Observers of Nature seem to be just now appreciating the observation of
the benevolent _Gilbert White_, of Selborne, who lived and died in the
last century: "that if stationary men would pay some attention to the
districts on which they reside, and would publish their thoughts
respecting the objects that surround them, from such materials might be
drawn the most complete county histories." Accordingly, a little system
of rural philosophy has been founded upon the best of all bases,
home-observation, and such books as have resulted from these labours,
promise to make the study of Nature more popular than will all the
Zoological, Botanical, and Geological Societies of Europe. Among these
works we include the cheap reprint of the _Natural History of Selborne_;
Mr. Rennie's delightful observations which are scattered through the
Zoological volumes of the _Library of Entertaining Knowledge_; but more
especially the _Journal of a Naturalist_, published by Mr. Leonard
Knapp, about three years since, and stated by the author to have
originated in his admiration of Mr. White's _Selborne_. The volume
before us is the result of a congenial feeling, and is written by Edward
Jesse, Esq., deputy surveyor of his majesty's parks, by means of which
appointment he must have possessed peculiar opportunities and facilities
of observation, as is evident in the local recollections throughout his
volume. Thus, we find miscellaneous particulars of the Royal Parks and
Forests, and from the writer's residence on the bank of the Thames, (we
conclude, near Bushy Park,) a few Maxims for an Angler. The whole is a
very charming _melange_, with a most discursive arrangement, it is true,
but never falling into dulness, or tiring the reader with too minute
detail. We intend, therefore, to range through the volume, and gather a
few of its most interesting gleanings to our garner.
Our author thinks he has discovered the use for the remarkable and,
indeed, what appears disproportionate length, of the
Claws of the Skylark.
"That they were not intended to enable the bird to search the earth for
food, or to fix itself more securely on the branches of trees, is
evident, as they neither scratch the ground nor roost on trees. The lark
makes its nest generally in grass fields, where it is liable to be
injured either by cattle grazing over it, or by the mower. In case of
alarm from either these or other causes, the parent birds remove their
eggs, by means of their long claws, to a place of greater security; and
this transportation I have observed to be effected in a very short space
of time. By placing a lark's egg, which is rather large in proportion to
the size of the bird, in the foot, and then drawing the claws over it,
you will perceive that they are of sufficient length to secure the egg
firmly, and by this means the bird is enabled to convey its eggs to
another place, where she can sit upon and hatch them. When one of my
mowers first told me that he had observed the fact, I was somewhat
disinclined to credit it; but I have since ascertained it beyond a
doubt, and now mention it as another strong proof of that order in the
economy of Nature, by means of which this affectionate bird is enabled
to secure its forthcoming offspring. I call it affectionate, because few
birds show a stronger attachment to their young."
Instinct allied to reason.
Several interesting anecdotes are quoted to show that there is something
more than mere instinct, which influences the conduct of some animals.
Bees and spiders afford many traits, but we quote the elephant and
parrot:
"I was one day feeding the poor elephant (who was so barbarously put to
death at Exeter 'Change) with potatoes, which he took out of my hand.
One of them, a round one, fell on the floor, just out of the reach of
his proboscis. He leaned against his wooden bar, put out his trunk, and
could just touch the potato, but could not pick it up. After several
ineffectual efforts, he at last _blew_ the potato against the opposite
wall with sufficient force to make it rebound, and he then, without
difficulty, secured it. Now it is quite clear, I think, that instinct
never taught the elephant to procure his food in this manner; and it
must, therefore, have been reason, or some intellectual faculty, which
enabled him to be so good a judge of cause and effect. Indeed, the
_reflecting_ power of some animals is quite extraordinary. I had a dog
who was much attached to me, and who, in consequence of his having been
tied up on a Sunday morning, to prevent his accompanying me to church,
would conceal himself in good time on that day, and I was sure to find
him either at the entrance of the church, or if he could get in, under
the place where I usually sat.
"I have been often much delighted with watching the manner in which some
of the old bucks in Bushy Park contrive to get the berries from the fine
thorn-trees there. They will raise themselves on their hind legs, give a
spring, entangle their horns in the lower branches of the tree, give
them one or two shakes, which make some of the berries full, and they
will then quietly pick them up.
"A strong proof of intellect was given in the case of Colonel O'Kelly's
parrot. When the colonel and his parrot were at Brighton, the bird was
asked to sing; he answered 'I can't,' Another time he left off in the
middle of a tune, and said, 'I have forgot.' Colonel O'Kelly continued
the tune for a few notes; the parrot took it up where the Colonel had
left off. The parrot took up the bottom of a lady's petticoat, and said
'What a pretty foot!' The parrot seeing the family at breakfast said,
'Won't you give some breakfast to Poll?' The company teazed and mopped
him a good deal; he said 'I don't like it.'--(From a Memorandum found
amongst the late Earl of Guildford's Papers.)"
Eels.
Several pages are devoted to the economy of these curious creatures, and
as many points of their history are warmly contested, Mr. Jesse's
experience is valuable.
"That they do wander[6] from one place to another is evident, as I am
assured that they have been found in ponds in Richmond Park, which had
been previously cleaned out and mudded, and into which no water could
run except from the springs which supplied it.[7] An annual migration of
young eels takes place in the River Thames in the month of May, and they
have generally made their appearance at Kingston, in their way upwards,
about the second week in that month, and accident has so determined it,
that, for several years together it was remarked that the 10th of May
was the day of what the fishermen call eel-fair; but they have been more
irregular in their proceedings since the interruption of the lock at
Teddington. These young eels are about two inches in length, and they
make their approach in one regular and undeviating column of about five
inches in breadth, and as thick together as it is possible for them to
be. As the procession generally lasts two or three days, and as they
appear to move at the rate of nearly two miles and a half an hour, some
idea may be formed of their enormous number.
[6] From the following lines of Oppian, the rambling spirit of
eels seems to have been known to the ancients--
The wandering eel,
Oft to the neighbouring beach will silent steal"
[7] I have been informed, upon the authority of a nobleman well
known for his attachment to field sports, that, if an eel is
found on land, its head is invariably turned towards the sea,
for which it is always observed to make in the most direct line
possible. If this information is correct (and there seems to be
no reason to doubt it.) it shows that the eel, like the swallow,
is possessed of a strong migratory instinct. May we not suppose
that the swallow, like the eel, performs its migrations in the
same undeviating course?
"Eels feed on almost all animal substances, whether dead or living. It
is well known that they devour the young of all water-fowl that are not
too large for them. Mr. Bingley states, that he saw exposed for sale at
Retford, in Nottinghamshire, a quantity of eels that would have filled a
couple of wheelbarrows, the whole of which had been taken out of the
body of a dead horse, thrown into a ditch near one of the adjacent
villages; and a friend of mine saw the body of a man taken out of the
Serpentine River in Hyde Park, where it had been some time, and from
which a large eel crawled out. The winter retreat of eels is very
curious. They not only get deep into the mud, but in Bushy Park, where
the mud in the ponds is not very deep, and what there is, is of a sandy
nature, the eels make their way under the banks of the ponds, and have
been found knotted together in a large mass. Eels vary much in size in
different waters. The largest I ever caught was in Richmond Park, and it
weighed five pounds, but some are stated to have been caught in Ireland
which weighed from fifteen to twenty pounds. Seven pounds is, I believe,
no unusual size. The large ones are extremely strong and muscular.
Fishing one day at Pain's Hill, near Cobham, in Surrey, I hooked an eel
amongst some weeds, but before I could land him, he had so twisted a new
strong double wire, to which the hook was fixed, that he broke it and
made his escape."
Sir Humphry Davy's opinions respecting eels are quoted from his
_Salmonia_:[8] Mr. Jesse adds:
[8] See MIRROR, vol. xii. p. 253.
"It is with considerable diffidence that one would venture to differ in
opinion with Sir Humphry Davy, but I cannot help remarking, that, as
eels are now known to migrate _from_ fresh water, as was shown in the
case of the Richmond Park ponds, this restless propensity may arise from
their impatience of the greater degree of warmth in those ponds in the
month of May, and not from their wish to get into water still warmer, as
suggested by Sir Humphry Davy. Very large eels are certainly found in
rivers, the Thames and Mole for instance, where I have seen them so that
they must either have remained in them, or have returned from the sea,
which Sir H. Davy thinks they never do, though I should add, that the
circumstance already related of so many large eels being seen dead or
dying during a hot summer, near the Nore, would appear to confirm his
assertion. If eels are oviparous, as Sir Humphry Davy thinks they are,
would not the ova have been found, especially in the conger,--many of
which are taken and brought to our markets, frequently of a very large
size? It does not appear, however, that any of the fringes along the
air-bladder have ever arrived at such a size and appearance as to have
justified any one in the supposition that they were ovaria, though, as
has been stated, distinguished naturalists, from the time of Aristotle
to the present moment, have been endeavouring to ascertain this fact.
Since the above was written, I have been shown ova in the lamprey, and
what appeared to have been melt taken from a conger eel, at a
fishmonger's in Bond-street. These specimens were preserved by Mr.
Yarrell, of Little Ryder-street, St. James's, who had the kindness to
open two eels, sent to him from Scotland, in my presence, and in which
the fringes were very perceptible, though they were without any ova.
That ingenious and indefatigable naturalist is, however, of opinion that
eels are oviparous, though he failed in producing proof that the common
eels were so.
"In further proof, however, of eels being viviparous, it may be added
(if the argument of analogy applies in this case), that the animalculæ
of paste eels are decidedly viviparous. Mr. Bingley also, in his animal
biography, says that eels are viviparous. Blumenbach says, too, that
'according to the most correct observations they are certainly
viviparous.' He adds also, that, the eel is so tenacious of life, that
its heart, when removed from the body, retains its irritability for
forty hours afterwards."
We are not inclined to attach very considerable importance to Mr.
Bingley's experience, much as we admire his entertaining _Animal
Biography_: we believe him to be classed among book-naturalists, and he
wrote this work many years since.
(_To be continued_.)
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