“6, Moira Place, Southampton, 15th Feb., 1876.
“Dear Sir,—On referring to Helix ericetorum (the species I take your
outline to be enlarged from) in Dr. Turton’s British Land and
Fresh-water Shells, with additions by Dr. Gray, I find it stated, on
the authority of M. Bouchard, that the eggs of H. ericetorum are laid
from July to November, and are from forty to sixty in number, the time
of hatching being twenty days after laying, and the length of the
snail’s life is eighteen months. It is not, however, stated whether
these particulars refer to H. ericetorum in England or France.
“The only extra information I can get from my other book is that heavy
rains kill great numbers of them.
“Your drawing refers to the shell of a full-grown snail, shown by its
having six whorls, and by the slight reflex curve at the outer end of
the spiral. [37]
“With regard to the formation of the shell, I can state that it was
formed by successive additions during the life of the snail, the small
dark transparent portion in the centre of the spiral being the nucleus,
and the lines and ridges crossing the spiral indicate the different
rings or layers of shell added to suit the convenience of the snail.
“I enclose specimens of H. ericetorum from Deal, [38] to enable you to
compare them with those from Arundel, to make sure that they are the
same species.
“I am, dear Sir, your obedient servant,
“H. L.”
IV. “A Swedish newspaper contains a lengthy account of the gallant
rescue of a Swedish steamer by the people of the village of Cresswell,
Northumberland. Thirteen out of the fifteen male inhabitants manned the
boat, to launch which the women waded to their waists. A fisher-girl
named Bella Brown ran ten miles to the next lifeboat station for
assistance, and had to wade through several bays on an icy January
night. The brave girl was seized with cramp on returning, and nearly
lost her life.”
V. Part of a letter from one of my best friends, Fellow and Tutor of
Corpus, communicating some recent notes on English scenery:—
“I next went to the Isle of Wight, which is very pretty, but all
over-builded. It threatens soon to become a mere suburb of London.
Portsmouth detained me a day,—all too brief a time for its beauties and
horrors, its relics of past naval glories and picturesque bits on land
and sea, its nightmare sea-going caldrons, misnamed men-of-war, at the
present. I went on board the Thunderer, twin ship of the Devastation. I
had expected something ugly and horrible, both inside and out; but my
expectations were surpassed tenfold, especially with regard to the
inside of the ship. The crew are confined altogether in utterly dark
dungeons at each end of the ship, wholly under water, and hardly high
enough for a man to walk in upright. An iron-shielded and very high
deck in the middle of the ship is the only place where a man can see
the light of day, and live when this witch’s kettle is at sea, as the
ends of the vessel cut under the waves. The bull of Phalaris would have
been an eligible prison to me in comparison of this; victims, at any
rate, were not sent to sea in it.”