136 
NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. 
LETTER VIII. To the Hon. DAINES BARRINGTON. 
DEAR SIR, Selhorne, Bee. 20, 1770. 
The birds that I took for aherdavines were reed-sparrows (pas- 
seres torquatij.* 
There are doubtless many home internal migrations within 
abounding in lettuces, poppies, kidney-beans, and many other salubrious and delectable herbs 
and plants, and especiallj' with a great choice of delicate gooseberries I But still at times I miss 
my good old mistress, whose grave and regular deportment suited best with my disposition ; for 
you must know that my present master is what men call a Naturalist, and much visited by people 
of that turn, who often put him on whimsical experiments, such as feeling my pulse, putting me 
in a tub of water to try if I can swim, &c., and twice in the year I am carried to the grocer's to 
be weighed, that it may be seen how much I am wasted during the months of my abstinence, and 
liow much 1 gain by feasting during summer. Upon these occasions I am placed in the scale on 
my back, where I sprawl about to the great diversion of the shopkeeper's children. These matters 
displease me, but there is another that hurts my pride — I mean the contempt shown for my un- 
derstanding which these " lords of the creation" are very apt to discover, thinking that nobody 
knows any thing but themselves. I heard my master say that he expected I should some day 
tumble down the ha, ha, whereas I would have him know that I can discover a precipice from the 
plain ground as well as himself. Sometimes my master repeats, with much seeming triumph, 
the following lines, which occasion a loud laugh : — 
•* Timotheus, placed on high 
Amidst the tuneful quire, 
With plying fingers touched the lyre." 
For my part I see no wit in the application, nor know whence the verses are quoted ; perhaps 
from some prophet of his own, who, if he penned them for the sake of ridiculing tortoises, 
bestowed his pains, I think, to poor purpose. These are some of my grievances ; but they 
sit very light on me in comparison of what remains behind. Know then, tender-hearted lady, 
that my great misfortune, and what I have never divulged to any one before, is the want of 
society with my own kind. This reflection is always uppermost m my mind, but comes upon 
me with irresistible force every spring. It w as in the month of May last that I resolved' to elope 
from my place of confinement ; for my fancy had represented to me that probably many agreeable 
tortoises of both sexes might inhabit the heights of Baker's Hill, or the extensive plains of the 
neighbouring meadow, both of which I could discern from the terrace. One sunny morning 1 
watched my opportunity, found the wicket open, eluded the vigilance of the gardener, and es- 
caped into the saint-foin, which begun to be in bloom, and thence to the beans. 1 was missing 
eight days, wandering in this wilderness of sweets, and exploring the meadow at times. But my 
pains were all to no purpose; I could find no society such as 1 sought for. I began to grow 
hungry, and to wish myself at home, I therefore cair.e forth in sight, and surrendered myself 
up to Thomas, who had been inconsolable in my absence. Thus, madam, have 1 given you a 
faithful account of my satisfactions and sorrows, the latter of which are mostly uppermost. You 
are a lad}', I understand, of much sensibility; let me, therefore, make my case your own in the 
following manner, and then you will judge of my feelings : — Suppose you were to be kidnapped 
away to-morrow, in the bloom of your life, to a land of tortoises, and were never to see again a 
human face for fifty years I ' ! Think on this, dear lady, and pity 
Your sorrowful reptile, 
Timothy. 
The unfortunate Timothy is made most honourable mention of in many of Mr. White's unpub- 
lished papers, as quoted in Mr. Jesse's work. For some further particulars, see Letter . — E» 
* The aberdavine siskin {carduelis spinns) , which has usually been described as a most irregu- 
lar winter visitant, I have always found to be the contrary. Great numbers of these pretty little 
birds are annually taken by the London bird-catchers. They arrive in these parts about Sep- 
tember, a few sometimes in nestling plumage (which resembles that of the hen), and conti- 
nue with us till late in April, or sometimes Maj^, departing in their beautiful summer garb, all 
the edgings to their feathers having disappeared. Their song resembles that of the goldfinch 
{carduelis elegans) f is sharper, and not so pleasing, always terminating with a lengthened 
htrsli note which is peculiar. — En. 
