Eccentricities of the Animal Creation.

by John Timbs

FOOTNOTES:

[12] The popular name of this bird is the Umbrella Bird. On its head it bears a crest, different from that of any other bird. It is formed of feathers more than two inches long, very thickly set, and with hairy plumes curving over at the end. These can be laid back so as to be hardly visible, or can be erected and spread out on every side, forming a dome completely covering the head, and even reaching beyond the point of the beak; the individual feathers then stand out something like the down-bearing seeds of the dandelion. Besides this, there is another ornamental appendage on the breast, formed by a fleshy tubercle, as thick as a quill and an inch and a-half long, which hangs down from the neck, and is thickly covered with glossy feathers, forming a large pendent plume or tassel. This, also, the bird can either press to its breast, so as to be scarcely visible, or can swell out so as almost to conceal the forepart of its body.

[13] "Athenæum," No. 1467.

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OWLS.

THESE nocturnal birds of prey have large heads and great projecting eyes, directing forwards, and surrounded with a circle of loose and delicate feathers, more or less developed, according to the nocturnal or comparatively diurnal habits of the species. The position of the eyes, giving a particular fulness and breadth to the head, has gained for the Owl the intellectual character so universally awarded to it. The concave facial disc of feathers with which they are surrounded materially aids vision by concentrating the rays of light to an intensity better suited to the opacity of the medium in which power is required to be exercised. "They may be compared," says Mr. Yarrell, "to a person near-sighted, who sees objects with superior magnitude and brilliancy when within the prescribed limits of his natural powers of vision, from the increased angle these objects subtend." Their beaks are completely curved, or raptorial; they have the power of turning the outer toe either backwards or forwards; they fly weakly, and near the ground; but, from their soft plumage, stealthily, stretching out their hind legs that they may balance their large and heavy heads. Their sense of hearing is very acute: they not only look, but listen for prey.

The Owl is a bird of mystery and gloom, and a special favourite with plaintive poets. We find him with Ariel:—

"There I couch when Owls do cry."

He figures in the nursery rhyme of "Cock Robin." In reply to "Who dug his grave?"—

"I, says the Owl, with my little shovel—

I dug his grave."

He hoots over graves, and his dismal note adds to the terror of darkness:—

"'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,

And the Owls have awakened the crowing cock;

Tu-whit! tu-whoo!

And hark again the crowing cock,

How drowsily it crew.

. . . . . . . . .

"When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,

Then nightly sings the staring Owl,

Tu-whoo!

Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot!"

Titania sings of

"The clamorous Owl, that nightly hoots and wonders

At our quaint spirits."

Bishop Hall has this "Occasional Meditation" upon the sight of an Owl in the twilight:—"What a strange melancholic life doth this creature lead; to hide her head all the day long in an ivy-bush, and at night, when all other birds are at rest, to fly abroad and vent her harsh notes. I know not why the ancients have sacred this bird to wisdom, except it be for her safe closeness and singular perspicuity; that when other domestrial and airy creatures are blind, she only hath insured light to discern the least objects for her own advantage." We may here note that Linnæus, with many other naturalists and antiquaries, have supposed the Horned Owl to have been the bird of Minerva; but Blumenbach has shown, from the ancient works of Grecian art, that it was not this, but rather some smooth-headed species, probably the Passerina, or Little Owl.

The divine has, in the above passage, overstated the melancholy of the Owl; as has also the poet, who sings:—

"From yonder ivy-mantled tower

The moping Owl does to the moon complain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient solitary reign."

Shakspeare more accurately terms her "the mousing Owl," for her nights are spent in barns, or in hunting and devouring sparrows in the churchyard elms. "Moping, indeed!" says a pleasing observer. "So far from this, she is a sprightly, active ranger of the night, who had as lief sit on a grave as a rose-bush; who is as valiant a hunter as Nimroud, chasing all sorts of game, from the dormouse to the hare and the young lamb, and devouring them, while her mate hoots to her from some picturesque ruin, and invites her, when supper is over, to return to him and her babes."

But the tricks of the Owl by night render her the terror of all other birds, great and small. In Northern Italy, persons in rustic districts which are well wooded, catch and tame an Owl, put a light chain upon her legs, and then place her on a small cross-bar on the top of a high pole, which is fixed in the earth. Half-blinded by the light, the defenceless captive has to endure patiently the jeers and insults of the dastardly tribes from the surrounding groves and thickets, who issue in clouds to scream, chirp, and flit about their enemy. Some, trusting to the swiftness of their wings, sweep close by, and peck at her feathers as they pass, and are sometimes punished by the Owl with her formidable beak for their audacity. Meanwhile, from darkened windows, sportsmen, with fowling-pieces well charged with shot, fire at the hosts of birds, wheeling, shrieking, screaming, and thickening around the Owl. All the guns are fired at once, and the grass is strewn for many yards round with the slain; while the Owl, whom they have been careful not to hit, utters a joyous whoo! whoo! at the fate of her persecutors.

Major Head thus describes the Biscacho, or Coquimbo, a curious species of Owl, found all over the pampas of South America:—"Like rabbits, they live in holes, which are in groups in every direction. These animals are never seen in the day, but as soon as the lower limb of the sun reaches the horizon, they are seen issuing from the holes. The Biscachos, when full-grown, are nearly as big as badgers, but their head resembles a rabbit's, except that they have large bushy whiskers. In the evening they sit outside the holes, and they all appear to be moralizing. They are the most serious-looking animals I ever saw; and even the young ones are grey-headed, wear moustachios, and look thoughtful and grave. In the daytime their holes are guarded by two little owls, which are never an instant away from their posts. As one gallops by these owls, they always stand looking at the stranger, and then at each other, moving their old-fashioned heads in a manner which is quite ridiculous, until one rushes by them, when they get the better of their dignified looks, and they both run into the Biscacho's hole."

Of all birds of prey, Owls are the most useful to man, by protecting his corn-fields, or granaried provision, from mice and numberless vermin. Yet, prejudice has perverted these birds into objects of superstition and consequent hate. The kind-hearted Mr. Waterton says:—"I wish that any little thing I could write or say might cause this bird to stand better with the world at large than it has hitherto done; but I have slender hope on this score, because old and deep-rooted prejudices are seldom overcome; and when I look back into annals of remote antiquity, I see too clearly that defamation has done its worst to ruin the whole family, in all its branches, of this poor, harmless, useful friend of mine."

The Barn Owl is common throughout Europe, known in Tartary, and rare in the United States of America. In England it is called the Barn Owl, the Church Owl, Gillihowlet, and Screech Owl; the last name is improperly applied, as it is believed not to hoot, though Sir William Jardine asserts that he has shot it in the act of hooting. To the screech superstition has annexed ideas of fatal portent; "but," says Charlotte Smith, "it has, of course, no more foreknowledge of approaching evil to man than the Lark: its cry is a signal to its absent mate."

"If," says Mr. Waterton, "this useful bird caught its food by day instead of hunting for it by night, mankind would have ocular demonstration of its utility in thinning the country of mice; and it would be protected and encouraged everywhere. It would be with us what the Ibis was with the Egyptians. When it has young, it will bring a mouse to the nest every twelve or fifteen minutes." Mr. Waterton saw his Barn Owl fly away with a rat which he had just shot; he also saw her drop perpendicularly into the water, and presently rise out of it with a fish in her claws, which she took to her nest.

Birds and quadrupeds, and even fish, are the food of Owls, according to the size of the species. Hares, partridges, grouse, and even the turkey, are attacked by the larger Horned Owls of Europe and America; while mice, shrews, small birds, and crabs suffice for the inferior strength of the smaller Owls. Mr. Yarrell states that the Short-eared Owl is the only bird of prey in which he ever found the remains of a bat.

William Bullock reports that a large Snowy Owl, wounded on the Isle of Baltoc, disgorged a young rabbit; and that one in his possession had in its stomach a sandpiper with its feathers entire. It preys on lemmings, hares, and birds, particularly the willow-grouse and ptarmigan. It is a dexterous fisher, grasping the fish with an instantaneous stroke of the foot as it sails along near the surface of the water, or sits on a stone in a shallow stream. It has been seen on the wing pursuing an American hare, making repeated strokes at the animal with its foot. In winter, when this Owl is fat, the Indians and white residents in the Fur Countries esteem it to be good eating; its flesh is delicately white. Small snakes are the common prey of this Owl during the daytime. And to show on what various kinds of food Owls subsist, Mr. Darwin states that a species that was killed among the islets of the Chonos Archipelago had its stomach full of good-sized crabs. Such are a few of the facts which attest the almost omnivorous appetite of the Owl.

The flight of the Snowy Owl is stronger and swifter than any other bird of the family; its ears are very large; its voice (says Pennant) adds horror even to the regions of Greenland by its hideous cries, resembling those of a man in deep distress. The eye is very curious, being immovably fixed in its socket, so that the bird, to view different objects, must always turn its head; and so excellently is the neck adapted to this purpose, that it can with ease turn the head round in almost a complete circle, without moving the body. The Virginian Eagle-Owl, amidst the forests of Indiana, utters a loud and sudden Wough O! wough O! sufficient to alarm a whole garrison; another of its nocturnal cries resembles the half-suppressed screams of a person being suffocated or throttled.

The Javanese Owl is found in the closest forests, and occasionally near villages and dwellings. Dr. Horsfield says:—"It is not, however, a favourite with the natives; various superstitious notions are also in Java associated with its visits; and it is considered in many parts of the island as portending evil." One of this species never visits the villages, but resides in the dense forests, which are the usual resort of the tiger. The natives even assert that the Wowo-wiwi approaches the animal with the same familiarity with which the jallack approaches the buffalo, and that it has no dread to alight on the tiger's back. Dr. Horsfield adds, that it has never been seen in confinement.

The Boobook Owl has the native name of Buck-buck, and it may be heard in Australia every night during winter, uttering a cry corresponding with that word. The note is somewhat similar to that of the European Cuckoo, and the colonists have given it that name. The lower order of settlers in New South Wales are led away by the idea that everything is the reverse in that country to what it is in England; and the Cuckoo, as they call this bird, singing by night, is one of the instances which they point out.

Tame Owls are described as nearly as playful, and quite as affectionate, as kittens; they will perch upon your wrist, touch your lips with their beak, and hoot to order; and they are less inclined to leave their friends than other tame birds. A writer in "Chambers's Journal" relates, that a friend lost his favourite Owl, which flew away, and was absent many days. In time, however, he came back, and resumed his habits and duties, which, for a while, went on uninterruptedly. At length, one severe autumn, he disappeared; weeks, months passed, and he returned not. One snowy night, however, as his master sat by the blazing fire, some heavy thing came bump against the shutters. "Whoo, whoo, whoo." The window was opened, and in flew the Owl, shaking the thick snow from his wings, and settling lovingly on his master's wrist, the bird's eyes dilating with delight.

The Owls at Arundel Castle have a sort of historic interest; they are kept within the circuit of the keep-tower, the most ancient and picturesque portion of the castle. Among the Australian Owls here we read of one larger than a turkey, measuring four feet across the wings when expanded. The Owl named "Lord Thurlow," from his resemblance to that Judge, is a striking specimen.

The accompanying illustration shows a fine specimen of Fraser's Eagle-Owl, brought from Fernando Po. It is the size of an ordinary fowl; colour, very dark reddish-brown mottling; back and wings passing through all shades of the same colour into nearly white on the under parts, where the feathers are barred; bill, pale greenish; eyes, nearly black.

FRASER'S EAGLE-OWL, FROM FERNANDO PO.

Among the Owls but recently described is the Masked Owl of New Holland, named from the markings of the disk of the face, somewhat grotesque; the colours are brown variegated with white. A fine specimen of the Abyssinian Owl is possessed by Mr. R. Good, of Yeovil: the bird, although quite young, is of immense size.

Lastly, the Owl is thought to be of the same sympathy or kindred likings as the Cat: a young Owl will feed well, and thrive upon fish. Cats, too, it is well known, like fish. Both the Cat and the Owl, too, feed upon mice. The sight of Owls, also, similar to that of Cats, appears to serve them best in the dark.

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WEATHER-WISE ANIMALS.

WHATEVER may be the worth of weather prognostications, it is from the animal kingdom that we obtain the majority. How these creatures become so acutely sensible of the approach of particular kinds of weather is not at present well understood. That in many cases the appearance of the heavens is not the source from which their information is derived is proved by the signs of uneasiness frequently expressed by them when, as yet, the most attentive observer can detect no signs of change, and even when they are placed in such circumstances as preclude the possibility of any instruction from this quarter. For instance. Dogs, closely confined in a room, often become very drowsy and stupid before rain; and a leech, confined in a glass of water, has been found, by its rapid motions or its quiescence, to indicate the approach of wet or the return of fair weather. Probably the altered condition of the atmosphere with regard to its electricity, which generally accompanies change of weather, may so affect their constitution as to excite in them pleasurable or uneasy sensations; though man is far from insensible to atmospheric changes, as the feelings of utter listlessness which many persons experience before rain, and the aggravated severity of toothache, headache, and rheumatism abundantly testify. The Cat licking itself is a special influence of the above electric influence, which denotes the approach of rain.

Birds, as "denizens of the air," are the surest indicators of weather changes. Thus, when swallows fly high, fine weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, or close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching; for swallows follow the flies and gnats, which delight in warm strata of air. Now, as warm air is lighter, and usually moister than cold air, when the warm strata of air are high there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by their mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down into it, a deposition of water will take place.

When Seagulls assemble on the land, very stormy and rainy weather is approaching. The cause of this migration to the land is the security of these birds finding food; and they may be observed at this time feeding greedily on the earth-worms and larvæ driven out of the ground by severe floods; whilst the fish on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the surface, and go deeper in storms. The search after food is the principal cause why animals change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always migrate when rain is about to take place.

There is a bird which takes its name from its apparent agency in tempests. Such is the Stormy Petrel, which name Hawkesworth, in his "Voyages," mentions the sailors give to the bird, but explains no further. Navigators meet with the Little Petrel, or Storm Finch, in every part of the ocean, diving, running on foot, or skimming over the highest waves. It seems to foresee the coming storm long ere the seamen can discover any signs of its approach. The Petrels make this known by congregating together under the wake of the vessel, as if to shelter themselves, and they thus warn the mariner of the coming danger. At night they set up a piercing cry. This usefulness of the bird to the sailor is the obvious cause of the latter having such an objection to their being killed.

Mr. Knapp, the naturalist, thus pictures gulls, describing the Petrel's action:—"They seem to repose in a common breeze, but upon the approach or during the continuation of a gale, they surround the ship, and catch up the small animals which the agitated ocean brings near the surface, or any food that may be dropped from the vessel. Whisking like an arrow through the deep valleys of the abyss, and darting away over the foaming crest of some mountain-wave, they attend the labouring barque in all her perilous course. When the storm subsides they retire to rest, and are seen no more."

Our sailors have, from very early times, called these birds "Mother Carey's Chickens," originally bestowed on them, Mr. Yarrell tells us, by Captain Cartaret's sailors, probably from some celebrated ideal hag of the above name. Mr. Yarrell adds:—"As these birds are supposed to be seen only before stormy weather, they are not welcome visitors," a view at variance with that already suggested.

The Editor of "Notes and Queries" considers the Petrels to have been called chickens from their diminutive size. The largest sort, "the Giant Petrel," is "Mother Carey's Goose;" its length is forty inches, and it expands seven feet. The common kind are about the size of a swallow, and weigh something over an ounce; length, six inches; expansion, thirteen inches; these are Mother Carey's chickens (Latham). It should be borne in mind that our language does not restrict the term chickens to young birds of the gallinaceous class.

The Missel-bird is another bird of this kind: in Hampshire and Sussex it is called the Storm Cock, because it sings early in the spring, in blowing, showery weather.

Petrels, by the way, are used by the inhabitants of the Faroe Islands as lamps: they pass a wick through their bodies which, when lighted, burns a long time from the quantity of fat they contain.

The Fulmar Petrel, in Boothia, follows the whale-ships, availing itself of the labours of the fishermen by feeding on the carcases of the whales when stripped of their blubber. In return the bird is exceedingly useful to the whalers by guiding them to the places where whales are most numerous, and crowding to the spots where they first appear on the surface of the water.

Wild Geese and Ducks are unquestionably weather-wise, for their early arrival from the north in the winter portends that a severe season is approaching; because their early appearance is most likely caused by severe frost having already set in at their usual summer residence. The Rev. F. O. Morris, the well-known writer on natural history, records from Nunburnholme, Yorkshire. December 5, 1864:—"This season, for the first time I have lived here, I have missed seeing the flocks of Wild Geese which in the autumnal months have heretofore wended their way overhead, year after year, as regularly as the dusk of the evening came on. Almost to the minute, and almost in the same exact course, they have flown over aloft from the feeding-places on the Wolds to their resting-places for the night; some, perhaps, to extensive commons, while others have turned off to the mud-banks of the Humber, whence they have returned with equal regularity in the morning.

"But this year I have seen not only not a single flock, but not even a single bird. One evening one of my daughters did indeed see a small flock of six, but even that small number only once. Whether it portends a very hard winter, or what the cause of it may be, I am utterly at a loss to know or even to guess. I quite miss this year the well-known cackle of the old gander as he has led the van of the flock that has followed him; now in a wide, now in a narrow, now in a short, now in a long wedge, over head, diverging just from the father of the family, or separating from time to time further back in the line.

"I may add, as a possible prognostication of future weather, that fieldfares have, I think, been unusually numerous this year, as last year they were the contrary. I have also remarked that swallows took their departure this year more than ordinarily in a body, very few stragglers being subsequently seen."

It will be sufficient to state that the mean temperature of January and February was below that of the same month in the preceding year, and that of March had not been so low for twenty years.

The opinion that sea-birds come to land in order to avoid an approaching storm is stated to be erroneous; and the cause assigned is, that as the fish upon which the birds prey go deep into the water during storms, the birds come to land merely on account of the greater certainty of finding food there than out at sea.

We add a few notes on Bird naturalists. The Redbreast has been called the Naturalist's Barometer. When on a summer evening, though it be unsettled and rainy, he sings cheerfully and sweetly on a lofty twig or housetop, it is an unerring promise of succeeding fine days. Sometimes, though the atmosphere be dry and warm, he may be seen melancholy chirping and brooding in a bush or low in a hedge; this promises the reverse. In the luxuriant forests of Brazil the Toucan may be heard rattling with his large hollow beak, as he sits on the outermost branches, calling in plaintive notes for rain.

When Mr. Loudon was at Schwetzingen, Rhenish Bavaria, in 1829, he witnessed in the post-house there for the first time what he afterwards frequently saw—an amusing application of zoological knowledge for the purpose of prognosticating the weather. Two tree-frogs were kept in a crystal jar about eighteen inches high and six inches in diameter, with a depth of three or four inches of water at the bottom, and a small ladder reaching to the top of the jar. On the approach of dry weather the frogs mounted the ladder, but when moisture was expected they descended into the water. These animals are of a bright green, and in their wild state climb the trees in search of insects, and make a peculiar singing noise before rain. In the jar they got no other food than now and then a fly; one of which, Mr. Loudon was assured, would serve a frog for a week, though it would eat from six to twelve flies in a day if it could get them. In catching the flies put alive into the jar the frogs displayed great adroitness.

Snails are extraordinary indicators of changes in the weather. Several years ago, Mr. Thomas, of Cincinnati, known as an accredited observer of natural phenomena, published some interesting accounts of Weather-wise Snails. They do not drink (he observes), but imbibe moisture in their bodies during rain, and exude it at regular periods afterwards. Then a certain snail first exudes the pure liquid; when this is exhausted, a light red succeeds, then a deep red, next yellow, and lastly a dark brown. The snail is very careful not to exude more of its moisture than is necessary. It is never seen abroad except before rain, when we find it ascending the bark of trees and getting on the leaves. The tree-snail is also seen ascending the stems of plants two days before rain: if it be a long and hard rain they get on the sheltered side of the leaf, but if a short rain the outside of the leaf. Another snail has the same habits, but differs only in colour: before rain it is yellow, and after it blue. Others show signs of rain, not only by means of exuding fluids, but by means of pores and protuberances; and the bodies of some snails have large tubercles rising from them before rain. These tubercles commence showing themselves ten days previous to the fall of rain they indicate; at the end of each of these tubercles is a pore; and at the time of the fall of rain these tubercles, with their pores opened, are stretched to their utmost to receive the water. In another kind of snail, a few days before rain appears a large and deep indentation, beginning at the head between the horns, and ending with the jointure at the shells. Other snails, a few days before the rain, crawl to the most exposed hill-side, where, if they arrive before the rain descends, they seek some crevice in the rocks, and then close the aperture of the shell with glutinous substance; this, when the rain approaches, they dissolve, and are then seen crawling about.

Our Cincinnati observer mentions three kinds of snails which move along at the rate of a mile in forty-four hours; they inhabit the most dense forests, and it is regarded as a sure indication of rain to observe them moving towards an exposed situation. Others indicate the weather not only by exuding fluids, but by the colour of the animal. After rain the snail has a very dark appearance, but it grows of a bright colour as the water is expended; whilst just before rain it is of yellowish white colour, also just before rain streaks appear from the point of the head to the jointure of the shell. These snails move at the rate of a mile in fourteen days and sixteen hours. If they are observed ascending a cliff it is a sure indication of rain: they live in the cavities of the sides of cliffs. There is also a snail which is brown, tinged with blue on the edges before rain, but black after rain: a few days before appears an indentation, which grows deeper as the rain approaches.

The leaves of trees are even good barometers: most of them for a short, light rain, will turn up so as to receive their fill of water; but for a long rain they are doubled, so as to conduct the water away. The Frog and Toad are sure indicators of rain; for, as they do not drink water but absorb it into their bodies, they are sure to be found out at the time they expect rain. The Locust and Grasshopper are also good indicators of a storm; a few hours before rain they are to be found under the leaves of trees and in the hollow trunks.

The Mole has long been recorded as a prognosticator of change of weather, before which it becomes very active. The temperature or dryness of the air governs its motions as to the depth at which it lives or works. This is partly from its inability to bear cold or thirst, but chiefly from its being necessitated to follow its natural food, the earth-worm, which always descends as the cold or drought increases. In frosty weather both worms and moles are deeper in the ground than at other times; and both seem to be sensible of an approaching change to warmer weather before there are any perceptible signs of it in the atmosphere. When it is observed, therefore, that Moles are casting hills through openings in the frozen turf or through a thin covering of snow, a change to open weather may be shortly expected. The cause of this appears to be—the natural heat of the earth being for a time pent in by the frozen surface accumulates below it; first incites to action the animals, thaws the frozen surface, and at length escapes into the air, which is warm, and softens; and if not counterbalanced by a greater degree of cold in the atmosphere brings about a change, such as from frosty to mild weather. The Mole is most active and casts up most earth immediately before rain, and in the winter before a thaw, because at those times the worms and insects begin to be in motion, and approach the surface.

Forster, the indefatigable meteorologist, has assembled some curious observations on certain animals, who, by some peculiar sensibility to electrical or other atmospheric influence, often indicate changes of the weather by their peculiar motions and habits. Thus:—

Ants.—An universal bustle and activity observed in ant-hills may be generally regarded as a sign of rain: the Ants frequently appear all in motion together, and carry their eggs about from place to place. This is remarked by Virgil, Pliny, and others.

Asses.—When donkeys bray more than ordinarily, especially should they shake their ears, as if uneasy, it is said to predict rain, and particularly showers. Forster noticed that in showery weather a donkey brayed before every shower, and generally some minutes before the rain fell, as if some electrical influence, produced by the concentrating power of the approaching rain-cloud, caused a tickling in the wind-pipe of the animal just before the shower came on. Whatever this electric state of the air preceding a shower may be, it seems to be the same that causes in other animals some peculiar sensations, which makes the peacock squall, the pintado call "come back," &c. An expressive adage says:—

"When that the ass begins to bray,

Be sure we shall have rain that day."

Haymakers may derive useful admonitions from the braying of the ass: thus the proverb:—

"Be sure to cock your hay and corn

When the old donkey blows his horn."

Bats flitting about late in the evening in spring and autumn foretel a fine day on the morrow; as do Dorbeetles and some other insects. On the contrary, when Bats return soon to their hiding-places, and send forth loud cries, bad weather may be expected.

Beetles flying about late in the evening often foretel a fine day on the morrow.

Butterflies, when they appear early, are sometimes forerunners of fine weather. Moths and Sphinxes also foretel fine weather when they are common in the evening.

Cats, when they "wash their faces," or when they seem sleepy and dull, foretel rain.

Chickens, when they pick up small stones and pebbles, and are more noisy than usual, afford a sign of rain; as do fowls rubbing in the dust, and clapping their wings; but this applies to several kinds of fowls, as well as to the gallinaceous kinds. Cocks, when they crow at unwonted hours, often foretel rain; when they crow all day, in summer particularly, a change to rain frequently follows.

Cranes were said of old to foretel rain when they retreated to the valleys, and returned from their aërial flight. The high flight of cranes in silence indicates fine weather.

Dolphins as well as Porpoises, when they come about a ship, and sport and gambol on the surface of the water, betoken a storm.

Dogs, before rain, grow sleepy and dull, lie drowsily before the fire, and are not easily aroused. They also often eat grass, which indicates that their stomachs, like ours, are apt to be disturbed before change of weather. It is also said to be a sign of change of weather when Dogs howl and bark much in the night. Dogs also dig in the earth with their feet before rain, and often make deep holes in the ground.

Ducks.—The loud and clamorous quacking of Ducks, Geese, and other water-fowl, is a sign of rain; as also when they wash themselves, and flutter about in the water more than usual. Virgil has well described all these habits of aquatic birds.

Fieldfares, when they arrive early, and in great numbers, in autumn, foreshow a hard winter, which has probably set in in the regions from which they have come.

Fishes, when they bite more readily, and gambol near the surface of streams or pools, foreshow rain.

Flies, and various sorts of insects, become more troublesome, and sting and bite more than usual, before, as well as in the intervals of rainy weather, particularly in autumn.

Frogs, by their clamorous croaking, indicate rainy weather, as does likewise their coming about in great numbers in the evening; but this last sign applies more obviously to toads.

Geese washing, or taking wing with a clamorous noise, and flying to the water, portend rain.

Gnats afford several indications. When they fly in a vortex in the beams of the setting sun they forebode fair weather; when they frisk about more widely in the open air at eventide they foreshow heat; and when they assemble under trees, and bite more than usual, they indicate rain.

Hogs, when they shake the stalks of corn, and spoil them, often indicate rain. When they run squeaking about, and jerk up their heads, windy weather is about to commence; hence the Wiltshire proverb, that "Pigs can see the wind."

Horses foretel the coming of rain by starting more than ordinarily, and by restlessness on the road.

Jackdaws are unusually clamorous before rain, as are also Starlings. Sometimes before change of weather the daws make a great noise in the chamber wherein they build.

Kine (cattle) are said to foreshow rain when they lick their fore-feet, or lie on their right side. Some say oxen licking themselves against the hair is a sign of wet.

Kites, when they soar very high in the air, denote fair weather, as do also Larks.

Magpies, in windy weather, often fly in small flocks of three or four together, uttering a strong harsh cry.

Mice when they squeak much, and gambol in the house, foretel a change of weather, and often rain.

Owls.—When an owl hoots or screeches, sitting on the top of a house, or by the side of a window, it is said to foretel death. "The fact," says Forster, "seems to be this: the Owl, as Virgil justly observes, is more noisy at the change of weather, and as it often happens that patients with lingering diseases die at the change of weather, so the Owl seems, by a mistaken association of ideas, to forebode the calamity."

Peacocks squalling by night often foretel a rainy day. Forster adds, "This prognostic does not often fail; and the indication is made more certain by the crowing of Cocks all day, the braying of the Donkey, the low flight of Swallows, the aching of rheumatic persons, and by the frequent appearance of spiders on the walls of the house."

Pigeons.—It is a sign of rain when Pigeons return slowly to the dove-houses before the usual time of day.

Ravens, when observed early in the morning, at a great height in the air, soaring round and round, and uttering a hoarse, croaking sound, indicate that the day will be fine. On the contrary, this bird affords us a sign of coming rain by another sort of cry; the difference between these two voices being more easily learned from nature than described. The Raven frequenting the shore and dipping himself in the water is also a sign of rain.

Redbreasts, when they, with more than usual familiarity, lodge on our window-frames, and peck against the glass with their bills, indicate severe weather, of which they have a presentiment, which brings them nearer to the habitations of man.

Rooks gathering together, and returning home from their pastures early, and at unwonted hours, forebode rain. When Rooks whirl round in the air rapidly, and come down in small flocks, making a roaring noise with their wings, rough weather invariably follows. On the contrary, when Rooks are very noisy about their trees, and fly about as if rejoicing, Virgil assures us they foresee a return of fine weather, and an end of the showers.

Spiders, when seen crawling on the walls more than usual, indicate rain. "This prognostic," says Forster, "seldom fails, I have noticed it for many years, particularly in winter, but more or less at all times of the year. In summer the quantity of webs of the garden spiders denote fair weather."

Swallows, in fine and settled weather, fly higher in the air than they do just before or during a showery or rainy time. Then, also, Swallows flying low, and skimming over the surface of a meadow where there is tolerably long grass, frequently stop, and hang about the blades, as if they were gathering insects lodged there.

Swans, when they fly against the wind, portend rain, a sign frequently fulfilled.

Toads, when they come from their holes in an unusual number in the evening, although the ground be still dry, foreshow the coming rain, which will generally fall more or less during the night.

Urchins of the Sea, a sort of fish, when they thrust themselves into the mud, and try to cover their bodies with sand, foreshow a storm.

Vultures, when they scent carrion at a great distance, indicate that state of the atmosphere which is favourable to the perception of smells, and this often forebodes rain.

Willow Wrens are frequently seen, in mild and still rainy weather, flitting about the willows, pines, and other trees, in quest of insects.

Woodcocks appear in autumn earlier, and in greater numbers, previous to severe winters; as do Snipes and other winter birds.

Worms come forth more abundantly before rain, as do snails, slugs, and almost all limaceous animals.

Some birds build their nests weather-proof, as ascertained by careful observation of Mr. M. W. B. Thomas, of Cincinnati, Ohio. Thus, when a pair of migratory birds have arrived in the spring, they prepare to build their nest, making a careful reconnaissance of the place, and observing the character of the season. If it be a windy one, they thatch the straw and leaves on the inside of the nest, between the twigs and the lining; if it be very windy, they get pliant twigs, and bind the nest firmly to the limb of the tree, securing all the small twigs with their saliva. If they fear the approach of a rainy season, they build their nests so as to be sheltered from the weather; but if a pleasant one, they build in a fair open place, without taking any of these extra precautions.

Of all writers, Dr. Darwin has given us the most correct account of the "Signs of Rain," in a poetical description of the approach of foul weather, as follows. This passage has been often quoted, but, perhaps, never exceeded in the accuracy of its phenomenal observation:—

"The hollow winds begin to blow;

The clouds look black, the glass is low;

The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep;

And spiders from their cobwebs peep.

Last night the sun went pale to bed;

The moon in haloes hid her head;

The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,

For, see, a rainbow spans the sky.

The walls are damp, the ditches smell,

Clos'd is the light red pimpernel.

Hark! how the chairs and tables crack,

Old Betty's joints are on the rack;

Her corns with shooting pains torment her,

And to her bed untimely send her.

Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowls cry,

The distant hills are looking nigh.

How restless are the snorting swine!

The busy flies disturb the kine.

Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,

The cricket, too, how sharp he sings!

Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,

Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws.

The smoke from chimneys right ascends;

Then spreading back, to earth it bends.

The wind unsteady veers around,

Or settling in the South is found.

Through the clear stream the fishes rise,

And nimbly catch th' incautious flies.

The glowworms num'rous, clear, and bright,

Illum'd the dewy hill last night.

At dusk, the squalid toad was seen,

Like quadruped, stalk o'er the green.

The whirling wind the dust obeys,

And in the rapid eddy plays.

The frog has chang'd his yellow vest,

And in a russet coat is drest.

The sky is green, the air is still,

The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.

The dog, so altered is his taste,

Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast.

Behold the rooks, how odd their flight,

They imitate the gliding kite,

And seem precipitate to fall.

As if they felt the piercing ball.

The tender colts on banks do lie,

Nor heed the traveller passing by.

In fiery red the sun doth rise,

Then wades through clouds to mount the skies.

''Twill surely rain, we see 't with sorrow,

No working in the fields to-morrow.'"

The Shepherd of Banbury says:—"The surest and most certain sign of rain is taken from Bees, which are more incommoded by rain than almost any other creatures; and, therefore, as soon as the air begins to grow heavy, and the vapours to condense, they will not fly from their hives, but either remain in them all day, or else fly but to a small distance." Yet Bees are not always right in their prognostics, for Réaumur witnessed a swarm which, after leaving the hive at half-past one o'clock, were overtaken by a heavy shower at three.

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FISH-TALK.

MAN favours wonders;" and this delight is almost endlessly exemplified in the stories of strange Fishes—of preternatural size and odd forms, which are to be found in their early history. In our present Talk we do not aim at re-assembling these olden tales, but propose rather to glance at recent accessions to our acquaintance with the study of Fish-life, and a few modern instances of the class of wonders.

Fishes, like all other animals, have a very delicate sense of the equilibrial position of their bodies. They endeavour to counteract all change in their position by means of movements partly voluntary and partly instinctive. These latter appear in a very remarkable manner in the eye; and they are so constant and evident in fishes while alive, that their absence is sufficient to indicate the death of the animal. The equilibrium of the fish, its horizontal position, with the back upwards, depends solely on the action of the fins, and principally that of the vertical fins. The swimming-bladder may enable a fish to increase or diminish its specific gravity. By compressing the air contained in it, the fish descends in the water; it rises by releasing the muscles which produced the compression. By compressing more or less the posterior or anterior portion of the bladder, the animal, at pleasure, can make the anterior or posterior half of its body lighter; it can also assume an oblique position, which permits an ascending or descending movement in the water.

There is a small fish found in the rivers of the Burmese Empire, which, on being taken out of the water, has the power of blowing itself up to the shape of a small round ball, but its original shape is resumed as soon as it is returned to the river.

Mr. St. John, in his "Tour in Eastern Lanarkshire," gives some curious instances of fish changing colour, which takes place with surprising rapidity. Put a living black burn Trout into a white basin of water, and it becomes, within half an hour, of a light colour. Keep the fish living in a white jar for some days, and it becomes absolutely white; but put it into a dark-coloured or black vessel, and although on first being placed there the white-coloured fish shows most conspicuously on the black ground, in a quarter of an hour it becomes as dark-coloured as the bottom of the jar, and consequently difficult to be seen. No doubt this facility of adapting its colour to the bottom of the water in which it lives, is of the greatest service to the fish in protecting it from its numerous enemies. All anglers must have observed, that in every stream the Trout are very much of the same colour as the gravel or sand on which they live: whether this change of colour is a voluntary or involuntary act on the part of the fish, the scientific must determine.

Anglers of our time have proved that Tench croak like frogs; Herrings cry like mice; Gurnards grunt like hogs; and some say the Gurnard makes a noise like a cuckoo, from which he takes one of his country names. The Maigre, a large sea-fish, when swimming in shoals, utters a grunting or piercing noise, that may be heard from a depth of twenty fathoms.

M. Dufossé asserts that facts prove that nature has not refused to all fishes the power of expressing their instinctive sensations by sounds, but has not conferred on them the unity of mechanism in the formation of sonorous vibrations as in other classes of vertebrated animals. Some fishes, he says, are able to emit musical tones, engendered by a mechanism in which the muscular vibration is the principal motive power; others possess the faculty of making blowing sounds, like those of certain reptiles; and others can produce the creaking noise resembling that of many insects. These phenomena M. Dufossé has named "Fish-noise."

The River Plate swarms with fish, and is the habitat of one possessed of a very sonorous voice, like that found in the River Borneo—the account of which is quoted by Dr. Buist from the Journal of the Samarang; and there is similar testimony of a loud piscatory chorus being heard on board H.M.S. Eagle, anchored, in 1845-6, about three miles from Monte Video, during the night.

That fishes hear has been doubted, although John Hunter was of this opinion, and has been followed by many observers. When standing beside a person angling, how often is the request made not to make a noise, as that would alarm the fish. On the other hand, the Chinese drive the fish up to that part of the river where their nets are ready to capture them by loud yells and shouts, and the sound of gongs; but old Æsop writes of a fisherman who caught no fish because he alarmed them by playing on his flute while fishing. In Germany the Shad is taken by means of nets, to which bows of wood, hung with a number of little bells, are attached in such a manner as to chime in harmony when the nets are moved. The Shad, when once attracted by the sound, will not attempt to escape while the bells continue to ring. Ælian says the Shad is allured by castanets. Macdiarmid, who declares that fishes hear as well as see, relates that an old Codfish, the patriarch of the celebrated fish-pond at Logan, "answered to his name; and not only drew near, but turned up his snout most beseechingly when he heard the monosyllable 'Tom;' and that he evidently could distinguish the voice of the fisherman who superintended the pond, and fed the fish, from that of any other fisherman." In the "Kaleidoscope" mention is made of three Trout in a pond near the powder-mills at Faversham, who were so tame as to come at the call of the person accustomed to feed them. Izaak Walton tells of a Carp coming to a certain part of a pond to be fed "at the ringing of a bell, or the beating of a drum;" and Sir John Hawkins was assured by a clergyman, a friend of his, that at the Abbey of St. Bernard, near Antwerp, he saw a Carp come to the edge of the water to be fed, at the whistle of the person who fed it. The Carp at Fontainebleau, inhabiting the lake adjoining the Imperial Palace, are of great size, and manifest a curious instinct. A Correspondent of the "Athenæum" remarks:—

"Enjoying entire immunity from all angling arts and lures, the Fontainebleau Carp live a life of great enjoyment, marred only, we imagine, by their immense numbers causing the supply of food to be somewhat below their requirements. It is not, however, very easy to define what a Carp's requirements in the form of pabulum are, as he is a voracious member of the ichthyological family, eating whenever he has an opportunity until absolutely surfeited. His favourite food consists of vegetable substances masticated by means of flat striated teeth, which work with a millstone kind of motion against a singular process of the lower part of the skull covered with horny plates. When this fish obtains an abundant supply of food it grows to an enormous size. Several continental rivers and lakes are very congenial to Carp, and especially the Oder, where this fish occasionally attains the enormous weight of 60 lb. It is not probable that any Carp in the lake at Fontainebleau are so large as this; but there are certainly many weighing 50 lb., patriarchs of their kind, which, though olive-hued in their tender years, are now white with age. That the great size of these fish is due to ample feeding is, we think, evident, and, as we shall see presently, it is the large fish that are the best fed. During many years the feeding of the Carp at Fontainebleau has been a favourite Court pastime. But it is from the visitors who frequent Fontainebleau during a great part of the year that the Carp receive their most bountiful rations. For big Carp have an enormous swallow, soft penny rolls being mere mouthfuls, bolted with ostrich-like celerity. So to prevent the immediate disappearance of these bonnes bouches, bread, in the form of larger balls than the most capacious Carp can take into his gullet, is baked until it becomes as hard as biscuit, and with these balls the Carp are regailed. Throw one into the lake, and you will quickly have an idea of the enormous Carp population it contains. For no sooner does the bread touch the water than it is surrounded by hundreds of these fish, which dart to it from all sides. And now, if you look attentively, you will witness a curious display of instinct, which might almost take a higher name. Conscious, apparently, of their inability to crush these extremely hard balls, the Carp combine with surprising unanimity to push them to that part of the lake with their noses where it is bounded by a wall, and when there they butt at them, until at last their repeated blows and the softening effect of the water causes them to yield and open. And now you will see another curious sight. While shoals of Carp have been pounding away at the bread-balls, preparing them for being swallowed, some dozen monsters hover round, indifferent, apparently, to what is passing. But not so, for no sooner is the bread ready for eating, than two or three of these giants, but more generally one—the tyrant, probably, of the lake—rush to the prize, cleaving the shoals of smaller Carp, and shouldering them to the right and left, seize the bread with open jaws, between which it quickly disappears."

Some of the finest and oldest Carp are found in the windings of the Spree, in the tavern-gardens of Charlottenburg, the great resort of strollers from Berlin. Visitors are in the habit of feeding them with bread, and collect them together by ringing a bell, at the sound of which shoals of the fish may be seen popping their noses upwards from the water.

The affection of fishes has only been properly understood of late years. It might be supposed that little natural affection existed in this cold-blooded race; and, in fact, fishes constantly devour their own eggs, and, at a later period, their own young, without compunction or discrimination. Some few species bear their eggs about with them until hatched. This was long thought to be the utmost extent of care which fishes lavished on their young; but Dr. Hancock has stepped in to rescue at least one species from this unmerited charge. "It is asserted," he says, "by naturalists, that no fishes are known to take any care of their offspring. Both species of Hassar mentioned below, however, make a regular nest, in which they lay their eggs in a flattened cluster, and cover them over most carefully. Their care does not end here; they remain by the side of the nest till the spawn is hatched, with as much solicitude as a hen guards her eggs, both the male and female Hassar, for they are monogamous, steadily watching the spawn and courageously attacking the assailant. Hence the negroes frequently take them by putting their hands into the water close to the nest, on agitating which the male Hassar springs furiously at them, and is thus captured. The roundhead forms its nest of grass, the flathead of leaves. Both, at certain seasons, burrow in the bank. They lay their eggs only in wet weather. I have been surprised to observe the sudden appearance of numerous nests in a morning after rain occurs, the spot being indicated by a bunch of froth which appears on the surface of the water over the nest. Below this are the eggs, placed on a bunch of fallen leaves or grass, which they cut and collect together. By what means this is effected seems rather mysterious, as the species are destitute of cutting-teeth. It may, possibly, be by the use of their arms, which form the first ray of the pectoral fin."

There is another operation by fishes, which seems to require almost equal experience. Professor Agassiz, while collecting insects along the shores of Lake Sebago, in Maine, observed a couple of Cat-fish, which, at his approach, left the shore suddenly, and returned to the deeper water. Examining the place which the fishes had left, he discovered a nest among the water-plants, with a number of little tadpoles. In a few moments the two fishes returned, looking anxiously towards the nest, and approached within six or eight feet of where Professor Agassiz stood. They were evidently not in search of food, and he became convinced that they were seeking the protection of their young. Large stones, thrown repeatedly into the middle of the nest after the fishes had returned to it, only frightened them away for a brief period, and they returned to the spot within ten or fifteen minutes. This was repeated four or five times with the same result. This negatives the assertion made by some naturalists—that no fishes are known to take any care of their offspring.

But affection is scarcely to be looked for where the offspring is so very numerous as to put all attempts at even recognising them out of the question. How could the fondest mother love 100,000 little ones at once? Yet the number is far exceeded by some of the matrons of the deep. Petit found 300,000 eggs in a single carp; Lenwenhoeck 9,000,000 in a single cod; Mr. Harmer found in a sole 100,000; in a tench 300,000; in a mackerel 500,000; and in a flounder 1,357,000. [14] M. Rousseau disburthened a pike of 160,000, and a sturgeon of 1,567,000, while from this latter class has been gotten 119 pounds weight of eggs, which, at the rate of 7 to a grain, would give a total amount of 7,653,200 eggs! If all these came to maturity the world would be in a short time nothing but fish: means, however, amply sufficient to keep down this unwelcome superabundance have been provided. Fish themselves, men, birds, other marine animals, to say nothing of the dispersions produced by storms and currents, the destruction consequent on their being thrown on the beach and left there to dry up, all combine to diminish this excessive supply over demand. Yet, on the other hand (so wonderfully are all the contrivances of nature so harmonized and balanced), one of these apparent modes of destruction becomes an actual means of extending the species. The eggs of the pike, barbel, and many other fish, says M. Virey, are rendered indigestible by an acid oil which they contain, and in consequence of which they are passed in the same condition as they were swallowed; the result of which is, that being taken in by ducks, grebes, or other water-fowls, they are thus transported to situations, such as inland lakes, which otherwise they could never have attained; and in this way only can we account for the fact, now well ascertained, that several lakes in the Alps, formed by the thawing of the glaciers, are now abundantly stocked with excellent fish.

Little fishes are ordinarily the food of larger marine animals; but a remarkable exception occurs in the case of the larger Medusæ, which are stated in various works to prey upon fishes for sustenance. Mr. Peach, the naturalist, has, however, by observations at Peterhead, in Aberdeenshire, thus corrected this statement. He observed several small fishes playing round the larger Medusæ in the harbour and bay. When alarmed, they would rush under the umbrella, and remain sheltered in its large folds till the danger had passed, when they would emerge, and sport and play about their sheltering friend. When beneath the umbrella they lay so close that they were frequently taken into a bucket with the Medusæ. They proved to be young whitings, varying from 1-1/2 to 2 inches long. These little creatures, so far from becoming the prey of the Medusæ, experienced from them protection; and, moreover, they preferred the stinging one. In no instance did Mr. Peach see a fish in the stomach of the Medusæ, but all could liberate themselves when they pleased. In one case, Mr. Peach witnessed a small whiting, in the first instance chased by a single young pollack, whose assault the little fellow easily evaded by dodging about; but the chaser being joined by others, the whiting was driven from its imperfect shelter, and after being much bitten and dashed about by its assailants, became at length completely exhausted, and lay to all appearance dead. Recovering, however, after action, it swam slowly to the Medusæ, and took refuge as before; but its movements being soon observed, it was again attacked, after a very brief respite, driven into open water, and speedily despatched.

Fishes appear to execute annually two great migrations. By one of these shiftings they forsake the deep water for a time, and approach the shallow shores, and by the other they return to their more concealed haunts. These movements are connected with the purposes of spawning, the fry requiring to come into life, and to spend a certain portion of their youth in situations different from those which are suited to the period of maturity. It is in obedience to these arrangements that the Cod and Haddock, the Mackerel, and others, annually leave the deeper and less accessible parts of the ocean, the region of the zoophytic tribes, and deposit their spawn within that zone of marine vegetation which fringes our coasts, extending from near the high-water mark of neap-tides to a short distance beyond the low-water mark of spring-tides. Amidst the shelter in this region afforded by the groves of arborescent fuci, the young fish were wont in comfort to spend their infancy, but since these plants have been so frequently cut down to procure materials for the manufacture of kelp, and the requisite protection withdrawn, the fisheries have greatly suffered. Many species of fish, as the Salmon, Smelt, and others, in forsaking the deep water, and approaching a suitable spawning station, leave the sea altogether for a time, ascend the rivers and their tributary streams, and, having deposited their eggs, return again to their usual haunts. Even a certain species of fish, inhabiting lakes, as the Roach, betake themselves to the tributary streams, as the most suitable places for spawning.

The Goramy, of India, are stated by General Hardwicke to watch most actively the margins of the spot which they select and prepare for depositing their spawn, driving away with violence every other fish which approaches their cover. The General adds that from the time he first noticed this circumstance about one month had elapsed, when one day he saw numerous minute fishes close to the margin of the grass, on the outer side of which the parent fishes continued to pass to and fro.

There is a species of Grampus from two to three tons weight, and about sixteen feet in length, that amuses itself with jumping, or rather springing its ponderous body entirely out of the water, in a vertical position, and falling upon its back. This effort of so large a fish is almost incredible, and informs us how surprisingly great the power of muscle must be in this class of animal. A Correspondent writes to the "United Service Journal":—"I have seen them spring out of the water within ten yards of the ship's side, generally in the evening, after having swam all the former part of the day in the ship's wake, or on either quarter. When several of these fish take it into their heads to 'dance a hornpipe,' as the sailors term their gambols, at the distance of half a mile, they, especially at or just after sundown, may easily be mistaken for the sharp points of rocks sticking up out of the water, and the splashing and foam they make and produce have the appearance of the action of waves upon rocks. An officer of the navy informed me that, after sunset, when near the equator, he was not a little alarmed and surprised at the cry of 'rocks on the starboard bow!' Looking forward, he indistinctly saw objects which he and all on board took to be pinnacles of several rocks of a black and white colour. In a short time, however, he discovered this formidable danger to be nothing more than a company of dancing Grampuses with white bellies. As one disappeared, another rose; so that there were at least five or six constantly above the surface."

Captain Owen relates that "the Bonita has the power of throwing itself out of the water to an almost incredible distance when in pursuit of its prey, the Flying Fish; and, the day previous to our arrival at Mozambique, one of these fish rose close under our bow, and passed under the vessel's side, and struck with such force against the poop, that, had any one received the blow, it must have been fatal. Stunned by the violence of the contact, it fell motionless at the helmsman's feet; but, soon recovering, its struggles were so furious that it became necessary to inflict several blows with an axe before it could be approached with safety. The greatest elevation it attained above the surface of water was eighteen feet, and the length of the leap, had no opposition occurred, would have exceeded 180."

Of winged or Flying Fish we find this extravagant account in a philosophical romance, entitled, "Telliamed," by M. Maillet, an ingenious Frenchman, of the days of Louis XV.:—

He believed, like Lamarck, that the whole family of birds had existed one time as fishes, which, on being thrown ashore by the waves, had got feathers by accident; and that men themselves are but the descendants of a tribe of sea-monsters, who, tiring of their proper element, crawled upon the beach one sunny morning, and, taking a fancy to the land, forgot to return. The account is as amusing as a fairy tale. "Winged or Flying Fish," says Maillet, "stimulated by the desire of prey, or the fear of death, or pushed near the shore by the billows, have fallen among the reeds or herbage, whence it was not possible for them to resume their flight to the sea, by means of which they had contracted their first facility of flying. Then their fins, being no longer bathed in the sea-water, were split and became warped by their dryness. While they found among the reeds and herbage among which they fell many aliments to support them, the vessels of their fins being separated, were lengthened, or clothed with beards, or, to speak more justly, the membranes which before kept them adherent to each other were metamorphosed. The beard formed of these warped membranes was lengthened. The skin of these animals was insensibly covered with a down of the same colour with the skin, and this down gradually increased. The little wings they had under their belly, and which, like their wings, helped them to walk into the sea, became feet, and helped them to walk on the land. There were also other small changes in their figure. The beak and neck of some were lengthened, and of others shortened. The conformity, however, of the first figure subsists in the whole, and it will be always easy to know it. Examine all the species of fowl, even those of the Indies, those which are tufted or not, those whose feathers are reversed—such as we see at Damietta, that is to say, whose plumage runs from the tail to the head—and you will see fine species of fish quite similar, scaly or without scales. All species of Parrots, whose plumages are different, the rarest and most singular marked birds, are, conformable to fact, painted, like them, black, brown, grey, yellow, green, red, violet colour, and those of gold and azure; and all this precisely in the same parts, where the plumages of these birds are diversified in so curious a manner."

The Jaculator Fish, of Java, has been called "a sporting fish," from the precision with which it takes aim at its prey. In 1828 Mr. Mitchell saw several of these fishes in the possession of a Javanese chief; and here is the account of the curious manner in which these Jaculators were employed. They were placed in a small circular pond, from the centre of which projected a pole upwards of two feet in height. At the top of the pole were inserted small pieces of wood, sharp-pointed, and on each of these were placed insects of the beetle tribe. When the slaves had placed the beetles, the fish came out of their holes, and swam round the pond. One of them came to the surface of the water, rested there, and after steadily fixing its eyes for some time on an insect, it discharged from its mouth a small quantity of watery fluid, with such force, and precision of aim, as to strike it off the twig into the water, and in an instant swallowed it. After this, another fish came, and performed a similar feat, and was followed by the others, until they had secured all the insects. If a fish failed in bringing down its prey at the first shot, it swam round the pond till it came opposite the same object, and fired again. In one instance, a fish returned three times to the attack before it secured its prey; but in general the fish seemed very expert gunners, bringing down the beetle at the first shot. The fish, in a state of nature, frequents the shores and sides of the rivers in search of food. When it spies a fly sitting on the plants that grow on shallow water, it swims on to the distance of five or six feet from them, and then, with surprising dexterity, it ejects out of its tubular mouth a single drop of water, which rarely fails to strike the fly into the sea, where it soon becomes its prey.

Curious fish, in great numbers, may be seen in the Harbour of Port Royal, Jamaica, on the surface of the water, and are ranked among the peculiarities of the place. They are the Guardo, or Guard-Fish; the Jack (Sword-Fish); and the Ballahou. The Jack is the largest, and appears to be always at war with the two others; it is armed with formidable teeth; it basks on the surface of the water during the heat of the day, in a sort of indolent, unguarded state; but this is assumed, the better to ensnare the other fish, and to catch the floating bodies that may happen to pass near it; for the moment anything is thrown into the sea from the ship, the Jack darts with the rapidity of lightning upon it, and seizing it as quickly, retreats. This Warrior-fish possesses a foresight or instinctive quality which we see sometimes exemplified in different animals, almost amounting to second reason, such as the sagacity it displays in avoiding the hook when baited; although extremely voracious, it seems aware of the lure held out for its destruction, and avoids it with as much cunning as the generality of fishes show eagerness to devour it. The situation it takes, immediately in the wake of the ship at anchor, is another instance of its sagacity; as whatever is thrown overboard passes astern, where the fish is ever on the alert for the articles thrown over. No other fish of equal size dare approach. The Jack is, however, sometimes enticed with the bait; but he is more frequently struck with a barbed lance, or entrapped in a net. The Guardo has similar habits with the Jack, but is generally beaten by him; yet the former tyrannizes with unrelenting rigour over the weaker associate, the Ballahou.

The tiger of the ocean, the Shark, is often cruising about Port Royal, but rarely injures human life. At Kingston, however, such distressing events often occur. There was a pet Shark known as "Old Tom of Port Royal;" it was fed whenever it approached any of the ships, but was at last killed by the father of a child which it had devoured. Whilst it remained here, no other of the Shark tribe dare venture on his domain; he reigned lord paramount in his watery empire, and never committed any depredation but that for which he suffered.

Attending the Shark is seen the beautiful little Pilot Fish, who, first approaching the bait, returns as if to give notice, when, immediately after, the Shark approaches to seize it. It is a curious circumstance, that this elegant little fish is seen in attendance only upon the Shark. After the Shark is hooked, the Pilot Fish still swims about, and for some time after he has been hauled on deck; it then swims very near the surface of the water. When the Shark has been hooked, and afterwards escapes, he generally returns, and renews the attack with increased ferocity, irritated often by the wound he has received.

Sharks appear to have become of late years much more numerous in Faroe, as they have also in other parts of the North Seas, especially on the coast of Norway.

The reader may, probably, have found on the sea-shore certain cases, which are fancifully called sea-purses, Mermaids' purses, &c. Now, some Sharks bring forth their young alive, whilst others are enclosed in oblong semi-transparent, horny cases, at each extremity of which are two long tendrils. These cases are the above purses, which the parent Shark deposits near the shore in the winter months. The twisting tendrils hang to sea-weed, or other fixed bodies, to prevent the cases being washed away into deep water. Two fissures, one at each end, allow the admission of sea-water; and here the young Shark remains until it has acquired the power of taking food by the mouth, when it leaves what resembles its cradle. The young fish ultimately escapes by an opening at the end, near which the head is situated.

California has yielded an extraordinary novelty in fish history. In 1854 Mr. Jackson, while fishing in San Salita Bay, caught with a hook and line a fish of the perch family containing living young. These were supposed to be the prey which the fish had swallowed, but on opening the belly was found next to the back of the fish, and slightly attached to it, a long very light violet bag, so clear and transparent that there could already be distinguished through it the shape, colour, and formation of a multitude of small fish (all facsimiles of each other), with which the bag was filled. They were in all respects like the mother, and like each other; and there cannot remain a single doubt that these young were the offspring of the fish from whose body they were taken; and that this species of fish gives birth to her young alive and perfectly formed, and adapted to seek its own livelihood in the water. Professor Agassiz has confirmed the truth of this extraordinary statement by a careful examination of the specimens, and has ascertained that there are two very distinct species of this remarkable type of fishes.

Tales of "Wonderful Fish" are common in the works of the old naturalists, whence they are quoted from generation to generation. Sir John Richardson has lately demolished one queer fish, which was as certain to reappear whenever opportunity offered, as the elephant pricked with the tailor's needle does in books of stories of the animal world. We allude to that monstrous myth, the great Manheim Pike, with a collar round his neck, put into a lake by the Emperor Frederick II. in the year 1230; and taken out in the 276th year of his age, the 17th foot of his length, and the 350th pound of his weight. M. Valenciennes, a naturalist of repute, has entered into a critical history of this monster, and has found him to be apocryphal. The creature was, at any rate, taken in several places at once, the legends written on his brass collar do not agree, and his alleged skeleton has been found to be made up of various bones of various fishes; while the vertebræ are, unfortunately, so many, that Professor Owen would order him out of Court in an instant as a rank impostor. Probably some specimen of the Mecho, the monstrous fish of the Danube—which has even now been scarcely described, and which has only recently been identified as one of the salmon tribe—having been called a pike, may be at the bottom of the legend of the great Manheim fish. But Sir John Richardson produces another big pike, killed by an intrepid "angler seventy years of age, with a single rod and bait"—an observation which leads to the inquiry of the possibility of catching a single fish with more than one rod and bait—"that weighed seventy-eight pounds." This is stated to have happened in the county of Clare; the angler's name was O'Flanagan.

Here is another wonderful story:—The Bohemians have a proverb—"Every fish has another for prey:" that named the Wels has them all. This is the largest fresh-water fish found in the rivers of Europe, except the sturgeon; it often reaches five or six feet in length. It destroys many aquatic birds, and we are assured that it does not spare the human species. On the 3d of July, 1700, a peasant took one near Thorn, that had an infant entire in its stomach! They tell in Hungary of children and young girls being devoured on going to draw water; and they even relate that, on the frontiers of Turkey, a poor fisherman took one that had in its stomach the body of a woman, her purse full of gold, and a ring! The fish is even reported to have been taken sixteen feet long. The old stories of rings found in the stomachs of fishes will be remembered; as well as here and there a book found in the stomach of a fish!

The Sun-fish is exceedingly rare. A large specimen was captured off Start Point in 1864. Attention was first drawn to a huge dark object on the water. On a boat being sent out, it was soon discovered to be the back fin of a very large fish, apparently asleep. A very exciting chase commenced, extending over an hour, the crew meanwhile battling with harpoons, boat-hooks, &c.; the fish trying several times to upset the boat by getting his back under it. At length a line was thrown over its head, and the fish, being weakened by the struggle, was towed alongside the yacht, hoisted on board, and slaughtered. Yarrell, in his work on British Fishes, states the largest Sun-fish to be about 3 cwt., but the above specimen weighed nearly 6 cwt. Sun-fish are found occasionally in the tropical seas of large dimensions, but those found in the Channel seldom if ever exceed from 1 cwt. to 2 cwt. The peculiarities in regard to this fish are, that it has no bones, but the whole of the formation is of cartilage, which can easily be cut with a knife. The skin is cartilage of about an inch and a-half thick, under which there is no backbone or ribs. This specimen was of extraordinary dimensions—5 ft. 10 in. in length, and 7 ft. from the tip of the dorsal to the point of the anal fin.

The "Courrier de Sagon" brings, as a contribution to Natural History, the not very credible-sounding description of a fish called "Ca-oug" in the Anamite tongue, which is said to have saved the lives already of several Anamites; for which reason the King of Anam has invested it with the name of "Nam hai dui bnong gnan" (Great General of the South Sea). This fish is said to swim round ships near the coast, and, when it sees a man in the water, to seize him with his mouth, and to carry him ashore. A skeleton of this singular inhabitant of the deep is to be seen at Wung-tau, near Cape St. James. It is reported to be thirty-five feet in length, to have tusks "almost like an elephant," very large eyes, a black and smooth skin, a tail like a lobster, and two "wings" on its back. [15]

The Grouper must be a voracious fish, for we read of a specimen being caught off the coast of Queensland, which is thus described:—"It was 7 ft. long, 6 ft. in circumference at its thickest part, and its head weighed 80 lb. When opened, there were found in its stomach two broken bottles, a quart pot, a preserved milk tin, seven medium-sized crabs; a piece of earthenware, triangular in shape, and three inches in length, incrusted with oyster shells, a sheep's head, some mutton and beef bones, and some loose oyster shells. The spine of a skate was imbedded in the Grouper's liver."

The Double-fish, here represented, is a pair of Cat-fish, which were taken alive in a shrimp-net, at the mouth of Cape Fear River, near Fort Johnston. North Carolina, in 1833, and presented to Professor Silliman. One of them is three and a-half, and the other two and a-half inches long, including the tail—the smallest emaciated, and of sickly appearance. They are connected in the manner of the Siamese Twins, by the skin at the breast, which is marked by a dark streak at the line of union. The texture and colour otherwise of this skin is the same as that of the belly. The mouth, viscera, &c., were entire and perfect in each fish; but, on withdrawing the entrails, through an incision made on one side of the abdomen, the connecting integument was found to be hollow. A flexible probe was passed through from one to the other, with the tender and soft end of a spear of grass, drawn from a green plant. But there was no appearance of the entrails of one having come in contact with those of the other, for the integument was less than one-tenth of an inch in its whole thickness; in length, from the body or trunk of one fish to the other, it was three-tenths; and in the water, when the largest fish was in its natural position, the small one could, by the length and pliancy of this skin, swim in nearly the same position. When these fish came into existence it is probable they were of almost equal size and strength, but one "born to better fortune," or exercising more ingenuity and industry than the other, gained a trifling ascendency, which he improved to increase the disparity, and, by pushing his extended mouth in advance of the other, seized the choicest and most of the food for himself.

From the northern parts of British America we have received extraordinary contributions to our fish collections. One of these is the Square-browed Malthe, obtained in one of the land expeditions under the command of Captain Sir John Franklin. R.N. It was taken on the Labrador coast, and then belonged to a species hitherto undescribed. Its intestines were filled with small crabs and univalve shells. The extreme length of the fish is 7 inches 11 lines. The upper surface is greyish white, with brown blotches, and the fins are whitish. The head is much depressed and greatly widened; the eyes far forward; the snout projecting like a small horn. Most of the fish of this family can live long out of water, in consequence of the smallness of their gill-openings; indeed, those of one of the genera are able, even in warm countries, to pass two or three days in creeping over the land. All the family conceal themselves in the mud or sand, and lie in wait to take their prey by surprise. The accompanying engraving is from the very able work of Dr. Richardson, F.R.S., published by the munificence of Government.

SQUARE-BROWED MALTHE AND DOUBLE FISH.

Gold Fish (of the Carp family) have been made to distinguish a particular sound made by those from whom they receive their food; they recognise their footsteps at a distance, and come at their call. Captain Brown says Gold Fish, when kept in ponds, are "frequently taught to rise to the surface of the water at the sound of a bell to be fed;" and Mr. Jesse was assured that Gold Fish evince much pleasure on being whistled to. Hakewill, in his "Apology for God's Power and Providence," cites Pliny to show that a certain emperor had ponds containing fish, which, when called by their respective names that were bestowed upon them, came to the spot whence the voice proceeded. Bernier, in his "History of Hindustan," states a like circumstance of the fish belonging to the Great Mogul. The old poet, Martial, also mentions fish coming at the call, as will be seen by the following translation from one of his epigrams:—

"Angler! could'st thou be guiltless? Then forbear:

For these are sacred fishes that swim here;

Who know their Sovereign, and will lick his hand.

Than which none's greater in the world's command;

Nay, more; they've names, and when they called are.

Do to their several owners' call repair."

Who, after reading so many instances, can doubt that fish hear?

It has been found that the water from steam-engines, which is thrown into dams or ponds for the purpose of being cooled, conduces much to the nutriment of Gold Fish. In these dams, the average temperature of which is about eighty degrees, it is common to keep Gold Fish; in which situation they multiply much more rapidly than in ponds of lower temperature exposed to variations of the climate. Three pair of fish were put into one of these dams, where they increased so rapidly that at the end of three years their progeny, which was accidentally poisoned by verdigris mixed with the refuse tallow from the engine, were taken out by wheel-barrow-fuls. Gold Fish are by no means useless inhabitants of these dams, as they consume the refuse grease which would otherwise impede the cooling of the water by accumulating on its surface. It is not improbable that this unusual supply of aliment may co-operate with increase of temperature in promoting the fecundity of the fishes.

Most of our readers have heard of the fish popularly known as the Miller's Thumb, the origin of the name of which Mr. Yarrell has thus explained:—"It is well known that all the science and tact of a miller is directed so to regulate the machinery of his mill that the meal produced shall be of the most valuable description that the operation of grinding will permit, when performed under the most advantageous circumstances. His ear is constantly directed to the note made by the running stone in its circular course over the bedstone, the exact parallelism of their two surfaces, indicated by a particular sound, being a matter of the first consequence; and his hand is constantly placed under the meal-spout to ascertain, by actual contact, the character and quality of the meal produced, which he does by a particular movement of his thumb in spreading the sample over his fingers. By this incessant action of the miller's thumb, a peculiarity in its shape is produced, which is said to resemble exactly the shape of the river bull-head, a fish constantly found in the mill-stream, and which has obtained for it the name of the Miller's Thumb."

M. Coste has constructed a kind of marine observatory at Concarneau (Finisterre) for the purpose of studying the habits and instincts of various Sea-fish. A terrace has been formed on the top of a house on the quay, with reservoirs arranged like a flight of steps. The sea-water is pumped up to the topmost reservoir, and thence flows down slowly, after the manner of a rivulet. The length is divided into 95 cells by wire net partitions, which, allowing free passage to the water, yet prevent the different species of fish from mingling together. By this ingenious contrivance each kind lives separate, enjoying its peculiar food and habits, unconscious of its state of captivity. Some species, such as the Mullet, the Stickleback, &c., grow perfectly tame, will follow the hand that offers them food, and will even allow themselves to be taken out of the water. The Goby and Bull-head are less familiar. The Turbot, which looks so unintelligent, will, nevertheless, take food from the hand; it changes colour when irritated, the spots with which it is covered growing pale or dark, according to the emotions excited in it. But the most curious circumstance concerning it is, that it swallows fish of a much larger size than would appear compatible with the apparent smallness of its mouth. Thus, a young Turbot, not more than ten inches in length, has been seen to swallow Pilchards of the largest size. The Pipe-Fish has two peculiarities. These fish form groups, entwining their tails together, and remaining immoveable in a vertical position, with their heads upwards. When food is offered them, they perform a curious evolution—they turn round on their backs to receive it. This is owing to the peculiar position of the mouth, which is placed under a kind of beak, and perpendicular to its axis.

The crustaceous tribes have also furnished much matter of observation. The Prawn and Crab, for instance, exercises the virtue of conjugal fidelity to the highest degree; for the male takes hold of his mate, and never lets her go; he swims with her, crawls about with her, and if she is forcibly taken away from him, he seizes hold of her again. The metamorphoses to which various crustaceous tribes are subject have also been studied with much attention. [16]

Much as the nature and habits of fish have been studied of late years, the economy of some is to this day involved in obscurity. The Herring is one of these fishes. The Swedish Herring Fisheries were, at one time, the largest in Europe, but at present, during the temporary disappearance of the fish, they have dwindled away. The causes which influence the movements of the Herring—one of the most capricious of fish—are a puzzle which naturalists have as yet failed to solve. They are not migratory, as was at one time believed—that is, they seldom wander far from the place where they were bred; but they are influenced by certain hidden and unexplained causes at one time to remain for years in the deep sea, and at another to come close in to land in enormous numbers. During the first half of the sixteenth century, Herrings entirely deserted the Swedish coasts. In 1556 they reappeared, and remained for thirty-one years in the shallow waters. Throughout this period they were taken in incalculable numbers; "thousands of ships came annually from Denmark, Germany, Friesland, Holland, England, and France, to purchase the fish, of which sufficient were always found for them to carry away to their own or other countries.... From the small town of Marstrand alone some two million four hundred thousand bushels were yearly exported." In 1587 the Herrings disappeared, and remained absent for seventy-three years, till 1660. In 1727 they returned, and again in 1747, remaining till 1808, and during this last period the fisheries were prosecuted with extraordinary zeal, industry, and success. The Government gave every encouragement to settlers, and it was computed that during some years as many as fifty thousand strangers took part in them. In 1808 the Herrings once more disappeared, and have never returned since. The cause must still be considered as quite unknown; but we may fairly assume, according to historical precedents, that after a certain period of absence, the Herrings will again return. [17]

Aristotle, in his "History of Animals," makes some extremely curious observations on Fish and Cetaceous Animals, as might be expected from the variety of these animals in the Grecian seas. In Spratt and Forbes's "Travels in Syria" the account of the habits and structure of the Cuttle-fish in Aristotle's work is ranked amongst the most admirable natural history essays ever written. It is, moreover, remarkable for its anticipation.

Dr. Osborne, in 1840, read to the Royal Society a short analysis of this work, in which he showed that Aristotle anticipated Dr. Jenner's researches respecting the cuckoo; as also some discoveries respecting the incubated egg, which were published as new in the above year. Aristotle describes the economy of bees as we have it at present; but mistakes the sex of the queen. The various organs are described as modified throughout the different classes of animals (beginning with man) in nearly the same order as that afterwards adopted by Cuvier.

The chief value of this body of knowledge, which has been buried for above 2,000 years, is, that it is a collection of facts observed under peculiar advantages, such as never since occurred, and that it is at the present day to be consulted for new discoveries.

According to Pliny, for the above work some thousands of men were placed at Aristotle's disposal throughout Greece and Asia, comprising persons connected with hunting and fishing, or who had the care of cattle, fish-ponds, and apiaries, in order that he might obtain information from all quarters, ne quid usquam gentium ignoretur ab eo. According to Athenæus, Aristotle received from the prince, on account of the expenses of the work, 800 talents, or upwards of 79,000l.