In the ordinary way, and in open weather, the _number_ of my bird
visitors is not large, but in the cold winter weather, and in response to
my invitation, this number very considerably increases, so that at times
I must have had as many as thirty-five or forty feeding in my garden at
the same time. The increase of numbers is chiefly made up of extra
Sparrows and Starlings; and when it occurs the scene is often a very
lively one; the whole of the thirty or forty birds being often assembled
very closely together in active movement; and the grass or garden path on
which they collect is sometimes quite black with their feathered life.
The prolonged frost of the past winter is fresh in all our memories.
On January 6th, when I specially noted the assemblage of my bird friends,
we had had intermitting frost and snow for about five weeks, almost
continuous snow (with occasional yieldings of the frost) for a fortnight,
and a complete snowy covering up of the garden ground for a week, with
sharp frosts, and often low temperatures at night. There had been no
sun, and, therefore, no melting of the snow by the wall, or by the hedge
edges, and, consequently, doubtless the natural animal food of the birds
was very scarce and difficult to obtain. Some food had been thrown to
them daily during the greater portion of this severe weather; but for the
preceding week they had been fed pretty regularly twice daily.
My usual _times for feeding_ had been about 9.30 (after my breakfast),
and about 2 p.m. (after luncheon).
When first fed, the birds—beginning with the Sparrows—seem only to find
the food thrown out by accident, and would drop down by ones and twos, as
their instinct or sense of far-sight appeared to show them that there was
food to be had. But very soon they seemed to remember these fixed hours,
and many of them, especially Starlings, would then be seen collected on
neighbouring trees, or elsewhere, before these times, evidently ready and
waiting for what they were expecting.
The Sparrows would be chirping in the ivy. The Starlings would be seen
sitting on the watch on a neighbouring tree or trees, and as soon as the
food was thrown down they would immediately begin to descend upon it.
Yet not all at once, or without due and proper precaution and inspection.
First, the Sparrows—as the boldest—would drop down singly, but in rapid
succession. Then the Starlings would draw nearer one by one, and
carefully look down and inspect the ground. And when one had summoned
courage to descend, the rest would quickly follow. But, of course, the
slightest noise would make the whole flock suddenly flutter up again into
the trees, or into the next garden, as quickly to return when the alarm
was found to be groundless.
After a little further time, a Thrush or a Blackbird or two would join
the group. Later still, always late, a little Robin—quiet, silent, and
pathetic—with its half timid and half confiding manner, would come into
view. Again, after a further interval, occasionally one of the Jackdaws
would appear upon the scene. And now and then, last of all, a huge Rook
would suddenly descend and carry off some large crust which the smaller
birds had left uneaten—reserved for more deliberate pecking at when the
crumbs and smaller portions of food were disposed of.
The manners of these various birds differed strikingly. The Sparrows, of
course, would be first and boldest, and everywhere.
The Starlings would often form a compact group around the outspread food,
one of them occasionally darting off with a big morsel or savoury bone.
The Thrushes and Blackbirds would arrive quietly from over the wall; they
would hop about usually on the furthermost outskirts of the crowd, and as
near as possible to their habitual corner. And the Blackbirds would
waggle their tails in their own quaint manner, and perhaps give their
peculiar cry, whilst both Thrushes and Blackbirds would evidently
indicate their consciousness of superior manners and their greater
dignity, if not their actually more retiring dispositions.
The little Robin, solitary and observant, would come nearer to the house
than the other birds; but his advent was usually too late for anything
but the bare dry remains of the feast left by the rapacious Sparrows and
Starlings.
The Jackdaw would fly straight to the apple tree, perch upon it, then
suddenly descend and seize upon the biggest remaining morsel; then as
quickly fly up again into the tree and try to eat it there. In this
respect, in marked contrast to the Rook, which in the worst weather would
occasionally suddenly arrive and help himself to the biggest crust left,
but he would always at once fly away with it in his capacious maw.
I am sorry to say that my garden party friends have displayed a very
considerable amount of selfishness. Each kind of bird, of course,
selects first the kind of food most appropriate to it. But there is
clear indication that the law of force prevails amongst them, and that
might carries the day against fairness and right. And it is most clear
that neither Communism, nor Socialism, nor Equality with Fraternity, is a
doctrine in favour with them—at least in practice. As long as there is a
good supply of the best eatables, my friends are most communistically
amiable to each other. But as soon as the available supply begins to run
short, then the most barefaced selfishness is the order of the day. The
strong sparrows drive away the weaker ones, or pursue them and steal from
them any dainty little morsel they may have secured and flown away with.
The Starlings dart at each other and scream, or go through continual
“fluttering duels” in their efforts to steal their neighbours’ goods;
whilst the Jackdaws and Rooks have no reserve in displaying their views
as to their practical agreement with Rob Roy’s well-known maxim.
I have not observed either the Blackbirds or Thrushes to fight for their
food as the Sparrows and Starlings do.
The Starlings exhibit some other very peculiar ways. Before descending
to feed they will sit upon neighbouring trees in an attitude of pensive
watchfulness—one irresistibly reminding one of an old man leaning his
head upon one side and resting it upon his hand. Their peculiar waddling
walk or run and extreme liveliness of manner are well known; but when all
the food is gone, and they return for a short season to their trees, they
will often resume their philosophic or contemplative attitude—very soon,
however, to disappear to “other fields and pastures new,” or in plain
English, to some neighbouring and equally hospitable garden. And their
capacity for food appears to be very great.
The _kinds of food_ which I have thrown to my feathered friends have been
bread and large crusts, oats, the refuse of meals, scraps of meat, bones
of fish or fowls, herring skins, cheese rinds, portions of fat; and I
have found that the animal matters are very greedily seized upon by
nearly all of them, scarcely excepting the Sparrows. And it is
remarkable what large bones of fish or fowl are rapidly and entirely
disposed of; whilst still larger bones from a joint are picked and
cleaned to the last available particle. Like bird-cannibals that they
are, I observed that some bones from my Christmas Turkey thrown out to
them, appeared to be very specially and particularly relished by them.
When very hungry, not only will Sparrows eat some kinds of animal food;
but Robins, Starlings, and Jackdaws will all eat bread crumbs and bread
crusts.
It is sad to think what a mixed world this is even for birds; and that
even such a happy and interesting town gathering as I have described is
not without its drawback, and this a very serious one.
Whilst the birds are making the most of their opportunities, gratifying
their natural tastes, and exhibiting their peculiarities, a Nemesis, or
vengeful fate, is constantly hanging over them, ever ready to overtake
them in case of any relaxation of their habitual watchfulness, in the
case of our own or neighbours’ Cats. For these fat and feline creatures
seem to be on the watch for their own good Christmas bird cheer; and with
crouching, stealthy steps, and wagging tails, they actually do now and
again succeed in stealing upon their unsuspecting victims, and in
illustrating the inexorable law, as to food, of animal-feeding creatures.
It is pitiful to see a Sparrow or a Blackbird thus hopelessly engaged in
the clutches of a Cat; and it is a sad interruption or ending of the
scene of joy, if not always of harmony, I have just described.
Our own pet Cat, though over fed, cannot resist the temptation of thus
stealing upon these birds when the chance occurs, and its excited
movements when watching them through a window, but unable to get out, are
a study in themselves.
To a certain extent the Starlings have now and then a sort of sentimental
revenge; for when very hungry these bold birds will descend into the
kitchen yard close to the house, and carry off bones and scraps placed
there for the use of the said Cat, who has been seen to watch their theft
of its food through the kitchen window in a state of trembling but
helpless excitement, and evidently of intense disgust.
During all the time of my feedings I could but notice the wonderful
instinct which the birds exhibit, of discovering the presence of food.
Sparrows are everywhere, and therefore it is not surprising that our home
friends should be on the alert, and should quickly descend upon the feast
prepared for them. But how do their neighbours and more distant friends
so quickly know of it? How do the Starlings, who are not usually so near
at hand, discover the good things available for them? How does the
Jackdaw in the steeple learn of the meat or bones thrown upon the garden
path? Or the Rook in the distant tree or field of the large crust which
the lesser birds have been unable to dispose of?
It is clear that neither sight nor sound, as we understand them, would be
sufficient to inform and direct them; and that the most delicate sense of
such perception would be insufficient to enable them to perceive food
placed, say, behind a garden wall.
I have observed that the birds usually arrive pretty constantly in the
following order:—Sparrows, Starlings, Thrushes, Blackbirds, Robins,
Jackdaws, Rook; though sometimes neither Jackdaws nor Rook will appear,
and often the little Robin is so extremely late in his arrival that all
the suitable food is eaten up.
The Tit, or Wren, or occasional Finch, seen now and then in the garden
does not condescend to join or associate with such a mixed Christmas
party as I have described, but comes at his own time, and in his own way.
But these little birds have lately been such rare visitors, that I have
not had the opportunity of making any exact observations upon their
manners and customs in the parish of St. Giles.
I should scarcely have ventured to read these very simple and very
superficial notes to this Naturalists’ Society this evening had I not had
reason to believe that they would form the starting-point of far more
scientific information about birds from one or more of its members now
present.
* * * * *
NOTE, 1907.—Some other birds have occasionally visited my garden, such as
Nuthatches, Redwings, Blackheaded Gulls, and a few others. As to the
Gulls, in January, 1907, after a very heavy and prolonged fall of snow,
some fifty or sixty of these birds, in their winter plumage, visited my
garden and greedily fed upon food (bread or animal) thrown out to them.
And almost filling, as they did, the grass plot, they formed a very
beautiful sight. Some of these birds in their food-hunting would come
almost up to the drawing-room window.
VI.
MY CITY GARDEN IN A “CITY OF GARDENS.” {53}
Norwich has long been known by the designation of a “City of Gardens.”
How long I know not, but we do know that Evelyn, on his visit to Norwich
in 1671, spoke of the “flower gardens in which all the inhabitants
excel.” He also wrote in his diary that at this visit he went to see Sir
Thomas Browne, whose “whole house and garden was a paradise and cabinet
of rarities.” This garden, I believe, at that time extended from his
house in the Market Place (where the late Savings Bank stood) to at least
as far as the present Orford Hill, but no portion of it now remains.
It is much to be regretted that so many of the old Norwich gardens have
fallen a prey to the requirements or encroachments of the builder; and
that where ample space and air for flowers and shrubs, and even trees,
formerly existed, there is now nothing but manufactories or houses with
small back premises, or at the most, little gardens so surrounded by
walls as to be little more than wells, with stagnant air and frequent
showers of chimney blacks. Still, in spite of the rapid increase of the
city, and the gradual absorption of building spaces, we are glad to know
that—even in the central parts of the city—some of the old gardens do yet
remain, and that they are still able to produce much floral beauty, and
in many other ways to contribute to the interest and pleasure of those
who are fortunate enough to possess them.
Of course, my present reference is only to gardens situated in the older
parts of Norwich. Those who live in our suburbs will doubtless be able
to cultivate and utilise their present gardens as the citizens of Norwich
did theirs in the “good old times.”
I am glad to say that I (in common with others dwelling in St. Giles’s
Street and on St. Giles’s Plain) am still one of the residents in older
Norwich with a garden of considerable size. And in my case this
advantage is considerably enhanced by the immediate proximity of Chapel
Field. For this large open space of seven acres not only provides a
great circulation of air, and so a more healthy vegetation, but also—by
its numerous and lofty trees—invites a large amount of varied and varying
bird-life.
As I have now been a dweller in St. Giles’s for many years, it has
occurred to me that a few current notes—however imperfect and
superficial—on the capabilities and possibilities of such a central city
garden, as illustrated by these, might possibly be an acceptable
contribution to the proceedings of this our Norwich “Naturalists’
Society.”
The real object of the paper is to show in a simple way what a large
field these home city gardens, according to their size, may still afford
for observation and intelligent amusement; and how even in the limited
space and depreciated air, which naturally belong to many of them, they
yet afford great opportunities for the observation of both vegetable and
animal life. The simple grass-plots themselves, however small, when
carefully tended and shaven, are in themselves a constant source of
pleasurable satisfaction; whilst the very worms which inhabit them, and
the birds which feed on these, afford much room for study of some of
nature’s methods and instinctive tendencies.
Doubtless the larger space which I possess gives wider opportunities than
smaller gardens. But these must be small indeed which do not offer full
repayment for observation of the varied life which exists within them, or
which may be imported into them.
My garden is about 60 yards in length, by about 26 yards in width. It
runs nearly north and south. It has walls of varying height on its
several sides. Near to the house these are covered on one side by
trained wisteria and white and yellow jessamine, but the greater part of
the other portions is covered with ivy. The area of the ground is
principally laid with grass, with a broad gravel walk around it.
Under the east wall is a long terraced rockery, well covered with
suitable plants; and along the west wall runs a broader bed devoted to
very small shrubs and to flowers. The south end, under a stable wall,
contains some very ancient and still productive apple trees, also two or
three beech trees, and an old pink May-tree, under the shade of which
some of the commoner ferns flourish abundantly.
A vinery, and a verandah utilised as a summer conservatory, complete this
note of the arrangements of my city garden, and from this brief record it
will be seen that an effort has been made to make every use of the
available space and of its several possibilities.
I do not propose to detain you with any detailed account of the flowers
and plants which can be grown, or which flourish fairly at the present
date in this limited city garden. There are many which are hopeless by
reason of the city air and city soil. And I have found the more delicate
flowers to be so uncertain as to be scarcely worth the trouble of
planting out. Others again fall inevitable victims to the myriads of
autumn slugs. But spring bulbs, the autumn hardy flowers, and some
annuals, as well as the robuster ferns, do well, and fully repay the
trouble of cultivation.
As to ferns, in my former and more open garden higher up the street, I
once had as many as forty different varieties growing abroad; but, of
course, these gradually died out, so that at the end of four or five
years only the common and hardier sorts remained. Some of these, which
were removed, are still very fine specimens, and have lasted in their new
home, as such, for many years.
It would have been very interesting had any list or catalogue of Sir
Thomas Browne’s “paradise” of vegetable rarities been left to us, for a
comparison of the possibilities of a city garden two hundred years ago
with those of the present day, but none such is known to exist.
I have mentioned the fact that several old apple trees exist in my
garden, possibly as old as the house itself, which is understood to have
been built 160 or 170 years ago. And I would just mention here that
beyond the roof of my stable buildings, and seen conspicuously from my
garden, rises—nay, towers up towards the sky, that grand old
Aspen-poplar, which is, perhaps, the greatest ornament of the adjacent
Chapel Field, though I think scarcely adequately appreciated. This tree
has a girth of some 15 feet about a yard above the ground, is 90 to 100
feet high, and was so remarkable even fifty-eight years ago as to have
been then pictured by Grigor, in his “Eastern Arboretum,” as one of the
most notable trees in this district. In its later state a photographic
sketch of it is given in my book on St. Giles’s parish, published in
1886, although I fear that this scarcely adequately pictures its
grandeur. {57}
Blomfield states that the great avenue of elm trees in Chapel Field, also
partly visible from my garden, was planted in 1746 by Sir Thomas
Churchman, who is understood to have then lived in my present house, and
who, I believe, then hired the open Chapel Field of the Norwich
Corporation. It may be interesting to state here that some three or four
years ago one of the largest of that row of elm trees was blown down in a
gale. When this tree was sawn across, I took the trouble to count the
rings which this section displayed. The outer ones were so thin and
irregular that it was not possible to tell their number quite exactly,
but as nearly as I could count the total number was between 140 and 150.
This number, added to the few which would exist on the young tree when
planted, would give a date approximating very closely to that assigned by
Blomfield. This is an interesting historical fact, though, perhaps,
somewhat irrelevant, and its mention will, I hope, be excused on this
ground.
In my own garden the various trees appear to be healthy, but some of them
increase very slowly. A small pear tree planted against the ivy-covered
wall some twenty years ago is scarcely larger than when planted there,
even although it every year sends out a full quantity of fresh green
shoots. And a pink thorn tree, transplanted into it a few years ago,
actually remained perfectly quiescent, as if dead, for a whole year, and
then resumed vitality and growth. It is now a vigorous healthy tree,
sending forth every year its normal shoots and blossoms.
ANIMAL LIFE.—Such a garden as mine affords a considerable opportunity for
observing the ways, and habits, and manners of many _animals_, none of
which are uninteresting. Shall I weary you by mentioning the _cats_,
which so often make it their playground, and their afternoon as well as
their nightly meeting-place? Although I cannot say that _caterwauling_
is harmonious, or equivalent to the strains of the bands which so
agreeably discourse music in the adjacent Chapel Field on summer
evenings, yet there is much of interest, as well as amusement, to be
derived from noting the varied yet distinct language, and from watching
the very curious customs of the cats themselves, familiar as these may be
to all of us. I am favoured with visits of cats of all sizes and all
colours—black, grey, cyprus, sandy, grey and white, and almost all
intermediate shades. And it is certainly curious to watch the
manifestations of their loves and their hates, their friendliness and
their jealousies, their sunny enjoyments and their predatory instincts,
and their methods of attack and defence. These latter, though often very
noisy, by no means necessarily consist in open fighting, but are very
commonly carried on by what Mr. C. Morris calls the mentality of
latter-day life. These hostile cats (as you have probably observed) will
very constantly settle their relative superiority, not by biting and
scratching, or actual fighting, but by what is actually a “staring
match,” in which the influence of mind over matter is well demonstrated.
They place themselves a few feet apart, and stare at each other, until
one of them confesses himself beaten, by slowly backing away from his
opponent, and then suddenly turning round and running away. This is a
form of duelling which might well be copied in human life; and, still
more, might properly be adopted in the case of nations, where “mental”
arbitration, from a steady calculation of strength, would take the place
of bullets and bayonets.
As with Cats, so with _Sparrows_; it may be said that they are constant
friends that are always with us. Yet, though so common, they are a never
failing source of interest in a city garden, if only because they always
provide some conspicuous life and motion; and in mine, because they may
nearly always be heard chirping or quarrelling in the ivy, which covers
so much of the garden walls.
I am sorry that Miss Ormerod gives them such a bad character as to their
appetites. But not being personally engaged in agriculture, I can only
rejoice that nature has provided them with such strong constitutions, and
healthy and active digestions. Beyond this, it is certainly a pleasure
to a townsman to note their chatterings, their amicable, if noisy,
contentions for the best places in the ivy, their demonstrative
courtships, their dust-baths in the dry ground, or their water-baths in
the pans provided for them for this purpose, and their evident love for
the neighbourhood and companionship (at a properly regulated distance) of
mankind.
What a contrast there is between the active, fluttering, often noisy
_House Sparrow_, and its quiet, retiring, and gentle-mannered neighbour,
the _Hedge Sparrow_.
This was well illustrated in the early part of last December, in this
way; the Hedge Sparrow (or Dunnock or Accentor) does not often visit my
garden, but one of these pretty birds did come at this time, and having
incautiously entered the open door of my greenhouse, got shut up in it.
Next morning, on my entering, it was, of course, somewhat frightened.
But instead of violently fluttering about, and dashing itself against the
window, as the House Sparrow will do in like circumstances, it very
quietly and gently flew away from me, and then at once dropped down
behind the brick flue, where it remained quiet and concealed, in spite of
my efforts to find it, as I desired to do in order to give it its
liberty. The same thing exactly happened on some following mornings; and
being fed regularly, it has remained there to the present time, _i.e._
the date of this paper.
There are plenty of other birds whose visits and whose peculiarities
would provide abundant material for a paper much longer than I can
venture now to inflict upon you. But they are all welcome for the sake
of the varieties of life and habits they present—as well as for what
Tennyson so prettily describes as their “singing and calling.”
My grass-plot is the feeding-ground of the greedy and quarrelsome
_Starlings_, which will often come for their meal of worms or other food
at quite regular hours, usually at ten or eleven o’clock in the morning,
and three to four in the afternoon. And occasionally the _Jackdaws_,
from our neighbouring church-steeple, where they live and breed, will
venture—most carefully and cautiously—to alight on the grass in search of
food. Whilst even the Norwich _Rooks_ will, when hard pressed in bad
weather, occasionally dart down from a tree for crusts of bread or other
edible matter obtainable in the garden.
_Thrushes_ and _Blackbirds_ are chiefly in evidence during the nesting
season; and it is noticeable how tame or rather incautious they appear to
become during this period. It would almost seem as if the sitting
process produced in them (as has been noted of other birds) a dullness or
partial stupor of intelligence. Whilst after hatching, the urgent and
continuous calls of their young ones for food evidently renders their
desire to satisfy these imperative and destructive of prudence. This
very year a full-grown Blackbird ventured along the grass in search of
worms almost up to the house verandah, in which, unfortunately, a cat lay
basking; and, as a matter of course, the bird was instantly pounced upon.
She escaped, however, almost by a miracle, but she left nearly the whole
of her feathers behind her, and almost in a state of nudity.
It is curious to observe how the Blackbirds and Thrushes will not only
provide worm-food for their nestlings, but how they will prepare these
worms and make them fit for swallowing down the young throats. They will
often, when they have tugged a worm out of the grass, proceed to peck it
into small and suitable lengths, and will then carry these, arranged in
their mouths in suitable bundles, to the nest.
Blackbirds appear not to gain knowledge by experience, at least in some
particulars. I witness almost every year a repetition of what I may term
“the tragedy of the Blackbirds.” Evidently the same old birds will
yearly build a nest in almost the same portion of the ivy on one of the
walls, and not more than six or seven feet from the ground. Well, this
is all right so long as the old birds are merely sitting and make no
noise, so as to attract feline attention. But as soon as the young birds
are hatched, and begin to make vocal demonstrations, of course they fall
victims to their natural enemies and “bird-fanciers,” and the nests and
their occupants are ruthlessly dragged out from their positions and
destroyed. This occurs year after year. I believe that then the birds
will sometimes build again elsewhere. But they certainly return to
almost the same locality in the following spring, and their offspring
again become victims of the inappropriateness of their selected homes.
Plenty of other birds also come to the garden at various times and
seasons, and add to its life and interest—_Robins_, _Bluetits_,
_Nuthatches_, _Redwings_, _Missel-thrushes_, and others—but of their
behaviour in the winter season, and when habitually fed, I have already
discoursed to this Society, so will not further trouble you now with
their noticeable peculiarities.
REPTILES.—Perhaps it would scarcely be expected that the _Reptile_ race
would provide much of interest for a city garden. Yet it may be truly
said that this class of creatures has done almost more than any other to
provide my garden with material for this.
As this Society will know from my previous communications to its
“Transactions,” I have long kept two TORTOISES, and year by year noted
their habits and most remarkable peculiarities. These have been already
fully described in the Society’s records, and I can only now add to what
I before stated, that they still continue to increase in size and weight,
and at about the same rate of progression as twelve or thirteen years
ago. They still gain 1½ to 2 ounces in weight in each summer, and lose
about 1 or 1¼ ounce in weight during each winter hybernation. The total
result is, that whilst they weighed respectively 2 lbs. 10 ozs. and 2
lbs. 5 ozs. in September, 1886, they weighed in October last 3 lbs. 13
ozs. and 3 lbs. 8 ozs., having thus each gained in weight during this
period 1 lb. 3 ozs., or on an average about one ounce and a quarter in
each year.
Other reptilians which I have tried to domesticate (for observation) in
my garden are TOADS and FROGS. But I am bound to say that I have not
been successful in preserving them in any numbers for more than a brief
period. Their appearance and disappearance has at times been very
mysterious and inexplicable, but on the whole those which I have imported
have, as a rule, soon either died or been otherwise disposed of. Is it
not probable, I would suggest, that they, or at least the smaller ones,
have fallen a prey to Jackdaws, Rooks, or even Starlings?
Of the _Frogs_ which I brought home, only one survived the second year.
But this one appeared to thrive in a remarkable degree for several years.
It would apparently lie dormant for many months, and would then reappear,
lively, fat, and much grown, for a few weeks in the late summer or early
autumn; after which he would be no more seen until the following year.
_Toads_ are more interesting than Frogs; and, indeed, in a city garden,
by no means produce that feeling of loathing which is popularly supposed
to be inherent in them. On the contrary, they quickly become tame, and
almost assume the _status_ of garden pets. And as a matter of fact, I
entirely disagree with Shakespeare, who calls them “ugly and venomous.”
At first the Toads which I imported would come out regularly on suitable
evenings, and sit or hop about on the damp grass or flower-borders. And
they exhibited a most special tendency (as has been observed by others)
to come down to the house as if desiring an entrance. Indeed, when the
door was open they would not unfrequently walk in. And I have more than
once found one of them in my study or other room, sitting up in a corner,
looking happy and comfortable, and quietly staring at me with its bright
eyes, as if I were the real intruder.
The direction of my rooms from the garden is from south to north. I do
not know if this was possibly expressive of any migratory instinct.
Like the Frogs, of a number of Toads which I introduced into my garden,
only three or four remained in the following year; and soon all
disappeared, except one, whose end was peculiar and of dramatic interest.
It occurred in this way: A neighbour kept in his adjacent garden some
other reptiles, namely, some non-poisonous snakes. One of these seems to
have escaped from its cage and got over the dividing wall into my garden,
and on one summer morning was discovered by me on my grass-plot, with
this Toad (about a half-grown one) in his mouth, which he was trying to
kill or swallow. I suppose the Toad was too large or too lively, for the
snake was making very serious exertions, and was actively agitating its
body in a linear direction. When seen at a distance, it looked like a
stout piece of cord or fine rope agitated by the wind, with a movement
like that of a carpet when it is flapped and shaken. The Toad had been
seized by the hinder part of its back, as shown by the two bleeding
punctures afterwards found.
When the snake saw me advancing towards it, it rapidly wriggled or
undulated away towards the ivy-covered wall, where it was lost. But it
retained its hold of the Toad almost to the last, and until I had got
quite close up to it.
This incident is not only interesting, but it also shows that these
reptiles must have some instinctive power of knowing of the neighbourhood
of comparatively distant prey; for the rockery stones from which it was
taken must have been at least thirty to forty yards from its own
domicile. Such an instinct would seem to be the equivalent of that well
known to be possessed by birds of prey. I regret that this poor Toad did
not long survive his fright and bad usage.
My Toads have exhibited the usual tendency of these animals to hide away
beneath stones or earth, and in unfrequented corners. When discovered it
is curious to watch their half-frightened expression, and their peculiar
mode of breathing by their under jaw, which appears at once to increase
in rapidity. They do not resist much when handled, but it is curious to
note how they continue to swell their sides out, until they produce a
very prominent rotundity of their body. After the episode of the Snake
and my Toad, the idea suggests itself that this is intended to make
themselves as large as possible, not from envy of the Ox, as stated in
the fable with reference to the Frog, but to make themselves too large a
morsel to be swallowed by the lesser of those animals which prey upon
them.
These “Toads in holes” would come out from their retreat in dry weather,
a few hours _before_ rain, after which they would again disappear, often
for a long season.
INSECTS.—There are plenty of these in every garden, however small; and
Bees, Flies, Beetles, and especially Spiders, would afford a never ending
source of interest. The only insects which I have specially watched are
ANTS, nests and colonies of which appear and reappear every summer upon
my garden paths, or upon the adjacent portions of the grass-plots.
We all know of the very numerous observers of and writers upon these
little creatures; and their works, from Huber down to Sir John Lubbock,
will be more or less familiar to us all. Their industry, their building
powers, their gregarious nature, their division of labour, their apparent
working for the common good, their devotion to the young, their
colonizing instincts, as well as some of the changes which their insect
forms undergo, are all there recorded.
And many of these things are easily to be observed by anyone who takes
the trouble.
I can only venture here to make one or two brief notes on their
proceedings in St. Giles’s Street.
Both the small brown and the small black Ants are to be here seen, but
they occupy different positions; and not only do not seem to be on
neighbourly terms with each other, but fight at once if experimentally
placed together.
The brown Ants are the more numerous, and in the summer months display an
enormous amount of activity. Doubtless there is a good reason for their
incessant movements, but to the ordinary observer these often seem to be
purposeless and merely the result of restlessness and excess of energy.
The favourite situation for their little Ant-hills is decidedly along the
edge of the gravel path, where this abuts upon the grass sward, and it is
noticeable that almost the whole of these are placed on the easterly edge
of this. From these nests, or centres, very little use is made of the
adjacent grass territory, but from nearly all a track is made across the
gravel path to its opposite (westerly) side, where either a hole is made
into a small fresh home, or a semi-tunnel is made through the grass
edging on to and into the earth of the flower-border beyond. There
appears to be no attempt to tunnel in the firm gravel path, but the
incessant racing backward and forward in the same line very soon (as Sir
John Lubbock, now Lord Avebury, has pointed out) makes a well-trodden
road, along which they follow each other in rapid succession.
As to their hour of rising in the morning for work, I cannot speak from
personal observation. But as Solomon holds them out as an example to
those inclined unduly to keep their beds, I conclude that their motto is,
“Early to rise.” But I can say that the opposite half of this proverb,
namely, “Early to bed,” does not apply to them, for, at least in the warm
weather, they do certainly often work until late at night.
It is very interesting to watch these Ants at work, and to note their
activity and energy and strength. An Ant is “but a little creature,” but
he is certainly able to perform a large amount of physical work. And
especially is this seen in the way he builds up those little heaps of
earth known as Ant-hills. I have had many of these under observation,
and the rapidity with which they reappear after injury by pressure or a
heavy rain-storm is very remarkable. Twenty-four hours, or even less,
being often sufficient for their complete restoration. They are of
varying form, but some are perfectly conical, with a circular hole at the
top exactly like that of some Norfolk “kilns” used for the burning of
bricks. Others are irregular, or flattened and spongy, with several
holes. But it would seem that the varying shapes are largely due to the
special conditions under which they are made.
* 1907. I have noted that this year the brown Ants have varied in
colour, or have been replaced in their more usual spots on my gravel
walk by others that are nearly if not quite black. And I have also
noticed that their habits are somewhat different. The little conical
Ant-hills which they make are much smaller, but more numerous, than
those of their predecessors, and they seem to burrow more in the
adjacent grass lawn. But they keep to almost the same spots. In their
daily workings and activities also there is a decided difference. They
are very active in the early mornings, but often can scarcely be seen
all the mid-day or afternoon, instead of racing about above ground
almost the whole day, as the others did. But they may have been
influenced in this by the continued cool and showery weather of the
season.
One very warm day about noon, in the early part of September, I witnessed
some of the proceedings at one of the well-known “wedding ceremonials” of
Ants. The whole body of the Ants were swarming on the grass above the
nest, and racing about in evidently a great state of excitement. Amongst
these were five large winged (Queen) Ants, constantly moving about,
though more quietly, and in and out of the nest opening. Also in the
group were some forty or more smaller winged (Male) Ants, also moving
about upon the ground. None of the winged Ants were flying far about. I
watched this state of commotion for some time, then left, and returned in
about an hour, when the whole body of these insects had disappeared,
presumably into the nest. Whether the brides and bridegrooms were about
to take their wedding flight, or whether (as appears most probable) they
had just returned, I am unable to state; but I saw no further commotion
outside later on in the day.
I have often watched these little creatures at work upon their “heaps,”
and have noted how these are gradually built up of aggregations of single
grains of earth or sand, which evidently have been dug out grain by grain
from the earth, where the excavation is going on, and are then brought in
the Ant’s mouth to the surface, and to the top of the rising earth-heap.
They are then dropped over its edge, and the Carrier Ant at once races
back into the hole presumably for a fresh burden. This process is a very
remarkable one, and the way the Ant brings his grain of earth in his
mouth and drops it over the edge of the rising Ant-hill, irresistibly
reminds one of a railway navvy who wheels his barrow full of earth and
tilts it over the edge of the embankment upon which he is at work. The
number of single grains in even a small Ant-heap must be very large, and
must amount to many thousands, or perhaps to hundreds of thousands.
What, then, must be the untiring energy of a small Ant colony, which can
reproduce such a granular heap in less than twenty-four hours?
It does not always seem clear what the streams of Ants from the parent
nest are so constantly occupied in. They may be, to a certain extent,
colonizers, but they certainly do not, with me, raise secondary Ant-hills
to any great extent at the end of their runs. They make holes in the
ground there, and possibly they may be engaged in their proverbial custom
of securing and storing up food for the winter. To the uninstructed eye
these holes look very much like Colonial outposts.
The activity of these Ants entirely ceases with the advent of autumn, and
their Ant-hills in my garden entirely disappear until the following
season.
As we all know, this instinct of storing up food for winter use has been
largely denied, but from Sir John Lubbock’s account it certainly exists
in some species, though its extent varies greatly. As he says that many
of the Ants live through the winter, some food would seem to be required.
Speaking of Ants generically, we all doubtless accept King Solomon’s
authority upon this point, and we shall not forget that the Roman poet,
Virgil, writing just before the Christian era, expressed himself to the
same effect.
“Ac veluti ingentem formicæ farris acervum
Cum populant, hyemis memores, tectoque reponunt.”
Whilst Cicero says:
“In formica non modo sensus, sed etiam mens, ratio, memoria.”
Lastly, did time and inclination permit, I might have found endless
interest in observing the habits of the vast quantities of WORMS (again
with the aid of Sir John Lubbock) which inhabit my grass-plot; or those
of the SNAILS; or of the SLUGS, which exist in equally innumerable
quantities in the garden soil. Both these latter classes of animals
appear to be made to be eaten, as they largely furnish food for the
birds. They prefer damp or wet weather, and to some degree are excellent
weather-glasses or weather prophets. As we all know, they roam or sail
about on rainy evenings. But it is curious to observe also the special
instinct by which in dry periods the Snails will become aware of watered
or damp earth at a considerable distance, and how they will in the night
cross a large breadth of dry, or even dusty earth, to reach a spot of
ground where plants have been watered on the previous evening. I need
scarcely remind you that these land mollusks, the Snails, and still more
the Slugs, are creatures with super-excellent appetites for the garden
plants.
I have now, in conclusion, not only to apologize to this Society for the
length of my paper, but, perhaps, also for having brought it before you
at all.
I did not venture to do so until I had asked our excellent and
experienced Secretary whether he considered that a few such popular or
surface notes, even if containing little that is new, would be
acceptable, or even appropriate, to such a learned body. My real object
has been less to state what I have personally observed than to show what
a large field still exists in our city centres (as indeed everywhere) for
a naturalistic use of whatever out-door opportunities are present; and to
illustrate the principle that even in the smallest and least promising
city gardens or spaces, the materials for interest and self-instruction
are ever present, and practically inexhaustible; that here, as elsewhere,
and everywhere, we may “read, and read again, and still find something
new; something to please, and something to instruct.”
VII.
PRESIDENT’S ADDRESS. {72}
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—Another of our Society’s years has come to a close
this day, and it devolves upon me to say a few final words before
yielding up this presidential chair. In doing so, my chief desire is to
repeat my thanks to the members for having placed me in so honourable a
position, and for their kindness in sustaining me throughout the various
evening meetings of the session.
It is a matter of much congratulation that these meetings have continued
to be well attended, and that the Society itself has continued thoroughly
to fill that position of scientific usefulness which was hoped for it at
its first inauguration, now eighteen years ago. Such a lapse of time
gives the opportunity of seeing how much good work has in the aggregate
been done. And though, no doubt, in looking back through our volumes it
will be found that different years have produced a varying amount of work
judged by its importance, yet on the average we have reason to be well
satisfied with what the successive numbers show us, seeing that the total
represents a very important collection indeed of natural history facts
and information. The work of the present year has, I think, fully
maintained the good average attained in other sessions.
The Society too, has, as a whole, continued to prosper, and appears to be
effectually carrying out the initial programme set forth on the first
page of each volume of its “Transactions.”
On looking back to some of our earliest annual reports, I find that our
numbers have doubled and trebled themselves since that time; and further
that the list now embraces the names of many both at home and afar off,
whose reputations are well known to science, and who are powerful
additions to our Society’s strength. As compared, too, with those
earlier times, the increased plumpness of our yearly volume tells of the
greater amount of matter that is now every year contributed.
So, too, if prosperous finance is any test of success, we may look to the
larger figures in our balance sheet, and the sufficiently satisfactory
state of our “balance at the bank” further to fortify the favourable
position which I desire to point out to you.
We have had an accession of twenty-one new members during the year,
whilst seventeen have been removed by death, resignation, or other
causes. But though the total losses from these causes have been but few,
and those from death not above the average, yet these latter include some
well-known names—the names of members of valued attainments, and of men
whom the Society could ill spare.
Especially do we note with regret the premature loss, in only middle
life, of one who had been a member of this Society from its commencement,
who was also a life member of the Zoological Society, and whose death
would have claimed attention from us as Norwich men, were it for no other
reason than that he bore a name the very sound of which is instinct with
ideas of Norfolk Natural History; one who was also a member of a family
to which this Society, and the neighbouring Museum, owe a long and
ever-increasing debt of gratitude.
Although the late Mr. John Gurney’s talents were never, I believe,
especially directed to our class of study, yet his tastes for the bright
and the beautiful were well known. And though his affliction had of late
years debarred him from the complete visual enjoyment of the beauties of
nature, yet his devotion to the improvement of the rural charms of his
own home, and his public-spirited expenditure upon the scheme for the
laying out of Mousehold Heath, and its appropriate development, showed
that he had in him that form of mind out of which the true lover of
nature’s creatures, as well as nature’s charms, necessarily arises.
But this side of Mr. Gurney’s mind will come home to us as naturalists
much more forcibly when we recall the great act of his life, in which he
was so heartily and so earnestly engaged when death removed him so
suddenly in the midst of his useful and public-spirited career. I, of
course, allude to his great Castle-Museum scheme for the removal of our
grand Museum collection, with its surroundings, to a new and larger and
more appropriate position on the Castle Hill. We all know the generous
liberality with which he sought to ensure this grand scheme being carried
out. We have all noted the quiet and business-like sagacity with which
the various steps necessary for the effective doing of this work were
taken under his inspiration. And I am sure we recognise how he was
actuated not only by a desire to raise the scientific _status_ of the
county and city generally, but also to assist those Norfolk workers in
nature’s fields whose accumulated results are now to be seen under this
roof.
His large and increasing views for the good of this city, and its general
welfare, have been so thoroughly and so publicly appreciated on all
sides, that it is not necessary for me to add one word more. His name
will remain as that of a public man at once generous and right-minded.
And I can only hope on behalf of this Society, and that of other kindred
ones, that nothing will occur to prevent the full development and
carrying out of that Castle scheme, which, if effected, will, in my
opinion, have a large and important influence not only upon the future
scientific progress of Norfolk generally, but also upon the intellectual
position which our famous old city will hold in the time to come.
Mr. Hampden G. Glasspoole, who has also recently died, had been a member
of this Society from its commencement, and had contributed two papers to
its proceedings. These were entitled “Biographical Memoirs of some
Norwich Botanists,” and “Memoir of Lilly Wigg.” He had also published
several papers in _Science Gossip_. He was for several years a member of
the late Norwich Microscopical Society; and of the London Quekett Club.
Mr. Glasspoole was an accomplished botanist. For many of the later years
of his residence at Ormesby, he was honorary curator of Botany at the
Norwich Museum; and after his removal to London he held, for a short
period, the office of botanist to the Alexandra Palace.
He will be remembered by us all as kindly, gentle, and genial; ever ready
to help others with his time or his knowledge; and with all his stores of
information, modest and unassuming.
He added one species to the British Flora, _Carex trinervis_, Devgl; and
two species to our county list, namely, _Ammophila Baltica_, Leak, and
_Sparganium neglectum_, Beeby.
As is well known, he was the eldest son of the late Capt. R. Glasspoole
of Ormesby, who had himself presented many _curios_ to our Museum, and
who published a most interesting account of his experiences whilst a
prisoner in the hands of Chinese pirates.
The Ornithology of Scotland has, in the death of Mr. Robert Gray, which
took place at Edinburgh in February last, lost one of its ablest
exponents. Commencing with “The Birds of Ayrshire and Wigtonshire,”
which appeared in 1869, Mr. Gray, two years later, published the more
important “Birds of the West of Scotland,” and at the time of his death
was engaged on a similar work treating of the birds of the Eastern
district of his native country. In this latter work he was, I believe,
associated with Mr. William Evans of Edinburgh, who, it is to be hoped,
will bring their joint labours to a successful issue.
Mr. Gray commenced public life in the City of Glasgow Bank, and it was
whilst acting as Inspector of Agencies for that establishment that he was
enabled to collect the information which so enriched his work on the
“Birds of the West of Scotland.” Subsequently Mr. Gray entered the Bank
of Scotland, and at the time of his death occupied the position of its
chief cashier. Since his residence in Edinburgh, he has taken a
prominent position in the scientific institutions of that city, and was a
Vice-President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and Secretary of the
Royal Physical Society. He did not become a member of our Society until
1884, but has been long known by several of its members, and highly
valued as a correspondent or friend.
The only other member of this Society whose death we have to deplore is
Captain Philip Hamond, who has for some time left this city, but who will
be well remembered as having resided for awhile at Mousehold House,
Thorpe. He showed much interest in the natural history of Norfolk, and
also in its antiquities; and he left a valuable collection of books
relating to Norfolk.
During the past session we have had many valued _papers_ contributed to
our Society; besides some notes—shorter, but not necessarily less
interesting, or of less value.
We have also had several specimens exhibited. And, in addition, we have
had a considerable number of members who have taken part in the various
discussions.
I need scarcely remind you how varied these contributions have been; and
how birds, beasts, fishes, insects, and smaller creatures; as well as
seeds and plants, great and small; have all received illustrations during
the year. Distant parts of the globe, too, have helped to supply us with
the material which has been brought before us, notably by our late
President, Colonel Feilden.
Many of the papers will be published in the forthcoming “Transactions” of
the Society; and to these I need scarcely allude, as they can all be read
by us very shortly. But I should scarcely like to omit to mention the
beautiful botanical specimens exhibited by Mr. Long, of Wells, at our
last meeting. The rarity and interest of some of them, the beauty and
finish of the mountings, and the true scientific intelligence displayed
in all, can but make us desire that so competent a collector would not
only further explore his district, but also enrich this Society by the
exhibition of the fruit of his researches.
As to the contributions which will not appear in our “Transactions”:—At
the May meeting, Mr. F. Sutton read some interesting notes on Strawberry
growing. In October, Mr. Southwell read extracts from the records of the
Whaling s.s. “Eclipse” in the Greenland seas. Mr. Southwell’s notes
referred more particularly to the natural history occurrences of the
voyage; the birds and animals met with. And he exhibited several forms
of Whale and Seal food, consisting of Crustacea and various minute
organisms; as well as the skulls of two Greenland Seals, two Ringed
Seals, and a Polar Bear, sent him by Mr. Robert Gray—all which latter he
has presented to the Norwich Museum. He also exhibited a very rare
little fish of the genus _Scopelus_, likewise taken by Mr. Gray.
At the same meeting, our most valued and efficient member, Mr. Geldart,
read a paper on the _Calanus finmarchicus_ or Rice Food of Whales, from
the West Coast of Spitzbergen, and illustrated by it the natural law of
gradation in feeding, showing that whilst some Whales themselves eat this
food, others devour the Cod and Herring, which eat these little
crustaceans, which again eat the diatoms, found floating in such enormous
numbers on the surface of those seas.
My own humble contribution to the proceedings of our last meeting, in the
shape of a paper on the habits of some of our town birds, entitled “My
Christmas Garden Party,” has been recently published in _extenso_, and
therefore need not be further alluded to here.
There has been only one _Excursion_ made during the year, but this
appears to have been full of interest and enjoyment. I have received a
lively and detailed account of the day’s proceedings from Mr. Bussey, but
I regret that time only permits me to note the principal features of the
occasion.
The visit was made to the Salhouse and Wroxham Broads, and the
neighbouring district, including the Broomhills, St. Benedict’s Abbey,
and portions of the river Bure. It is unnecessary to say how ample is
the material in this district for the study of both the animal and
vegetable kingdom; and as the day was fine, the opportunities afforded
were fully availed of. As usual, this occasion for field study fully
repaid those who took part in it, for their devotion of the day to this
pleasant combination of research and recreation.
The field over which “Natural History” extends is a very wide one, and
properly includes the study of all organised beings, living and dead. At
one end the ground is, to a very considerable extent, occupied by the
Geological Society, which exists in Norwich; yet even in this department
we have had, as I have said, some very valuable contributions during the
year. But at the other end, which embraces the study of minute or
microscopic life, not only have we had no contributions during the past
session, but I find, on looking over the past numbers of our
“Transactions,” that the papers dealing with this part of the world’s
life have been both few and far between. There have been, as we know,
some great and valuable exceptions, such as the papers read by Mr.
Kitton, the address by Mr. Plowright, a portion of the address read by
the President, Mr. Sutton, two years ago, and, perhaps, one or two
others. Still the small part which microscopical records and
observations play in our annals is both noticeable and regrettable—the
more so, because in consequence of the decease of the old Norwich
Microscopical Society, I believe that no public or systematic work in
this direction is now being carried on in this city. And yet, partly in
consequence of the larger forms of life having now been so largely
studied, but still more in consequence of the new views as to the
universality and far-reaching importance of microscopic living
beings—there is probably no phase of natural history which is now more
engaging general attention, or which is being more eagerly studied and
investigated elsewhere.
Mr. Sutton, in his presidential address of 1884–85, gave a most learned
and interesting description of some of the microscopical researches which
had been carried on up to that time, and further gave us a most lucid
account of the influence which micro-organisms had been shown to exert in
the process of nitrification in soils, an influence which had formerly
been considered to be due to purely chemical action. {80}
I trust I may be forgiven if I recall your attention for a few moments to
this subject of Germ life, more particularly as it branches out and
develops in a more vital direction; in other words as it affects human
and animal life.
This portion of the subject has, during the past two or three years,
deepened and strengthened in interest; our knowledge of it has largely
increased; and the recognition of its vital importance has called forth,
both in Europe and America, a host of eager and capable workers. It is
scarcely too much to say that its wide and far-reaching issues are
probably the most important to mankind of any that have been studied in
recent times. Foremost amongst the workers in this department may be
recalled to you the well-known names of Koch and Pasteur, abroad; and of
Lister, Watson-Cheyne, and Crookshank, in this country. But the names of
other eminent investigators will almost necessarily occur to your minds.
It has long been known what potent factors were microscopic Germs in
producing changes in the constitution of decaying matter; and how they
were, in all probability, the useful scavengers of nature, definitely
resolving into their constituent elements failing and dying organic
tissues. But it has become more and more a matter of knowledge, that by
their parasitic habits and their power of invading and living upon and
within other living tissues, they are also the sources of many so-called
diseases of both vegetables and animals.
With regard to vegetable parasitic growth I will not now detain you. The
blights, and the mildews, and the ergots, as well as minuter forms, such
as algæ and micrococci, are well known; and no doubt much more is still
to be learned from their further investigation; whilst by analogy it
seems highly probable that the circulating fluids of higher members of
the vegetable kingdom may be found to be invaded by parasitic beings in
the same way as their animal compeers.
But it is to Germ life in animal bodies that I wish now specially to
allude. I have said that our knowledge in this direction has, even in
the last two or three years, made enormous strides, and it is now almost
a matter of certainty that all contagious or infectious disorders, as
well as many others, are but the expression of the fact that minute
living bodies have made a resting-place for themselves in or upon other
living tissues; and that the development of the phenomena of these morbid
states is but an indication of their presence and reproductive
activity—either as cause, or as an accompaniment of these disease
manifestations. And this applies not only to the human species, but to
lower classes of animals, between whom and man many of these diseases are
interchangeable.
Such knowledge necessarily invests the life history of these minute Germs
with intense interest, seeing that it is probably one step, and that a
long one, towards the discovery of the means of prevention, if not also
of cure, of many of our most fatal and dreaded diseases.
Examples of such diseases are:—Scarlet Fever, Diphtheria, Small Pox,
Cholera, Yellow Fever, Tuberculous Disease, Ague, Hydrophobia, Cattle
Plague, Anthrax; and many others might be enumerated whose dependence
upon parasitic Germs is almost conclusively proved. But these are
sufficient to show the deep interest of this branch of study.
Not only are these Germs found in the solids of the body in some of these
diseases, but in others their presence is easily and constantly
recognisable in the blood or other fluids, and even within the corpuscles
which the blood so largely contains. And not only so, but the forms
which these micro-organisms present are so constant and so definite in
the different disorders, that it is now almost possible in some instances
to diagnose what diseased condition we have to deal with by an
examination of the fluid or tissue in which they are contained.
It is, perhaps, but right here to say that some of our most cautious
observers consider that it is as yet hardly _proven_ that the differing
Germs found in the various diseases are their actual and efficient cause;
but their definiteness in the various disorders, and the constancy of
their presence, leave little doubt that this will hereafter be
conclusively shown to be the case.
Some of these Germs seem to have a short life and rapid development, and
then we have acute disease. Others seem to have a more prolonged or
continuing career, and then we have chronic disease. Whilst others seem
to have an intermitting development, and then we have paroxysmal disease.
Many curious facts have been observed in reference to the forms, or
multiplication, or life-history of some of these parasitic beings. Thus,
for example, in one class (_Filaria sanguinis_) it was noticed that the
minute embryos of this little blood-worm could only be discovered in the
evening or during the night, and not during the day; and the reason of
this has appeared to be that it is necessary that they should come within
reach of the Mosquito Gnat, which is a night-feeding animal, in whose
bodies one stage of their development appears to take place.
One of the latest discoveries in this department of natural history is
that of the blood germs, which co-exist with the various forms of ague
and malarious disease, and upon which they would appear to depend. Dr.
Osler, of Pennsylvania (now Regius Professor of Medicine, at Oxford), has
recently described and figured these little bodies in an elaborate paper
full of interest.
Such facts as these, when regarded merely from the point of view of a
member of the Medical Profession have their deep and _special_
significance. But I am here to-night as a member of the Naturalists’
Society, and by all of us, in that capacity, they are first to be
regarded, not as illustrations of disease, but of the life history of
some of nature’s creations—creations which are no doubt as important, as
definite, and which play as large a part in the general scheme of life,
as do many of the larger forms of animated beings.
Some of these little bodies, especially those of the bacillary and
bacterial class, are extremely minute, and are best examined with powers
ranging from one-tenth to one-twenty-fifth of an inch; and it is
impossible to ignore the fact that their study requires not only good
instruments, but much patience and skilled attention. Nevertheless, such
study fairly comes within the scope of this Society’s work, and will most
certainly repay any of its members who may be induced adequately to
undertake it.
Nor let it be said that minuteness is any reason for lack of interest on
the part of the naturalist. For many of these micro-organisms have
already been shown to be as varied, and to have as definite a structure,
and as special a life history, as any of the larger types of beings;
whilst, of course, we all recognise that apparent size is as nothing,
that it is a mere accident, a question of the construction of our
enquiring eyes, a condition that is at once altered and rectified by a
magnifying glass.
If it be true that the invasion and presence of various small organisms
in the blood or tissues is the cause of the various specific diseases to
which I have alluded, then the application of such knowledge as
naturalists can obtain, as to the food and other conditions necessary to
their existence; their mode of ingress to the body; their development and
multiplication, becomes clear and obvious. It opens up to our minds
possibilities both of prevention, and of either mitigation or cure. For
it is evident that if we can starve these Germs of their necessary
nutriment, or make their new habitation unsuitable for their healthy and
vigorous development, their career as invaders will necessarily either be
cut short, or be rendered feeble and impotent; and therefore the
disease-changes which they can produce less violent and less lethal.
Something of this kind appears naturally to have taken place in those
persons in whom some of the zymotic diseases (of which Measles, Scarlet
Fever, Whooping Cough, etc., may be taken as familiar types) have once
run their course; in those, that is, who are popularly said to have
already had these diseases. And although the exact abiding change which
is produced has not been ascertained, yet it is well known, and quite
understood, to be one which renders the fluids or tissues partially or
wholly unsuitable for their future healthy growth.
This theory, too, is the well-known explanation of the protective power
of the Cow Pox, which once having permeated a human system, has rendered
it unsuitable for the future healthy and vigorous development of its
greater relation—the Small Pox.
In default of available means of destroying the Germs of other malignant
diseases, prolonged efforts have been made (and notably by the great
French pathologist, Pasteur) so to diminish the intensity of the
destructive force of some of these specific Germs, that they may be
safely inoculated into human bodies without danger to life, and yet be
potent enough in their effects to anticipate and render abortive the
invasion of the more virulent diseases. This has been attempted by
repeated cultivations of the Germs in proper media, until after several
of such generations the broods shall have acquired the requisite
diminished vitality—in fact, until that diminution of virulence which the
Small Pox Germ has sustained in passing through the Cow has been obtained
by these artificial means.
We are all familiar with the attempts which have recently been made by
Pasteur in this direction, in regard to that most fatal disease
Hydrophobia. It remains to be seen how far he has been successful in
solving this preventive problem; and how far this may be the true method
by which to utilize our knowledge of bacterial life. Medical men are
diligently working at this subject from their own point of view. There
is much to be done by microscopic naturalists in unravelling the
life-history of these little beings; and we are glad to recognise the
kind of results which may be hoped for in the future.
Such considerations as these are fraught with matter for deep reflection,
and tend to open our minds to the far-reaching possibilities not only of
this special knowledge, but of that which we are gaining in many other
branches of science. Each fresh item of knowledge is like a new step
upon a ladder, and raises us to a fresh height from which we can take a
wider survey, and which we can assume as a loftier and broader basis for
further enquiry. Scientific thought is ever as to what may next be done,
and how to do it. For, as Sir James Paget has recently said: “Every
increase of knowledge brings before us a larger and clearer view of the
immeasurable quantity which is still to be gained. The more we know, the
more can we see, if we will, how much more there is that we do not know.”
And of this we may be sure, that it is by minute and exact work only that
in the future our store of knowledge is to be increased and made sure.
If no other example to prove this were at hand, it would be sufficient to
quote the recent observations of the Rev. Dr. Dallinger on the subject of
the conjugation of the nuclei of some minute forms of cell life:
observations which bring us nearer to some definite knowledge of this
particular matter than any hitherto made upon higher classes of
creatures.
Dr. Dallinger has spoken of the “vast area of activity and research in
this direction;” and Professor Huxley has said, “that those who have
toiled for the advancement of science are in a fair way of being
overwhelmed by the realisation of their wishes.”
We appear indeed to be still only on the threshold of knowledge, to have
merely touched the fringe of the vast and infinite life-history which the
living world, that inexhaustible stream of life which we see everywhere
around us, contains. We are proud of the amount of our natural history
knowledge. We think to have accumulated a large store of information as
to that especially of our own district. We can point to the lists of
animals and plants which the research of the members of our Society, and
others, has so laboriously gathered together. And we can look to the
stores of our Museum as illustrations of what has been done. And yet a
little further consideration at once shows us how small a part this is of
what is yet to be known. We know the gross form of the specimens; we
know something of their habits during life; and yet how little is this of
what there is to be known about them. Who is there of the most learned
who can properly explain the meaning of one hundredth part of what these
creatures present in form, size, colour, and intimate structure? We have
a general idea that their special peculiarities have relation to the two
primary essentials of life—the daily bread, and the perpetuation of the
species—but we are largely unable to explain the _raison d’etre_ of many
of the commonest facts which they present. It will be a great day when
we can also explain the object or utility of all the variations which
they present.
Of course I do not forget the powerful impulse given by the researches of
Darwin in the direction of explaining the why and the wherefore. I only
indicate how large a portion of this explanatory field is yet untilled.
In this county a Naturalists’ Society will never lack either for material
to work on, or for variety and interest of subject. Much, even in its
grosser form, still remains to be learned. And the vast variety
presented by the county, in respect of climate, soils, strata, heath,
woodland, marsh, stagnant and running water, as well as the proximity of
the great ocean with its shore—presents an almost unexampled field for
the work of the scientific naturalist—a field, too, which is constantly
changing in accordance with the physical and other changes steadily going
on in the district.
With these great natural advantages, and with the great love for natural
science, which is inherent in Norfolk men, I make bold to hope and
prognosticate for this Society a prolonged and continuously useful
career. We are glad to see its library growing, and its journalistic
interchanges increasing. We are glad of the increasing importance of the
position which it holds amongst kindred societies. We are all, I am
sure, looking forward to the time when this, our Society, will meet in a
handsome airy room on the top of the Castle Hill; {88} when any student
of any particular branch of this natural history will be able (on
repairing to our Museum) to see not merely inaccessible specimens ranged
three or four deep, but so displayed as to be available for study and
examination; when lectures and demonstrations will be possible, because
there will be sufficient room space to contain both the lecturer and his
audience; in short, when we in Norwich shall have a scientific centre
worthy of the Museum and of the great reputation which this district has
always held.
What a happy change, too, when the old Castle of Norwich—the last of our
three city prisons—shall exchange its human prisoners for forms,
imprisoned indeed, but not human; and intended only to enlarge and
instruct and make more free the mind of man. And when Science and Art
and the cultivation of the intelligence shall tend year by year, and ever
more and more, to render real prisons less and less required. And when
the moral sense and the force of cultivated public opinion shall suffice
to reduce crime and ill-doing to its minimum. We gladly recognise how
much has already been done, and we look forward with hope in both these
directions to the good time coming.
In now resigning this chair to my learned and distinguished successor, I
can only trust that he will find his year of office as pleasant, and as
profitable to himself, as the Members of this Society, and their
excellent Secretary, have rendered mine to me.
VIII.
THE PARISH OF ST. GILES’S, NORWICH, AND ITS CHURCH. {90a}
The parish of St. Giles’s, though relatively not large, yet has always in
later periods occupied an important position in the City of Norwich. It
formerly—as is usual with parishes dedicated to Saint Giles—lay upon the
outskirts of the city, though not _necessarily_ within the city proper
previously to 1253 {90b} (as Mr. Hudson has pointed out), when the city
was enclosed with a fosse. In recent times Norwich has expanded largely
in the direction of Earlham and Heigham, and St. Giles’s is now
completely overlapped by these populous suburbs.
Blomefield describes the parish as having been part of a new portion of
Norwich called the New Burgh, originally settled in the time of Edward
the Confessor, but much increased at the Conquest by the Normans or
Frenchmen settling in it. He says they chose and took this position as
being the pleasantest part of the city; but it may also have been that
they selected it as being merely the best ground as yet unoccupied by
earlier settlers.
St. Giles’s parish is broadly triangular in form, with its base along
Chapel Field Road and St. Giles’s Hill. It covers (according to Ordnance
Survey) a space of 22·952 acres, and comprises within its area rather
more than half of Chapel Field. Its western boundary is along the site
of the old city wall, and of St. Giles’s Gate, whilst on the eastern or
city side it extends as far as Fisher’s Lane and a little beyond. The
population in 1881 was 1,438.
A main city street runs through it, now known as St. Giles’s Street, but
formerly called Inferior Newport, Nether Newport, or Lower Newport;
Bethel Street being then called Over or Upper Newport.
This street is handsome and well-built, and contains several large and
important houses or mansions. Of late years several of these have been
converted into the homes of public institutions, and the “Young Men’s
Christian Association,” “Gilman’s Insurance Offices,” and the “Masonic
Association,” now occupy some of the largest of them.
On the north side of this main street, near to Fisher’s Lane, formerly
stood a _Domus Dei_, or Almshouse, but this was pulled down about 150
years ago. Browne, writing in 1814, says: “On the south side of this
street is the office of Mack’s London Waggons, which go and return to and
from London every week.” These waggons continued to ply for many years;
and “Mack’s yard,” which adjoined what is now Mortimer’s Hotel, was a
business centre of considerable importance.
In olden times, _Fisher’s Lane_, which extends from St. Giles’s Broad
Street to Pottergate Street, was believed to have been so called as being
the road to a fish-quay, which formerly existed there; but this is now
thought to be very doubtful. The other principal thoroughfares are _St.
Giles’s Plain_, in which was formerly an open pit—seen and mentioned by
Kirkpatrick, but long since filled up; _Rigby’s Court_, leading from it,
formerly called _Pit Lane_, but now known as Rigby’s Court, from the
eminent Dr. Rigby, who once lived at its St. Giles’s end; and _Willow
Lane_, noteworthy for having for a time been the residence of the Rev.
Francis Blomefield, the Norfolk historian, and of George Henry Borrow,
the celebrated writer.