St. John in Moray.

description, made a name and established an authority among naturalists; while his hearty love for sport and all rural pleasures has given his volumes a place on the shelf with White's History of Selborne, and the books that charmed our youth.

Charles St. John was well-born, being the grandson of Frederick second Viscount Bolingbroke. We get a slender outline of his life in this volume, and something of his school-habits we derive from his friend and fellow-sportsman, Mr. Jeans:

"At school he was far ahead of me in all the theory and some of the practice of 'wild sports.' But it was under the tuition of a certain old pensioner, who in virtue of his weekly function in the school, went by the name of the drill-sergeant, that we both attained to no mean proficiency in spinning for trout and trolling for pike in the river Arun whenever we could shirk out of bounds on half-holidays, as well as in setting night-lines artistically for eels.

"Even at that time St. John had the zoological bump largely developed. His box (or scobb, as we used to call it, after the Winchester fashion) was generally a sort of menagerie-dormice in the one till, stag-beetles of gigantic size, and wonderful caterpillars in paper boxes, in the other, while sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a guinea-pig, or perhaps a squirrel, was lodged below in a cell cunningly constructed of the Delphin classics and Ainsworth's Dictionary. He was scarcely ever without live stock of some sort."

A youth of this nature was not likely to endure the restraint of a public office in London,-the life appointed for him by his family, and he soon emancipated himself, got down among the solitudes of Sutherland, had the fortune to find a wife there, and continued ever after to lead the life of a sportsman and naturalist, his choice of residence only partly modified by the convenience of his family, and their education.

"In due time," writes his biographer, "he discovered the region best suited to his taste and happiness, in the 'laigh' of Moray, a fertile and well-cultivated country, with dry soil and bright and bracing climate, with wide views of sea and mountain, within easy distance of mountain sport, in the midst of the game and wild animals of a low country, and with the coast indented by bays of the sea and studded with frequent fresh-water lakes, the haunt of all the common wild-fowl and of many of the rarer sorts."

What an advantage to a district to attach to it a writer like St. John! The whole land, its rivers, lakes, hills, and valleys, become classical, and that which before was only known as a good wheat-growing champaign is henceforward familiar in the mouths of naturalists and that larger class, the lovers of nature and sport.

St. John continued to reside in Morayshire for the most part till his fatal malady and premature death. His Wild Sports of

the Highlands has, since its publication in 1846, been a standard work with all lovers of his pursuits. The present volume is a selection from his journals, and correspondence with friends. The arrangement of these materials, which is according to months, may in some instances have the advantage of furnishing a comparison of a particular season in several different years, but this scarcely compensates for the broken and fragmentary shape it has given the book. We observe, too, some uncertainty as to the precise years in which certain observations are recorded, and here and there a little repetition, either of something already noticed in this volume, or of remarks in the author's other works.

These defects make us regret the more that St. John had not lived to give his collections to the world. His arrangement of his own materials would have added immeasurably to their value; but, taking it as it is, we find in this little volume a mass of very careful observation of natural objects of interest to all sportsmen and naturalists. For the district where the writer lived, and to which he especially directed his attention, the book is invaluable.

In trying to give some account of this unpretending collection, let us first state the author's own claim of merit :

"I have been particularly careful to describe and note down nothing, the authenticity of which I am not certain of. Indeed, every bird here mentioned, with one or two exceptions, I have either killed or seen myself during my wanderings in wood and plain for several years in this district. I have carefully avoided the great error of taking things on hearsay."

Take a description of a minute favourite as a specimen of simple, truthful painting:

"The little water-rail (Rallus aquaticus) seems to be a great wanderer. I find its track, and the bird itself, in the most unlikely places; for instance, I put up one in a dry furze field, and my retriever caught another in a hedge, at some distance from the water. I took the latter bird home alive to show to my children. When I took him out of my pocket, in which most unaccustomed situation he had been for two hours, the strange little creature looked about him with the greatest nonchalance possible, showing fight at everything that came near him; and when, after having gratified the curiosity of the children, we turned him loose in a ditch of running water, he went away jerking up his tail, and not seeming to hurry himself, or to be in the least disconcerted."

St. John's residence was always a receptacle for wounded. animals, and a multitude of pets kept by his children,—wildfowl, hawks, roe, owls, ravens, now and then a trapped fox; whatever was tameable was tamed, but nothing was refused the benefit of that sanctuary.

Anecdotes of Animals.

5

The keeper at Spynie had caught a wounded pochard, and it was taken to St. John's, where it soon got familiar, and lived in comfort till an accident occurred :--

"About three weeks ago our tame pochard had been carried away in a hurricane of wind. To my surprise, one day this month, I saw this same pochard swimming about the loch alone, and apparently very tame. One of the children who was with me, and whose own especial property the bird had been, whistled to it in the same way in which he had been accustomed to call it ; upon which, to his unbounded joy, it immediately came towards us, and for some time continued swimming within a few yards of where we stood, evidently recognising us, and seeming glad to see us again.

"A few days afterwards we again saw him; but he was now accompanied by a flock of fourteen or fifteen others. This was remarkable, both on account of the time of year, and because this kind of duck is very rare in this region, and has never been known to breed in the neighbourhood: but all birds seem to have some means of calling and attracting those of the same species, in a way that we cannot understand." (June, p. 169.)

We do not remember to have seen the following fact noted. by naturalists before. It may serve for an illustration to the philosopher who prefers the virtues of savage life :—

"Some wild ducks that I had domesticated became gregarious, one drake serving many ducks, like tame poultry. But, one season, having been neglected, and wandering out in the fields and ditches, they resumed their wild habits, paired, built, and lived in pairs quite conjugally."

Most sportsmen know, by the peculiar sloping upward soar of the wood-pigeon, when the bird has young, but we have not before heard this observation of the crow:

"When a crow leaves her nest on being disturbed, her quiet, sneaking manner of threading her way through the trees tells that she has young or eggs in the thicket, as plainly as if she uttered cries of alarm." Let this touch of nature help to show that sportsmen are not cruel and hard-hearted :

"I remember a hen grouse being caught by the leg in a common vermin trap which had been set for ravens. It happened that the trap was not looked at till late the following day, when we found that the cock grouse had brought and laid to his unfortunate mate a quantity of young heather shoots: they were enough to have nearly filled a hat, and the poor bird must have been employed many hours in collecting them. I cannot express how grieved I was at the hen having been caught."

The following observation, though not new, is more definite, and apparently from more precise experiment than it has been given before:

"The change of colour in fish is very remarkable, and takes place with great 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. 71

We were not aware before that a bird, like human housekeepers, enlarged her dwelling to suit an increasing family:

"I observed a very curious thing with regard to a wren in the spring of 1852. A wren had built and hatched her eggs in a nest placed in a narrow hole in a wall. It seemed to me that as her young ones became full grown the nest would be rather small for them. The old birds became aware of this, and built a large nest in a tree opposite the first nest, and as soon as the young ones were able to fly at all, they betook themselves to the newly-built abode, which was larger than usual, and not lined. For some little time afterwards, whenever there was a heavy shower, and these happened to be rather frequent, the whole brood, eight in number, took refuge in the new nest. They also roosted in it every night for a short time."

Some habits of birds are interesting from our interest in the birds themselves, and more so from their being subjects of controversy. We believe the observation of the water-ousel walking at the bottom of the water is still questioned. The manner in which the woodcock carries its young is no longer disputed:

"A water-ousel (Hydrobata cinclus) in the burn has two eggs. The nest is built in a broken bank. . . . One of my boys took the water-ousel's nest, an immense building for the size of the bird, the whole being fully as large as a pail, made of moss outwardly, and lined with dried grass, etc. This little bird of very singular habits changes. its ground with the season. In spring and summer it frequents the highland burns and solitary streams, where it breeds; on the approach of winter it descends lower down the streams and rivers, where it feeds on trout spawn, small water-beetles, etc. It has a peculiar habit, while flying along a stream, of suddenly dropping into the water, where it either swims, or rather floats, on the surface, or dives down at once to the bottom, where it searches actively for its food-the beetles, which form great part of its food, being found on the stones and gravel at the bottom of the water. I never saw the water-ousel feed on any insect which it caught out of the water or even on the surface; its whole food seems to be found at the bottom. Though the fact has often been doubted, it certainly runs and scratches up the stones while at the bottom in search of food. It has a sweet song (though not loud),

The author of Life in Normandy has also noted the same fact, vol. i. p. 45.

Woodcock carrying her young.

which it utters frequently in the depth of winter, and on the coldest and severest days. It breeds earlier than most other birds. I have found eggs on the 8th of April. The nest is placed in a broken wall, under an overhanging bank, amongst the roots of a tree, or other similar situation, but always on the water's edge, and covered over the top, built of moss, leaves, etc. It is frequently of very great size, as the bird fixes on a broken bank sometimes, and has to build a very large foundation to make her nest steady. The eggs are a pure white. Sitting on a stone often in the midst of a rapid stream or waterfall, the white breast of the water-ousel is conspicuous amongst all surrounding objects, and day after day it enlivens and adds an interest to the same part of a stream for many weeks, till the time comes for its partial migration. In the following spring the same stone or point of rock is again tenanted. The bird frequently runs into and under the water in the midst of a tolerably strong rapid, keeping out of sight for some moments, but emerging again at no great distance. I have before mentioned its habit of suddenly, in the midst of its flight, plunging down into the water, where, though it floats with tolerable ease, its motious, when on the surface, rather resemble those of a land bird accidentally falling into the water than those of a swimmer."

In the North of Scotland-say from Dee-side northwardswoodcocks often stay all the year, and nest and breed. Mr. St. John tells us :--

"The nest is placed at the foot of a tree in a patch of long heather, or indeed in any sheltered place; most frequently in the driest and densest parts of the woods. It is formed of dry grass, leaves, etc., and is shallow, and made without much apparent care. The eggs are four in number, of a pale yellowish brown, blotched and spotted with reddish brown. They, however, vary much. As soon as the young are hatched, the old birds are obliged to carry them to the feeding ground, which is often at some distance. The young, though able to run immediately, are tender helpless little things, and could by no means scramble through the tangled heather and herbage which often surrounds their nest, perhaps for many hundred yards. It long puzzled me how this portage was effected. That the old birds carried their young I had long since ascertained, having often seen them in the months of April and May in the act of doing so, as they flew towards nightfall from the woods down to the swamps in the low grounds. From close observation, however, I found out that the old woodcock carries her young, even when larger than a snipe, not in her claws, which seem quite incapable of holding up any weight, but by clasping the little bird tightly between her thighs, and so holding it tight towards her own body. In the summer and spring evenings the woodcocks may be seen so employed passing to and fro, and uttering a gentle cry, on their way from the woods to the marshes. They not only carry their young to feed, but also if the brood is suddenly come upon in the daytime, the old bird lifts up one of her young, flies with it fifty or sixty yards, drops it quietly, and flies silently on. The little bird immedi