allow himself to be stung by
the scorpion was that the latter had by some means been rendered harmless.
However, not wishing voluntarily to put this to the test by personal
experience, I purchased some of the stones, resolved on the very first
opportunity to try their efficacy. Shortly after this, happening to be
marching up the country with a detachment, we pitched our camp on some
very stony ground, in clearing which one of the English soldiers happened
to be bit [stung] in the hand by a large scorpion. As soon as I heard of this
circumstance, I sent for the sufferer, who appeared to be in great pain,
which he described as a burning sensation running all the way up his arm to
the very shoulder.
"I applied one of the snake-stones to the puncture; it adhered
immediately, and during about eight minutes that it remained on the patient,
he by degrees became easier; the pain diminished, gradually coming down
from the shoulder, until it appeared entirely confined to the immediate
vicinity of the wound. I now removed the stone; on putting it into a cup of
water, numbers of small air-bubbles rose to the surface, and in a short time
the man ceased to suffer any inconvenience from the accident."[201]
It is scarcely needful to say that the emission of bubbles is a most
ordinary phenomenon, and could have not the slightest connexion with the
alexipharmic power of the stone, whether real or imaginary. Any one may
see exactly the same thing on dropping a bit of new flower-pot, or a very
dry brick into water, or any other substance heavier than the fluid, which is
at the same time dry and porous. It results from the air which is contained in
the pores of the material, which on immersion is displaced by the heavier
water, and rises in oozing bubbles to the surface.
Sir Emerson Tennent has some observations of much value on these
"stones," as well as on cognate matters, which my readers may like to see,

and with which I close this subject:—
"On one occasion, in March 1854, a friend of mine was riding, with some
other civil officers of the government, along a jungle-path in the vicinity of
Bintenne, when they saw one of two Tamils, who were approaching them,
suddenly dart into the forest and return, holding in both hands a cobra di
capello which he had seized by the head and tail. He called to his
companion for assistance to place it in their covered basket, but in doing
this, he handled it so inexpertly that it seized him by the finger, and retained
its hold for a few seconds, as if unable to retract its fangs. The blood
flowed, and intense pain appeared to follow almost immediately; but, with
all expedition, the friend of the sufferer undid his waistcloth, and took from
it two snake-stones, each of the size of a small almond, intensely black and
highly polished, though of an extremely light substance. These he applied
one to each wound inflicted by the teeth of the serpent, to which the stones
attached themselves closely, the blood that oozed from the bites being
rapidly imbibed by the porous texture of the article applied. The stones
adhered tenaciously for three or four minutes, the wounded man's
companion in the meanwhile rubbing his arm downwards from the shoulder
towards the fingers. At length the snake-stones dropped off of their own
accord; the suffering appeared to have subsided; he twisted his fingers till
the joints cracked, and went on his way without concern. Whilst this had
been going on, another Indian of the party who had come up took from his
bag a small piece of white wood, which resembled a root, and passed it
gently near the head of the cobra, which the latter immediately inclined
close to the ground; he then lifted the snake without hesitation, and coiled it
into a circle at the bottom of his basket. The root, by which he professed to
be enabled to perform this operation with safety, he called the Naya-thalee
Kalinga (the root of the snake-plant,) protected by which he professed his
ability to approach any reptile with impunity. In another instance, in 1853,
Mr Lavalliere, the District Judge of Kandy, informed me that he saw a
snake-charmer in the jungle, close by the town, search for a cobra di
capello, and, after disturbing it in its retreat, the man tried to secure it, but,
in the attempt, he was bitten in the thigh till blood trickled from the wound.
He instantly applied the Pamboo-Kaloo (or snake-stone), which adhered
closely for about ten minutes, during which time he passed the root which
he held in his hand backwards and forwards above the stone, till the latter

dropped to the ground. He assured Mr Lavalliere that all danger was then
past. That gentleman obtained from him the snake-stone he had relied on,
and saw him repeatedly afterwards in perfect health. The substances which
were used on both these occasions are now in my possession. The roots
employed by the several parties are not identical. One appears to be a bit of
the stem of an Aristolochia; the other is so dry as to render it difficult to
identify it, but it resembles the quadrangular stem of a jungle vine. Some
species of Aristolochia, such as the A. serpentaria of North America, are
supposed to act as a specific in the cure of snake-bites; and the A. Indica is
the plant to which the ichneumon is popularly believed to resort as an
antidote when bitten; but it is probable that the use of any particular plant
by the snake-charmers is a pretence, or rather a delusion, the reptile being
overpowered by the resolute action of the operator, and not by the influence
of any secondary appliance, the confidence inspired by the supposed
talisman enabling its possessor to address himself fearlessly to his task, and
thus to effect by determination and will, what is popularly believed to be the
result of charms and stupefaction."
The writer then alludes to the facts mentioned by Bruce, which I have
before adduced; and proceeds:—
"As to the snake-stone itself, I submitted one, the application of which I
have been describing, to Mr Faraday, and he has communicated to me, as
the result of his analysis, his belief that it is 'a piece of charred bone which
has been filled with blood perhaps several times, and then carefully charred
again. Evidence of this is afforded, as well by the apertures of cells or tubes
on its surface as by the fact that it yields and breaks under pressure, and
exhibits an organic structure within. When heated slightly, water rises from
it, and also a little ammonia; and, if heated still more highly in the air, the
carbon burns away, and a bulky white ash is left, retaining the shape and
size of the 'stone.' This ash, as is evident from inspection, cannot have
belonged to any vegetable substance, for it is almost entirely composed of
phosphate of lime. Mr Faraday adds that 'if the piece of matter has ever
been employed as a spongy absorbent, it seems hardly fit for that purpose in
its present state; but who can say to what treatment it has been subjected
since it was fit for use, or to what treatment the natives may submit it when
expecting to have occasion to use it?'"

Sir E. Tennent supposes that the animal charcoal may be sufficiently
absorbent to extract the venom from the recent wound together with a
portion of the blood, before it has had time to be carried into the system. If
this be so the process is analogous to that of sucking a poisoned wound,
already referred to.[202]
What the author means by a jungle vine I do not exactly know, but
conjecture that it may be one of the Bignoniaceæ, the woody climbing
species of which have in general their stem divided into lobes arranged in a
quadrangular manner. I am not aware that any species of this order is an
antidote to animal poisons, but many have powerful medicinal properties,
and abound in bitter juices. The whitewood of Jamaica (Bignonia
leucoxylon) enjoys a reputation as a remedy for the poison of the
Manchineel (Hippomane mancinella) which is so virulent that persons are
reported to have been killed by its volatile emanations, when accidentally
sleeping under its shade, and a drop of its juice falling on the skin burns it
like fire, and produces an ulcer difficult to heal. The value of the
Aristolochia has been already referred to; and on the whole I am disposed to
attach more importance to the use of vegetable specifics by the Ceylonese
operators than the learned author whom I have just quoted. The subject is a
highly curious one, and well worthy of minute investigation by able and
unprejudiced men of science, willing to receive unscientific information
and suggestions, in various parts of the world, particularly in the
intertropical regions of both hemispheres.

X.

BEAUTY.
Very much of the delight with which we pursue natural history is surely
due to the almost constant recognition of the beautiful. I do not know that I
could say with the poet,—

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;"

but certainly it is a joy as long as it endures; and the naturalist finds an
endless recurrence of things of beauty. Birds, insects, shells, zoophytes,
flowers, sea-weeds, are all redundant of beauty; and all the classes of
natural objects, though not in an equal degree, nor manifestly in every
individual object, yet possess it as a prominent element. Indeed, from the
profusion with which loveliness is sown broadcast over the works of God, I
have often thought, though it is not directly revealed, that a sense of the
beautiful and a complacency in it, altogether independent of fitness for
certain ends, or the uses which may be subserved, is an attribute of the Holy
One Himself, and that our perception of it is the reflection of His—a part of
that image of God in which man was created, and which sin has not wholly
obliterated. I know that God may have clothed His works with beauty for
other admiring eyes than man's; and that it is probable that the holy angels
may be far more conversant with creation than we are with all our
researches,—that the ten thousand times ten thousand flowers which are
"born to blush unseen" by man, may be seen and admired by "ten thousand
times ten thousand" angels,[203] and thus the tribute of praise for their
perfection may be ever ascending before Him whose hands made them for
His glory. We may allow this; and yet with reverence presume that His own
pure eyes look upon the lilies' array with a delight in their mere loveliness,
infinitely greater than that which men, or even angels, take in it, seeing it is
written,—"for thy pleasure they are, and were created."
I remember being struck, and somewhat awed, too, with a thought of this
kind, once, when, pushing my way through a very dense and tangled thicket
in a lone and lofty mountain region of Jamaica, sufficiently remote from the
dwellings of man to render it probable that no civilized human foot had

penetrated thither before. I suddenly came upon a most magnificent
terrestrial orchid in full blossom. It was Phajus Tankervilliæ,—a noble
plant, which from the midst of broad leaves growing out of a mass of green
bulbs, had thrown up its stout blossom-stems to the height of a yard or
more, crowned with the pyramidal spike of lily-like flowers, whose
expanding petals of pure white on one side and golden brown on the other,
and trumpet-lip of gorgeous purple seemed, to my ravished gaze, the very
perfection of beauty. For ages, I thought, that beauteous flower had been
growing in that wild and unvisited spot, every season "filling the air around
with beauty," and had in all probability never met a single human gaze
before. Had, then, all that divinely-formed loveliness been mere waste for
those generations? I asked myself; and I immediately replied, No: the eye of
God himself hath rested on it with satisfaction, and the Lord hath taken
pleasure in this work of His hands.
I shall not make this chapter an essay on the sublime and beautiful, nor
seek to analyse the sense of beauty. It is enough that it is an appetite of our
being, and that most abundantly in nature, on every side, there is the
material of its gratification. So abundantly, indeed, that it were easy to
expand the few pages which I propose to devote to the subject into a
volume, or a dozen volumes, and yet leave untouched vast treasures of the
beautiful in natural history. I must content myself and my readers with the
selection of a few of the more prominent objects in which this sense is
gratified, and with a discrimination of two or three distinct phases or
conditions of existence which contribute, each in its measure, to give
delight to the eyes.

ANTELOPES.
Among Quadrupeds, there is perhaps less of beauty, strictly considered,
than in most other classes of animals. Elegance of form, however, which is
one phase of it, is seen in the lithe and active squirrel, the pretty petaurist,
and many other of the smaller beasties, and is found in perfection in the
deer and antelopes. Who that has seen a pet fawn coming to be caressed by
a fair girl, but must have had his sense of the beautiful gratified? Mark the
freedom and grace of every motion! See how it stretches out its pretty meek
face and taper neck towards the hand; its extreme timidity causing its whole
body and every limb to start on the slightest stir from the beholders, while
on the least approach it bounds away in the exuberant playfulness of its
little heart, then stops, and turns, and gazes, and stretches out its neck again!
See when it trots or walks, how high it lifts its little slender feet, bending its
agile limbs as if motion itself were a pleasure! See, as it stands, with one
fore-foot bent up, the hoof nearly touching the belly; the long graceful ears
moving this way and that, now thrown forwards, now backwards, now
erected, to catch the slightest sound,—what a picture of fairy grace it is!
There is beauty, too, in the soft, full liquid eye of these animals,—the
"bright, black eye" of the "dear gazelle," which in the East is the very ideal

of female loveliness. Its melting gaze seems full of tenderness, so that we
cannot look without loving it.
Nor is beauty of colour wholly wanting. How rich is the tawny fur of the
tiger, dashed with its black streaks! And the brighter yellow of the leopard
and the jaguar, studded all over with rosettes of black spots! We forget the
ferocity of the savage in its beautifully-painted coat. The zebra, too,—with
the fine contrast of those bands of richest sable on the cream-coloured
ground, now bold and broad, as on the rounded body, now running in fine
parallel but irregularly-waved lines, as on the face,—is a beautiful
quadruped; and a herd of them galloping wantonly over a South African
plain, must be a sight worth seeing indeed.
When we come to Birds, however, beauty is not the exception, but the
rule. The form of a bird is almost always graceful; the rounded swellings
and undulations of outline, and the smoothness of the plumage give
pleasure to the eye, even when there is no attractiveness of hue. One has
almost a difficulty in naming an inelegant bird. But when, as in a thousand
instances, brilliancy of colouring is combined with elegance of shape and
smoothness of plumage, we must be charmed. Is not our own little
goldfinch, is not the pert chaffinch that comes up to our very feet for a grain
or a crumb, a pretty object? But the tropical birds,—we must look at them if
we wish to know what nature can do in the way of adornment. We should
go to the flats on the embouchure of the Amazon, and see the rosy
spoonbills, in their delicate carnation dress, set off by the lustrous crimson
of their shoulders and breast-tufts, feeding by hundreds on the green mud,
or watch the gorgeous ibises, all clad in glowing scarlet with black-tipped
wings, when, in serried ranks, a mile in length, like the vermillion cloud of
morning, they come to their breeding-place,—a truly magnificent sight.[204]
The first of the Parrot tribe that I ever had an opportunity of seeing in its
native freedom was the beautiful Parrakeet of the Southern States. Eighty or
a hundred birds in one compact flock passed me flying low, and all nearly
on the same plane; and, as they swept by, screaming as they went, I fancied
that they looked like an immense shawl of green satin, on which an
irregular pattern was worked in scarlet and gold and azure. The sun's rays
were brilliantly reflected from the gorgeous surface, which rapidly sped
past like a splendid vision.

The Cock of the Rock is a fine South American bird of the richest orange
colour, crowned with a double crest of feathers edged with purple. Mr
Wallace describes his search for it on the Rio Negro, and his admiration of
its beauty. Some time he sought in vain, for it is a rare bird, till the old
Indian who was his guide suddenly caught him by the arm, and, pointing to
a dense thicket, whispered in a low tone, "Gallo!" Peering through the
foliage, the naturalist caught a glimpse of the magnificent bird, sitting
amidst the gloom, and shining out like a mass of brilliant flame. As it is
easily alarmed and very wary, it required some following and perseverance
before he shot it. One of his Indians descended into the deep rocky glen into
which it fell, and brought it to him. "I was lost," he says, "in admiration of
the dazzling beauty of its soft downy feathers; not a spot of blood was
visible, not a feather was ruffled, and the soft, warm, flexible body set off
the fresh swelling plumage in a manner which no stuffed specimen can
approach."[205]
There is something exquisitely pleasing to the eye in the delicate painting
of the soft plumage in most of the Goatsuckers and their allies. Entirely
destitute of brilliant hues as they are, the combinations of warm browns,
and cool greys, interchanged with black and white, and the manner in which
these are softened, and blended, and minutely pencilled, produce an effect
that is peculiarly charming.
In the Trogons of the tropical regions we see elegance of form combined
with the most gorgeous colouring. Green and gold, crimson, scarlet, orange,
and black, are the hues of these birds, which hide themselves in the deep
dark recesses of the Amazonian and Indian forests. That species called the
Resplendent is the noblest of the race, whose magnificence was so well
appreciated by the ancient Mexican emperors, that none but members of the
royal family were permitted to adorn themselves with its flowing plumes.
The whole upper parts of this bird, its fine coronal crest of erectile plumes,
its shoulder-hackles, or long lance-shaped feathers, that droop over the
sides, and the elongated tail-coverts which hang down beyond the tail to a
length of three feet or more, curving elegantly under the bird, as it sits on a
branch, are of the richest golden green, shining with a satiny radiance. The
under parts are of a splendid scarlet, and the tail feathers are white, with
broad black bars.

More enchanting than mere colour, however rich and glowing this may
be, is the fine metallic reflection which we see on the plumage of many
tropical birds. The Rifle-bird of Australia might be seen sitting on a tree,
and be passed by with contempt as a mere crow, while the eye was attracted
to a more gaily-hued parrot by its side. But viewed close at hand, in the full
blaze of the sun, the darker-plumaged bird is seen to exceed the other by
far, in gorgeous glory, and to be not unworthy of the specific title of
Paradiseus, by which it is known to naturalists. The body generally is of a
deep velvet black, but it reflects a purple flush on the upper parts, and the
feathers of the under parts are edged with olive-green. The crown of the
head, and the whole throat, are clothed with scale-like feathers of the
brightest emerald-green, which blaze with a gemmeous lustre in certain
lights, and make the most vivid contrast with the velvet of the body. The tail
displays its two middle feathers of the same lustrous green, while the
bordering ones are deep black.
The vast and little-known island of Papua contains some specimens of
the feathered race of surpassing glory. The Epimachi, or Plume-birds, take a
prominent place in this category. They are remarkable for the erectile scale-
like feathers of the sides and shoulders, which form large fan-shaped tufts,
standing out from the body in a very striking manner. Speaking of the
superb Epimachus, Sonnerat, its describer, thus writes:—"As if to add to the
singularity of this bird, nature has placed above and below its wings
feathers of an extraordinary form, and such as one does not see in other
birds; she seems, moreover, to have pleased herself in painting this being,
already so singular, with her most brilliant colours. The head, the neck, and
the belly are glittering green; the feathers which cover these parts possess
the lustre and softness of velvet to the eye and touch; the back is changeable
violet; the wings are of the same colour, and appear, according to the lights
in which they are held, blue, violet, or deep black; always, however,
imitating velvet. The tail is composed of twelve feathers, the two middle
feathers are the longest, and the lateral feathers gradually diminish; it is
violet, or changeable blue above, and black beneath. The feathers which
compose it are as wide in proportion as they are long, and shine above and
below with the brilliancy of polished metal.
"Above the wings the scapularies are very long and singularly formed;
their points being very short on one side, and very long on the other. These

feathers are of the colour of polished steel, changing into blue, terminated
by a large spot of brilliant green, and forming a species of tuft or appendage
at the margin of the wings.
"Below the wings spring long curved feathers, directed upwards; these
are black on the inside, and brilliant green on the outside. The bill and feet
are black."[206]
The same author, in referring to the brilliant metallic hues of this and
other birds, takes occasion to notice the iridescent effect which is produced
by the different angle at which light falls on the feathers. The emerald-
green, for instance, will often fling out rays of its two constituent primary
colours, at one time being blue-green, at another gold-green, while in
certain lights all colour vanishes, and a velvet-black is presented to the eye.
The ruby feathers of several birds become orange under certain lights, and
darken to a crimson-black at other times.

MOURNING THE DEAD
CUCKOO.

This change of hue is analogous to the well-known iridescent
changeableness of the nacre which lines various shells, and is owing to the
structure of its surface reflecting the light in different rays, according to the
angle at which it falls upon the feathers.
Another species, a native of the same teeming region, the Twelve-thread
Epimachus, glows, with equal lustre, in the richest violet and emerald, but
somewhat diversely arranged. The long, elegant depending tail is here
reduced to ordinary dimensions, but, as if to compensate for this inferiority,
the Twelve-thread is adorned with an expanding dress of the purest snowy
white, composed of long silky plumes that spring from behind and below
the wings, so soft and so loosely webbed as to wave gracefully in the
slightest breeze. From these tufts project long and very slender shafts,
unwebbed, and as fine as threads, curling elegantly, six on each side.
The little Sun-birds of India and Africa, and the still tinier Humming-
birds of the New World are conspicuous for the metallic radiance of their
plumage. Take for an example of the former the Fire-tailed Sun-bird of
Nepâl. The crown and forehead are brilliant steel-blue, while the neck, the
back, and the rump are of the richest scarlet, diversified by a broad patch of
bright yellow across the middle of the back. The central feathers of the tail
are lengthened, and are bright scarlet, while the lateral feathers are edged
with the same rich hue on brown. The breast is golden yellow or orange,
flushed with crimson in the centre, and the rest of the inferior parts are
olive-green. Most of those gorgeous colours have a silky or metallic lustre,
and blaze out under the tropical sunlight with amazing brightness.
Exquisite ornaments are these to an Indian garden, where they delight in
the flowering plants and shrubs. They creep to and fro about the stalks and
twigs, clinging by their little purple feet, and rifling the tubular corollas of
the honeyed blossoms, whence doubtless they gather many minute insects,
licked up with the nectar, by the aid of their curiously pencilled tongue.
For that peculiar charm which resides in flashing light combined with the
most brilliant colours, the lustre of precious stones, there are no birds, no
creatures, that can compare with the Humming-birds. Confined exclusively
to America,—whence we have already gathered between three and four
hundred distinct species, and more are being continually discovered,—these

lovely little winged gems were to the Mexican and Peruvian Indians the
very quintessence of beauty. By these simple people they were called by
various names signifying "the rays of the sun," "the tresses of the day-star,"
and the like. Their glittering scale-like plumage was employed to make, at
the cost of immense time, patience, and labour, the radiant mantles in which
the emperors and highest nobles appeared on state occasions, as well as to
form by a sort of mosaic, those embroidered pictures which so attracted the
admiration of the Spanish conquerors. The Mexican priests adopted the tiny
birds into their mythology: they taught that the souls of those warriors who
died in defence of the gods, were conducted by Toyamiqui, the wife of the
god of war, straight to the mansion of the sun, and there transformed into
humming-birds.
In the gorgeous forest glooms of the mountainous parts of Jamaica, and
especially in the sunny glades which here and there break their uniformity,
where the ever-verdant foliage rises upon all sides of the open space like a
wall, covered with the most elegant and fragrant flowers, I have been
charmed by the familiar fearlessness and lustrous splendour of these little
creatures. Here sitting down on a prostrate log in the shadow, I have
watched them sipping all around, flitting to and fro, coming and going,
every moment disappearing in the sombre shade, or suddenly flashing out,
with a whirr like that of a spinning-wheel, into the bright sunshine. Bold
and unsuspecting, they might be seen exploring bush after bush, and
coming, while I remained motionless, even within arm's length of me,
busily rifling all the blossoms in rapid succession, regularly quartering the
surface of some favourite shrub, so as to lose none, and of course, in their
zeal, frequently probing the same flower again and again. Sometimes it
would be the Mango, suspending himself on whirring pinions in front of the
flowers, his broadly-expanded tail-feathers of the richest violet, his body
plumage all green and gold, and his cheeks and throat blazing, in the
changing light, with the radiance now of the ruby, now of the amethyst,
now of the sapphire, and now becoming for an instant the most intense
black. But much more commonly on these occasions was I visited by the
elegant Long-tail, whose slender form, black velvet crest, emerald bosom,
and long tail-plumes, distinguish it as one of the principes of this patrician
race. This lovely little gem would be hovering about, half-a-dozen visible at
the same moment, threading the projecting branches, now probing here,

now there, one moment above a flower and bending down to it, the next
hanging below it, and thrusting up its crimson beak to kiss its nectar-tube
from beneath, the cloudy wings on each side vibrating with a noise like that
of a factory wheel, and its entire throat, breast and belly clothed in scaly
plumage of the richest green, contrasted finely with the velvety black of all
beside. This scaly plumage would flash brilliantly back the sun's light, like
a noble emerald in the crown of a king; then, by the slightest possible turn
of the bird, it would become black, all the light being absorbed; then, on
another movement, it would seem a dark rich olive, and in an instant flame
forth again with emerald effulgence, over which olive and black clouds
were momentarily passing and repassing.
The phenomenon of this changing lustre is worthy of more careful
attention than it has received. In such Humming-birds as I have examined,
—and possibly it may be a general rule,—the iridescence of those portions
of the plumage that are changeable is splendid in the ratio of the acuteness
of the angle formed by the incident ray and the reflected one. Thus the scaly
plumage of the neck of the Mango appears to advantage in a room with a
single window, only when the beholder stands with his back to the light,
and has the bird before him and facing him. Then the perpendicular band
down the throat and breast, which seems composed of the richest black
velvet, is bounded on each side by a broad band of glowing crimson,
mingled with violet. It is not the entire plumage of even a Humming-bird
that displays these refulgent gleams: some of the brilliant hues are
permanent, not changeable colours; such as the golden greens which adorn
the back and wing-coverts in so many species; in which the colour is
subject to little change, and the only effect produced by the alteration of the
angle of the light is the transforming the tips of the feathers into the
appearance of burnished gold.
Wilson[207] has remarked that the plumage of the Indigo finch (Fringilla
cyanea) in certain lights appears of a rich sky-blue and in others of a vivid
verdigris green, so that the same bird, in passing from one place to another
before your eyes, seems to undergo a total change of colour. When the rays
of light so fall on the plumage that the angle of the incident and reflected
ray is acute, the colour is green, when obtuse, blue. I have myself noticed
exactly the same thing in the brilliant changeable colour of insects,—as, for

instance, the Cicindelæ of America, and the Emerald Virgin Dragonfly
(Agrion Virginica.)
To return, however, to our Humming-birds, of which my readers will like
to have one or two more described,—la crême de la crême, the very élite of
this lovely little fairy population. If we were to cross the Atlantic to Brazil,
track up the mighty Amazon some thirty days' sail, and a distance of a
thousand miles, we should come to the mouth of the Rio Negro, where a
remarkable change in the appearance of the water indicates a totally
different region. Instead of the muddy water of the Amazon, resembling
pea-soup, that of the Negro is intensely dark, but clear and limpid, every
ripple sparkling like crystal. The land becomes high, and the river, some
four miles wide, passes between lofty cliffs, crowned with the rich green
walls of the primeval forest. The country is far more attractive than that on
the Amazon; instead of a dead level, swampy and intersected by sluggish
igaripés, or shallow ponds, overhung by impenetrably tangled thickets, and
full of venomous flies, here are gentle hills, and tiny brooks of sparkling
water, and a comparatively open forest, with bright clear glades in which
the traveller may recline without persecution from the flies,—these pests
being unknown on the "black waters." The ground is covered by evergreens
of different species and exquisite forms, and many kinds of elegant ferns
are growing in the valleys. There are few lianes or spinous briers stretching
from tree to tree, obstructing free passage, but a thousand lesser vines drape
the low tree tops with myriads of flowers, new and attractive to the visitor.
Everywhere the forest is intersected by paths, some made by the inhabitants
in their frequent rambles, others by wild animals that come to the water to
drink; and along these the eager naturalist can readily pass to the feeding
trees of many beautiful and peculiar birds.
Here are wont to haunt many varieties of the richly-hued trogons,
unknown to the lower regions; and at any hour their plaintive note may be
heard at intervals, as they sit moodily, singly or in pairs, on the branches,
with the long tail outspread and drooping, watching for passing insects.
Cuckoos of several kinds, their plumage glancing red in the subdued light,
flit noiselessly through the woods, searching for caterpillars. Purple jays, in
large flocks, alight on some berry-bearing tree, chattering and gesticulating,
but shy and alert,—ready to start at the snapping of a twig. Motmots and
chatterers in gayest hues,—scarlet, violet and blue,—are abundant.

Goatsuckers, in exquisitely-blended and pencilled tones of colour, start
from some shady glen where they are dozing away the day hours, and,
flying a short distance on soft winnowing pinions, rest again, and seem to
fall asleep in an instant. Showy manikins and tanagers of the brightest tints
are flaunting in every bush: pigeons and doves of soberer hues are cooing
their gentle complainings in the taller trees; and guans and curassows are
marching with stately pace in the paths, picking here and there some
delicate morsel; or running with loud harsh cry, with outstretched neck and
rapid stride, as they detect approaching danger.[208]
Still, conspicuous above all are the Humming-birds, which, revelling in
this region of the sun, are buzzing around the blossoming shrubs like
insects. And pre-eminent among these is the Fiery Topaz, a name that
attempts to express what neither title, nor description, nor coloured figure
can adequately express,—its gemmeous magnificence and lustre. One of the
first ornithologists of the age, the Prince of Canino, has assigned to the
species the honour of being "inter Trochilides pulcherrimus." Description,
however, I must give, for want of anything better, since, even if I possessed
a living specimen, I could not exhibit its living radiance to all my readers:
therefore, pray pay attention to the details, and imagine. The general hue of
this imperial atom is a blazing scarlet, in fine contrast with which the head
and lower part of the throat are deep velvet-black. The gorget of the throat
is emerald green, with a cloud of delicate crimson in the centre. The lower
part of the back, the rump and the upper tail-coverts are of that beautiful
bronzed green which changes to orange gold, so frequently seen in this
tribe; while the wing-quills and tail are purplish black, except the middle
pair of feathers in the latter, which are very slender, project to a great
length, and cross each other; these are green with a purple gloss.
Among the hundreds of species of this very lovely tribe that swarm in the
intertropical regions of South America, I will select one more for its
surpassing beauty. It is the Bar-tailed Comet. We must look for it in the
temperate and equable valley of the Desaguedero, which leads out of Lake
Titiçaça, the largest sheet of water on the South American continent, and
famous in Peruvian tradition, as the scene where Mango Capac and Mama
Ocollo surprised the barbarous aborigines by their first appearance. On one
of the charming islets of this quiet lake, the two august strangers were seen,
clothed in garments; and, declaring that they were the children of the sun

long prophesied of, proceeded to teach their simple subjects the arts of
civilisation, and to establish a regular government. We must search for our
tiny Comet, too, in the cultivated plains that surround the Cerro of Potosi,
that singular cone sixteen thousand feet in height, which is wholly
composed of silver, and which is estimated to have yielded, during the three
hundred years that have elapsed since the Indian exposed the solid silver,
when he accidentally tore up a shrub by the roots,—the sum of two hundred
millions of pounds sterling. The districts around, and specially the environs
of the town of Chuquisaca, are adorned with a profusion of gardens and
orchards, in which many European trees and flowers grow, as well as those
of the tropics, the climate possessing the charms of many regions. In the
shrubberies of the city, and in the gardens of the Indian cottages, as well as
the slopes of the surrounding mountains, where the native groves and
forests grow undisturbed, the brilliant Bar-tail may be seen during the
summer months; but, as soon as the chilling winds of April tell of coming
winter, the charming visitor becomes scarce, and flitting northward finds in
the forests of Lower Peru the mild and balmy air which he loves. When the
trees are in blossom, and particularly the apple-trees, which have been
introduced from Europe, and are largely cultivated in orchards, the males
may be seen shooting in and out among the foliage, like glowing coals of
fire, chasing each other with shrill chirpings, and with surprising
perseverance and acrimony. The fields of maize, and pulse, and other
leguminous plants which are cultivated in the plains, receive a fair share of
his attention; and the nopâleries, or cactus-gardens, where the cochineal
insect is reared for those most valuable crimson and scarlet dyes, which far
outshine the vaunted productions of ancient Tyre. The blossom of the nopâl
is itself one of the most splendid of flowers. It begins to open as the sun
declines, and is in full expanse throughout the night, shedding a delicious
fragrance, and offering its brimming goblet, filled with nectareous juice, to
thousands of moths, and other crepuscular and nocturnal insects. When the
moon is at the full in those cloudless nights whose loveliness is known only
in the tropics, the broad blossom is seen as a circular disk nearly a foot in
diameter, very full of petals, of which the outer series are of a yellowish
hue, gradually paling to the centre, where they shine in the purest white.
The numerous recurving stamens surround the style which rises in the midst
like a polished shaft, the whole glowing in its silvery beauty under the
moonbeams, from the dark and matted foliage, and diffusing its delicious

clove-like fragrance so profusely that the air is loaded with it for furlongs
round.
Other species of Cactus and Cereus, some with yellow, and some with
pink, and some with rich crimson blossoms,—the pride of our
conservatories,—sprawl profusely in these gardens; and here the Bar-tail
flaunts all day long sipping the nectar, and picking up myriads of minute
insects which the blossoms attract, and which lodge in the honeyed
recesses.
But it is time that the reader should know what sort of a bird this Bar-
tailed Comet is. Attend, then, while I describe his ball-dress, more lustrous
than any fair lady ever wore at Almack's. The head, neck, upper part of the
back, and a considerable portion of the under surface, are light green, with
reflections of burnished gold on the cheeks and forehead. The lower back is
of a deep crimson. The throat flames like an emerald. The tail is the chief
feature, the feathers being broad, and greatly lengthened, in regular
graduation from the central ones to the outmost pair, which are double the
length of the entire bird besides. The form of the tail is widely forked, its
outline having a double curve, somewhat lyre-shaped. The tail-coverts are
ruddy brown; and the feathers themselves are of the richest and most
glowing fire-colour, incomparably lustrous; each feather being broadly
tipped with velvety black. The graduation of the feathers throws these
terminal black tips to a considerable distance from each other, and their
alternation with the intermediate spaces of the fiery glow has an
inconceivably charming effect, as the bird makes its rapid evolutions
through the air, and whisks about among the flowers, with a velocity which
the eye of the beholder can scarcely follow. It is very fond of certain long
trumpet-shaped pendent blossoms, into which it penetrates so far, that
nothing of it can be seen except the tips of its radiant forked tail projecting
from the tube.
Another family of birds that is conspicuous for gorgeous beauty is that of
the Pheasants. Our own familiar species, which is said to have been brought
long ages ago from the banks of the Phasis in Colchis, by Jason in the Argo,
—

"Argivâ primum sum transportata carinâ,"[209]—

is a very splendid bird, and is well painted in a few lines by Pope;—who
speaks of his

"Glossy varying dyes,
His purple crest and scarlet-circled eyes;
The vivid green his shining plumes unfold,
His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold."[210]

But besides this, there are Indian and Chinese species which excel it in
glory. There are the richly-pencilled Gold and Silver Pheasants, and the
noble Reeves' and Amherst Pheasants, with their extraordinary long-barred
tail plumes. The last named is a bird of unusual magnificence.
Then there is the splendid Fire-back of Sumatra and Java, which is
adorned with a crest of slender stalked feathers, each expanding into a disk
with spreading barbs. The head, neck, breast, and belly of this rare bird are
of deep steel-blue, very lustrous, the lower part of the back fiery orange-red
or flame-colour, varying in intensity according to the incidence of the light,
and passing like a zone of fire round the body, though less brilliant on the
abdomen; the rump and tail-coverts broad and truncate, bluish-green, each
feather tipped by a paler bar. The tail is erect and arched, somewhat like that
of the common cock, its middle feathers are pure white, and all the rest
black, with green reflections. The legs and feet, which are scarlet, and the
skin of the face, purple, complete the toilet of this magnificent oriental.
What shall we say to the Argus Pheasant, the bird of Malacca with the
magnificent pinions? How fine a sight must it be to see this noble fowl
displaying his coxcombery in the presence of his admiring hens, strutting to
and fro with his long tail feathers spread and erected, and his broad wings
expanded and scraping the ground far on each side! The colours, it is true,
are sober browns, varied with black and white; but how exquisitely are
these arranged! Perhaps no brilliancy of tint would more charm the eye than
the row of ocellated spots,—each a dark circular disk surrounded by
concentric circles,—that runs along the centre of each of the enormously-
developed secondary wing-quills.

To come back to colour and metallic refulgence. We must not overlook
the Monâl, or Scaly Impeyan of the Himalaya chain. This fowl, which is
little less than a turkey, looks as if clothed in scale armour of iridescent
metal, of which the specific hues can scarcely be indicated, so changeable
are they; green, steel-blue, crimson, purple, and golden-bronze,—all of the
utmost intensity of colour, and of dazzling refulgence, adorn this bird, set
off by a broad square patch of pure white in the middle of the back, while
the crown of the head carries a drooping crest of naked-shafted, broad-
tipped, green feathers. This splendid fowl is as hardy as the turkey or
pheasant, and will probably before long be domesticated in British
preserves, to which it would be a noble addition, being perhaps exceeded by
nothing in nature for refulgence.
In the same regions are found the Polyplectrons, or Pheasant Peacocks,
birds of the same family. Look at one of these in detail, the Crested
Polyplectron of the Sunda Isles. It much resembles a peacock in contour,
the head and neck black, with steely reflections, relieved by a long stripe of
white arching over each eye, and a broad patch of the same on the ears. The
forehead and crown carry a crest of tall feathers capable of erection, and
making a fine ornament. The whole under parts are velvet black; the back
and rump warm brown, with paler wavy bands and lines. The coverts and
secondary feathers of the wings are of the richest blue, each feather tipped
with velvety black. But the tail is the grand display. It is a true tail, not a
train of superincumbent feathers as in the peacock, the quill-feathers being
of great length and breadth, and the whole capable of being widely
expanded into an enormous rounded fan. The individual feathers are brown,
pencilled and sprinkled with pale buff,—a pretty ground, on each of which
is painted two large oval eye-spots of the most brilliant metallic blue or
green, according to the light, contained within encircling double rings of
black and white. These refulgent eyes are so set that they constitute two
curved bands placed at some distance apart, running across the tail, and
when this organ is expanded they impart to it a most regal appearance.
Last, but not least, in this distinguished tribe, there is the familiar
Peacock, a proverb of splendour in raiment from the remote antiquity of
Aristophanes and Aristotle to Mr Hollingshead, who lashes the sumptuary
tendencies of our modern ladies under the title of "Peacockism."[211] The

true Peacock, however, the genuine bird, may at least plead that no
milliners' bills of £3000 are ever proved against him in Bankruptcy Courts.
I am not going to be so impertinent as to describe in detail the plumage of
a bird so well known as the Peacock. Who does not know his empurpled
neck so elegantly bridled, his aigrette of four-and-twenty battledore-
feathers, his pencilled body-clothing, and, above all, his grand erectile train
with its rows of eyelets? Who has not admired the lustre and beauty of those
eyelets,—the kidney-like nucleus of deepest purple, the surrounding band
of green, widening in front and filling the notch of the pupil, the broad
circle of brown, and the narrow black ring edged with chestnut, and then the
decomposed barbs of the feather, gilded green, all presenting the effulgence
of burnished metal, or rather the glitter and glow of precious gems, flashing
in the varying light? One can hardly imagine the splendour of the scene
described by Colonel Williamson, as seen by him in the Jungleterry District
in India, when, being engaged shooting these beautiful fowl, he estimates
that not fewer than twelve or fifteen hundred Peafowl of various sizes were
within sight of him for nearly an hour. "Whole woods were covered with
their beautiful plumage, to which the rising sun imparted additional
brilliancy. Small patches of plain among the long grass, most of them
cultivated, and with mustard then in bloom, which induced the birds to feed,
increased the beauty of the scene."
In the preceding volume I have spoken of the gorgeous beauty of the
Birds of Paradise, and have quoted the description given by Lesson of his
rapt feelings when, on first seeing a specimen in the forests of Papua, he
could not shoot from emotion. A chapter on animal beauty cannot pass over
this magnificent family, though to my own taste there is something in the
refulgent radiance of the Humming-birds and Pheasants which is superior to
anything seen in the Paradise-birds. The latter, or some of them at least,
give me the idea of being over-dressed, particularly that one called the
Superb, whose singular forked gorget and shoulder-cape, gorgeous as these
adornments are, with their lustrous violet and green flushes, are somewhat
inelegant in form. Yet some of them are softly beautiful;—

"So richly deck'd in variegated down,
Green, sable, shining yellow, shading brown,
Tints softly with each other blended,

Hues doubtfully begun and ended;
Or intershooting, and to sight
Lost and recover'd, as the rays of light
Glance in the conscious plumes touch'd here and there.

"This the Sun's Bird, whom Glendoveers might own,
As no unworthy partner in their flight
Through seas of ether, where the ruffling sway
Of nether air's rude billows is unknown:
Whom sylphs, if e'er for casual pastime they
Through India's spicy regions wing their way,
Might bow to as their lord."[212]

PEACOCK-SHOOTING.
The Emerald Paradise, the best known of the family, seems to have been
in the poet's eye; and certainly the combination of form and colour in this
species is very charming. The rich chocolate of the upper parts, and the
delicate lemon-yellow of the neck, contrast well with the gemmeous green

lustre of the front, when the velvety plumage flashes and gleams in the
sunlight. And the numerous soft floating plumes that arch out from the
flanks to a great distance on all sides are exquisite in loveliness. "Even in
the absolute quiet of a stuffed skin under a glass case," as Mr Wood
remarks, "these plumes are full of astonishing beauty, their translucent
golden-white vanelets producing a most superb effect as they cross and
recross each other, forming every imaginable shade of white, gold and
orange, and then deepening towards their extremities into a soft purplish
red."
Mr G. Bennett, who saw a living specimen in an aviary at Macao,
describes these long, elegant, loose-barbed plumes as occupying a good
deal of the bird's own attention and care. "One of the best opportunities of
seeing this splendid bird in all its beauty of action as well as display of
plumage, is early in the morning, when he makes his toilet: the beautiful
sub-alar plumage is then thrown out and cleaned from any spot that may
sully its purity, by being passed gently through the bill; the short chocolate
wings are extended to the utmost, and he keeps them in a steady flapping
motion as if in imitation of their use in flight, at the same time raising up
the delicate long feathers over the back, which are spread in a chaste and
elegant manner, floating like films in the ambient air. In this position the
bird would remain for a short time, seemingly proud of its heavenly beauty,
and in raptures of delight with its most enchanting self; it would then
assume various attitudes, so as to regard its plumage in every direction."
[213]

Passing over all other classes of animate existence, I shall say a few
words on the surpassing loveliness which is displayed by many of the Insect
tribes. The nursery prejudice, that these creatures are worthy only to be
trodden under foot, as things repulsive and disgusting, is certainly decaying,
though it retains its hold still in some minds. A glance through an
entomological cabinet would prove how unjust are such notions. If brilliant
hues, polished surface, sculptured chasings, graceful forms, and lively
motions can command admiration, these are displayed by Insects to a
degree which we should in vain look for in any other class of creatures. We
need not speak of simple colours; these occur in profusion, of all hues, of
all shades of intensity, and of the very highest degrees of brightness;
combined too, in the most elegant manner, and very frequently, particularly

in the Lepidoptera, presenting that peculiar charm which results from the
association of tints that are complemental to each other.
Words are always felt to be too poor to describe the refulgence of the
hues of many of the feathered tribes;—the metallic gloss of the Trogons and
the oriental Gallinaceæ, the gem-like flashings of the Humming-birds and
the Birds of Paradise. Perhaps it would be deemed extravagant to assert,
that these glories can be excelled by the tiny races I am now discussing; but
equalled, most fully equalled, they assuredly are. To possess the glow of
burnished metal upon the most varied hues, is, in the order Coleoptera, a
common thing. Most of the Eumolpidæ are remarkable for this; of which I
may instance Chrysochus fulgidus, a beetle from Bombay. The Buprestidæ
have long been celebrated, for the same reason; and portions of their bodies
have been used in the toilet of ladies, in association with diamonds and
rubies.
Many of the Chlamydæ blaze with golden-crimson, purple, and the most
fiery orange. The species of the small genus Eurhinus seem to send forth
the coloured flames of the pyrotechnic art. The Longicornes display the
same beauties, associated with gigantic size. Cheloderus Childreni, for
example, a large beetle from Columbia, is equal to any Buprestis for the
radiance of the green, crimson, purple, blue, scarlet, and gold, that are all at
the same time flaming from its singularly-sculptured surface.
But there are impressions conveyed by the reflection of light from the
bodies of many beetles, which far exceed the metallic fulgor of which I
have been speaking, beautiful as it is. I cannot hope to describe them
intelligibly; I know of no combination of words which will give an idea of
them. I mean the soft, almost velvety radiance of some of the Goliathi; of
many of the Cetoniæ, as the genus Eudicella, for instance; and of not a few
of the Phanæi, in the former two, the hue is generally green; in the latter,
this colour is associated with other hues, most glowing, yet of an
indescribable softness. I cannot imagine anything of this sort more
charming than the soft golden and orange hue upon the green of the
magnificent Phanæus imperialis.
Others again, as Hoplia farinosa, a little chafer from Southern Europe,
and many of the weevil tribe (Curculionidæ), are covered with scales of

vivid splendour, but so minute, and so closely set, that the whole surface
reflects one soft but rich lustre of tints, differing according to the species.
We would instance, of these, the noble species of the genus Cyphus. Others
of the same great family, on a dark but still richly-coloured ground, have the
minute scales clustered in spots or bands, forming regular patterns in much
variety; and in these they reflect rainbow hues, as if a sunbeam decomposed
through a prism had been solidified and pulverised; or if viewed through a
lens, looking like powdered gems, each individual scale changing its hues
with the slightest motion of the eye. Among these we may mention
Hypsonotus elegans, Cyphus spectabilis, Entimus splendidus, and E.
imperialis, commonly known as diamond beetles; and the elegantly-shaped
genus Pachyrhynchus, of which the P. gemmatus, from the Philippine
Islands, is, perhaps, the most lovely of all earthly creatures.
And if we look at the Lepidoptera, the order more especially under
review, we feel that beauty belongs to them rather as an essence than as an
accident. Their broad fan-like wings have an airy lightness and grace to
which the painter and the poet pay homage, when they endow the sylphs
and loves of their fancy with butterfly pinions.
They are clothed with minute scales, which are the vehicle of their
colours, somewhat resembling in this respect the beetles last spoken of; but
they have beauties peculiar to themselves. Fine combinations and contrasts
of colours are too much the rule in this order to need specification; and
these are often shaded and blended with a downy softness, as in the
Sphinges and Moths. As illustrious examples, I will mention the
Gynautocera, a group of Oriental Moths approaching in some points the
Butterflies, as exhibiting the most brilliant hues in bands and clouds, but
softly blended and mingled, with exceeding chasteness and beauty.
Many species of the genus Catagramma, a group of Butterflies marked
on the inferior surface of the fore-wings with scarlet and black, and on that
of the hind with singular concentric circles of black on a white ground, have
on the superior surface the metallic lustre common in the beetles, the wings
being of golden green or blue. The genus Urania has this radiance still more
conspicuous; while the inferior surface of some of the Theclæ, as T.
imperialis, T. Actæon, T. Endymion, &c., is covered with the most rich and
varied metallic hues, as if powdered with gold, copper, and silver filings.

Some Butterflies, as several of our native Fritillaries, and more vividly an
American species, (Argynnis passifloræ,) one from New Zealand,
(Argyrophenga antipodum,) and the beautiful Paphia Clytemnestra, have
spots of burnished silver on their inferior surface; and several of our own
moths, as the genus Plusia, are so spotted on the upper surface. Others
display a lustre between that of silver and that of pearl, as several species of
Charaxes on one, and the magnificent Morpho Laertes on both surfaces.
But of this sort of beauty, perhaps nothing can excel the gemmeous green,
changing to azure, of Papilio Ulysses, or that of Apatura (?) laurentia; or,
above all, of some of the great Brazilian Morphos. The blaze of silvery
azure that flashes from M. Adonis, M. Cytheris, and M. Menelaus, is
indescribable; the eyes are pained as they gaze upon it; yet there is said to
be an unnamed species from the emerald mountains of Bogota, of which a
single specimen is in a private cabinet in London, which is far more
lustrous than these.
The change from one hue to another produced by the play of light in
altering the angle of its reflection, has always been much admired; and this
occurs in great perfection, and with much diversity, in the lovely insects of
the Lepidopterous order.
Some of the genus Hætera, (as H. piera, and H. esmeralda,) and many of
the Heliconiadæ, as Hymenitis diaphana, &c., have the wings nearly or
quite destitute of the ordinary scaly clothing, presenting only a transparent
membrane of great delicacy; over which the light plays with a beautiful
iridescence. Papilio Arcturus and some allied species, are of a golden-
green, changing to blue, or to glowing purple. Very many of the
Nymphalidæ are distinguished for a flush of surpassing richness, that in one
particular light gleams over the surface. Our own Apatura Iris, commonly
known as the purple emperor, is a native example of this beauty, and still
more A. namoura; but especially the species of the genus Thaumantis, as
well as Morpho Martia, and M. Automedon. Diadema bolina also displays a
purple flush over and around the white spots, which is exquisitely beautiful.
In general this glow is found only in the male, but in the lovely Epiphile
chrysitis it is common to the female.
In Colias Electra a warm purple glow plays over the surface in a strong
light, which is the more singularly beautiful, because the permanent colour

which is thus suffused is a rich golden orange. There is, however, a species
(C. Lesbia) of which only a single specimen is known, and that is in
fragments, in the Banksian Collection, which is in this respect vastly
superior to the former. In all these cases, the playing gleam is more or less
empurpled; in Paphia Portia, however, it may be called crimson.
But still more exquisitely beautiful than any of these is the fine
opalescence that irradiates some butterflies in the changing beam. There is a
white butterfly from Senegal (Anthocharis Ione) allied to our common
garden whites, marked at the tips of the wings with a spot of violet,
surrounded by black. In a certain aspect, there plays over this spot a violet
opalescence of exceeding richness. And to mention no more, (for, indeed,
we know not that we could mention anything to surpass this,) the carnation
spots on the black wings of Papilio Anchises, P. Æneas, P. Tullus, &c., are
at intervals flushed with a violet opalescence, so brilliant, that we know no
other object to compare with it.
In contemplating such objects, we cannot help concurring in the
sentiments expressed by the pious Ray:—"Quæri fortasse à nonnullis
potest, quis Papilionum usus sit? Respondeo, Ad ornatum universi, et ut
hominibus spectaculo sint: ad rura illustranda velut tot bracteæ inservientes.
Quis enim eximiam earum pulchritudinem et varietatem contemplans mira
voluptate non afficiatur? Quis tot colorum et schematum elegantias naturæ
ipsius ingenio excogitatas et artifici penicillo depictas curiosis oculis
intuens, divinæ artis vestigia eis impressa non agnoscat et miretur?" And I
may add, since such exquisite traces of loveliness remain in a world which
Satan has spoiled and sin defiled, what must have been its glory when He
who made it could take complacency in beholding it, and in the minutest
details could pronounce it "very good!"
The Rev. James Smith of Monquhitter thus alludes to the exquisite
beauty of some South American butterflies. One or two of the species I
have already alluded to, but even these can yield additional themes of
admiration. "I hold," he says, "that there are hues and shades of colour
which are positively beautiful in themselves, and independently of all
associations whatever; and to look upon which merely as patches of colour,
affords a gratification of no mean description. And for the truth of such an
opinion, I know not where I should obtain a stronger and a more pleasing