knowledge of outdoor life than as a scholar and divine. He had some misgivings that when the occupants of the lion-house were particularly wanted to show an interest in the scent, they might refuse to do so. But though it was only half an hour before feeding time, and they had had no food since four o'clock on the previous day, the jaguars, lions, and leopards showed the greatest pleasure in the perfume. The Society's collection of foxes, wolves, and wild dogs has for some time been below the standard desirable in such a "doggy" country as England. The cages, which are close to the lionhouse, along the southern boundary of the Gardens, are too small to give the animals much room for exercise, and except an occasional litter of young dingos or Esquimaux dogs there are none of those delightful litters of young wolves and foxes which are so attractive to the public at some foreign zoological gardens. At the Hague, for instance, there was in the present spring a litter of eight young wolves, whose mother, rather thin from looking after such a family, was like a living replica of the bronze she-wolf of the Capitol. On the other hand, there are in the cages at the present time the survivors of Lieutenant Peary's Esquimaux dogs, fine black-and-white collielike animals; and the color changes in the Arctic foxes are always worth observing. The fashion of going to see the lions fed forms no part of the writer's conception of "How to see the Zoo." All the cats look their worst when hunched up or sprawling on their bellies, gnaw. ing bones, with their sharp canine teeth -meant for cutting flesh, and not gnawing-constantly in their way. On the other hand, nearly every other animal looks its best when at meals, from the quiet ruminants enjoying their hay to the seal, sea-lions, pelicans, and diving birds. The sea-lion's exhibition of catching fish thrown to him is artificial, but most creditable to his power of eye. The writer has seen Dutch cranes catching nuts, but not with such perfect coolness and skill as that shown by the sea lion in catching his fish in the air. It would be much more satisfactory if the seals, whose ponds are near that of the sea-lion, could have a glass-faced tank to catch live fish in, like that constructed for the diving birds. Their wonderful, smooth, rapid movements in the water could then be admired and better understood. Recently the writer saw the seal being made an involuntary assistant in scrubbing out its own tank. The water was three parts let out, and the keeper then threw it fish. The seal floundering about in the shallow water served the purposes of a mop, and washed the sides of the tank fairly clean of algae and mud. Just beyond the seal-ponds, on the way to the swine-houses, are the emus' paddocks. After the first excitement of Australian discovery cooled down, emus, kangaroos, black swans, and even the ornithorynchus, became part of the commonplace of natural history. Yet few people know that the reason why "emu trimmings" are almost the softest material in the world is that each of the hair-like feathers is really double, two shafts springing from one root. This can be verified at the Zoo by inducing the bird to let its feathers be separated · by hand. Here, too, the first emus bred in England were hatched. Dr. Bennett, a Quaker gentleman, kept some tame emus in Kent, and the hen laid and begun to sit. Then on a Saturday afternoon she deserted, and, as it was contrary to Dr. Bennett's principles to travel on Sunday, he took the eggs to bed with him, and there "incubate" them all Sunday, taking them up from Beckenham to the Zoo on Monday morning. The summer litters of young wild boars, and the tame woodcock and bower birds in the Western Aviary, near the main entrance, are always worth a visit in spring and summer, and the herons' pond and gullery behind the polar bear's cage, though overcrowded are full of nesting herons, gulls, and ibises in May and June. The public is much divided in mind on the subject of the monkeys. The writer, without feeling any strong dislike for the inhabitants of the large central cages, prefers the rare and finely-furred species in the small cages along the inner wall of the house, the Diana monkeys, blue monkeys, and marmozets. If permission can be had to visit the inner chamber, in which the first gorilla used to be exhibited, numbers of rare and delicate South American monkeys and tropical lemurs are usually to be seen, which are not able to stand the wear and tear of public life in the main room. The oldest and in many respects the most interesting of the Zoo monkeys lives outside the house, in an open cage, exposed to all conditions of weather. This is the Tcheli monkey from the mountains near Pekin. It has been in the gardens for fourteen years, and is as attached to its keepers as a bulldog to its master. Were it at liberty it would be quite as formidable as a dog, for it tries to attack any one who touches the keeper, and, as the bars prevent it from using its teeth, it throws any missile, with great precision, at the visitor's head. In any case a visit to the South Garden should be concluded by seeing the diving birds' exhibition of submarine flight and swimming, when fed in the fish-house at noon or 5 P.M. The animals kept north of the main road are far less easy of access than those in the original garden in the inner circle of the park. The ground covers a long narrow space running parallel with the road, and is itself cut into two strips by the Regent's Park Canal. On these two narrow ridges are to be found some of the most interesting creatures in the collection; but each series of houses has to be visited without reference to any train of association of ideas connecting their inmates, and after the last in the row is reached it is necessary to return to the startingpoint near the "tunnel," cross the bridge, and make a fresh lateral excursion on the other bank of the canal. If time is an object, it is no bad plan, after seeing the collection in the original garden, to pass through the tunnel, turn to the right, and, after seeing the kangaroos, the lesser cats, and the apes, to cross the bridge and visit the butterfly farm in the insect-house, and then leave the Gardens by the north gate. This will leave the parrot-house, elephant-house, giraffes, beavers, hippopotamus, zebras, and moose-yard as untried ground for another day. The kangaroos and wallabys are some of the most domesticated of the wild animals in the collection. They are as tame as cats, and as they breed without difficulty in England, the pretty and strange arrangement by which the young, even when fully developed, covered with fur, and shod with long sharp hoofs, are carried in the abdominal pouch can always be seen. It is pure laziness on the part of the older "joeys," for they can hop about and feed themselves as well as their mothers can. The ape-house and its vestibule, in which lives the giant ant-eater, is usually crowded and disagreeable, both in odor and temperature, in the afternoon. The new gorilla, which is the favorite of the hour, is usually thoroughly tired of holding "receptions" by that time; and an early morning visit is recommended. The keeper says that the young gorilla promises to be as intelligent as Sally, and its thoughtfulness, attention, and deliberation are certainly very unusual even in an anthropoid ape of such tender years. Two small coal-black apes belonging to Mr. Gambier Bolton should be noticed in this house. They are remarkably friendly and intelligent, and have little of the semi-human appearance which is so disconcerting a feature in the large species. The small cat-house, next to the apehouse, would, if better constructed, be one of the most popular features in the Gardens. Many of the ocelots and tiger-cats are more decorative even than the leopards, though the snow-leopard is perhaps without a rival. Moreover, they are extremely interesting in view of the probable origin of our domestic cats. The result of modern inquiry shows that the domestic cats of different parts of the Old World are probably intermixed with the wild breeds, of which there are in India, for instance, several varieties, and that there is no single ancestor of the domestic cat. In the collection at the Zoo, the visitor should look at the "chaus," the common wild cat of India and North Africa, and another smaller cat of very similar appearance, the Felis maniculata, from Suakim. These are probably the ancestors of the ancient Egyptian cats. The European wild-cat and the spotted Indian tigercats should be contrasted with these. For beauty of fur the "golden cat" of Sumatra, and the ocelots, in the same house, are unrivalled, and the "fossa,” a cat-like creature from Madagascar, remarkable both for its form and rapid movement. Unfortunately, the house is rather dark-it was the old reptilehouse-and the cages, square boxes with no top light and little space, do not show off the beauty of the inmates. At the Amsterdam Zoological Gardens these small cats are shown in a horseshoe-shaped series of cages facing the light; each cat has a heap of fine Italian shavings, like those sold to ornament grates, to lie on, and the whole effect is excellent. The ocelots and most of the genets in this house are delighted with the scent of lavender water. The cats are nearly all savage, and the visitor must forego his, or her, inclination to stroke them. A very large and beautiful Norwegian lynx has just been added to the collection of cats. It is kept in the south garden, in the racoons' cages. The "transpontine" section of the Zoo contains a number of falcons and hawks in cages, the giant tortoises (not more remarkable, except for their size, than the little fellows sold in the streets), and the insect-house, which, though small, is infinitely charming in the spring and early summer, when the tropical moths and rare butterflies are hatching out. From the beginning of May till the middle of June there is a constant succession of broods of the Cecropian silk moths, moon moths. Tussur silk moths, and other large tropical moths with plumage like feathers and flowers mixed and blended. A few hours see the birth of from ten to thirty of these lovely creatures in a single cage, and as they are by no means ephemeral, their beauties are open to view for several days. swallow-tailed butterflies, hornet clearSwarms of wings, stick insects, and smaller moths also appear during the month of June, and in July the larvæ of the Ailanthus and Prometheus silk moths, more brilliant in color than the perfect insect, are seen feeding in the cases. In winter the greater number of the glass cages are lifeless, as the cocoons or chrysalides are sleeping the winter sleep. These cocoons are themselves beautiful objects; but they can be seen in summer during the hatching season no less well than in winter. The "Middle Garden," to the left of the tunnel looking north, has some special attractions at the present time. The best hour at which to visit this part of the Gardens is just after 6 P.M. on Saturday. The band in the South Garden has finished its programme with "God save the Queen," which, as the two elephants know well, is the signal to cease work and have supper. Both of the giant beasts walk to the off-saddling ground, where the Indian elephant kneels and collects the last offerings of buns while the saddle is removed. Then the pair walk off to their house in the Middle Garden. Their eyes positively twinkle at the thought of their bath, their supper, and no more work till Monday, and they almost break into a trot as the pleasant sight of their pond, their hay, and the cool stable breaks upon their view. Like the farm horses, the elephants drink a prodigious quantity of water before eating their supper, and make the latter last until well after dark. C. J. CORNISH. From Temple Bar. SELBORNE AND GILBERT WHITE. The Hampshire village of Selborne, five miles from Alton station, has but little altered since Gilbert White lived there. The railway has not carried thither the excursionist or converted ·་ the quiet village into a fashionable resort for holiday-makers. Indeed, all the railway influences tend the other way. In taking a journey from Somerset to Selborne I changed trains five or six times, and there was then await ing me an hour's drive from Alton. Yet, in spite of this, there are a few, allured by the pages of Gilbert White and catching enthusiasm from him, who visit Selborne, and in the summer many more drive over from adjacent towns. For those who come there is the best at the village hostel, the "White Hart" Inn, where that refreshment awaits the man who, alive to the pleasures of Nature, cannot ignore the practical needs of life. In this charming village, then, in the sweet springtime, amidst the quivering notes of the nightingale and the beautiful liquid warble of the thrush, passing along meadows painted with primroses, cowslips, bluebells, anemones, and "ladysmocks all silver-white," those who wish may "plume their feathers and let grow their wings." Selborne is backed by a steep ground covered with beech-trees, many of considerable age, which raise their handsome forms all up the steep ascent and form a commanding feature in the landscape for many miles round. This long stretch of beech-covered slope is called the Hanger; and certainly it does hang over the village, which nestles, separated from it by a few fields, be neath its shelter. Some of the fields lying between the Hanger and the village are planted with hops, which are largely grown round Selborne. Gilbert White's house faces the Hanger. Most of the old building remains, but it has been much added to. A beautiful and extensive lawn, or, as our ancestors would have termed it, "a fair pleasaunce," with many handsome shrubs, lies in front of the house, while at the end of the garden is the very sun-dial, reposing on a pillar, which the naturalist placed there. Between the lawn and the fruit and vegetable garden is a portion of a wall erected by White and bearing his initials-"G. W." This house, called the Wakes, was for many years occupied by Professor Bell, who lies in Selborne churchyard. The other side of White's house faces the Plestor, a piece of land originally given by Adam de Gurdon in the reign of Edward I., and from that day to this the playground of the village. Here, White tells us, once stood "a vast oak, with a short, squat body and huge, horizontal arms extending almost to the extremity of the area." A great tempest overthrew it, and, though the vicar "bestowed several pounds in setting it in its place again, it died." There is, however, a successor, but one by no means remarkable either for size or shapeliness. The houses round the Plestor form almost a quadrangle. It is through the Plestor that we pass into the church, whose "squat tower," as White terms it, is forty feet high only. White informs us that it was stuccoed in his time, and it may be that this stucco, which was slowly placed on the building by masons during a whole summer, is the very stucco we see there to-day. From this tower it was that White watched the movements of "those amusive birds, the swifts," and also the nightly sallyings forth, in search of "mice and such small deer," of a pair of barn-owls. The church itself is carefully described by Gilbert White in his "An tiquities of Selborne," and is, in general feature, much as when he cast around it his accurate and observing eye. The Gothic pillars, the font lined with lead, the four stone brackets which once supported images, and the lancet windows are as they were in his day. Even the "oaken balusters" round the space occupied by the Holy Table, and the wainscoting placed by the Rev. Andrew Etty are unchanged. "Nothing," White remarks, “can be more irregular than the pews of this church," and it is a pleasure to find that new ones have been set up, though one or two of the old ones remain to delight the antiquary. The stone coffins alluded to by White, which in his day were employed as pavement, have been taken up and placed in a spot reserved for them in the south aisle. ous, and will doubtless survive many generations yet unborn. A walk through the churchyard carries one along lines of beeches and by a rippling stream and through pleasant meadows to the Priory. How this Priory was founded by Peter de Rupibus, Bishop of Winchester, how it became rich, how as time passed it grew corrupt and became the prey of vice, debt, and maladministration, how that great and noble prelate. William of Wykeham, strove, by constant visitations, by stern remonstrance, by munificence to avert by White. Bishop Waynflete, too, in vain tried advice and censure, and at last consented to the petition of Magdalen College, Oxford, that the revenues of the Priory should be taken away and its estates assigned to that seminary of learning which he had founded. All the alterations in this church have evidently been thoughtfully and reverently made, and probably none would be better pleased than White himself to see them. White's ancestors lie under the chancel, and relations of his outside the chancel. Under the chancel are buried his great-grandfather, his grandfather-vicar of Selborne-and his father. White refers to burials within the walls of churches as indecent, and doubtless for this reason was himself buried outside. Over the Holy Table is a beautiful impending ruin, is told at length painting, representing "The Adoration of the Magi," said to be the work of Albert Dürer, and presented to the church by Benjamin White, an eminent London bookseller, brother of Gilbert and publisher of his "History of Selborne." This picture for some years remained in the vestry, but is now in its rightful position. It is a most striking presentment of that scene, so popular with painters, of wisdom pouring forth treasure at the shrine of innocence and purity. Just a little to the right of the north side of the chancel is White's grave, with a headstone and footstone, each with his initials. The stranger has some difficulty in finding the grave, as, save these stones, there is nothing to mark it from others. Here, then, surrounded by many whom he knew and loved, and who loved and venerated him, beneath the shadow of his parish church and within a stone's throw of his house, lies this great man, in nothing greater than in his humility. In the chancel is a mural monument to his memory. The graveyard, which White regarded as overcrowded in his time, has recently received a considerable addition of ground. The ancient yew-tree, supposed by White to have been planted prior to the time of Edward I., was measured by White and found to be twenty-five feet in circumference but to this a century has added several feet. In this April of the year it has been shedding clouds of dust just as it did when the naturalist wrote about it; it looks hale and vigor This happened many years before the Reformation, when "some who twofold balls and triple sceptres carried" overthrew that monastic system against which, but for its vices, they would have worked in vain. Selborne Priory fell, and not even in White's time could a vestige of it be seen, though its site can be clearly traced. It lay pleasantly seated close to a flowing trout-stream amidst sweet meadows and ample wood. and all that could charm the eye. Its destruction tells the sad tale of men false to a sacred trust; abusing and wasting the pious offerings of the people, and at length bringing on themselves a tardy but terrible punishment. We can walk from the stone bridge opposite the Priory to Selborne by a road which, no doubt, was once the main line of communication between Selborne and the Priory itself, and, whichever way we take, nothing is more striking than the abundance of wild animal life. Partridges. with a rush and a whirr, frequently fly out of cover; the crow of the pheasant is heard; the magpie, with heavy flight, passes in the distance: the cuckoo tunes his merry note. and the weasel, the squirrel, and the hare are often seen. |