president's address. 293 



other seasons for the examination of the Holy Island, of Fame, 

 and of Bamburgh itself The memorials of Holy Island are the 

 history of the Early English Church, its literature and science ; 

 of Bamburgh Castle, the history of Britain ; and the Fames, their 

 rocks and waters, their flocks of sea-fowl, containing seventeen 

 species, their submarine gardens, so beautiful to behold, their 

 mineral, vegetable, and animal treasures ; supply to the naturalist 

 and to the moralist the richest materials of profitable study, and 

 of holy thought and meditation. Here, we might say, but we 

 must not say it. Here we would rest for ever. 



There were present twenty-one members, and eight new 

 associates were elected. 



I have pleasure in referring to a valuable paper, read after our 

 repast by the Secretary, from the pen of Mr. Hancock, describing 

 the curious habits of the Stickleback (a lowly denizen of our 

 waters) j the care of its young, and its nidification — a thing 

 known to Aristotle, but not, as I believe, noticed by modern 

 writers. Mr. Hancock's accurate observations leave no doubt of 

 the fact, and illustrate in a beautiful manner this wise provision 

 of nature, which secures by the instinct, say rather the reason and 

 affections, of this little animal, the continuance of the species. I 

 could wish this document to be read ; but if this may not be at 

 present, let it have, as it deserves, from the interest of the 

 narrative and the genius of the writer, the widest circulation in 

 our Club. 



A plant, new to this district, Equisetiim polysiachion, a variety 

 of E. palustre, was seen by Mr. Storey, to the south of the Castle 

 on the Links. 



On this coast, and at no great distance, we have a curious relic, 

 fast disappearing in the sea. It is the site of a temple of the 

 northern deity Woden, and afterwards of a Christian church, of 

 which last building, as of the first, the record only remains j 

 for the green hill on which they stood is now an islet of the river 

 Alne, and crumbles daily into the waters beneath. Woden's 

 name survives in that of the township, the township of Woden, 

 and carries us far back to times of darkness and barbarism. 



