At the conclusion of the autobiography prefixed to his former series of
Essays, published some years since, Mr Waterton announced that he then
"put away the pen not to be used again except in self-defence." That this
resolution has been departed from, from whatever motive, will be matter
for congratulation to most, if not all, of the readers of the "Wanderings"
and "Essays;" and the volume before us derives an additional interest from
its being an unsolicited donation to the widow of his deceased friend, Mr
Loudon, the well-known naturalist. Methinks the author would not have done
amiss in continuing, both to this and the former series of essays, the
peculiarly appropriate title under which his first lucubrations were given
to the world: since veritable _Wanderings_ they are over every imaginable
variety of subject and climate, from caymans in the Essequibo to the blood
of St Januarius at Naples; schemes for the banishment of _Hanoverian_ rats
(Mr W. never allows this voracious intruder a British denizenship) in
Yorkshire, and for averting the projected banishment of the rooks in
Scotland. Among the amusing _omniun gatherum_ intermingled with the
valuable ornithological information in the present volume, we find
dissertations on the gigantic raspberries, now, alas! no more produced in
the ruined garden of Walton Hall--on the evils of tight shoes, tight
lacing, and stiff cravats--on the natural history of that extinct-by-law
variety of the human species called the chimney sweeper--and last, not
least, on that of the author himself, in the continuation of his unique
autobiography; and we rejoice to find him, though now close upon his grand
climacteric, still able to climb a tree by the aid of toes which have
never been cramped by tight shoes, with all the vigour, if not all the
agility, of his lusty youth, breathing hostility against no living
creature except Mr Swainson and Sir Robert Peel--the little love he
already bore to the latter for framing the oath of abjuration for
Catholics[9] not being greatly augmented by the imposition of the
income-tax--and still maintaining in Walton Park an inviolable asylum for
crows, hawks, owls, and all the generally proscribed tribes of the
feathered race.
The continuation of the autobiography is taken up from the publication of
the first volume of essays in 1837, and consists chiefly of the narrative
of adventures by land and perils by sea, in an expedition with his family,
by the route of Holland and the Rhine, to the sunny shores of Italy. But
the intervening period was not without incidents worthy of record. By a
judicious system of pavement joined with Roman cement, and drains secured
at the mouths by iron grates, "Charles Waterton, in the year of grace
1839, effectually cleared the premises at Walton Hall of every Hanoverian
rat, young and old ... and if I were to offer L.20 sterling money for the
capture of a single individual, in or about any part of the premises, not
one could be procured." Not long after this memorable achievement, a case
of hydrophobia in Nottingham promised to afford him an opportunity of
trying the virtues of the famous _Wourali_ poison, as a cure for this
dreadful and hitherto unconquerable malady. The difficulties and dangers
encountered in the search for this potent narcotic through the wilds of
Guiana, and the subsequent experiments on the ass _Wouralia_, which, after
being apparently deprived of life by its influence, was revived by the
inflation of the lungs with a blowpipe, and lived twenty-four years in
clover at Walton, are familiar to the readers of the _Wanderings_--but its
presumed efficacy in cases of hydrophobia was not destined to be tested in
the present instance, as the patient had expired before Mr W.'s arrival.
Its powers were, however, exhibited in the presence of a scientific
assemblage:--one of two asses operated upon, though restored at the time,
died on the third day, the other was perfectly recovered by the process of
artificial respiration, and "every person present seemed convinced that
the virulence of the Wourali poison was completely under the command of
the operator ... and that it can be safely applied to a human being
labouring under hydrophobia!" Now this inference, with all due deference
to Mr Waterton, appears to partake not a little of the _non sequitur_; and
unless the _modus operandi_ by which relief is to be obtained during the
suspension of vitality thus produced is more clearly explained, we doubt
whether many applications will be made for "the scientific assistance of
Mr Gibson of the General Hospital at Nottingham, to give the sufferer a
chance of saving his life by the supposed, though yet untried, efficacy of
the Wourali poison, which, worst come to the worst, would, by its sedative
qualities, render death calm and composed, and free from pain." Satisfied,
however, with the somewhat equivocal result of this experiment, Mr
Waterton resumed his preparations for departure, and having "called up the
gamekeeper, and made him promise, as he valued his place, that he would
protect all hawks, crows, herons, jays, and magpies," sailed from Hull for
Rotterdam with his two sisters-in-law and his only son, a boy eleven years
of age.
Mr Waterton's Catholic sympathies for the Belgian revolt, "for real
liberty in religious matters," and his lamentations over the magnificent
churches in Holland, stripped of their pictures and ornaments on the
change of religion, do not prevent his feeling very favourably disposed
towards the Dutch and their country, "the uniformity of which, and the
even tenor of their tempers, appear as if one had been made for the
other." The protection extended to the stork, which builds without fear in
the heart of their towns, gives them an additional claim on his good-will;
and "would but our country gentlemen put a stop to the indiscriminate
slaughter of birds by their ruthless gamekeepers, we should not have to
visit Holland to see the true habits of the stork, nor roam through
Germany to enjoy the soaring of the kite--a bird once very common in this
part of Yorkshire, but now a total stranger to it." The progressive
extinction of so many of the larger species of birds once indigenous to
England before the progress of drainage and clearing; has long been a
subject of regret not only to the naturalist but the sportsman. Of the
stately bustard, once the ornament of all our downs, scarce a solitary
straggler now remains--the crane, as well as the stork, which once
abounded in the fen districts, has totally disappeared; and though the
success which has attended the attempts to re-introduce the capercailzie
in Scotland has restored to us one of our lost species, it is much to be
feared that unless Mr Waterton's example, in converting his park into a
sanctuary, be followed by other country gentlemen of ornithological
tastes, the raven, the crow, and the larger species of hawks, in whose
preservation no one is interested, and which are already becoming _rarae
aves_, in the agricultural districts, will eventually disappear from the
British Fauna.
The great influx of English into Belgium, while scarce any are to be found
in Holland, is attributed, probably with reason, to the national love of
sight-seeing, which finds gratification in the ceremonies and decorations
of the Belgian churches--"up and down which crowds of English are for ever
sauntering.... 'How have you got over your time to-day?' I said one
afternoon to an acquaintance, who, like Mr Noddy's eldest son in Sterne,
was travelling through Europe at a prodigious speed, and had very little
spare time on his hands. He said he had knocked off thirteen churches that
morning!" The headquarters of the English residents appear to be at
Bruges, and Mr Waterton highly approves of the selection:--"Did my habits
allow me to prefer streets to woods and green fields, I could retire to
Bruges, and there end my days." But after visiting the convent of English
nuns, where some of the ladies of Mr Waterton's family had received their
education, and the portrait of "that regal profligate, Charles II." (Mr
Waterton's love of truth here gets the better of his ancestral
predilections for the house of Stuart) in the hall of the ancient society
of archers, of which he was a member during his exile, the travellers
continued their route by Ghent and along the valley of the Meuse, "which,
on a fine warm day in July, appears as rich and beautiful as any valley
can well be on this side of ancient Paradise," to Aix-la-Chapelle. At this
famous Prussian watering-place Mr Waterton found much to move his bile,
not only in the sight of ladies risking their fortunes at the public
gaming-tables authorised and protected by government, but in the folly of
the valetudinarians, who perversely counteract the beneficial effects of
the waters by "resorting to the _salle-a-manger_, and there partaking of
all the luxuries from the cornucopia of Epicurus, Bacchus, and Ceres." He
derived some consolation, however, from the contemplation of the
magnificent and varied prospect from the wooded heights of the Louisberg
above the town; and the sight, on his last visit, of a pair of ravens
circling over his head in aerial revolutions, and then winging their way
towards the forest of Ardennes, awakened recollections of home, and "of
the rascally cobbler who desecrated the Sunday morning by robbing the last
raven's nest in this vicinity." At Freyburg they encountered a phenomenon,
in the shape of a poetical German waiter--and a poet, too, in the English
language, though he had never been in England, nor much among English; but
the waiter's effusions, the subject of which was the cathedral of
Freyburg, were never destined to reach England, but now lie, with the rest
of Mr Waterton's travelling goods and chattels, in the wreck of the
Pollux, at the bottom of the Mediterranean sea.
The passage of the Alps disappointed our traveller's hopes of finding
among their heights some of the rarer European birds:--"the earth appeared
one huge barren waste, and the heavens produced not a single inhabitant of
air." On descending the southern side of the mountains, they at length
received ocular demonstration of their being really in Italy, by observing
matronly-looking woman engaged in certain offices touching the long black
hair of her daughter, which showed that combs were still as scarce as when
Horace stigmatized the "incomptum caput" of Canidia; and the necessity of
lavender water, to pass with any thing like comfort through the town and
villages which looked so enchanting at a distance in the midst of their
olive groves and cypresses, is feelingly commented upon. But before
entering Rome, we must give Mr Waterton's own account of an exploit which
made some noise at the time of its performance, and the motives at least
of which appear to have been mis-stated. On a former visit, he had gained
great renown by climbing, in company with Captain Alexander of the royal
navy, to the summit of the cross surmounting the ball of St Peter's, and
leaving his gloves on the point of the conductor! and as a pendant to this
notable achievement, it was announced about this time, in most of the
English papers, that in a fervour of religious enthusiasm, on approaching
the Eternal City, he had walked barefoot as a pilgrim the last twenty
miles, and thus so severely lacerated his feet as to be incapable for some
time of moving. "Would that my motives had been as pure as represented!
The sanctity of the churches, the remains of holy martyrs which enrich
them, the relics of canonized saints placed in such profusion throughout
them, might well induce a Catholic traveller to adopt this easy and simple
mode of showing his religious feeling. But, unfortunately, the idea never
entered my mind at the time; I had no other motives than those of easy
walking and self-enjoyment." The enjoyment to be derived from walking
without shoes or stockings over a rough pavement, in sharp frost, proved
as problematical in practice as it would be to most persons in theory; and
Mr Waterton found to his cost, that the fifteen years which had elapsed
since he went barefoot with impunity in the forests of Guiana, had
materially impaired his soles' power of endurance. After sustaining a
severe injury in his right foot, of which the intensity of the cold
prevented his being sensible at the instant, he was glad to resume his
_chaussure_, and was laid up on the sofa for two months after his arrival.
"It was this unfortunate adventure which gave rise to the story of my
walking barefooted into Rome, and which gained me a reputation by no means
merited on my part."
Notwithstanding this mishap, and the many things offensive to English
feelings in the manifold impurities of Roman streets and kitchens, Mr
Waterton speaks with much satisfaction of his sojourn for several months
in "Rome, immortal Rome, replete with every thing that can instruct and
please." Though his former visits had in great degree satiated him with
galleries and palaces, he still found great attractions in the studio of
the Roman Landseer, Vallati,[10] the famous painter of wild-boars; but his
great point of attraction seems to have been the bird-market near the
Pantheon--the extent of traffic in which may be judged from the statement,
that during the spring and autumn passage of the quails, which are taken
in nets of prodigious extent on the shores of the Mediterranean, 17,000 of
these birds have passed the Roman custom-house in one day. The catalogue
of birds exposed for sale as articles of food comprehends nearly all the
species found in Italy: not even robin-redbreast is sacred from the
omnivorous maw of the Italian gourmand, and a hundred at a time may be
seen lying on a stall. "The birdmen outwardly had the appearance of
banditti, but it as all outside, and nothing more: they were good men
notwithstanding their uncouth looks, and good Christians too, for I could
see them waiting at the door of the Jesuits' church by half-past four on a
winter's morning, to be ready for the first mass." By ingratiating himself
with this rough-seeming fraternity, Mr Waterton succeeded in obtaining
specimens of many rare birds, which fortunately escaped the wreck of the
Pollux, by having been previously forwarded to Leghorn. Among these
scattered ornithological notices, we find some interesting remarks on the
true designation of the "sparrow sitting alone upon the house-top," to
which the Royal Psalmist likened himself in his penitence and vigils. It
is obvious that the description could not apply to our common house
sparrow, the habits of which are certainly the reverse of solitary or
pensive; and Mr Waterton is undoubtedly correct in referring it to the
Blue or Solitary Thrush--a bird not found in this country, but common in
Spain, Italy, and the south of France, and still more so in the
Levant--the _Petrocincla cyanea_ of scientific naturalists, and the
_Passera solitaria_ of the Italians. "It is a real thrush in size, in
shape, in habits, and in song--and is indeed a solitary bird, for it never
associates with any other, and only with its own mate in breeding
time--and even then it is often seen quite alone upon the house-top, where
it warbles in sweet and plaintive strains, and continues its song as it
moves in easy flight from roof to roof. The traveller may often see it on
the remains of the Temple of Peace, but much more frequently on the
stupendous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, and always on the Colosseum:
and, in fine, on the tops of most of the churches, monasteries, and
convents, within and without the walls of the Eternal City. It being an
assiduous frequenter of the habitations of man, I cannot have a doubt that
it was the same bird which King David saw on the house-top before him, and
to which he listened as it poured forth its sweet and plaintive song."
The ceremonies of St Anthony's Day, when the beasts of burden, decked in
many-coloured trappings, are brought to receive the priestly benediction,
are described with much unction, and defended with Mr Waterton's usual
zeal for the ordinances of his church, and with considerable tact, against
the ridicule often thrown upon them by "thoughtless and censorious
travellers." "I recalled to my mind the incessant and horrible curses
which our village urchins vent against their horses on the Barnsley canal,
which passes close by my porters' lodges"--and truly the most rigid of
Protestants could scarcely deny, in this case, the advantage, for the
well-doing of both man and beast, which the usages of Rome have over those
of Yorkshire. But the approach of the malaria season at length compelled
them to leave Rome for Naples; and on the journey Mr Waterton's
ornithological tastes were gratified to the utmost. "I saw more birds than
I had seen on the whole of the journey from England; and after having seen
the ram of Apulia, I no longer considered Homer's story of Ulysses with
the sheep of Polyphemus as so very much out of the way." But a still more
imposing spectacle than the festival of St Anthony awaited them at Naples:
this was the liquefaction of the blood of St Januarius, on September 19,
to witness which was the principal object of their visit. We shall leave
Mr Waterton to speak for himself. "At the termination of high mass, the
phial containing the blood was carried by one of the canons into the body
of the cathedral, that every person might have an opportunity of
inspecting the blood, and kissing the phial, should he feel inclined.
There were two phials--a large one, containing the blood as it had flowed
from the wounds of the martyr at its execution; and a smaller one,
containing his blood mixed with sand, just as it had been taken from the
ground on which it had fallen. These two phials were enclosed in a very
strong and beautifully ornamented case of silver and glass. I kissed this
case, and had a most satisfactory opportunity of seeing the blood in its
solid state,... and the canon who held it turned it over and over many
times to prove to us that the blood was not liquid.... At one o'clock
P.M., no symptoms whatever of a change had occurred. A vast number of
people had already left the cathedral, so that I found the temperature
considerably lowered. Precisely at a quarter before two, the blood
suddenly and entirely liquefied. The canon who held the case passed close
by me, and afforded me a most favourable opportunity of accompanying him
close up to the high altar, where I kissed the phial, and joined my humble
prayers to those of the multitude.... Nothing in the whole course of my
life has struck me so forcibly as this occurrence;... and I here state,
in the most unqualified manner, my firm conviction, that the liquefaction
of the blood of St Januarius is miraculous, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Were I to conceal this my conviction from the public eye, I should
question the soundness of both my head and my heart, and charge my pen
with arrant cowardice."
After a short excursion to Sicily, in which Mr Waterton had occasion to
surmise that the ancient furies of Scylla and Charybdis had quitted their
old quarters to take up their abode in the passport-offices, and regretted
his inability to avail himself of the opportunities which the island
afforded, for observing the spring and autumn passage of the migratory
birds, they paid a farewell visit to the tomb of Virgil, and left "that
laughing, noisy, merry city of Naples on a fine and sunny morning, to
enjoy for eight or nine months more the soothing quiet of the Roman
capital." At length, on the 16th June 1841, the party left Rome, and
sailed the next day from Civita Vecchia, on board the Pollux steamer, for
Leghorn; but their good fortune at length deserted them. "Cervantes has
told us that there is nothing certain in this life--'no hay cosa segura en
esta vida.'" It was soon evident to Mr Waterton, as an old traveller, that
there was a great want of nautical discipline on board the Pollux, and of
this they soon had fatal proof. In the midst of the night the vessel came
in collision with the Mongibello, a steamer of larger size, steering on
the opposite course, which stove her in amidships, and she sunk in a
quarter of an hour. The captains and mates of both vessels were asleep
below, but from the calmness of the sea, and the exertions of the Prince
of Canino (Charles Bonaparte,) who was fortunately a passenger on board
the Mongibello, and took the helm from the steersman when he was on the
point of sheering off from the wreck, all the crew and passengers of the
Pollux, except one man, were got safe on board the former vessel. All
their property was lost, and, on their being landed the next day at
Leghorn, an attempt was made by the authorities to detain the vessel, and
all on board, for twenty days in quarantine, on the ground of the Pollux's
bill of health having been lost in the foundered vessel! But Prince Canino
again came to the rescue, and they eventually returned in the Mongibello
to Civita Vecchia, and thence to Rome, where, as a climax to their
misfortunes, Mr Waterton was for some time laid up by an attack of fever.
It was not till the 20th of July that he finally set out with his party
for England, having in the mean time made a singular addition to his
suite, which is treated of at length in one of the Essays.
Among the various strange birds which find a place in the Roman bill of
fare, is a pretty little owl yclept the Civetta, (called by British
ornithologists, from its diminutive size, the _passerina_, or sparrow
owl,) which abounds throughout Italy, where it figures in more varied
capacities than is consistent with the usually reserved habits of its
race. "You may see it plucked and ready trussed for the spit, on the same
stall at which hawks, crows, jackdaws, jays, magpies, hedgehogs, frogs,
snails, and buzzards, are offered for sale to the passing conoscenti"--a
catalogue of dainties which bears but a small proportion to a more
extended _carte raisonnee_ elsewhere given by Mr Waterton, who verily
believes that "scarcely any thing which has had life in it comes amiss to
the Italians in the way of food, except the Hanoverian rat." It is used by
sportsmen (as we find from Savi's _Ornitologia Toscana_) as a decoy for
small birds, which it attracts within gunshot by its singular gestures
when placed on the top of a pole; and it "is much prized by the gardener,
for its uncommon ability in destroying insects, snails, slugs, and
reptiles. There is scarcely an outhouse in the vineyards and gardens which
is not tenanted by the Civetta, and it is often brought up tame from the
nest." It has hitherto been known in England only as a rare and accidental
visitor; and Mr Waterton, actuated by a patriotic desire to secure for his
countrymen the benefit of its services--"not, by the way, in the kitchen,
but in the kitchen-garden"--provided himself with a dozen as _compagnons
de voyage_, on quitting Rome. At Genoa, an inclination was manifested by
the custom-house officers to claim duty on this novel article of
export--and a precedent might have been drawn from the case of the eagles
which were sent from Killarney to Colonel Montagu, before the duties
between England and Ireland were abolished, and detained at Bristol on the
plea that there was a duty on all singing-birds! The Genoese _doganieri_,
however, on Mr Waterton's assurance that the owls were not for the
purposes of traffic, and were, moreover, the native produce of _la
bellissima Italia_, (with the sly addition, that he "had reason to believe
they are common in Genoa, so that they can well be spared,") graciously
allowed them to pass duty-free; but at Basle an unexpected obstacle arose.
Mr Waterton's letter of credit had been lost in the Pollux; and in spite
of letters of recommendation from the Prince of Canino, and the Italian
Rothschild, Torlonia, "M. Passavant the banker, a wormwood-looking
money-monger, refused to advance a single _sous_," even on the deposit of
a valuable watch; and Mr Waterton, with his owls and his family, would
have stuck fast at Basle, but for the arrival of Mr W. Brougham, (brother
of Lord Brougham,) who furnished him with a supply; and the whole party
reached Aix-la-Chapelle safe and sound. But here Mr Waterton thought
proper, by way of cleansing his _proteges_ from the soils of their long
journey, to give them, as well as himself, the benefit of a warm
bath!--"an act of rashness" (as he himself terms it) which caused the
death of five of the number from cold the same night. Two others perished
afterwards from casualties, and the remaining five arrived safe at Walton
Hall. "On the 10th of May 1842, there being abundance of slugs, snails,
and beetles on the ground, at seven o'clock in the evening, the weather
being serene and warm, I opened the door of the cage, and the five owls
stepped out to try their fortunes in this wicked world. As they retired
into the adjacent thicket, I bade then be of good heart; and although the
whole world was now open to them, I said if they would stop in my park I
would be glad of their company, and would always be a friend and
benefactor to them." How the little strangers have sped--whether they have
increased and multiplied in the hospitable shades of Walton Hall, to
gratify their entomological tastes for the benefit of neighbouring
kitchen-gardens, or strayed from this asylum, and fallen victims as _rarae
aves_ to some ruthless bird-stuffer, we hope to be informed in the "more
last words" which we yet hope for on the pen of Mr Waterton.
"Of all the brave birds that e'er I did see,
The owl is the fairest in her degree,"
quoth an old ditty; and we must ourselves confess to a peculiar _penchant_
for an "owl in an ivy bush," partly from personal sympathy for its
shortsightedness, and not less for the aspect of solemn wisdom which
gained for it of yore a place on the crest of Minerva's helmet, and has
made it, in the regions of the East, the counsellor of kings and princes.
Who has not heard of the reproof thus conveyed, through the medium of a
vizier skilled in the mystic language of birds, to the devastating
ambition of Sultan Mahmood of Ghazni? The gates of whose tomb, (it may be
remarked _par parenthese_,) the _savans_ have now decided never to have
been at Somnat at all--a piece of useful knowledge cheaply acquired, no
doubt, at the expense of a war which has secured the owls of that country,
for some years to come, against any scarcity of ruined villages wherewith
to endow their daughters. We regret, therefore, to find that Mr Waterton,
to whom we owe the introduction of the Civetta in England, and who, in the
first series of his Essays, has eloquently vindicated the character of the
barn-owl against the aspersions alike of the poets of the Augustan age and
the old women of the present day, still denies the accomplishment of
hooting to the Yorkshire barn-owls, and persists in considering it
restricted to the single individual shot by Sir William Jardine. "We know
full well that most extraordinary examples of splendid talent do from time
to time make their appearance on the world's wide stage--and may we not
suppose that the barn-owl which Sir William shot in the absolute act of
hooting, may have been a gifted bird of superior parts and knowledge,
endowed, perhaps, from its early days with the faculty of hooting, or else
taught it by its neighbour the tawny owl? I beg to remark, that though I
unhesitatingly grant the faculty of hooting to this one particular
individual owl, still I flatly refuse to believe that hooting is common to
barn-owls in general." The same denial is repeated in the present volume;
but Sir William's owl is no longer alone in his glory, as the possession
of a similar talent, to at least a limited extent, has been ascribed in
the pages of the _Zoologist_ to the Oxford owls. As Mr Waterton's accuracy
as an observer cannot be questioned, we can only infer that the advantages
of education enjoyed by the owls of Alma Mater and the Modern Athens,
enables them to attain a degree of vocal proficiency beyond the reach of
their rustic brethren in Yorkshire--and we hope ere long to hear of Mr
Waterton's having added a feathered professor of languages, from one or
other of these seats of learning, to the colony of barn-owls established
in the ruin of the old gateway at Walton.
Mr Waterton has never been famous for showing too much mercy to his
opponents in controversy--and, on the present occasion, the vials of his
wrath are poured forth without stint, though certainly not without strong
provocation, on the head of Mr Swainson, well known some years since as a
writer on natural history, and as one of the principal advocates of the
_Quinary System_[11]--a sort of zoological _transcendentalism_ (to borrow
a phrase from Kant and his disciples) then fashionable, according to which
all the genera and species of animals, known or hereafter to be
discovered, were held bound spontaneously to arrange themselves in
circular groups of _five_, neither more nor less, in obedience to some
intuitive principle of nature, of which the details were not yet very
clearly made out. It would appear that Mr Swainson, who is characterised
as a "morbid and presumptuous man," had been at variance--on personal as
well as scientific grounds--with Mr Waterton, from whom he received a
castigation for his ornithological heresies, in a letter published in
1837; but his retaliation was delayed for two years, when, in an account
of the cayman, published in Lardner's _Cabinet Cyclopaedia_, he describes
it as "on land a slow-paced, and even timid animal; so that an active boy,
armed with a small hatchet, might easily dispatch one. There is no great
prowess, therefore, required to ride on the back of a poor cayman after it
has been secured, or perhaps wounded; and a modern writer might well have
spared the recital of his feats in this way upon the cayman of Guiana, had
he not been influenced in this, and numberless other instances, by the
greatest possible love of the marvellous, and a constant propensity to
dress truth in the garb of fiction;" and subsequently speaks of the cayman
as "so timid that, had we been disposed to perform such ridiculous feats,
our compassion for the poor animals would have prevented us." Mr Waterton
had no opportunity of replying to these offensive imputations at the time
they were published, being then absent in Italy, while Mr Swainson was on
the point of finally quitting England in order to become a settler in New
Zealand. But though thus separated by the entire diameter of the globe,
"steam will soon convey to him a copy of this," says Mr Waterton--and
verily he has demolished the unlucky Swainson without ruth or mercy.
Whether this "wholesale dealer in unsound zoology," as Mr Waterton calls
him, ever can have seen a cayman, except at a safe distance, appears
somewhat dubious; and his story of this reptile hiding its prey in a hole
till semi-putrid, though it would convey a high idea of the respect
entertained by his brother caymans for the rights of property, must be
incredible to any one who has ever inspected the jaws of the animals which
(as Mr Waterton observes) "are completely formed for snatch and swallow."
We fear, moreover, that the character which general experience has
assigned to these huge reptiles, whether called crocodiles, caymans, or
alligators, is much more in accordance with the anecdote related by
Governor Ynciarte of a man carried off into the river by one of these
monsters from the alameda, or public walk, of Angostura, than with
Swainson's description of a timid creature, liable to be knocked on the
head by an idle boy with a hatchet, the defenceless state of which excited
his compassion. If, therefore, Mr Swainson does not come forward, either
to substantiate these novel statements, or to retract them, the scientific
world is likely to come to the conclusion drawn by Mr Waterton, that,
"when he wrote his account of this reptile, he was either totally
unacquainted with its habits and economy, or that he wilfully perverted
them, in order to be revenged on me" for the letter above mentioned.
From the circumstances under which the present volume was put forth, one
or two letters are included which do not appear to have been originally
intended for publication--and these are not the least characteristic parts
of the work--as that to Mr Hog of Newliston in advocacy of the persecuted
Scotch rooks, and one to Mr Loudon himself on the methods of clearing a
garden from vermin, in which there is much practical sense. It is not good
for weasels or hedgehogs, any more than for man, to be alone in this
world. "You say 'you will send to a gardener in the country for a weasel.'
You must send for two, male and female. A bachelor weasel, or a spinster
weasel, would not tarry four-and-twenty hours in your garden. Either of
them would go a sweet-hearting, and not return. You remark that your
'hedgehogs soon disappeared.' No doubt, unless confined by a wall.... A
garden, well fenced by a wall high enough to keep dogs out, is a capital
place for hedgehogs. But there ought always to be two, man and wife....
The windhover (or kestrel) hawk is excellent for killing beetles, and also
for consuming slugs and snails; cats dare not attack him, wherefore he is
very fit for a garden." We have not heard whether any effect has been
produced by Mr Waterton's remonstrances against the edict of extermination
fulminated against his sable friends the rooks--but we fear that farmers
in all countries are much on a par with those Delaware colonists and Isle
of Bourbon planters, whose fate he adduces as a warning. Having destroyed
their grakles, on a similar charge to that on which sentence has now been
passed on the rooks, they lost their whole crops by insects, and were
compelled not only to re-introduce the grakles, but to protect them by
law. We trust that the Scotch farmers will not be obliged, by a similar
calamity, to avail themselves of Mr Waterton's obliging offer to send
them, in case of such necessity, a fresh supply of these "useful and
interesting birds."
Mr Waterton never loses an opportunity of showing his contempt for the
modern systems of ornithology, which, by their complicated nomenclature,
eternally changed by every new sciolist, have almost succeeded in
converting that fascinating science into an unintelligible jargon of hard
names. "As I am not a convert to the necessity or advantages of giving to
many of our British birds these new and jaw-breaking names, I will content
myself with the old nomenclature, so well-known to every village lad
throughout the country.... The ancients called the wren _troglodytas_; but
it is now honoured with the high-sounding name of _Anorthura_, alleging
for a reason, that the ancients were quite mistaken in their supposition
that this bird was an inhabitant of caves, as it is never to be seen
within them. Methinks that the ancients were quite right, and that our
modern masters in ornithology are quite wrong. If we only for a moment
reflect that the nest of the wren is spherical, and is of itself, as it
were, a little cave, we can easily imagine that the ancients, on seeing
the bird going in and out of this artificial cave, considered the word
_troglodytas_ an appropriate appellation."
Among the various feathered visitants attracted by the city of refuge
provided for them at Walton, were a flock of twenty-four wild-geese, of
the large and beautiful species called the Canada or Cravat goose, (from
the conspicuous white patch on its black neck,) which unexpectedly
appeared on the lake one winter, and took up their permanent abode there,
occasionally making excursions to the other waters in the neighbourhood.
"In the breeding season, two or three pairs will remain here. The rest
take themselves off, and are seen no more till the return of autumn, when
they reappear without any addition to the flock or diminution of it. This
is much to be wondered at; and I would fain hazard a conjecture that the
young may possibly be captured in the place where they have been hatched,
and the pinioned to prevent escape. But, after all, this is mere
speculation. We know nothing of the habits of our birds of passage when
they are absent from us; and we cannot account how it comes to pass that
the birds just mentioned invariably return to this country without any
perceptible increase of numbers; or, if the original birds die or are
destroyed, why it is that the successors arrive here in the same numbers
as their predecessors." This remark has before been made in the case of
swallows and other migratory birds, the numbers of which returning each
spring, in localities where they can be accurately observed and counted,
has always been found to be he same as that which arrived the preceding
year, though the flock which departed southward in autumn had been swollen
by the young broods accompanying their parents. Thus Gilbert White
ascertained that at Selborne the number of swifts was invariably eleven
pair; and, as in some instances when old birds have been caught and
marked, they have been found to return during several succeeding years,
this fact would seem to justify the inference that the young birds, after
quitting the country of their birth, do not, for at least a year or two,
join in the annual migration of their species.
By waylaying the stay-at-home geese at the time when the moult of the
wing-quills disabled them for flight, Mr Waterton succeeded in securing
and pinioning six of them, thus preventing their future departure. They
subsequently received an accession to their party in two Bernacle ganders,
which Mr Waterton had brought over from Rotterdam, and the partners of
which had died soon after their arrival, perhaps from the act of pinioning
them; though Mr Waterton seems more inclined to attribute their untimely
end to the stupidity of a Hull custom-house officer, who sent the hamper
containing them jolting in a truck without springs over the rough pavement
to the custom-house, only to be peremptorily sent back, as not liable to
duty, by another of the same genus. "The two ganders, bereft of their
connubial comforters, seemed to take their misfortunes sorely to heart for
some time, till at last they began to make advances for permission to
enter into the company of the Canadian geese. These good birds did not
hesitate to receive them; and from that time these two very distinct
species of geese (one being only half the size of the other) have become
inseparable companions." The confederacy of these distant relations led,
however, to some unexpected results, which are related by Mr Waterton with
inimitable quaintness. On returning from Italy in the autumn of 1841, he
was informed by the keeper that a left-handed marriage had been struck up
between one of the little ganders and a pinioned Canadian goose, the
produce of which had been five addle eggs. "Had he told me that the
income-tax is a blessing, and the national debt an honour to the country,
I could more readily have believed him, than that a Canada goose had been
fool enough to unite herself to a Bernacle gander. Nevertheless, the man
persisted in what he affirmed; and I told the story to others, and nobody
believed me." The breeding-season of 1842 proved, however, the truth of
the story; but the oddly-matched couple were again disappointed in their
hopes of a family--the eggs all proving addle. The third year saw the
persevering pair again engaged in incubation: "and nothing could exceed
the assiduity with which the little Bernacle stood guard, often on one
leg, over his bulky partner. If any body approached the place, his
cackling was incessant; he would run at him with the fury of a
turkey-cock; he would jump up at his knees, and not desist in his
aggressions till the intruder had retired. There was something so
remarkably disproportionate betwixt this goose and gander, that I gave to
this the name of Mopsus, and to that the name of Nisa:[12] ... the whole
affair appeared to me one of ridicule and bad taste; and I was quite
prepared for a termination similar to that of the two preceding years,
when behold! to my utter astonishment, out came two young ones, the
remainder of the five eggs being addle. The vociferous gesticulations and
strutting of little Mopsus were beyond endurance when he first caught
sight of his long-looked-for progeny. He screamed aloud, whilst Nisa
helped him to attack me with their united wings and hissings, as I
approached the nest in order to convey the little ones to the water ...
and this loving couple, apparently so ill-assorted and disproportionate,
have brought up the progeny with great care and success. The hybrids are
elegantly shaped, but are not so large as the mother nor so small as the
father; their plumage partaking in colour with that of both parents.... I
certainly acted rashly, notwithstanding appearances, in holding this
faithful couple up to the ridicule of visitors who accompanied me to the
spot. I have had a salutary lesson, and shall be more guarded for the
future in giving an opinion. My speculation that a progeny could not be
produced from the union of a Bernacle gander with a Canada goose has
utterly failed. I stand convinced by a hybrid, reprimanded by a gander,
and instructed by a goose."
The melody ascribed to the dying swan has long been well known to exist
only in the graceful mythology of the ancients; but as few opportunities
occur of witnessing the bird's last moments, some interest attaches to Mr
Waterton's personal observations on this point, which we can ourselves
corroborate, having not long since been present at the death of a pet
swan, which, like Mr Waterton's favourite, had been fed principally by
hand; and, instead of seeking to conceal itself at the approach of death,
quitted the water, and lay down to die on the lawn before its owner's
door. "He then left the water for good and all, and sat down on the margin
of the pond. He soon became too weak to support his long neck in an
upright position. He nodded, and then tried to recover himself; and then
nodded again, and again held up his head: till at last, quite enfeebled
and worn out, his head fell gently on the grass, his wings became expanded
a trifle or so, and he died while I was looking on.... Although I gave no
credence to the extravagant notion which antiquity had entertained of
melody from the mouth of the dying swan, still I felt anxious to hear some
plaintive sound or other, some soft inflection of the voice, which might
tend to justify that notion in a small degree. But I was disappointed....
He never even uttered his wonted cry, nor so much as a sound, to indicate
what he felt within."
Mr Waterton repeats in the present volume the determination which he had
expressed in his former Essays, not to appear again before the public as
an author:--"It is time to say farewell, and to bid adieu to natural
history, as far as the press is concerned." But we still hope that he may
again be induced, on returning from Italy, whither we believe he has once
more bent his steps, by some other cause than the death of a valued
friend, to depart from this resolution. As he himself remarks with truth,
in the preface to his first series of Essays, "we can never expect to have
a complete history of birds, until he who undertakes the task of writing
it shall have studied his subject in the field of nature,"--and how little
this has been attended to even in the ornithology of our own country, is
sufficiently shown by the errors which, till of late, disfigured all the
received works on this subject, and have been copied with implicit faith
from one _soi-disant_ naturalist by another. Since that kindred spirit
Gilbert White, the first English naturalist who studied the habits of
living birds in the open air, instead of describing the colours of the
plumage of stuffed specimens in cabinets, we have had no one who has
investigated the economy of animals, and particularly of that most
beautiful class of the animal kingdom, the birds, so thoroughly _con
amore_ as Mr Waterton, in this and his preceding publications--identifying
himself (it may almost be said) with their _feelings_ and idiosyncrasies,
and vindicating them from the aspersions thrown upon them in the writings
of closet-naturalists, with the indignant zeal of a champion whose heart
and soul is in the cause of injured innocence. Those who saw the sloth
exhibited last summer in the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens, when at
large and suspended by its huge claws to the _under_ side of a branch of a
tree, must have recognised the minute accuracy of Mr Waterton's account,
in the _Wanderings_, of the habits of this animal, so much impugned at
the time, because diametrically opposed to the statements of zoologists
who had either never seen it alive, or seen it only when placed on a flat
surface, a position which it never assumes in its natural state, and which
its conformation renders one of extreme pain and constraint. Much
animadversion has also been lavished by writers of the same class on Mr
Waterton's sketches of British ornithology, as the facilities for
observation procured by the security afforded to his _proteges_, and the
unusual degree to which they have been consequently familiarised, have
enabled him to overthrow many long-established errors--a thankless task at
best, and which in some instances has not been rendered more palatable to
those whose blunders were thus exposed, by the unsparing shafts of his
raillery. But against all these antagonists Mr Waterton is very well able
to defend himself, as the unlucky Mr Swainson and some others of his
assailants know to their cost; and wishing him the full fruition for many
long years of the bodily activity which enables him still to scale the
highest tree in Walton Park to inspect a crow's nest, and not less of that
irresistible _naivete_ and _bonhommie_ which give such enjoyable zest to
all his writings, we bid him for the present farewell--and if, in sooth,
we are ne'er again to meet the Lord of Walton Hall in print, we scarce
"shall look upon his like again!"