because it is the spontaneous answer of our whole being to an appeal from its better and higher side; but it none the less serves to develop, exercise, and instruct, by methods more or less systematic, the faculties which we possess. To that extent, at least, it is a discipline, and has its moral aspects.

Again, at the bottom of these suggestions to simplify phraseology, and to deal with elementary subjects, there often lurks a fundamental misconception as to the function of education. Every system of education-whether it prevail in schools set apart for pupils of tender years, or in those societies with which we associate ourselves, and which are the schools of our later life-must communicate some information in the form of facts and figures; but is it not the highest function of any such system to put us in the way of getting facts for ourselves, and of arranging, methodising, and utilising them? Looked at from this point of view, it seems difficult to overrate the good which scientific societies are capable of doing. It will be for some future historian to estimate the influence which has been, and is being thus exercised in making our age what it is. Meanwhile, before we venture to criticise the work of any society, would it not be prudent to ascertain whether or not it is discharging the higher rather than the lower function of education?

Reference was made a few lines above to the moral aspects of membership. Though to dilate on the theme would be to exceed the limits we have set ourselves, this phase of our subject cannot be overlooked. A simple instance, one which may be within the experience of some who read this paper, will suffice. You are an enthusiastic member of the microscopical society of the town in which you reside. You have just purchased, or a friend has lent you, one of Möller's splendid type slides; and you take it down to the next meeting with your microscope and lamp. You carefully arrange every. thing, and have at last secured that degree of light in which the skilled diatomist loves to exhibit his favourites; when another member, who is to read a paper, asks you to lend him your lamp for the evening, as he has forgotten to bring one. He is the "foolish virgin" of the assembly, and his thoughtlessness, it may even be his habitual carelessness, obliges him to impose on your goodnature. Unless you act as the "wise virgins" of the parable did, your evening seems likely to be spoiled in order that your rosy-gilled acquaintance should not lose the éclat of the meeting. Common courtesy, however, prompts you to lend your lamp cheerfully. And it is chiefly out of our little unremembered acts of charity and goodwill that the best side of our complex human nature is built up. Membership of a society constantly demands self-sacrifice in a thousand ways. It does so when it requires you to give up some engagement to attend a meeting, to hear a paper read on a subject in which perhaps you

do not take a deep interest, but which you know has cost its writer much self-imposed time and trouble. You do not like to read your own papers to empty chairs; your sympathy is thus aroused, and you act rightly in giving up your other engagement for your meeting. Whether in or outside of societies, the benefit to be derived by one's self is obviously by no means the highest motive for well-doing; but in considering the moral results which flow from the loyal observance of the duties incidental to membership, we cannot in the present connection disregard their effects in the direction of developing sympathy. It sometimes seems to me that our scientific societies may in certain respects discharge for their members some of the functions which were fulfilled by religious orders in the past. Those who in olden times donned the cowl and garb of the monks, derived good, depend on it, from the self-restraint they must have had to exercise again and again, when they found themselves associated with companions not of their own choice, and whose characters may in many instances have seemed utterly unlovable. I think it is Thomas à Kempis who suggests something about the discipline which was thus imposed on one who entered an order. The morning has widened; our day is brighter than his was; our comrades are mainly of our own choice; the scope and aims of the societies we join, and are now gossiping about, differ widely from those which were assembled in the old abbeys; but, thank God, we are still human beings, and not the least good derivable from our scientific societies is to be found in the courtesy which we are required to exercise, and in the self-restraint and self-sacrifice which it often involves. If we thus learn something about others, we should surely in such a position learn still more about ourselves.

Calcutta.

W. J. SIMMONS.

NATURAL HISTORY NOTES.
[Continued from p. 203.]

NATURE AROUND A COVERT.

HE particular spot which I shall dwell upon in

This paper, is a covert, or preserve for foxes.

It is distant from the village in which I write this, about a mile and a half. In the winter-time this spot is the frequent resort of the nearest pack of foxhounds; otherwise the place is hardly ever frequented by any footsteps save those of the keeper, who sometimes visits it in the course of his rounds. The covert (at the east and north sides) is situated close to the road, which, however, is not much frequented by either people on foot, or in carts, so nature is left much to herself during the greater part of the year; though the place in winter-time sometimes resounds with the blows of the axe or bill of the woodcutters, who

come to cut up a portion of the oldest wood at times. This covert, which is called "Christmas Gorse," is probably over twenty acres in extent, which is for the most part covered with blackthorn, and large hawthorn bushes, brambles, furze and young oaks, while fir-trees are planted near the outsides, and in other places of the covert. For the observation of wild bird-life, the place is unrivalled any where for miles around.

Situated in the covert is a large roosting-place for starlings, which come trooping into the place every evening by thousands, and returning back in the morning to their accustomed feeding-grounds. It is an interesting sight to watch them coming in to roost. From all directions for miles around the starlings keep coming in every minute by hundreds and thousands, and each flock as it comes in wheels and hovers over the place selected and then darts down and settles for the night.

The air above the roost presents a very animated appearance, hundreds settling down every minute, and thousands coming in to take their place, while those that are settled make a loud chattering noise, which is kept up till dark, and can be heard a long way off. The noise of those that are settled is like a high wind in the tops of the trees, and when they rise suddenly, it is like the noise of distant thunder. These birds crowd together so thickly that they appear to be on top of one another, and the tall blackthorns and hawthorns are in some places completely bent and broken to the ground by their weight. Thousands, if not millions make it their nightly roosting-place.

Occasionally there is to be observed among this mass of birds which frequent this place, an individual with a snowy-white plumage.

The time of the coming in of these birds at night, and the going out in the morning is regulated according to the season of the year. In the depth of winter they begin to arrive at the covert about half past three, and sometimes earlier in the afternoon, going out in the morning about eight. They do not come out in the same way as they go in, i.e., in large compact masses, but are scattered out over the country in long straggling lines.

The

It is also very interesting to watch the numerous flocks which pass over this village, in the afternoon or evening, as they are on their way to roost. smaller companies sometimes settle in some tree, where they exert their voices, and create a very pleasing and lively appearance in the surroundings. They wait till some larger flight of starlings appears, which settles for a moment to receive the contingent, and then with a loud whirring of wings and the execution of various manoeuvres, they betake themselves off in the direction of their roosting-place, though probably they are recruited on their way by several small companies of their species. As these birds go over sometimes in large flocks containing

many thousands, and reaching a quarter of a mile or more in length, we may suppose that these vast flocks are collected by the smaller parties continually joining them from the surrounding feeding-grounds for a great distance around, as they go homewards. These birds frequent the fields in small companies during the day, though several parties often unite together, but they generally soon separate and go off again in various directions.

Occasionally in wandering near their roost we may pick up a dead starling or two with fine glossy plumage, while many pairs of wings and skeletons hang about in the tall blackthorns, and the numerous small heaps of feathers on the ground plainly show that many of these birds are killed by the numerous birds of prey which frequent the place. Hawks and tawny owls haunt the covert, and breed around. Magpies are very common here and may be seen in spring in small numbers of about six together, and once I counted twenty-two as they flew from a meadow into the covert. They build and breed abundantly in the tall hawthorn and blackthorn bushes, in the more inaccessible parts. Pheasants and partridges abound and build among the long grass. Ring-doves breed in the fir-trees abundantly in April and May, and are so common around here, that large flocks of twenty, thirty, or sixty, and even more may be seen early in the year, flying or feeding in the meadows around. The lapwings breed unmolested in the damp meadows near at hand, where their curious flight can be seen and familiar cry heard. Blackbirds and thrushes sing without hin. drance from morning till night; and the beautiful jay makes its home here and breeds in the fir-trees. The smaller kinds of wild birds, the crested wren, willow wren, coletit, tomtit, great-tit, white-throat, nightingale, and several others, live and breed undisturbed in this secluded spot.

In April and May, the soft cooing of the ringdoves, and the soft tremulous cooing of the turtledoves, sounds sweetly from the fir-trees. The nightingale, our sweetest songster, may be heard pouring forth its thrilling notes in the daytime and in the evening, when the other denizens of the air and woods have retired to rest. From without the covert, the sweet voice of the cuckoo and the loud ringing cry of the green woodpecker can be heard.

In spring and summer, the covert is clothed in floral beauty. Snowdrops may be gathered here in early spring, and later on the flowers of the tormen. til, dog-violet, and forget-me-not cover the ground in the open places. Large bunches of furze give quite an attraction to the place with their bright golden flowers. The blackthorn bushes show quit white at a distance, and contrast beautifully with the bright and fresh green leaves on the hawthorn bushes which are scattered promiscuously here and there. The beautiful flowers of the wild columbine grow at the top of the covert near the road. The

common broom also grows abundantly in a spinny close at hand.

The meadows around are decked in spring and summer with cowslips, primrose, scabious, sneezewort, yarrow, lesser stitchwort, early purple orchis, wood anemones, common meadow-sweet, waterdropwort, common burnet, lady-smock, and others.

The footpath to the covert leads through meadows with waving grass, decked with beautiful but common wild-flowers; ragged robins are scattered here and there in the tall grass, with white oxeyes, and large patches of yellow bedstraw, purple vetch, and bird's-foot trefoil growing near together, mixed with yellow rattles, hawkweeds, red and white clover, with others nearly hidden from sight in the long grass. The large waving flowers of the yellow iris, marsh-marigold, water-speedwell, water-forget-menot, water-figwort, wild columbine, rock-rose, and willow-herbs, etc., grow along the brook which runs just by the covert.

Many of the trees by the brook-side bear the marks of the woodpecker's strong bill, where it lays its eggs, and the tree-sparrow builds its nest in one of the holes made by the woodpecker. Furze-chats also build their nests on the ground at the bottom of furze bushes, in the meadows around, and the blackheaded bunting, sedge-warbler, and long-tailed tit, live and breed along this brook undisturbed.

RARE BIRDS SEEN OR SHOT IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF NORTH MARSTON, BUCKS.

A few years ago, a red-legged partridge was seen on Quainton Hills by Mr. John Anstiss, who (I believe) almost stepped on it when it was on its nest. In the summer of 1889 a bird about the size of a blackbird, and somewhat resembling it in form was killed in the grass, in the field close to the moat at Hogshaw. It was of the colour of a young starling on the head, back, wings, and tail, while under the chin and throat, it was of a whitish colour. Mr. John Hughes, the owner of the field, said it must be an uncommon bird, for he had not seen one like it before. I am convinced that it was a female ringousel, but as I did not examine it myself I could not be sure at the time. Perhaps some reader might have an idea what the bird just described was.

On July 27th, 1889, I saw sitting on a rail, a curious-looking bird, which on my getting nearer to it, proved to be a hawfinch or grosbeak. I got within a few yards of it, before it flew away to a bush close by. It probably came from Runtswood or Curtis's brake which are not very far from where I saw it. I had the pleasure of seeing two more hawfinches together, on August 29th, and one on the following morning at Hogshaw about one hundred yards from the place where I saw the first.

On July 25th, 1889, my cousin saw a red-backed butcher-bird, and I myself found two nests of this

bird near a brook here, a few years ago. This bird is rare in this neighbourhood, but now and again one may be seen, and a nest found.

A woodcock was shot here in the winter-time a year ago, and a lesser spotted woodpecker was shot here in an orchard two or three years ago. A few kingfishers have now and then been shot along the brook-sides around here, during the winter-time, and one was seen on November 26th last.

A white skylark was seen on a ploughing at Buxlow last August, in company with other larks. A white sparrow has also been seen amongst a flock of its companions at Quainton, by Mr. William Anstiss of this village. The same person told me that he caught in the nets recently a blackbird with some white feathers on its breast. It might possibly have been a ring-ousel.

A couple of summer-snipes, or common sandpipers were shot near Hagditch pond on the 10th of May last year, by Mr. Henry Anstiss, my cousin being present with him at the time. I saw two of these birds around a large pond at Fullbrook, early in May in 1888.

He told my cousin that his father many years ago went after a curlew which was about the slough (a field near this village), but he could not get near enough to shoot it. I have also been told by a younger member of the family, and so has my cousin, that his father several years ago shot a fine plumaged bird, amongst a flock of sparrows in a field called "Ander's Oak." He said it was a little larger than a house-sparrow with a rather long tail; the head is blue, and the body is mottled, and is of various colours. The upper part of the bill (he said) hooked over the under portion. I am inclined to think that this bird mentioned is a crossbill.

Mr. H. Anstiss told my cousin that he shot a night-hawk or fern-owl a few years ago, during the autumn or winter-time, as it flew out of an old cowshed. One was heard on the evening of the 10th of May, last year, by my cousin.

He also told him that when he was out shooting in the winter-time with some one else, he saw a flock of snipes containing twenty or more, but he thought they were starlings till they were out of gunshot. A green whistling plover or golden plover has also been shot in this neighbourhood a few years ago by the same person. Many other interesting observations in bird life have been noticed, by one or another of the family, and the information they give about them is thoroughly reliable.

H. G. WARD.

We have received Part I. vol. i. of what promises to be a most important work on "British Flies" (Diptera) by the Hon. M. Cordelia E. Leigh and F. O. Theobald. It is being issued in one shilling parts by Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row.

MIGRATION OF BUTTERFLIES, JAMAICA.

It is desines which we have witnessed in Jamaica

T is desirable to place on record the migration of

this year. I first noticed that butterflies were steering a defined course on the first Sunday in May, but they had been unusually numerous for some days before that.

Their course was from south-east to north-west. During the whole of May, and far into June, the migration continued, and always in the same direction. Singularly, very few entered houses. Their numbers varied from day to day, but occasionally one might have said, as Darwin's sailors of the Beagle did, that it was snowing butterflies. The air was thick with them. In the evenings

the drift slackened, and some of the trees near my house would be covered with as many butterflies as leaves.

I have no information as to their starting-point, but during the time they were passing Kingstown, I was informed that the flight had been met with by seamen near the Cayman Islands in long. W. 80°, about 100 miles north-west of Jamaica.

A friend gives me the names of the butterflies as Synchloë joppa (Boridv.), Kricogonia terina (Luc.), Callidryas senuæ (Linn.), and Amynthia mærula (Fabr.). The first three were in myriads, the last common, and I am doubtful how far its movements were migratory. I am told that these swarms of butterflies are well known here; this is the first time I have remarked them in a residence of four years.

The migrations are certainly not of the annual character they are in Ceylon, where I have seen them year after year; there they were never so prolonged, or the butterflies so numerous. Emerson Tennent gives as the butterflies taking part in the Ceylon migrations Callidryas hilaria, C. alcmeone, C. pyranthe, with straggling individuals of the genus Euploa.

One

All flights of butterflies have not the same direction. In Alabama in 1890, (United States Government Entomological Journal, April 1891), Callidryas enbule migrated from north-west to south-east. recent flight was from south-east to north-west. Lyell speaks of Vanessa cardui flying from north to south. Tennent's Ceylon butterflies fly northeasterly. Kirby and Spence mention a migration of bugs going west.

In these migrations an understood purpose there can hardly be; failure of food may compel emigration, but would not give direction. What impulse within or, it may be, compulsion without gives unanimity of effort to these myriads, and the resemblance of set purpose? What directs their flight, and what is the end of their journeyings?

Kingston, Jamaica.

J. W. PLAXTON.

As

CHEAP BREAD.

S a rule the price of grain, and that of wheat in particular, rises in this country when there are most, and again when there are fewest spots upon the sun, and then we may expect an outcry among agriculturists and commercial panics. We have, thanks to Professor Thorold Rogers ("A History of Agriculture and Prices in England "), over six centuries of corn statistics, and thanks to Professor Wolf, over three centuries of sun-spot statistics, to substantiate these assertions. Firstly, then we gather, that the following have been the years of most and fewest sun-spots, as observed by astronomers since the employment of the telescope in Europe. 1610, 1615, 1619, 1626, 1634, 1639, 1645, 1649, 1655, 1660, 1666, 1675, 1679, 1685, 1689, 1693,. 1698, 1705, 1712, 1718, 1723, 1727, 1734, 1738, 1745, 1750, 1755, 1761, 1766, 1769, 1775, 1778, 1784, 1788, 1798, 1804, 1810, 1816, 1823, 1829, 1833, 1837, 1843, 1848, 1855, 1860, 1867, 1870, 1878, 1882. Since the average spacing of these years is alternately eight and three years, it evidently follows that commencing with the mean year 1612, and substracting eight and three alternately, we may in approximation continue this series backwards: or commencing with the mean year 1887 and adding three and eight alternately, we may continue it prophetically forwards, leaving the revelation of the exact epochs to astronomers. Secondly we gather that the following years are those in which grain, and more especially wheat, has been highest in price in the United Kingdom. 1259, 1262, 1271, 1274, 1283, 1290, 1294, 1299, 1304, 1309, 1316, 1321, 1331, 1339, 1346, 1351, 1357, 1363, 1369, 1374, 1380, 1384, 1390, 1396, 1400, 1409, 1416, 1420, 1426, 1432, 1438, 1445, 1450, 1457, 1461, 1469, 1477, 1482, 1491, 1496, 1501, 1507, 1512, 1520, 1527, 1536, 1545, 1551, 1556, 1563, 1566, 1573, 1577-1648, 1659, 1661, 1665, 1674, 1679, 1685, 1688, 1693, 1698, 1704, 1709, 1720, 1725, 1728, 1735, 1740, 1746, 1753, 1757, 1764, 1767, 1774, 1777, 1783, 1790, 1796, 1801, 1812, 1816, 1825, 1831, 1839, 1844, 1847, 1855, 1862, 1867, 1873, 1877, 1881. As the former portion of this series of years, for the possibility of whose determination w are indebted to Professor Thorold Rogers, have the same intervals as the latter portion extracted from Government statistics; it becomes apparent that they in like manner approximate the epochs of most and fewest sun-spots; an impression that will be further confirmed on extending that series backwards in the manner suggested; so that it only remains to show why any particular years in the series do not exactly coincide with these epochs of most or fewest sunspots. Rain, rain, go to Spain," says the nursery rhyme; and here it strikes me this might occur from the circumstance that the year of most sun-spots is

not the wettest or windiest in this corner of the globe, or that the year of fewest sun-spots is not, for these are times of atmospherical disturbance depending on the brightening and tarnishing of the sun, whose cold patches must variously impinge, and quite distinct from the conception of years. Now according to Symons the wettest and most uncomfortable years to joint and sinew in Great Britain have been 1836, 1841, 1848, 1852, and 1860; but it is at once plain that these have not in the highest degree affected the price of wheat, whereas the influence of the windy or weather years 1846 and 1872 in displacement is, as might be supposed, marked. We ought also to have the statistics of other corn-producing countries, and a knowledge of import and export, to perfectly eliminate all disturbing elements; but as it is, the agreement of the two series of figures will to the unprejudiced mind appear very close; and since these are far more extensive than any Sir William Herschel can be supposed to have had at his disposal, it will be to no purpose quoting, as is too often done, his views on this subject; while we place the laurel on the shrine of his genius, and claim him as the patron and instigator of such researches. Carrington's diagram, on which the designer set little value, may be mentioned; what this chiefly shows is not how the Corn Laws came to be repealed in the aforementioned year 1846, but how the price of wheat was exaggerated during our wars with Bonaparte between 1790 and 1820. The drop in the price of corn in this country comes in the hollow of the monetary waves between the epoch of most and fewest sun-spots, and in a less degree perhaps between that of fewest and most; but this matter, as we shall see, is less curious; nor is it very clear that the remarkable falls in price are due to home produce. There was a remarkable one in 1743 and 1744.

The task is done. As I watch from my window the Wain, the reaping-hook of the north, move in its nightly course around the pole until it stands upon its handle, I recall the cornfields of the dog-days in their coat of many colours tissued with sleepy poppies, bluebottles and cockles, pheasant's-eyes and poor man's weatherglass. How I love them, for there have wandered the enchantresses of fame. The devotee of Delphi, the athlete, silly thing, with a bosom on fire like Vulcan's, chanting to the cold and fruitless moon: the more devilish Canidia, grown old and ugly; Clorinda at hide and seek in some ivy-entwined cypress; the witch of Endor, who seems to have found out how to clench matters with the bottomless pit; perhaps some Assyriologist may yet inform us how: besides which all those fairer stars who with love and song broke the bars of death. Well, I have seen the universe of suns look lovelier certainly on the corn lands of Castile than here in the Midlands, and the mystery of philters and ribbons I scarcely comprehend; at hand is but a well-thumbed Collier's English History, which when a dunce at school

SO

"The

monopolized the shining hours, wherewith to renew these forbidden delights, and here the page. close of 1857 was a gloomy time in the commercial world. Mad speculation having plunged the traders of America into difficulties, the effect was severely felt in Europe. Many long-established houses of business failed. Those that were working without capital, on accommodation-bills, speedily fell; and in the crash more than one of the banks came down, ruined by those to whom they had advanced money with reckless imprudence. It was the old story of 1720 and 1797, of 1825 and 1847, told over again-men rich in paper, dreaming that they are rich in gold." Softly, these epochs of the sun already quoted would appear to be an index to our dear wheat, our dear barley, our dear oats, our discontent and our panics. The puppets of history, they are all here, black as the damning drops from the archangel's pen, and the shock I received at the discovery caused me to fling book and paper aside as if all the suns had turned on me their batteries; while before my eyes, conjured up by the figures, undulated in lean and hungry procession, the Mad Parliament, very doubtlessly; the Black Death; Wat Tyler and Jack Straw; Jack Cade; the Defence of the Faith and the Suppression of the Monasteries; the Rack and Bonfires; Ship Money; the Headsman; the Plague and Great Fire; the South Sea Bubble. I can no more; let the intelligent reader recount if any be absent, and should he doubt my numbers let him count the grains of corn in the field until he find the error, for here is no superstition, no conjunction of heavenly bodies, no comets that come and cease to be. The morning breaks and our sun arises and shines as it has shone and will shine. The glory of Sepharvaim, of On, of Baalbec is departed, their corn-overseers have vanished, but here in my hand I hold their " Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin," safe and sure. Froude the historian seems to think that Christianity is no longer any use, and enquires, What next? But though it be scientifically possible to call to account the man of destiny and star-born hero, how about our wars in the Middle Ages, feline and fanatical, and now-adays waged with an eye to the balance of power? Are we to encourage free trade or protection? A. H. SWINTON.