FOOTNOTES:

Page241.The robin hastens, singing, to enjoy his share of the warmth.—I find this admirable passage in "The Conquest of England by the Normans" (by Augustin Thierry). The chief of the barbarous Saxons assembles his priests and wise men to ascertain if they will become Christians. One of them speaks as follows:—

"Thou mayst remember, O king, a thing which sometimes happens, when thou art seated at table with thy captains and men-at-arms, in the winter season, and when a fire is kindled and the hall well warmed, while there are wind and rain and snow without. There comes a little bird, which traverses the room on fluttering wing, entering by one door and flying out at another: the moment of its passage is full of sweetness for it, it feels neither the rain nor the storm; but this interval is brief, the bird vanishes in the twinkling of an eye, andfrom winter passes away into winter. Such seems to me the life of man upon this earth, and its limited duration, compared with the length of the time which precedes and follows it."

From winter he passes into winter. "Of wintra in winter eft cymeth."

Page247.Nests and Hatching.—In the vast extent of the islands linking India to Australia, a species of bird of the familyGallinaceædispenses with the labour of hatching her eggs. Raising an enormous hillock of grasses whose fermentation will produce a degree of heat favourable to the process, the parents, as soon as this task is completed, trust to Nature for the reproduction of their kind. Mr. Gould, who furnishes these curious details, speaks also of some curious nests constructed by another species of bird. It consists of an avenue formed by small branches planted in the ground, and woven together at their upper extremities in the fashion of a dome. The structure is consolidated by enlaced and intertwined herbs. This first stage of their labour accomplished, the artists proceed to the work of decoration. They seek in every direction, and often at a distance, the gaudiest feathers, the finest polished shells, and the most brilliant stones, to strew over the entrance. This avenue would seem, however, not to be the nest, but the place where the birds hold their first rendezvous. (See the coloured plates in Mr. Gould's magnificent volume, "Australian Birds.")

Page266.Instinct and Reason.—The ignorant and inattentive think all thingsnearly alike. And Science perceives that all things differ. According as we learn to observe, do these differences become apparent; that imperceptible "shade," and worthless "almost," which at the outset does not prevent us from confusing all things with one another, really distinguishes them, and points out a notable discrepancy, a wide interval betwixt this object and that, a blank, ahiatus,sometimes an enormous abyss, which separates and holds them apart,—so much so, that occasionally between these things, at first sightso nearly alike, a whole world will intervene, without the power of bringing them together.

It has been asserted and repeated that the works of insects presented an absolute similarity, a mechanical regularity. And yet our Reaumurs and our Hubers have discovered numerous facts which positively contradict this pretended symmetry, especially in the case of the ant, whose life is complicated with so many incidents, so many unforeseen exigencies, that she would never provide against them but for the rapid discernment, the promptitude of mind, which is one of the most striking characteristics of her individuality.

It has been supposed that the nests of birds are always constructed on identical principles. Not at all. A close observation reveals the fact that they differ according to the climate and the weather. At New York, the baltimore makes a closely fitted nest, to shelter him from the cold. At New Orleans his nest is left with a free passage for the air to diminish the heat. The Canadian partridges, which in winter cover themselves with a kind of small pent-roof at Compiègne, under a milder sky do away with this protection, because they judge it to be useless. The same discernment prevails in relation to the seasons. The American spring, in the opening years of the present century, occurring very late, the woodpecker (of Wilson) wisely made his nest two weeks later. I will venture to add that I have seen, in southern France, this delicate appreciation of climatic changes varying from year to year; by an inexplicable foresight, when the summer was likely to be cold, the nests were always more thickly woven.

The guillemot of the north (mergula), which fears above all things the fox, on account of his partiality for her eggs, builds her nest on a rock level with the water, so that, no sooner are they hatched than the brood, however closely dogged by the plunderer, have time to escape in the waves. On the other hand, here, on our coasts, where her only enemy is man, she makes her nest on the loftiest and most precipitous cliffs, where man can with difficulty reach it.

Ignorant persons, and no less those naturalists who study natural history in books only, acknowledge the differences existing between species, but believe that the actions and labours of the individuals of a species invariably correspond. Such a view is possible when you have only seen things from above and afar, in a sublime generality. But when the naturalist takes in hand his pilgrim's staff—when, as a modest, resolute, indefatigable pilgrim of Nature, he assumes his shoes of iron—all things change their aspect: he sees, notes, compares numerous individual works in the labours of each species, seizes their points of difference, and soon arrives at the conclusion which logic had already suggested,—that, in truth,no one thing resembles another. In those works which appear identical to inexperienced eyes, a Wilson and an Audubon have detected the diversities of an art very variable—according to means and places, according to the characters and talents of the artists—in a spontaneous infinity. So extensive is the region of liberty, fancy, andingegno.

Let us hope that our collections will bring together several specimens of each species, arranged and classified according to the talent and progress of the individual, recording as near as may be the age of the birds which constructed the nests.

If these boundless diversities do not result from unrestrained activity and personal spontaneity, if you wish to refer them all to an identical instinct, you must, to support so miraculous a theory, make us believe another miracle: that this instinct, although identical, possesses the singular elasticity of accommodating and proportioning itself to a variety of circumstances which are incessantly changing, to an infinity of hazardous chances.

What, then, will be the case if we find, in the history of animals, such an act of pretended instinct as supposes a resistance to that very course our instinctive nature would apparently desire? What will you say to the wounded elephant spoken of by Fouché d'Obsonville?

That judicious traveller, so utterly disinclined to romantic tendencies, saw an elephant in India, which, having been wounded in battle, went daily to the hospital that his wound might be dressed.Now, guess what this wound might be. A burn. In this dangerous Indian climate, where everything grows putrid, they are frequently constrained to cauterize the sores. He endured this treatment patiently, and went every day to undergo it. He felt no antipathy towards the surgeon who inflicted upon him so sharp an agony. He groaned; nothing more. He evidently understood that it was done for his benefit; that his torturer was his friend; that this necessary cruelty was designed for his cure.

Plainly this elephant acted upon reflection, and upon a blind instinct; he acted against nature in the strength and enlightenment of his will.

Page270.The master-nightingale.—I owe this anecdote to a lady well entitled to a judgment upon such questions—to Madame Garcia Viardot (the great singer). The Russian peasants, who possess a fine ear and a keen sensibility for Nature (compared with her harshness towards them), said, when they occasionally heard the Spanishcantatrice: "The nightingale does not sing so well."

Page273.Still the little one hesitates, &c.—"One day I was walking with my son in the neighbourhood of Montier. We perceived towards the north, on the Little Salève, an eagle emerging from thewindings of the rocks. When he was tolerably near the Great Salève he halted, and two eaglets, which he had carried on his back, attempted to fly, at first very close to their teacher, and in narrow circles; then, a few minutes afterwards, feeling fatigued, they returned to rest upon his back. Gradually their essays were protracted, and at the close of the lesson the eaglets effected some much more important flights, still under the eyes of their teacher of gymnastics. After about an hour's occupation the two scholars resumed their post on the paternal back, and the eagle returned to the rock from which he had started." (M. Chenvières, of Geneva.)

Page304.The small Chili falcon(cernicula).—I extract this statement from a new, curious, but little known work, written in French by a Chilian:Le Chili, by B. Vicuna Mackenna (ed. 1855, p. 100). Chili I take to be a most interesting country, which, by the energy of its citizens, should considerably modify the unfavourable opinion entertained by the citizens of the United States in reference to South Americans. America will not exist as a world, so long as a common feeling shall be wanting between the two opposite poles which ought to create her majestic harmony.

Final Note on the Winged Life.—To appreciate beings so alienfrom the conditions of our prosaic existence, we must for a moment abandon earth, and become a sense apart. We get a glimpse of something inferior and superior, of something on this side and on that, the limbs of the animal life on the borders of the life of the angels. In proportion as we assume this sense, we lose the temptation of degrading the winged life—that strange, delicate, mighty dream of God—to the vulgarities of earth.

To-day even, in a place infinitely unpoetic, neglected, squalid, and obscure, among the black mud of Paris, and in the dank darkness of an apartment scarcely better than a cavern, I saw, and I heard chirping, in a subdued voice, a little creature which seemed not to belong to this low world. It was a warbler, and one of a common species—not the blackcap, which is prized so highly for his song. This one was not then singing; she chattered to herself, just a few notes, as monotonous as her situation. For winter, shadow, captivity, all were around her. The captive of a rough, rude man, of a speculator in birds, she heard on every side sounds which silenced her song; powerful voices were above her head, a mocking-bird among them, which rang out every moment their brilliant clarions. Generally, she would be condemned to silence. She was accustomed, one could perceive, to sing in a low tone. But in this limited flight, this habitual resignation and half lamentation, might be detected a charming delicacy, a more than feminine softness (morbidezza). Add to this the unique grace of her bosom and her motions, of her modest red and white attire, which sparkled, however, with a bright sheeny reflex.

I recalled to my mind the pictures in which Ingres and Delacroix have shown us the captives of Algiers or the East, and exactly depicted the dull resignation, the indifference, the weariness of their monotonous lives, and also the decline (must we say the extinction?) of the inner fire.

But, alas! it was wholly different here. The flame burned in all its strength. She was more and less than a woman. No comparison was of any use. Inferior by right of her animal nature, by herpretty bird-masquerade, she was lifted above by her wings, and by the winged soul which sang in that little body. An all-powerfulalibiheld her enthralled afar off, in her native grove, in the nest whence she had been stolen in her infancy, or in her future love-nest. She warbled five or six notes, and they kindled my very soul; I myself, for the moment armed with wings, accompanied her in her distant dream.

FOOTNOTES:[1]The book referred to was the "Études de la Nature."—Translator.[2]Dittany was formerly much used as a cordial and sedative.—Translator.[3]Jean Baptiste de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck, was born August 1, 1744; died December 20, 1829. His chief work is his "History of Invertebrate Animals."—Etienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire was born in 1772, and died in 1844. He expounds his theory of natural history in the "Philosophie Anatomique," 2 vols., 1818-20.—Translator.[4]Alphonse Toussenel, an illustrious Frenchlittérateur, born in 1803. The first edition of his "Le Monde des Oiseaux, Ornithologie Passionelle," was published in 1852.—Translator.[5]The frigate bird, or man-of-war bird (Trachypetes aquila).—Translator.[6]Alluding to a popular superstition, which Béranger has made the subject of a fine lyric:—"What means the fall of yonder star,Which falls, falls, and fades away?...My son, whene'er a mortal dies,Earthward his star drops instantly."—Translator.[7]It was with this exordium Toussaint commenced his appeal to Napoleon Bonaparte.[8]Napoleon's treatment of Toussaint L'Ouverture is one of the darkest spots on his fame. He flung this son of the Tropics into a dungeon among the icy fastnesses of the Alps, where he died, slain by cold and undeserved ill-treatment, on the 27th of April 1803.—Translator.[9]There are two lights, of which the more elevated is 396 feet above the sea-level.—Translator.[10]La Hève is the ancient Caletorum Promontorium, and situated about three miles north-west of Havre.—Translator.[11]That the reader may feel the full force of this passage, I subjoin the original: "Nous n'en vivions pas moins d'un grand souffle d'âme, de la rajeunissante haleine de cette mère aimée, la Nature."[12]Compare the interesting descriptions of the huge dams erected by beavers across the American rivers, in Milton and Cheadle's valuable narrative of travel, "The North-West Passage by Land."—Translator.[13]The reader will hardly require to be reminded of the poet Cowper and his hares.—Translator.[14]FamilyTrochilidæ.[15]Felix de Azara was an eminent Spanish traveller, who died at Arragon in 1811. He acted as one of the commissioners appointed to trace the boundary-line between the Spanish and Portuguese possessions in the New World. His researches in Paraguay made many valuable contributions to natural history.—Translator.[16]Lesson was a French traveller of repute; but his works are little known beyond the limits of his own country.—Translator.[17]François Levaillant was born at Paramaribo in Dutch Guiana, in 1753. Passionately fond of natural history, and scarcely less fond of travel, he gratified both passions in 1780 by undertaking a series of explorations in Southern Africa. His last journey extended a little beyond the tropic of Capricorn. He returned to Europe in 1784, published several valuable works of travel and zoology, and died in 1824.—Translator.[18]The unfortunate navigator, Jean François de Calaup, Comte de La Perouse, was born in 1741. At an early age he entered the French navy, rose to a high grade, and distinguished himself by his services against the English in North America. In 1783 he was appointed to command an expedition of discovery, and on the 1st of August 1785, sailed from Brest with two frigates, theBoussoleand theAstrolabe. He reached Botany Bay in January 1788, and thenceforward was no more heard of for years. Several vessels were despatched to ascertain his fate, but could obtain no clue to it. In 1826, however, Captain Dillon, while sailing amongst the Queen Charlotte Islands, discovered at Wanicoro the remains of the shipwrecked vessels. A mausoleum and obelisk to the memory of their unfortunate commander was erected on the island in 1828.—Translator.[19]Mungo Park, the illustrious African traveller (born near Selkirk in 1771), perished on his second expedition to the Niger towards the close of the year 1805. No exact information of his fate has been obtained, but from the evidence collected by Clapperton and Lander, it seems probable that he was drowned in attempting to navigate a narrow channel of the river in the territory of Houssa. Another account, however, represents him to have been murdered by the natives.—Translator.[20]See Virgil, "Georgics."[21]Alexander Wilson, the eminent ornithologist, was born at Paisley in 1766. He was bred a weaver, but emigrating to the United States in 1794, found means to pursue the studies for which he had a natural bias, and in which he earned an enduring reputation. The first volume of his "American Ornithology" was published in 1808. He died of dysentery, in August 1813.—Translator.[22]We subjoin Dryden's version of the above passage ("Georgics," Book I.):—"Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise,So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies:The wary crane foresees it first, and sailsAbove the storm, and leaves the lowly vales;The cow looks up, and from afar can findThe change of heaven, and snuffs it in the wind.The swallow skims the river's watery face,The frogs renew the croaks of their loquacious race....Besides, the several sorts of watery fowls,That swim the seas, or haunt the standing pools;The swans that sail along the silver flood,And dive with stretching necks to search their food,Then lave their back with sprinkling dews in vain,And stem the stream to meet the promised rain.The crow, with clamorous cries, the shower demands,And single stalks along the desert sands.The nightly virgin, while her wheel she plies,Foresees the storm impending in the skies.When sparkling lamps their sputtering light advance,And in the sockets oily bubbles dance."Then, after showers, 'tis easy to descry,Returning suns, and a serener sky;The stars shine smarter, and the moon adorns,As with unborrowed beams, her sharpened horns;The filmy gossamer now flits no more,Nor halcyons bask on the short sunny shore:Their litter is not tossed by sows unclean,But a blue draughty mist descends upon the plain.And owls, that mark the setting sun, declareA star-light evening, and a morning fair....Then thrice the ravens rend the liquid air,And croaking notes proclaim the settled fair.Then, round their airy palaces they flyTo greet the sun: and seized with secret joy,When storms are over-blown, with food repairTo their forsaken nests, and callow care."[23]The favourite haunt of Jean Jacques Rousseau, on the bank of Lake Leman.[24]This was written before the annexation of Lombardy to the new Italian kingdom.[25]It is unnecessary to remind the reader that this is true only ofFrenchpoets.—Translator.[26]The reader must not identify the translator with these opinions, which, however, he did not feel at liberty to modify or omit.[27]Everybody knows the beautiful story of the "Musician's Duel"—the rivalry between a nightingale and a flute-player—as told by Ford and Crashaw.—Translator.[28]Our author refers to the discovery of the anæsthetic properties of ether by an American. It was a surgeon of old Europe, however, that gave the world the far more powerful anæsthetic ofchloroform.—Translator.[29]Compare Byron, in "Don Juan."

[1]The book referred to was the "Études de la Nature."—Translator.

[2]Dittany was formerly much used as a cordial and sedative.—Translator.

[3]Jean Baptiste de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck, was born August 1, 1744; died December 20, 1829. His chief work is his "History of Invertebrate Animals."—Etienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire was born in 1772, and died in 1844. He expounds his theory of natural history in the "Philosophie Anatomique," 2 vols., 1818-20.—Translator.

[4]Alphonse Toussenel, an illustrious Frenchlittérateur, born in 1803. The first edition of his "Le Monde des Oiseaux, Ornithologie Passionelle," was published in 1852.—Translator.

[5]The frigate bird, or man-of-war bird (Trachypetes aquila).—Translator.

[6]Alluding to a popular superstition, which Béranger has made the subject of a fine lyric:—"What means the fall of yonder star,Which falls, falls, and fades away?...My son, whene'er a mortal dies,Earthward his star drops instantly."—Translator.

[6]Alluding to a popular superstition, which Béranger has made the subject of a fine lyric:—

"What means the fall of yonder star,Which falls, falls, and fades away?...My son, whene'er a mortal dies,Earthward his star drops instantly."—Translator.

[7]It was with this exordium Toussaint commenced his appeal to Napoleon Bonaparte.

[8]Napoleon's treatment of Toussaint L'Ouverture is one of the darkest spots on his fame. He flung this son of the Tropics into a dungeon among the icy fastnesses of the Alps, where he died, slain by cold and undeserved ill-treatment, on the 27th of April 1803.—Translator.

[9]There are two lights, of which the more elevated is 396 feet above the sea-level.—Translator.

[10]La Hève is the ancient Caletorum Promontorium, and situated about three miles north-west of Havre.—Translator.

[11]That the reader may feel the full force of this passage, I subjoin the original: "Nous n'en vivions pas moins d'un grand souffle d'âme, de la rajeunissante haleine de cette mère aimée, la Nature."

[12]Compare the interesting descriptions of the huge dams erected by beavers across the American rivers, in Milton and Cheadle's valuable narrative of travel, "The North-West Passage by Land."—Translator.

[13]The reader will hardly require to be reminded of the poet Cowper and his hares.—Translator.

[14]FamilyTrochilidæ.

[15]Felix de Azara was an eminent Spanish traveller, who died at Arragon in 1811. He acted as one of the commissioners appointed to trace the boundary-line between the Spanish and Portuguese possessions in the New World. His researches in Paraguay made many valuable contributions to natural history.—Translator.

[16]Lesson was a French traveller of repute; but his works are little known beyond the limits of his own country.—Translator.

[17]François Levaillant was born at Paramaribo in Dutch Guiana, in 1753. Passionately fond of natural history, and scarcely less fond of travel, he gratified both passions in 1780 by undertaking a series of explorations in Southern Africa. His last journey extended a little beyond the tropic of Capricorn. He returned to Europe in 1784, published several valuable works of travel and zoology, and died in 1824.—Translator.

[18]The unfortunate navigator, Jean François de Calaup, Comte de La Perouse, was born in 1741. At an early age he entered the French navy, rose to a high grade, and distinguished himself by his services against the English in North America. In 1783 he was appointed to command an expedition of discovery, and on the 1st of August 1785, sailed from Brest with two frigates, theBoussoleand theAstrolabe. He reached Botany Bay in January 1788, and thenceforward was no more heard of for years. Several vessels were despatched to ascertain his fate, but could obtain no clue to it. In 1826, however, Captain Dillon, while sailing amongst the Queen Charlotte Islands, discovered at Wanicoro the remains of the shipwrecked vessels. A mausoleum and obelisk to the memory of their unfortunate commander was erected on the island in 1828.—Translator.

[19]Mungo Park, the illustrious African traveller (born near Selkirk in 1771), perished on his second expedition to the Niger towards the close of the year 1805. No exact information of his fate has been obtained, but from the evidence collected by Clapperton and Lander, it seems probable that he was drowned in attempting to navigate a narrow channel of the river in the territory of Houssa. Another account, however, represents him to have been murdered by the natives.—Translator.

[20]See Virgil, "Georgics."

[21]Alexander Wilson, the eminent ornithologist, was born at Paisley in 1766. He was bred a weaver, but emigrating to the United States in 1794, found means to pursue the studies for which he had a natural bias, and in which he earned an enduring reputation. The first volume of his "American Ornithology" was published in 1808. He died of dysentery, in August 1813.—Translator.

[22]We subjoin Dryden's version of the above passage ("Georgics," Book I.):—"Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise,So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies:The wary crane foresees it first, and sailsAbove the storm, and leaves the lowly vales;The cow looks up, and from afar can findThe change of heaven, and snuffs it in the wind.The swallow skims the river's watery face,The frogs renew the croaks of their loquacious race....Besides, the several sorts of watery fowls,That swim the seas, or haunt the standing pools;The swans that sail along the silver flood,And dive with stretching necks to search their food,Then lave their back with sprinkling dews in vain,And stem the stream to meet the promised rain.The crow, with clamorous cries, the shower demands,And single stalks along the desert sands.The nightly virgin, while her wheel she plies,Foresees the storm impending in the skies.When sparkling lamps their sputtering light advance,And in the sockets oily bubbles dance."Then, after showers, 'tis easy to descry,Returning suns, and a serener sky;The stars shine smarter, and the moon adorns,As with unborrowed beams, her sharpened horns;The filmy gossamer now flits no more,Nor halcyons bask on the short sunny shore:Their litter is not tossed by sows unclean,But a blue draughty mist descends upon the plain.And owls, that mark the setting sun, declareA star-light evening, and a morning fair....Then thrice the ravens rend the liquid air,And croaking notes proclaim the settled fair.Then, round their airy palaces they flyTo greet the sun: and seized with secret joy,When storms are over-blown, with food repairTo their forsaken nests, and callow care."

[22]We subjoin Dryden's version of the above passage ("Georgics," Book I.):—

"Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise,So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies:The wary crane foresees it first, and sailsAbove the storm, and leaves the lowly vales;The cow looks up, and from afar can findThe change of heaven, and snuffs it in the wind.The swallow skims the river's watery face,The frogs renew the croaks of their loquacious race....Besides, the several sorts of watery fowls,That swim the seas, or haunt the standing pools;The swans that sail along the silver flood,And dive with stretching necks to search their food,Then lave their back with sprinkling dews in vain,And stem the stream to meet the promised rain.The crow, with clamorous cries, the shower demands,And single stalks along the desert sands.The nightly virgin, while her wheel she plies,Foresees the storm impending in the skies.When sparkling lamps their sputtering light advance,And in the sockets oily bubbles dance."Then, after showers, 'tis easy to descry,Returning suns, and a serener sky;The stars shine smarter, and the moon adorns,As with unborrowed beams, her sharpened horns;The filmy gossamer now flits no more,Nor halcyons bask on the short sunny shore:Their litter is not tossed by sows unclean,But a blue draughty mist descends upon the plain.And owls, that mark the setting sun, declareA star-light evening, and a morning fair....Then thrice the ravens rend the liquid air,And croaking notes proclaim the settled fair.Then, round their airy palaces they flyTo greet the sun: and seized with secret joy,When storms are over-blown, with food repairTo their forsaken nests, and callow care."

"Then, after showers, 'tis easy to descry,Returning suns, and a serener sky;The stars shine smarter, and the moon adorns,As with unborrowed beams, her sharpened horns;The filmy gossamer now flits no more,Nor halcyons bask on the short sunny shore:Their litter is not tossed by sows unclean,But a blue draughty mist descends upon the plain.And owls, that mark the setting sun, declareA star-light evening, and a morning fair....Then thrice the ravens rend the liquid air,And croaking notes proclaim the settled fair.Then, round their airy palaces they flyTo greet the sun: and seized with secret joy,When storms are over-blown, with food repairTo their forsaken nests, and callow care."

[23]The favourite haunt of Jean Jacques Rousseau, on the bank of Lake Leman.

[24]This was written before the annexation of Lombardy to the new Italian kingdom.

[25]It is unnecessary to remind the reader that this is true only ofFrenchpoets.—Translator.

[26]The reader must not identify the translator with these opinions, which, however, he did not feel at liberty to modify or omit.

[27]Everybody knows the beautiful story of the "Musician's Duel"—the rivalry between a nightingale and a flute-player—as told by Ford and Crashaw.—Translator.

[28]Our author refers to the discovery of the anæsthetic properties of ether by an American. It was a surgeon of old Europe, however, that gave the world the far more powerful anæsthetic ofchloroform.—Translator.

[29]Compare Byron, in "Don Juan."

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