CHAPTER XX.

THE BIRDS AND THEIR HAUNTS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF BRIGHTON.

The Sussex coast is a favourite locality for the greater portion of our British Birds, more particularly the migratory species. The high headlands to the eastward seem to be a great attraction to them by day, and, as a great many take nocturnal flight, the glare of light at night sent high into the vault of the heavens from the gas lamps in the town of Brighton, attracts a great number to this neighbourhood, and many rare specimens have been obtained. The migration of birds is a subject of considerable interest in their natural history to the Ornithologist. It was formerly supposed that many birds, which now are known for a certainty to migrate, retired to some secure retreat, and remained dormant through the winter. So general was this impression that in some districts of England seven of the migratory birds obtained the names of the seven sleepers. The Cuckoo was one of these; and the Swallows were supposed to lie up in a torpid state during the winter. Most birds migrate, and those which cross the seas are called "Birds of Passage." A great number of our birds remove as the cold weather sets in, from the inland districts towards the sea shores, which afford them a better supply of food.

In the Spring of the year--March and April--we have the greatest arrival of our summer visitors, and it is astonishing with what order and punctuality they arrive and depart. They are the unerring messengers of Spring; and, true to Nature's laws, arrive generally within a few days of the time pointed out by the scientific observations of the Ornithologist.

The poets, from Chaucer downwards, have largely introduced birds into their works. Chaucer, in his "Assembly of Fowles," says--

On every bough the birdis herd I syng. With voice of Angell in their harmonie.

Milton, in praising the nightingale, says--

As the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note.

Shakspear writes--

The poor wren, The most diminutive of buds, will fight;-- Her young ones in her nest--against the owl.

Byron, in his "Bride of Abydos," says--

There sings a bird unseen, but not remote, Invisible his airy wings,-- But soft as harp, that Houri strings His long entrancing note.

Lord Erskine, in beautiful words, says--All our poets, from the greatest to the least, from the first to the last, acknowledge by their writings how much they owe to the productions of Nature, both animate and inanimate.

The Golden Eagle--_Falco chrysaetos_--is mentioned by Yarrell, in his "History of British Birds," as having been shot near Bexhill, but none of our late writers on Ornithology have been able to authenticate the fact. We have not been honoured with a visit from his imperial majesty the king of birds. Several specimens of the White-tailed Eagle--_Falco albicilla_,--have been shot in the immediate neighbourhood, and the parties have always fancied they have been lucky enough to obtain the true Golden Eagle. A gentleman from Brighton, being at Shoreham some years ago, just after the landlord of the Dolphin Inn had shot what he considered was the Golden Eagle, somewhat surprised the imagined lucky shot by assuring him that it showed too much of its legs, and that it was only an immature specimen of the Sea Eagle; and so it turned out. Several others are likewise recorded as having been shot in this neighbourhood.

The Osprey, or Fishing Hawk--_Falco halitus_,--has of late years been a rare visitant in this vicinity, though several are authenticated as having been shot here formerly. They are occasional visitors along our shores, but seldom go far inland for their prey, as they are true fishermen, living entirely upon the fruits of their labour; and they are very formidable, and powerfully winged birds, darting down from a great height, like an arrow from a bow, upon their prey with unerring certainty. In North America they are welcomed in the Spring by the fishermen, as the happy omen of the approach of herring, shad, &c., which periodically arrive there on the coast, in prodigious shoals.

Eastward of Brighton, about fourteen miles, is Beachy Head, the home, from time immemorial, of a pair of Peregrine Falcons--_Falco peregrinus_; another pair is generally to be found in the high cliffs near Seaford. This noble bird was the pride of our ancestors in their sporting diversions, and was considered very valuable when possessed of the particular qualities most in request. Yarrell, in his "History of British Birds," mentions that in the reign of James I. Sir Thomas Monson is said to have given one thousand pounds for a cast (a couple) of these hawks. The high perpendicular cliffs at Beachy Head have always been a favourite breeding place for the Peregrines, and where their young are generally every year taken by a man whose companions let him over the cliff by means of a derrick. The derrick is simply a pole with a sheave-wheel at one end of it, for the rope to pass over, and is run about two feet over the edge of the cliff, and at the other end it has a hole, through which an iron bar is passed and driven firmly into the ground to keep it steady. By this contrivance the man is lowered to the required spot, and hauled up again in safety, and though the process has been going on for many years, no instance is recorded of any accident having occurred. By this means also a great many of the eggs of the Willock--_Uria troili_--and Razor bill--_Alca torda_,--are taken; these birds breed here in great numbers every year. The derrick is a familiar machine to the smuggler, as it enables him to get his tubs very expeditiously from the bottom to the top of the cliff, which is done by several men on the beach taking hold of the end of the rope, and running straight out with it, and then fastening on the tubs in clusters. Sometimes they are brought up in this way four or five hundred feet. These cliffs are likewise the resort and breeding places of a great many Jackdaws--_Corvus monedula_.

Sixty years ago the Red Legged Crow, or Cornish Chough--_Pyrrhocorax graculus_--was common here, though now the species is nearly or quite extinct all along our southern shores. A man, now between sixty and seventy years of age, who has been in the constant habit of going nearly all his life, to Beachy Head to catch prawns for a livelihood, says that he remembers the Red-billed Daw perfectly well, and that the last he saw there, was fifty-three or fifty-four years ago, and that he recollects to this day the precise spot where he saw them. There were seven in company, and he describes their flight to be a succession of jerks, or in the manner of a Dishwasher, which is very peculiar. It was ninety years ago that Gilbert White, of Selborne, recorded the fact of their abounding at Beachy Head and all along the cliffs of the Sussex Coast.

A little to the westward of the highest part of the cliffs, upon a projecting portion, called Beltout, stands Beachy Head lighthouse, a very handsome and solid structure, built entirely of granite. It is supposed that it will last till the solid chalk cliff washes away from under it. It stands about thirty yards from the edge of the perpendicular cliff, which is here about one hundred and forty yards high, with the sea at highwater washing its base. It has a revolving light of three sides, with ten argand lamps in each with highly polished reflectors, kept in motion by machinery wound up like a clock, two or three times in a night. It is managed by two light-keepers, whose duty is to keep the lamps burning and revolving from sunset to sunrise, all the year round. It has no doubt been the means of saving numerous vessels from being lost upon that once very dangerous part of the Sussex coast.

At the foot of the cliff, nearly under the Lighthouse, is a cave called "Darby's Hole," said to have been cut out more than a hundred years ago, by a clergyman of that name living at East Dean, a little village about a mile-and-a-half off, for the philanthropic purpose of saving the lives of shipwrecked sailors; and it is handed down as a fact that he had the pleasure at one time of saving nearly a dozen poor men from a watery grave. Formerly, hardly a winter passed without three or four wrecks occurring, which proved a great assistance to the poor villagers of East Dean. A laughable story is told of a wreck happening a great many years ago, on a Sunday morning whilst most of the villagers were in church, when a man wishing to inform some of his friends there of the circumstance, quietly slipped in for that purpose, and it was soon whispered from one to another that there was "a wreck," and they so kept going out one after the other that the church got considerably thinned. The clergyman seeing that he was likely to be left nearly alone, and suspecting the cause, he in a loud audible voice said, "If there is a wreck, say so, and let's all start fair."--The story goes that the news of the wreck was rather a hoax than otherwise, as the fact of "a four-mast vessel laden with wool and tallow ashore," proved to be nothing other than the carcase of a South-down sheep washed up by the tide.

The lighthouse has a very pleasing effect when viewed by night from the sea, and on a fine summer's evening, parties frequently make excursions from Eastbourne and other places to visit it. Being situate on the South Downs the walk to it is most delightful, the turf being so very fine, that it may be compared to a Turkey carpet, and in July and August the air is highly fragrant with wild aromatic herbs, thyme, &c. At the same time of the year great quantities of those delicious birds, Wheatears--_Sylvia oenanthe_,--arrive, and are scattered over the extensive Downs in vast numbers, but not in flocks, as they are almost invariably seen singly. It is a great perquisite to the shepherds to catch them, which they do by cutting out lines of traps in the turf in the form of a T, and inverting the turf over a couple of horse-hair nooses. Pennant states, that in his time the numbers snared about Eastbourne amounted annually to about one thousand eight hundred and forty dozen. They are called the English Ortolan, from their being so fat and plump and of such a delicious flavour. They are a great delicacy potted. They are, however, gradually lessening in numbers, year after year, so that it hardly pays the shepherds now, for their time and trouble to get their traps ready.

Along the whole range of the South Downs the Wheatear has its haunts, especially about the vicinity of the Devil's Dyke, which is a place of general rendezvous for sportsmen and pleasure-seekers. It was formerly known as the Poor Man's Wall, and even now, in its deep trenches, exhibits the form and extent of a Roman encampment.

About five-and-forty years ago, in consequence of the large extent of company that frequented the spot in summer-time, to view the vast expanse of country which the site commands, Mr. Sharp, a confectioner, then carrying on his business in North Street, on the spot now occupied by the premises of Mr. Abrahams, outfitter, conceived the idea of establishing a place for refreshment near the summit of the hill, and for that purpose hired a piece of ground north of the high vallum which runs westward from the top of the Dyke to the brow of the hill. Thither he conveyed a wooden house that had been used as a bacon shop by a man named Smith. It formerly stood upon wooden wheels opposite the shop of Mr. Hyam Lewis, silversmith, in Ship Street Lane, now the upper end of Ship Street; but it at present forms a dwelling place, under the hill, by the turnpike road to Fulking, at the base of the Devil's Punch Bowl, close by the village of Poynings.

The person who first superintended the Dyke establishment was Mr. Russell, who was succeeded by Mr. Thomas Sturt. His successor was Mr. Thomas King, familiarly then and now known as "Tommy King," whose refreshing beverages and exhilirating fiddling gave him a far and near notoriety. The premises were only occupied and opened during the Summer season, from May to October; and although stabling and other accommodation were constructed, in a few years the public requirements induced the erection of the present building, the Dyke House, by Mr. Hardwick, and it has successively passed from King to Mr. Edwards, of Horsham, the tenant who obtained the spirit license; Mr. Ade, of Huntingdon; Mr. William Cooper, of Brighton; Mr. Peter Barkshire, now of Patcham; to its present occupier, Mr. William Thacker, who has been landlord of the house, and tenant of the farm attached twenty-seven years, during which period he has received the royal patronage of William IV. and Her present Majesty and the late Prince Consort. The house has also been the resort of many illustrious foreign visitors, amongst whom may be named Prince Metternich and Count Nesselrode.

The most notorious character who took up his abode here, was Azimullah Khan, the great promoter of the Mutiny in India. He was a resident in Brighton during the Spring and Summer of 1846; but towards the latter end of the Autumn of that year, by the alleged advice of his physician, he, for three weeks, had apartments at the Dyke House; and during that time he was constantly receiving and sending off Indian overland messengers with enormous despatches, without doubt having reference to that shocking revolt which will for ever remain an odious blot upon the history of our East Indian dominions. Azimullah was the Prime Minister of the arch fiend, Nana Sahib; and though it might be saying too much in declaring that the plan of the insurrection was decided upon at the Dyke House, there is little doubt that the first copy of the proclamation was prepared there. Lieutenant Delafosse, one of the few survivors of the Cawnpore massacre, on his return to England visited the Dyke, and there assured Mr Thacker that he saw Azimullah on the river bank at Cawnpore, in the company of Nana Sahib, waving his sword when the guns were discharging their murderous balls into the boats which contained the defenceless victims.

The steep sides of the Dyke have been the scenes of numerous accidents, from persons having the temerity to run down them. Some daring feats of riding and driving have also been exhibited here. The most memorable and daring act was that of Tom Poole, who, for the wager of a champagne dinner for twelve, drove a tandem down the most abrupt part. It was most cleverly accomplished, without the least accident; but that he might not be disappointed in participating in the wagered repast,--in the event of the loss of life or limb in the performance of the exploit,--he insisted upon having the dinner before he undertook his task. Many other dare-devil tricks have been attempted here; and perhaps the most remarkable is that related in what is familiarly known as the

LEGEND OF THE DEVIL'S DYKE.

"Once upon a time, at the period of yore, in the days of mistletoe and harvest-homing, when our country merited the title of 'merrie England,' there was to be found on the edge of the South Downs, opposite the pleasant little village of Poynings, in Sussex, a humble hostel, or village Inn, yclept 'The Jolly Shepherd,' kept by one Dame Margery, who, in her younger days, had followed the camp, but had long since retired upon her reputation as a trooper's widow. The accommodations of the 'Jolly Shepherd' would be held in slight repute in modern days, but in the time of which we are speaking they were reckoned all-sufficient, although consisting chiefly of a warm seat by a cheerful fire, fresh eggs and bacon, and good honest home-brewed ale; and accordingly some half-dozen rustic customers were seated round the widow's hearth, to escape the cutting blast of the Downs without, and commemorate the eve of Holy Saint John, within. Suddenly the song and the tale of the party were interrupted by a most mysterious knocking at the door, and a shrill, querulous voice demanding instant admittance. The active old hostess hastened to obey, but made a kind of a jump, step, and hop backward, on beholding the unusual appearance of the new arrival, exclaiming, 'Lord preserve us! what is it?' 'A gentleman from below,' replied a little, decrepid, wizened old man,

Whose coat was red, whose breeches were blue, With a little hole where a tail came through.

He glided into the room and crept along by the wall, with the most infernal ceremony and politeness, to the inner recess of the chimney corner, without having once shown his back to his hostess or any of the good company there assembled, and quickly finding himself comfortably seated, the queer little old gentleman produced a blackened 'Dudeen' and a velvet tobacco pouch, but somehow or other the clouds of smoke he emitted were so pervaded with the smell of brimstone and bitumen, that the rest of the guests did nothing but sneeze and knock their heads together in a regular hob-and-nob fashion. To stop this nuisance, the worthy hostess placed before her mysterious guest a frizzing hot dish of eggs and bacon, but upon tasting the same, he expressed his dissatisfaction, declaring it was as cold as charity, and demanding 'more pepper.' He, upon receiving it, emptied the contents of the pepper-box over the dish, and having thus formed a regular _pate au diable_, he swallowed it down with considerable apparent relish. With the ale it was pretty much the same; the hostess first mulled it, but her refractory guest declared it was as cold as ice; then she boiled it with a vast quantity of ginger, but with little better success, and it could only be brought to suit his fiery palate by being stirred up, when boiling, with a red hot poker. These strange proceedings of the mysterious visitor mightily astonished the rest of the guests, their faces becoming much elongated; and after staring at each other in stupified bewilderment, they stealthily took to their homes, exclaiming, 'Did you ever see the Devil?' The whole of the company had departed long ere the cause of their uneasiness left his chimney corner and glided to his sleeping apartment, which he managed to do in the same mysterious manner as he had entered the house, never once removing his back from the wall. About three o'clock in the morning, our worthy hostess of 'The Jolly Shepherd' was awakened from her balmy slumbers, by a strange thumping, bumping kind of noise just under her window, seeming to resemble the hubbub made by a shoal of whales or other such lumbering monsters, who had quitted the ocean deep, and taken to wallowing and gambolling along the Downs by way of pastime. The trooper's widow possessed a bold heart, and, added thereto, she had a woman's curiosity, which induced her to creep out of bed, and cautiously to take a peep at what was going on. She was amazed? She did not behold half a dozen Leviathans having a game at leap-frog, nor the like number of griffins playing at snap-dragon. No, no, nothing of that sort; but the queer little old gentleman aforesaid, mounted on a pair of lofty stilts, with a huge spade in his hand, was digging away at the edge of the ancient Roman encampment, like the very 'old-un,' shovelling out the chalk and flint stones by waggon loads, and his tail whisking about like a serpent in fits. The bold hostess did not hail him to stop his digging. Not she, good honest soul, as she was desirous of seeing a little clearer what he was about, before giving any alarm; so she quickly struck a light, and lest the candle should alarm her ancient guest, she caught up something to put before it, and this something fortunately happened to be a sieve. Suddenly the old gentleman ceased working, looked up at the window, and when he saw the candle behind the seive, surmounted by the old woman's night cap, he exclaimed 'Oh! Beelzebub, the rising sun,' and folding his stilts across to form a spindle, he ducked his head forward and rolling himself into a ball like a hedgehog, he went bounding along the Downs with fearful rapidity. The Right Rev. Rector of Poynings had been to a jolly christening, had made a wet night of it, and was endeavouring to navigate his road homewards, when he saw a sort of galvanized harlequin whirling and tumbling along straight towards him. The Rev. Rector stopped short; when, just on passing, a sharp pointed sting was protruded from the rolling mass; and having slightly touched his Reverence's great toe, the whole ball exhaled, evaporated and vanished--_exit in fumo_. The parish duties of Poynings were performed by the Curate for the next three months; the doctor said his Reverence was laid up with the gout, but the Rector himself maintained it was the Devil. The question has ever since been, what could induce this queer old gentleman to set to work and dig away in such an outlandish fashion? Some old gossips say that his evil intention was to let in the salt sea, and flood all this most beautiful valley of pleasant Sussex. Be that as it may, one fact is worth noting, that the hostelry of 'The Jolly Shepherd,' from that period ceased its existence, and never, in the village of Poynings, since that night, when his Satanic Majesty was foiled, has a license been held by any person _again_ to 'sell spirits.'"

The largest attendance of visitors to the Dyke, is during the months of August and September, when, frequently, as many as a hundred carriages a-day arrive with parties, either to view the magnificent expanse of scenery which the spot commands, or on pic-nic excursions, as the establishment has accommodation for many sets of visitors at the same time. The predilection which the English have for displaying their wit in snatches of their poetic genius, has, on the walls of the rooms, the looking-glasses, and the panes of glass in the windows, extensive scope, and signatures innumerable crowd every available spot.

O! foul attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot, In vain recorded.

The house being erected in so exposed and elevated a situation, one of the highest of the South-Down range, damage by gales and storms is very frequent. From the loneliness of its position, too, burglars have made various attempts to obtain spoil, but the reception they have always met with has rendered their expeditions a trouble rather than a profit. The spot was especially chosen by the late Duke of St. Albans for his hawking excursions, as it afforded an extensive range of sight to the numerous company of nobility and gentry, who attended upon such occasions to witness that old English pastime. The Brighton Harriers, at least once a week during the season, throw off here, and other packs make it their place of meeting.

But to return to the more immediate subject of this Chapter, the feathered tribe, from which there has been a slight digression, for the record of facts that form an important link in the chain of local history:

The Buzzard--_Falco buteo_,--is another of our indigenous birds, which has nearly disappeared from this district, and what was many years ago called the Common Buzzard is now very rare. They were formerly frequently met with among the furze near the edge of the cliffs, where they were constantly at war with the Jackdaws.

The Black Redstart--_Sylvia tithys_,--is considered rare in this country; but Brighton has been fortunate in affording several examples of this handsome and graceful bird, which is a winter visitor.

The Common Redstart--_Sylvia phoenicurus_,--unlike his _confrere_, is a summer visitor, generally arriving about the second week in April. Their migration seems to be gregarious, as they are to be met with in flocks of ten or a dozen, close by the sea shore, a little to the westward of Brighton, where they have apparently just arrived. In a day or two, they distribute themselves over the country, and are hardly ever seen again, but singly, or at most in pairs. This bird has several dark red feathers on the rump, and the country people call it the Fire Tail.

The Grasshopper Warbler--_Sylvia locustella_,--is a very shy bird, and consequently is very rarely seen. It is a great ventriloquist, and its note is exactly like the grasshopper, (hence its name), only very much louder, and so very peculiar, that a person may be within a yard or two of the bird, and yet be unable to define the exact spot. It is not a scarce bird, and several nests of it have been found at the Holm-bush, and almost any fine evening in June it may be heard there. Its haunts are at the edges of large woods, in low scrubby bushes.

The Sedge Warbler--_Sylvia phragmitis_,--may be found in the Summer months in the marshes that run up from Shoreham to Beeding. It is one of our night singing birds.

The Reed Wren or Reed Warbler--_Sylvia arundinacea_,--is found in precisely the same locality as the last, and where, during the Summer months, several of their extraordinary nests have been found. They generally prefer the ditches where the reeds grow the thickest. In making their nest, which is very deep, they bring three or four stout reeds together with their materials, near the water, and it is so beautifully and scientifically constructed, that in case of floods, the nest will rise up the stems. Any lover of Natural History, if he is not aware of the fact, or seen their nests, would be delighted with the beautiful provision which Nature here carries out.

The Nightingale--_Sylvia luscinia_,--is the most musical, most melancholy of birds, the poet's bird,--_par excellence_. On Poynings Common, through May, they may be heard in the greatest perfection, where they tune their melodious nocturnal love song through the livelong night. They generally arrive about the second week in April.

The Dartford Warbler--_Sylvia provincialis_,--is said by most writers on British birds, to be extremely rare, but on the Downs, two or three miles to the north-east of Newhaven, they have been seen among the furze. They have a propensity for keeping near the ground in the high furze, and a great dislike to exhibit themselves. They are local, and tolerably abundant in their _habitat_.

There are five species of Wagtail that are visitors in the neighbourhood of Brighton. The White Wagtail--_Motacilla alba_,--so nearly resembles the common Pied Wagtail--_Motacilla yarrellii_,--that to a common observer there appears scarcely any difference. The Gray Wagtail--_Motacilla boarula_,--and the Grayheaded Wagtail--_Motacilla flava_,--are rare birds to this country; but both have been shot in this locality. The Yellow or Rays Wagtail--_Motacilla campestris_,--is common in the Spring of the year, and may be found by the edges of running streams. To the eastward of Brighton the whole family of the Wagtails are called Dishwashers.

Sky Larks--_Alauda arvensis_,--in October, come in large flights from the east. It is a favourite amusement with the Cockney sportsmen of Brighton, on a nice sunshiny morning, to go just outside the town, with what is called a lark glass, which is simply a piece of wood about a foot long, planed like the ridge of a house, having small pieces of looking glass let in the sides, and a wooden pin fitted in a socket or stump which is firmly driven in the ground, and is set spinning backwards and forwards by a string. By this means the poor birds are decoyed down; and they seem fascinated by the glitter of the glass, as they keep hovering within a few feet of it, and are not easily driven away; consequently they present easy marks for the shooter. A dozen or more will hover over the glass at one time, and a tolerable marksman will sometimes kill three or four dozen of a morning. The sport is generally over by half-past nine or ten o'clock. In the winter,--generally at the first fall of snow,--immense flights of larks come coasting along, driven apparently from the cold northern climes, towards the more genial west. The numbers that pass over Brighton are incredible, they sometimes extend to millions a-day, as from early light to dusk there is a continued stream, at least a quarter of a mile wide, passing along. On the road to Rottingdean is where the greatest flights may be observed. They are apparently continental visitors, coming across the German Ocean in a north-east direction. The flight seldom lasts more than two or three days.

The Ortolan Bunting--_Emberiza hortulana_,--has twice been obtained in and near Brighton; but it is a very rare bird in this country.

The Hoopoe--_Upupa epops_,--the most beautiful of all our British birds, is a frequent visitor in the Spring of the year to this part of the country. In May, 1845, Mr Swaysland, Naturalist, Queen's Road, had to preserve and mount six Hoopoes, which were killed within a few miles of Brighton.

The Great Norfolk Plover, or Stone Curlew--_OEdicnemus crepitans_,--is becoming very scarce now, though formerly these birds were tolerably abundant. Their haunts were generally to be found among the large open stony fallows of our downs. They are like all the family of Charadriid, very shy birds.

The Golden Plover--_Charadrius pluvialis_,--the Ringed Dotterell--_Charadrius morinellus_,--the Grey Plover--_Vanellus melanogaster_,--the Turnstone--_Strepsilas interpres_,--the Sanderling--_Calidris arenaria_,--the Oystercatcher--_Hmatopus ostralegus_,--are all, every year, to be met with in the little bays and inlets, on the beach between Brighton and Shoreham Harbour; as are also the Curlew--_Numenius arquata_,--the Whimbrel--_Numenius phopus_,--the Red-hawk--_Totanus calidris_,--the Sandpiper--_Totanus hypoleucos_,--the Greenhawk--_Totanus glottis_,--the Blackheaded Godwit--_Limosa melanura_. The Ruff--_Machetes pugnax_,--is also found in the above locality, as well as several other species of the Waders. The Curlew Sandpiper--_Tringa subarquata_,--and the Little Stint--_Tringa minuta_,--have both been killed in the same place, though their visits are rare and far between.

The Gray Phalarope--_Phalaropus platyrhynchus_,--has occasionally been met with, generally in flocks of from ten to fifteen, and upwards. They are nearly or quite the smallest web-footed birds that are known; their homes are in the cold northern climes, and they are so unacquainted with man and his terrible engines of destruction, that they are apparently tame. Two gentlemen once fell in with a flock, in Shoreham Harbour, and killed seventeen, being nearly or quite all there were. They described them as miniature ducks swimming swiftly about on the still water, and did not attempt to escape; consequently they were all shot down.

In very severe winters, immense flocks of Wild Fowl fly near the shore, from east to west, and a great many specimens of the Goose and Duck tribe are obtained, some of them very rare to this county. The Egyptian Goose--_Anser gyptiacus_,--was shot a few miles from Brighton, two years ago. So rare is this beautiful bird considered, that there is still a doubt amongst Ornithologists that the examples which have been met with, have only strayed from gentlemen's parks, &c. They have generally been seen and shot in the severest winters, and are apparently a sort of "frozen-out gardeners."

During the winter of 1860, owing to its severity, several specimens of the Hooper--_Cygnus musicus_,--and Bewick's Swan--_Cygnus minor_,--were shot in this neighbourhood. A great many Swans were likewise observed flying a little distance out at sea.

The Great Northern Diver--_Colymbus glacialis_--is occasionally met with, as also the Black and Red Throated Diver--_Colymbus arcticus_,--and _Colymbus septentrionalis_.

There are several species of Terns to be met with in this locality. The Gullbilled Tern--_Sterna angelica_,--and the Lesser Tern--_Sterna minuta_,--are both rare, particularly the former, and have been shot near Shoreham. A few examples of the rare Little Gull--_Larus minutus_,--have been shot near Brighton; likewise the Ivory Gull--_Larus eburneus_,--both very rare. Most of the common Gulls are abundant, being near their breeding places.

Several specimens of The Forktailed Petrel--_Thalassidroma Leachii_,--and of the Storm Petrel or Mother Carey's Chicken--_Thalassidroma pelagica_,--have been obtained generally in the severest gales, about the time of the Vernal and Autumnal equinoxes, when they have frequently been found blown ashore, by stress of weather; and instances have occurred here, when they have been picked up in areas of houses near the sea, generally in a most exhausted state.

The House Sparrow,--_Fringilla domestica_,--is a well-known young gentleman, that may be seen almost any day, at every man's door, whether poor or rich, in town or in country. He is the most familiar and domesticated wild bird in England. In town he puts on his black, dirty, scavenger's dress, which completely disguises him,--his appearance being so different from his _confreres_ in the country. His destructiveness among the newly sown seeds in the garden, and in the ripe standing wheat, is proverbial;--but then, in the consumption of grubs and caterpillars, he is eminently serviceable, which greatly compensates for the harm he may do in the garden or in the field.

The Rook--_Corvus frugilegus_,--during the latter part of the Winter, the whole of the Spring, and the former part of the Summer, takes up his abode in the elm trees of the Pavilion Grounds, which form a breeding colony in immediate connexion with the Rookery at Stanmer Park. About Christmas the Rooks arrive to reconnoitre, and in February they commence building their nests, much to the entertainment of persons whose business or pleasure takes them by way of the New Road. For some few years previous to the re-building of Union Street Chapel, in 1825, a pair of Rooks annually took up their abode in a large elm tree which stood in the small burial-ground of that place of worship. The Jackdaw--_Corvus monedula_,--and the Starling--_Sturnus vulgaris_,--in various parts of the town are annual visitors, year after year occupying the same blank chimneys or neglected gables.

All Naturalists attached to the scientific expeditions for the exploration of the Arctic regions, speak of the myriads of water fowl met with, in those immense reservoirs of snow and ice, the accumulation of ages, where, in the midst of plenty, they rear their young, unmolested by man. There, amongst lagoons, and bays, and swamps, and lakes, and where an impenetrable barrier is firmly fixed to the prying eye of man, they find an asylum to propagate their different orders, and genus, and species, surrounded by a profusion of food; and, at the end of the long Summer day of weeks of unsetting sun, with instinctive knowledge they gather together their separate families, in innumerable flocks, and proceed southward, to replenish the warmer regions of the globe, and to furnish man with some of the luxuries of life.

Brighton and its surrounding locality, including Lewes, have obtained considerable repute amongst entomologists for producing a great many rare insects, owing, no doubt, to there being several persevering and good collectors in the district.

There are only sixty-four indigenous Butterflies in England,--certainly very few when compared with the number of species found in Europe. Of those sixty-four, Brighton and its neighbourhood contribute forty-eight, and of Moths,--of which there are upwards of two thousand found in England,--nearly the same proportion. It is a curious fact in Natural History, that some families, which years ago were rare in England, have now become common; and, others which were frequently met with, are very rare; some species have disappeared altogether, while new ones,--owing to the great addition and perseverance of collectors,--are every year discovered and added to the lists.

The Holmbush,--about eight miles from Brighton, and the commencement of the Weald of Sussex,--has hitherto been the great emporium for moths, and a good many butterflies, particularly _the fritillaries_, whose resort is in and near the large woods there.

A few years ago, the Wood White,--_Leucophasia sinapis_,--in June could be found there in abundance. Now the species is rarely seen, but, being a denizen of the interior of the woods, and the woods all about there being strictly _tabooed_, the collector has not the opportunity to get them he formerly had.

The Green-veined White,--_Pieris napi_,--the pretty little Orange Tip,--_Anthocharis cardamines_,--and the Brimstone Butterfly,--_Gonepteryx rhamni_,--are common in that locality; but for the Clouded Yellows,--genus, _Colias_,--Brighton must be closer approached in the clover fields, about August. They are of a rich golden colour, banded with black; and there is a variety called _Helice_, which are considered a prize to any entomologist. _The_ great prize, the Queen of Spain,--_Argynnis lathonia_,--_has_ been taken in a garden at Kemp Town; but like "Angels' visits," they are very "few and far between." The gorgeous Large Copper,--_Polyommatus hippothoe_,--whose wings, edged with black, shine like burnished gold, and cast into shade any colour which the device of man can create,--was once plentiful in two counties of England, Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire; but it is now considered by our best entomologists extinct in this country.

The Purple Emperor,--_Apatura iris_,--may be seen in all his glory on a hot Summer's day, the first week in August, in the above locality, soaring round the high oaks, in all imaginable grandeur. He is rightly termed Emperor, as no other butterfly dares to invade his imperial aerial realms. His magnificent purple wings defy the highest skill of the artist to imitate. These simple, beautiful butterflies whisper in reason's ear, truths, which, alas! humble the pride of man. There is the Painted Lady,--_Vanessa Cardui_,--but she will not do for the present fashionable generation, as she does not wear crinoline, and her food is of the most vulgar description,--the common thistle, from which she derives her specific name.

The family of the Argus Butterflies,--the Hair Streaks,--genus _Thecla_,--are of five distinct species, three of which are obtained near Brighton. Their haunts are likewise amongst the large oak trees, where they play and gambol in the hot sunshine, the live-long day. The last family of the butterflies are the Skippers,--in science, _Hesperid_,--or, to use the generic name for this family--_Hesperia_. The first is the Grizzle--_Syrichthus elveolus_, whose specific name means chequered, the spots on the wings of the Imago, being somewhat like a chessboard, the fore wings being black, interspersed with about fifteen or sixteen squarish white spots. The next is the Dingy Skipper--_Hesperia paniscus_,--and then the Large Skipper--_Hesperia Sylvanus_,--from "Sylvan,"--being found in the woods. The Pearl Skipper--_Hesperia Comma_,--takes its name from a mark on the fore wings, and is found in low swampy situations, and in almost every locality for Butterflies. Then, there are the Small Skipper--_Hesperia Linia_,--and the Lulworth Skipper--_Hesperia Acteon_. The latter derives its English name from the only place where it has been found, viz., near Lulworth Cove, on the Dorsetshire Coast; and it receives its Latin name, Acteon, from his being a great hunter.

This ends the list of the British Butterflies in the vicinity of Brighton, with the exception of that which was taken by one of the most honest and persevering collectors, in August, 1860, near Kemp Town. No one doubts of its being taken there, as several entomologists of the highest respectability, saw it on the spot _alive_, immediately after it was taken; but a very small clique of savans will not allow it to be put on the list as a new British Butterfly, because they have a theoretic fancy that it might be blown over from the coast of France, a distance of nearly a hundred miles, across the English Channel. The idea, however, is absurd. A little delicate butterfly, with all the appearance of having just emerged from the chrysalis, to be blown that distance without apparently ruffling a feather, is out of all character. If it had been a new bird that had been obtained on our shores, the ornithologists would have been only too happy to have had the opportunity of adding it to their list, as a new British species.

Mr. Edward Newman, of Bishopsgate Street, the great naturalist, and prince of writers, and publisher of works on Natural History, has stood sponsor to this new British Butterfly, and named it--The Brighton Argos--_Lycaena Boetica_.

Bewick has expressed the wish that mankind could be prevailed upon to read a few lessons from the great book of Nature, to see the wonders which the Universe presents, and to reflect on the wisdom, the power, and the goodness of the Great Creator that planned and formed the whole.

How necessary is it, then, that we should direct our attention to the sowing of the seeds of knowledge in the minds of youth. The great work of forming the man cannot be begun too early; and agreeably with this sentiment, how many writers are there who spend their lives in contributing in various ways to turn the streams of instruction through their proper channel into this most improvable soil,--taking children by the hand, and directing their steps like guardian angels, in the outset of life, to prevent their floundering on in ignorance to the end. In these undertakings the instructors of youth are often assisted by the fertile genius of the artists, who supply their works with such embellishments as serve to relieve the lengthened sameness of the way. Among the many approved branches of instruction, the study of Natural History holds a distinguished rank. To enlarge upon the advantages which are desirable from a knowledge of the Creation, is surely not necessary. To become initiated into this knowledge is to become enamoured of its charms; to attain the object in view requires but little previous study or labour; the road which leads to it soon becomes strewed with flowers, and ceases to fatigue; a flow is given to the imagination which banishes early prejudices and expands the ideas, and an endless fund of the most rational entertainment is spread out, that captivates the attention and exalts the mind. For the attainment of this science in any of its various departments, the foundation may be laid, insensibly, in youth, whereon a goodly superstructure of useful knowledge can easily be raised at a more advanced period. In whatever way, indeed, the varied objects of this beautiful world are viewed, they are readily understood by the contemplative mind, for they are found alike to be the visible works of God. The great book of Nature is amply spread out before mankind, and could they but see how clearly the hand of Providence is in every page, they would consider the faculty of reason as the distinguishing gift to the human race, and use it as the guide of their lives. They would find their reward in a cheerful resignation of mind, in peace and happiness, under the conscious persuasion that "a good naturalist cannot be a bad man."