and then go alter the signs in their unfinished calculations; changing theirs into s orors; causing incalculable errors, and exhausting perplexities.

Dov. "Tilly valley, Sir" Von.

Von Os. Oh! Natural history still the weeds and flowers of the mind are as much within her province, as those of the fields. But did you never question him?

Dov. He left the country; and I was too idle to repeat the experiment: the servants grumbled at the dirt made by the swallows; and I grumbled at the pigeons getting in, and breaking windows and looking-glasses; so the light-winged wanderers were ejected. But that migratory birds, or some of their progeny, do return to, and build in, the very same spot, I have no doubt. A spotted flycatcher has invariably built in the same corner of my piazza, as long as I can remember, though the other corners are equally accommodated with brackets or perches: a wren usually occupies another; but she is not so constant as the traveller and last summer a female wasp planted on the ceiling, and rapidly increased, her colony, who suspended their flaky ball of streaky olive papery folds, close to the door; yet was no person stung or molested all the season.

Von Os. Migration has long been absolutely established. I wonder it was ever doubted, particularly by such a man as White; but he mild, amiable, and modest creature -was over-influenced by the great names of Pennant and Daines Barrington.

Dov. Yet he never quite gave in to their notion of the torpidity of birds. I will read you a passage of great beauty, describing a single straggler at sea: not that I doubt migration, and that they travel in companies; but merely that my CHIT-CHAT may have some little in it that is really good.

Von Os. The Public unfeignedly like your Chit-chat, by what is said by some of our best contributors; and the private letter of the editor: — and much of it is copied into the newspapers.

Dov. Like as the grinding of tunes on barrel-organs is always a proof they are approved. I thought it best to wait some time for the opinions of the subscribers; and I have now had letters enough to satisfy a more modest scribbler: for myself, indeed, the approbation, however slight, of such a man as Waterton alone were amply enough the intrépid traveller, the accurate and almost unerring observer, the benevolent protector, the classic scholar, the animated writer, the

Von Os. Enough, enough; though all true. His descrip

tion of the noises of the birds all night, in his Wanderings in Demerara, and their universal clamour at sunrise, is a glorious burst of amazingly fine writing. But, to your quotation; or, mayhap, he may "pick a crow" with you.

Dov. "The Lord keep me from Sir Harry Vane!" said Cromwell. Here it is, Here it is, I have at last found it, at p. 286., in No. 10. of the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal.

Von Os. Read it.

Dov. (reads). "On the 21st of November, in lat. 6° 4′, and long. 20° 31', we experienced those heavy squalls and rains which are uniformly met with in this climate. The storms are occasionally sublime, and worthy of a minute description. After the most perfect calm, heavy, dense, and gloomy clouds are seen collecting at every point of the horizon: they form themselves into vast arches, having their abutments on the ocean. Suddenly, at one point, they blacken to an inky hue: the sails are furled, the crew stand in mute attention, each at his station, and every eye is directed towards that vast and hideous mass of clouds, which, resting on the surface of the deep, and reaching heaven with its top, advances upon the devoted vessel. Now, sweeping the ocean, it pours a deluge on the ship; the storm rages; and, by the terrific force of the blast, the masts seem ready to start from the decks. When these squalls happen at night, and are attended with much rain, a ball of meteoric fire is seen at the mast-head, tending to increase the horrors of the storm. On the 21st, whilst beset on all sides by the squalls, a swallow suddenly appeared close to the ship. There was no known land nearer than 300 miles. The swallow was seen first during a calm, skimming round the vessel with great velocity, and seemed to feed abundantly on the flies which hovered round the ship's sides; but, during the squall that succeeded, its actions became those of self-preservation, and were admirably adapted to that purpose. As the rain poured in torrents, it beat down the swallow's head in spite of all its efforts, thus interrupting its flight round the vessel. When the bird perceived this take place, it rose perpendicularly through the air and dense rain; fluttering, moreover, incessantly: thus throwing the water off its wings. The amazing courage and strength displayed by this bird, in contending against the numerous storms with which we were assailed, during many hours, convinced me of its power to perform the longest migrations, with comparative safety. The swallow remained with the vessel during two days, and sought shelter in the shrouds only at the approach of evening."

Von Os. Bold, intrepid little bird! - and beautifully told.

Ay; let the shutters be closed; and the lights are cheerful. How awfully the storm peals it over the woods!

Dov. I have often, when riding with you in the night, Von Osdat, admired the unerring accuracy with which you have named the trees, from their mere outline dimly marked against the sky.

Von Os. It was from an observation of yours I acquired it; that every tree had invariably its distinct physiognomical character.

Dov. I have nearly the same nicety of ear in that respect: so that, sitting here, I can discriminate almost every sort of tree, as it is called upon, either solo or in score, to take part in the grand choral harmonies of the tempest. Now it roars deep and still among the oaks just behind this book-room; anon, breathes hoarse and hollow upon the dark old Scotch pines of the cider-mill grove; groans through the sycamores and lime avenue, "that weather-fends my cell;" rattles the bony boughs of the skeleton ash; howls through the elms; hisses (and each obviously different) in the cedars, spruce, and silver fir; whistles through the larch; whispers in the Weymouth and aphornousli; and suddenly whisks a solitary cypress; while the evergreens, and dry-leaved hornbeams, keep up a constant accompaniment, each after his kind.

Von Os. Encore! Egad, our good cheer enables us to convert even the conflicting elements into a noble concert: and I have been thinking these stridulous owls in the bushy ivy about our chimney-top, and their hooting counterparts in the woods, no bad vocalists.

Dov. I love the owl more than many do the finer melodists. If you used the word counterpart designedly, you do not agree with him of Selborne, who says they always hoot in B flat.

Von Os. I am sorry to differ from such authority: but, most certainly, they use various keys.

Dov. So do the cushat and cuckoo, and many other such even-tenour performers.

Von Os. This Virginia smokes divinely. Have you the horned owl ever in your prodigious ivies?

Dov. Not of late years. When a little boy, as I well remember, just at sunrise, I was fearfully terrified at a pair I 'spied sitting on an old Portugal laurel, close to the oak we have since inscribed to our learned, gifted, and beloved friend Rylance. I was early a fond reader of poetry, and fancied them marvellous messengers just arrived from the enchanted regions of romance.

Von Os. A fitting guest for the tree of our merry friend the Attic bird.

Dov. Ay, either: be it Minerva's, or that of Tereus, the "merry nightingale," as Coleridge most cordially calls him. Not only the notes of birds, but scenery itself; nay, everything, takes its tone infinitely more in accordance with our own present feelings, than from any thing inherent in itself: or as he, who so pithily knew that "brevity is the soul of wit," more quaintly expresses it: "there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." I actually once heard an ignorant pert officer say, he knew not why people liked the robin, unless it was for his impudence.

Von Os. Puppy!

Dov. Why, you have snuffed the candles out!

Von Os. I believe, many birds, formerly not uncommon, have of late years disappeared; or become, in these parts, extremely rare. I remember bevies of quails common enough.

Dov. When a fly-fishing boy on the Vyrnwy, I have occasionally put up the bittern (Ardea stellàris). I have not now seen him many years; though I have sometimes heard him boomping in the sedgy pools, as I have gone out into the garden at night, with poor Warren, to

Von Os. "See a Trossach."

Dov. Our ancestors set the back claw in silver for a toothpick, and believed it had the virtue of preserving the teeth; and they supposed it always gave an odd number of bombs at a time, three or five. Willughby found this not the case. It sits in rushes, with head and neck erect: in autumn, at sunset, it will soar spirally to a vast height, with an unusual sound. This is what the vulgar call the night-raven; saying it portends death; and, flying in the night, resembles "a flagging collar." Pliny calls him taurus (the bull), butorius, and botaurus; the Welsh, derin-y-bwmp.

Von Os. The Welsh language is most amazingly expressive in its radicals, and surprisingly beautiful in its combinativeness the name of every animal, plant, or place is selfdescriptive. In the abundance and powers of its vowels, the euphonious change of its consonants, and the melting union of its confluents, it really rivals the matchless Greek itself.

Dov. Among the treasures of its poetry, dormant in the dust of great men's libraries, is a curious epigram on the silkworm, composed entirely of vowels. Observe, I can recite it without closing or moving lips or teeth: —

Von Os. Curious: a difficult trifle. But, surely, the Welsh knew nothing of the silkworm.

Dov. That is a very strong inference that the poem is not ancient; though it might serve for any caterpillar as well as the Phala na mori.

Von Os. It is roundly asserted in Dr. Rees's Cyclopædia, "and that by those who have examined it attentively, who think they speak within compass when they affirm, that each ball (of the silkworm) contains silk enough to reach six English miles."

Dov. This good and excellent little girl, who waits upon us so quiet, effectually, and fairy-like, measured, at my desire, two cocoons last August. How much did they measure, my dear cousin Sarah?

S. D. Sir, one measured 285, and the other 306 yards; allowing a little for loss at each end.

Dov. Very well; and can you give us any more information? S. D. Only, Sir, that the duck is ready in the diningroom; and the oysters are come by coach.

Dov. Best news of all. Come, my dear Von, to a warm dissertation on the Anas Bóschas, and a practical discussion of the molluscous bivalves.

Von Os. Then will we quaff some brimmers (with many a fragrant whiff) over our heartiest good wishes to Loudon and

his labours.

Dov. Not forgetting his labourers: and close this night's CHIT-CHAT with healths to our brother cullers of simples, and our really earnest request that they will

Von Os.say that you have plaguily too much ornithology in it.

Dov. Ornithology! - -why, my dear fellow, 'tis a main point of my religion.

Von Os. Your religion! marry, as how?

Dov. Why, a certain great, big, burly, rich personage, who, not a century since, filled the civic chair as chief magistrate in a neighbouring town, and who gives grand venison feasts, with his "candle-Abraham"

Von Os. Ha, ha, ha!—and which you easily and effectually persuaded him was not even a "candle Isaac," but merely a "Jacob"

Dov. Taught, by the inimitable Sir John Falstaff, how much "a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with a serious brow, will do with a fellow that never had the headach in his shoulders

Von Os. Well?

:

Dov. Well this sapient personage being told that I was an