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PART 11. 



REVIEWS. 



Art. I. The Journal of a Naturalist. London. 12mo, pp.403. 



Sir, 

 You have, no doubt, met with a grass-green volume, of 

 very sufficing plumpness, and flourishing appearance, lately- 

 produced under the title of 21ie Journal of a Naturalist. Both 

 the name and the aspect are inviting ; the author, at our first 

 meeting, offers us the shade of a noble tree to repose under, 

 and at once bespeaks our good will, and disposes us to listen 

 to his communications. We set out with him on his rambles ; 

 and, though the commencement of our journey presents no- 

 thing very interesting, we still proceed. The prospect becomes 

 promising : beyond the downs, grass lands, and potato fields, 

 we behold a clump of fine old trees, a pretty sprinkling of 

 flowers, and a sprightly assemblage of singing-birds. We 

 sometimes incline to be weary of the repeated delays of our 

 companion, who seems disposed to devote more time and 

 attention to some objects than we are inclined to grant; and 

 misled, perhaps, by a love of home and its vicinity, to place 

 too high a value on some of its commonest productions. At 

 last, however, having settled the merits of the limestone rocks, 

 the shells, and flints, and happily consigned the fate and fame 

 of strontian to the justice of time, we flatter ourselves that we 

 have passed all obstacles to our progress towards a more 

 pleasing part of the country; when suddenly we are requested 

 to pause by the side of a limekiln, to give ear to a tale that 

 requires all our powers of belief. We are informed that, 

 some years since, a man oppressed with fatigue, and benumbed 

 with cold, laid himself down, with his feet upon the stones 

 placed in the kiln to burn throughout the night, and there fell 

 asleep. The limestones becoming gradually heated, the man 

 still sleeping and unconscious, one foot, with the lower part 

 of the leg, was entirely consumed. When the kilnman awakened 

 the man in the morning, and he attempted to rise, he missed 

 — not his foot, reader — but — his shoe, and begged it might 

 be found. The leg-bone no sooner touched the ground than 



