world and has its joy. As we ascend higher in the scale of animated beings, the capabilities of pleasurable sensations are developed, and receive ample gratification. As Paley says in his chapter on the Goodness of the Deity,'-'It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, and the water, teem with delighted existence.' And he illustrates this statement by telling us that, 'walking by the sea-side in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, he had frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or rather, very thick mist hanging over the edge of the water to the height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring with the water. When this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing else than so much space, filled with young shrimps, in the act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the water, or from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal could express delight, it was this; if they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose then, what I have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in a state of positive enjoyment; what a sum collectively of gratification and pleasure have we here before our view!'-(Natural Theology.) It is utterly impossible for the mind to form anything like an adequate conception of the vast multitudes of beings which may thus be discovered enjoying life, under varied circumstances, in every portion of this world's surface. If we confine our attention to a single and very limited district, we shall be surprised to find how great a variety of species it contains. And if we continue our investigations in the same spot, for a succession of years, we shall discover, as was the case with Gilbert White, at Selborne, that the store is exhaustless, and that new occurrences still arise as long as any inquiries are kept alive.'. (Letter 49, to Barrington.) St. Pierre, in his Studies of Nature, says: One day, in summer, while I was busied in the arrangement of some observations which I had made, I perceived on a strawberry plant, which had been accidentally placed in my window, some small winged insects, so very beautiful, that I took a fancy to describe them. Next day, a different sort appeared, which I proceeded likewise to describe. In the course of three weeks no less than thirty-seven species, totally distinct, had visited my strawberry plant: at length, they came in such crowds, and presented such variety, that I was constrained to relinquish this study, though highly amusing, for want of leisure.' The irregular appearance of species in certain localities, or in singular situations, and the occasional abundance of some of the rarer kinds, are very strange, and often inexplicable occur rences. 'Few things,' says Mr. Jenyns, are more remarkable in natural history than the sudden appearance of species, in great plenty, in places in which they had been previously unknown. This has often been observed amongst insects, but such an occurrence is not confined to that class of animals: it happens not unfrequently with animals of other classes. I have twice especially had my attention called to this circumstance in the case of the fresh-water mollusks. The first instance occurred in 1822. During the spring and summer of that year, some small pits in this parish, the bottom of which consists of a gravelly clay, and which are generally full of water, but sometimes dry, swarmed with limneus glutinosus to such an extent that the shells might be scooped out by hand-fulls: in some places, if a bucket had been lowered into the water, it might have been drawn up half full with them. Many other species of mollusca were in company with the above limneus; but this species was the most abundant, and, from the circumstance of its being usually accounted rare, the most interesting of all. Many of the specimens were large, much exceeding in size any I have seen in collections. These shells, however, did not prevail in any great numbers after that year. A few continued to show themselves for three or four seasons, but they gradually disappeared; and now many years have elapsed since I noticed even a single individual.'-pp. 318, 319. The second case which Mr. Jenyns has observed of the sudden appearance of a fresh-water mollusk, is even more singular than the former. It occurred in the month of February, 1825. The early part of that month had been very wet, causing the water to stagnate in large puddles in several parts of the park at Bottisham Hall, but which parts are not usually flooded, though sometimes a little swampy. Happening shortly afterwards to cross the park with a shell-net in hand, I immersed it into one of these puddles casually as I passed, when, to my surprise, I drew it out full of the aplexus hypnorum, a species which I had not at that time taken before in Cambridgeshire, though I have since met with it in one or two places. In this puddle the shells were collected in immense quantities, whilst none of the other puddles contained one. The shells were of various sizes, though none were full-grown. It were almost vain to speculate as to how they came there. Even supposing that the spawn had been dormant in the soil, or conveyed there in any way the imagination can suggest, still, how could the shells have acquired so rapid a growth in the short time the water had been standing in that spot? The puddle was scarcely more than three feet by two across; it had not been in existence above a fortnight at longest; it was only a few inches deep; and half-a-dozen fine days would have been sufficient to lay it dry again. Such, in fact, proved to be the case before the month had expired, and the species has not been observed since in that locality.'-pp. 319, 320. Certain species of insects occasionally are seen in immense swarms for a few days, and then entirely disappear. An instance of this occurred in one of the upper rooms of the Provost's Lodge in King's College, Cambridge, in September 1831, when a small fly belonging to the genus Chlorops appeared suddenly in such vast quantities as almost to exceed belief. Mr. Jenyus visited Cambridge about a fortnight after their first appearance, and although their numbers had been, in the interval, considerably thinned, he found them still in 'immense profusion,' and he was assured that in the first instance the greater part of the ceiling towards the window of the room was so thickly covered as not to be visible. Mr. Jenyns gives the following account of a remarkable swarm of Aphides, which he observed on October 3rd, 1822 : This morning on rising we found the air completely choked with aphides. The steps of the house-door, and even the very walls, were black with them. On walking out, myriads alighted upon one's clothes; and getting into one's eyes, and nose, proved an intolerable nuisance. In the middle of the day I took a circuit of about three or four miles from home, but found the quantities of these insects the same wherever I went. A friend, too, who arrived from Cambridge, distant about eight miles off, assured us they were in equal plenty there. Where could these prodigious multitudes come from, and whither where they directing their flight? Such questions are easier asked than answered. It is worth noting, that the day was particularly mild and calm for the time of year, and had begun with a fast mizzling rain, which lasted for a considerable part of the morning. At four p.m. the thermometer was as high as 64 degrees. The wind was easterly, and had blown steadily from that quarter for three or four days previous.'-p. 283, Gilbert White records a similar swarm of Aphides at Selborne, on August 1, 1785, and mentions that the wind was all the day in the easterly quarter.' The agreement of this with Mr. Jenyns's observation, seems to suggest the probability that the phenomenon is in some way connected with an easterly wind. It may perhaps, however, be nothing more than a coincidence. We remember a similar visitation of these insects in the south of Lancashire, during the year 1834, but unfortunately have no memorandum of the direction of the wind during the occurrence. The countless myriads of aphides which filled the air for miles, on the occasion referred to, far exceeded anything we could have imagined, or have since witnessed. In the Naturalist's Calendar,' White mentions the swarms of gnats which are sometimes seen in the fens of the Isle of Ely, and which bear, from their density, a considerable resemblance to clouds of smoke. Mr. Jenyns informs us, that in the autumn of 1843, one of these clouds of minute insects was seen rising from the top of the west tower of Ely Cathedral, and the appearance was so much like smoke that an alarm was raised, under the idea that the cathedral was on fire. Nor was it until some men had ascended to the top of the building that the cause of this curious deception was satisfactorily ascertained. If we find it difficult to suggest a satisfactory explanation of the irregular appearance of such vast numbers of certain species, it is sometimes not much less difficult to account for the occurrence of single specimens in peculiar localities. Thus Mr. Jenyns mentions that a single specimen of the Pomeranian bream (abramis buggenhagii) a large and rare kind of fish, was met with in the water in the park at Bottisham Hall. It was the first, and has hitherto been the only, specimen that has occurred in that locality, although often sought for. Mr. Jenyns justly regards this as rather a 'puzzling' circumstanee, but suggests that the bream may possibly have been introduced into the water, when very young, with other small fish of the common kinds as food for the pike; still a difficulty remains, as in the neighbouring river, from whence the small fishes are taken, the Pomeranian bream has never been met with, although the river has been constantly fished in, and even carefully dragged with nets with a view of ascertaining what species inhabit it. It is rather curious that the only three specimens of the Pomeranian bream which have been found in this country have occurred, singly, in localities considerably apart. The first was procured from Dagenham Breach in Essex, the second was the individual above referred to, and the last one has recently been received by Mr. Yarrell from Wolverhampton. Mr. Jenyns records the capture of two immense specimens of the sharp-nosed eel (anguilla acutirostris) in a drain near Wisbeach. One of them weighed twenty-eight pounds, and the other twenty-two pounds. The length of each was upwards of six feet, and their girth equalled that of a man's leg. These enormous creatures were the sole inhabitants of the drain, no other fish of any kind having been found with them. Their stuffed skins were for some years exhibited, in a fish-monger's shop, to the wondering gaze of the inhabitants of Cambridge. Leaving these irregular occurrences in natural history, we shall now proceed to notice some of the more regular phenomena. Mr. Jenyns being desirous of knowing the exact time at which the different species of birds commence singing on a fine summer's morning, took means to gratify his curiosity on the mornings of July 17, 1826, July 4, 1843, and June 13, 1845. The results of his observations on each occasion are given in a tabular form, and the regularity which the little songsters displayed in their hours of rising is very remarkable. Mr. Jenyns observes, that 'On comparing the tables, it will be seen that on all three occasions the skylark was the earliest of our song-birds, strictly so called, heard actually singing. It commences about two o'clock, which, in the first of the above instances, would be very nearly two hours before sunrise: Up springs the lark, Shrill-voic'd and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings This fact is worth noting, because Dr. Jenner has denied that the lark is entitled to the credit of this precedency, giving it to the redbreast. The redbreast is undoubtedly an early bird, but it is not, usually, even the next after the skylark. In two of the above instances, though heard chirping, it was not heard to sing at all. This may have been accidental; but in the third instance it was not heard until after the blackbird, and not till nearly half an hour after the lark. The earliest species, in general, after the lark, appear to be the thrush, the swallow, the blackbird, and the yellow-hammer. The blackbird I have repeatedly noted on various occasions to commence about ten minutes after the thrush, as in the first two of the above instances; though in the third of these instances the blackbird was heard first. The yellow-hammer is remarkable for its great regularity in keeping to a given hour, which, during the height of summer, is three o'clock, a few minutes before or after. This species is followed generally by the chaffinch. The linnet, greenfinch, and wren appear to be among the later birds, and are seldom heard till near four o'clock, if not after that hour, though the last is earlier sometimes than others.'-pp. 98, 99. Although the lark takes the precedence of all other songbirds, and may justly be distinguished as the messenger of morn,' the crowing of the cock is still earlier. On the third occasion noted by Mr. Jenyns, the cock's crow was heard at The lark commenced its song one hour fifty-one minutes A. M. seven minutes later. Amongst the laggards is the wren, which, for so sprightly a little bird, is remarkably lazy. It makes up, however, for its late rising, by singing throughout the year. The thrush is not only one of the earliest birds, but is often the latest songster. It commences at about half-past two in the morning, and, on a summer's eve, its fine notes may be heard Mr. Jenyns records an instance of its singlong after sun-set. ing, during the first week in July, as late as twenty minutes |