SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



2 55 



the pools in shoals, now and then fleeing from some 

 lust)' trout. A little while ago, just at the end of 

 the salmon season, many were the monsters which 

 eagerly rose to the angler's fly, and afterwards 

 graced his table. The trout of this river run 

 from four ounces to six pounds in weight. One 

 trout, old in crafty ways, was caught, some years 

 ago, and found to scale eleven pounds. At this time 

 the rods hang on the rack ; and the gun, frequently, 

 however, used on the hillside, has become the stand- 

 ing invitation to a country ramble. The woodcock 

 has already forsaken the frozen North, where the 

 icy winds roam over the wilds, screaming among 

 the gaunt pines or whistling through the rush-lit 

 hovel as they pass. Down among the reedy banks 

 of our murmuring streams, or, if the weather be 

 unusually hard, near the fountain-head of the 

 never-frozen hillside springs, worms and other 

 necessaries of woodcock-life are more easily ob- 

 tained. A short while ago, towards evening, an old 

 deaf woman, whilst loitering among the tombs of 

 the village churchyard, found one of these birds 

 sheltering within the holy precincts of that quiet 

 sanctuary. Not recognising that there the little 

 one should have found an undisturbed abode, she 

 captured the poor weakling after an exciting chase, 

 and brought it to the Vicar's daughter, when the 

 sojourner was placed in a brown paper bag and 

 given to a hard-hearted man, who treated it 

 harshly and squeezed its breast-bone till it became 

 weary of its life. It will be ultimately placed 

 among strange companions, beneath a covering of 

 glass, looking very beautiful, and almost perfect 

 save for the beauty of that spark of life which had 

 been taken away in sacrifice to the accursed thirst 

 for "specimens." It is just now that one likes to 

 see a bright fire, the gun standing in a corner, the 

 fishing basket behind the study door, and books, 

 family portraits and pretty trifles grouped care- 

 lessly around, or peeping from dearly-loved 

 shelves. Out in the garden, the cabbages bear 

 marks of greedy caterpillars, but are at 

 present left in peace, for these spoilers have 

 been overtaken by winter's repose, and have 

 entered a third, inanimate stage of insect life. 

 Peasticks are stacked against a south wall, and 

 behind them sleep my tortoises, waiting with 

 tortoise-like patience, till spring shall come again. 

 The wren, always meeting the gravest problems 

 with a flick of her apology for a tail, hops in and 

 out among the bare undergrowth, caring nothing 

 for the anxieties of her friends, the bachelor chaf- 

 finches, which have congregated in flocks and flown 

 to other fields. One can almost read the thoughts 

 of a wren in her actions. The cheeky little bundle 

 of brown, with wee feathers all ruffled by a cross 

 wind, hops down on the fallen trunk which lies 

 across the path. She stands erect and quiet for 

 one moment, then the humour of the situation 

 seems to strike her. Down goes head, up goes 

 tail, out flicks the tiny wing. " Dear me ! " she 

 hurriedly exclaims, "Dear me! what fun! fancy 

 me in quiet meditation ! " And then the middle of 

 the nearest bramble hedge is explored, and the 

 small voice completes the action. "What fun! 

 Dear me ! " I hardly think a wren could possibly be 

 at rest for more than an instant. Sometimes I find 

 prizes near the roots of the tree that stands alone 

 in the middle of the field near by. There, in the rich 

 mould, are to be discovered, by perseverance, some 

 objects ugly to all but a naturalist's eyes. Even the 

 mole, which is generally so fond of robbing me of 

 these treasures, deigns to leave a few of the 

 ugliest behind. These are pupa:, beautiful things 



swathed in a garment of sombre hue, brown or black, 

 that later, by my gentle nursing near the fireside, 

 are induced to "issue forth robed in blue and 

 rich chocolate and red and velvety black, 

 magnificent as hawk moths. Not long ago 

 a Welsh peasant woman came into the village 

 from the potato-fields in order to see me. 

 I found that she carried, carefully hidden in the 

 folds of her coarse apron, the pupa of a death's- 

 head hawk moth, which she was desirous of be- 

 queathing to my care. Not at all disdainful of her 

 good nature, I accepted the charge, and am 

 now eagerly awaitiug the metamorphosis of the 

 perfect insect. I learn that this moth is par- 

 ticularly numerous in this locality. The larvji- 

 feed on potato leaves, and the imago some- 

 times measures six inches across the wings. But 

 now as I write, the fire burns low. It is the mid- 

 hour. I extinguish the lamp and draw up the 

 window-blind. The moon has rolled up into the 

 midst of a panorama of twinkling stars. Faint 

 beams are thrown upon the study walls, from 

 which stuffed polecats glare down upon my insect 

 cabinets. I gaze upon a snow-clad earth, wrapped 

 with the first of this winter's garments — a pure white 

 winding sheet for so much that in the now forgotten 

 summer throbbed with life. Yet Nature wears a 

 face of hope. The very stars that now peep down 

 upon this sleeping sphere shall soon smile 

 upon the glory of a transformation, at a time when 

 a myriad reawakened forms of insect life shall be 

 sipping cool nectar from the lilac blooms that open 

 to their nightly visitants.— T. A. W. Rees.F.R.M.S., 

 Llandyssul ; December 6th, 1894. 



Gilbert White's Letters. — We hear that during 

 January or February next, there will be offered by 

 public auction in London, a collection of the Rev. 

 Gilbert White's original letters. Most, if not all, of 

 them were written in the happy days in dear old 

 Selborne, under the peaceful shade of the " Hanger." 



Country Lore in " Gentleman's Magazine.' 

 — From the earliest times of its publication, the 

 " Gentleman's Magazine" always welcomed articles 

 on Country Lore, during the two thousand 

 months of its issue. The present " Sylvanus 

 Urban, Gentleman" and editor, has in most issues 

 something of the kind. Take, for instance, the 

 three last numbers. In November, Irving Muntz 

 criticised that apostle of country lore, Richard 

 Jefferies, often miscalled " Jefferies, the naturalist," 

 to which title he had little claim. His reviewer 

 is evidently his lover, which indeed he may 

 well be, as an admirer of Jefferies, the word- 

 painter. We agree with many of the conclusions 

 drawn, although we think Irving Muntz is a little 

 enthusiastic. In December last, Percival H. W. 

 Almy discourses upon Weather Wisdom, and he 

 has gathered together a number of old and quaint 

 sayings about weather signs. He does not quote 

 one seasonable one, however, not uncommon in the 

 North of England, " If the sun shines through the 

 apple-trees on Christmas day, apples will be 

 abundant next year." In the new January number, 

 Clifford Cordley summarises the fishing lore from 

 Shakespeare's works. 



Glow- Worms in Autumn. — Is not October .>Sth 

 a late date for glow-worms to be shining ? On the 

 evening of that day I was dining with a friend near 

 Staplehurst, in the Weald of Kent, and we saw two 

 glow-worms emitting their light within a few yards 

 of each other on a roadside bank. The evening 

 . was a mild one, after a very rough stormy day. — 

 /. Herbert Allchin, Maidstone ; November 7th, 1894. 



