boasted works of art, the highest towers, and the noblest domes, are but ant-hills when put in comparison; the single cavity of a rock often exhibits a coping higher than the ceiling of a gothic cathedral. The face of the shore offers to the view a wall of massive stone, ten times higher than our tallest steeples. What should we think of a precipice three quarters of a mile in height? and yet the rocks of St. Kilda are still higher! What must be our awe to approach the edge of that impending height, and to look down on the unfathomable vacuity below to ponder on the terrors of falling to the bottom, where the waves that swell like mountains are scarcely seen to curl on the surface, and the roar of an ocean a thousand leagues broad appears softer than the murmur of a brook! It is in these formidable mansions that myriads of sea-fowls are for ever sporting, flying in security down the depth, half a mile beneath the feet of the spectator. The crow and the chough avoid those frightful precipices; they choose smaller heights, where they are less exposed in the tempest: it is the cormorant, the gannet, the tarrock, and the terne that venture to these dreadful retreats, and claim an undisturbed possession. To the spectator from above these birds, though some of them are above the size of an eagle, seem scarce as large as a swallow; and their loudest screaming is scarce perceptible.

But the generality of our shores are not so formidable. Though they may rise two hundred fathom above the surface, yet it often happens that the water forsakes the shore at the departure of the tide, and leaves a noble and delightful walk for curiosity on the beach. Not to mention the variety of shells with which the sand is strewed, the lofty rocks that hang over the spectator's head, and that seem but just kept from falling, produce in him no unpleasing gloom. If to this be added the fluttering, the screaming, and the pursuits of myriads of water birds, all either intent on the duties of incubation or roused at the presence of a stranger, nothing can compose a scene of more peculiar solemnity To walk along the shore when the tide is departed, or to sit in the hollow of a rock when it is come in, attentive to the various sounds that gather on every side above and below, may raise the mind to its highest and noblest exertions. The solemn roar of the waves swelling into and subsiding from the vast caverns beneath-the piercing note of the gull-the frequent chatter of the guillemot-the loud note of the auk-the scream of the heron-and the hoarse deep periodical croaking of the cormorant, all unite to furnish out the grandeur of the scene, and turn the mind to Him who is the Essence of all sublimity.

Yet it often happens that the contemplation of a seashore produces ideas of an humbler kind, yet still not unpleasing. The various arts of these birds to seize their prey, and sometimes to elude their pursuers-their society among each other-and their tenderness and care of their young, produce gentler sensations, It is ridiculous, also, now and then to see their various ways of imposing upon each other. It is common enough, for instance, with the arctic gull to pursue the lesser gulls so long, that they drop their excrements through fear, which the hungry hunter quickly gobbles up before it ever reaches the water. In breeding, too, they have frequent contests. One bird who has no nest of her own attempts to dispossess another, and put herself in the place. This often happens among all the gull kind; and I have seen the poor bird thus displaced by her more powerful invader sit near the nest in pensive discontent, while the other seemed quite comfortable in her new habitation. Yet this place of pre-eminence is not easily obtained; for the instant the invader goes to snatch a momentary sustenance the other enters upon her own, and always ventures another battle before she relinquishes the justness of her claim. The contemplation of a cliff, thus covered with hatching-birds, affords a very

agreeable entertainment; and as they sit upon the ledges of the rocks, one above another, with their white breasts forward, the whole group has not unaptly been compared to an apothecary's shop.

These birds, like all others of the rapacious kind, lay but few eggs; and hence in many places their number is daily seen to diminish. The lessening of so many rapacious birds may at first sight appear a benefit to mankind; but when we consider how many of the natives of our islands are sustained by their flesh, either fresh or salted, we shall find no satisfaction in thinking that these poor people may in time lose their chief support. The gull in general, as was said, builds on the ledges of rocks, and lays from one egg to three, in a nest formed of long grass and sea-weed. Most of the kind are fishy tasted, with black stringy flesh; yet the young ones are better food; and of these, with several other birds of the penguin kind, the poor inhabitants of our northern islands make their wretched banquets. They have been long used to no other food; and even salted gull can be relished by those who know no better. Almost all delicacy is a relative thing; and the man who repines at the luxuries of a well-served table starves not for want, but from comparison. The luxuries of the poor are indeed coarse to us, yet still they are luxuries to those ignorant of better; and it is probable enough that a Kilda or a Feroe man may be found to exist outdoing Apicius himself in consulting the pleasures of the table. Indeed, if it be true that such meat as is the most dangerously earned is the sweetest, no man can dine so luxuriously as these, as none venture so hardily in the pursuit of a dinner. In Jacobson's History of the Feroe Islands we have an account of the method in which these birds are taken; and I will deliver it in his own simple manner.

It cannot be expressed with what pains and danger they take these birds in those high, steep cliffs, whereof many are two hundred fathoms high. But there are men apt by nature and fit for the work, who take them usually in two manners-they either climb from below into these high promontories, that are as steep as a wall;' or they let themselves down with a rope from above. When they climb from below they have a pole five or six ells long, with an iron hook at the end, which they that are below in the boat or on the cliff fasten to the man's girdle, helping him up thus to the highest place where he can get footing: afterwards they also help up another man; and thus several climb up as high as possibly they can; and, where they find difficulty, they help each other up by thrusting one another up with their poles. When the first hath taken footing, he draws the other up to him by the rope fastened to his waist; and so they proceed till they come to the place where the birds build. They there go about as well as they can in those dangerous places, the one holding the rope at one end and fixing himself to the rock; the other going at the other end from place to place. If it should happen that he chanceth to fall, the other that stands firm keeps him up, and helps him up again. But if he passeth safe, he likewise fastens himself till the other has passed the dangerous place also. Thus they go about the cliffs after birds as they please. It often happeneth, however (the more is the pity!), that when one doth not stand fast enough, or is not sufficiently strong to hold up the other in his fall, that they both fall down and are killed. In this manner some do perish every year."

Mr. Peter Clanson, in his description of Norway, writes that there was anciently a law in that country, that whosoever climbed so on the cliffs that he fell down and died, if the body was found, before burial his next kinsman should go the same way; but if he durst not, or could not, do it, the dead body was not then to be buried in sanctified earth, as the person was too full of temerity, and was his own destroyer. Clanson continues:-" When the fowlers are come in

the manner aforesaid to the birds within the cliffs, where people seldom come, the birds are so tame that they take them with their hands for they will not readily leave their young. But when they are wild, they cast a net with which they are provided over them, and entangle them therein. In the meantime there lieth a boat beneath in the sea, wherein they cast the birds killed; and in this manner they can in a short time fill a boat with fowl. When it is pretty fair weather, and there is good fowling, the fowlers stay in the cliffs seven or eight days together; for there are here and there holes in the rocks where they can safely rest; and they have meat let down to them with a line from the top of the mountain. In the meantime some go every day to them to fetch home what they have taken.

"Some rocks are so difficult that they can in no manner get unto them from below; wherefore they seek to come down thereto from above. For this purpose they have a rope eighty or a hundred fathoms long, made of hemp, and three fingers thick. The fowler maketh the end of this fast about his waist and between his legs, so that he can sit thereon; and is thus let down with the fowling-staff in his hand. Six men hold by the rope, and let him easily down, laying a large piece of wood on the brink of the rock, upon which the rope glideth, that it may not be worn to pieces by the hard and rough edge of the stone. They have, besides, another small line that is fastened to the fowler's body; on which he pulleth, to give them notice how they should let down the great rope, either lower or higher; or to hold still, that he may stay in the place whereunto he is come. Here the man is in great danger, because of the stones that are loosened from the cliff by the swinging of the rope, and he cannot avoid them. To remedy this in some measure, he hath usually on his head a seaman's thick and shaggy cap, which defends him from the blows of the stones, if they be not too big; and then it costeth him his life: nevertheless, they continually put themselves in that danger for the wretched body's food sake, hoping in God's mercy and protection, unto which the greatest part of them do devoutly recommend themselves when they go to work: otherwise, they say, there is no great danger in it, except that it is a toilsome and artificial labour; for he that hath not learned to be so let down, and is not used thereto, is turned about with the rope, so that he soon groweth giddy, and can do nothing; but he that hath learned the art considers it as a sport, swings himself on the rope, sets his feet against the rock, casts himself some fathoms from thence, and shoots himself to what place he will: he knows where the birds are--he understands how to sit on the line in the air, and how to hold the fowling-staff in his hand, striking therewith the birds that come or fly away; and when there are holes in the rocks, and it stretches itself out, making underneath as a ceiling under which the birds are, he knoweth how to shoot himself in among them and there take firm footing. There, when he is in these holes, he maketh himself loose of the rope, which he fastens to a crag of the rock, that it may not slip from him to the outside of the cliff. He then goes about in the rock, taking the fowl, either with his hands or the fowlingstaff. Thus, when he hath killed as many birds as he thinks fit, he ties them in a bundle, and fastens them to little rope, giving a sign by pulling that they should draw them up. When he has wrought thus the whole day, and desires to get up again, he sitteth once more upon the great rope, giving a new sign that they should puil him up or else he worketh himself up, climbing along the rope with his girdle full of birds. It is also usual, where there are not folks enough to hold the great rope, for a fowler to drive a post sloping into the earth, and to make a rope fast thereto, by which he lets himself down, without anybody's help, to work in the man

ner aforesaid. Some rocks are so formed that the person can go into their cavities by land.

These manners are more terrible and dangerous to see than to describe; especially if one considers the steepness and height of the rocks, it seeming impossible for a man to approach them, much less to climb or descend. In some places the fowlers are seen climbing where they can only fasten the ends of their toes and fingers-not shunning such places, though there be a hundred fathom between them and the sea. It is a dear meat for these poor people, for which they must venture their lives; and many, after long venturing, do at last perish therein.

"When the fowl is brought home a part thereof is eaten afresh, another part, when there is much taken, being hung up for winter provision. The feathers are gathered to make merchandise of for other expenses. The inhabitants get a great many of these fowls as God giveth His blessings and fit weather. When it is dark and hazy they take the most; for then the birds stay in the rocks: but in clear weather and hot sunshine they seek the sea. When they prepare to depart for the season they keep themselves most there, sitting on the cliffs towards the sea-side, where people get at them sometimes with boats, and take with them fowling-staves."

Such is the account of this historiau; but we are not to suppose that all the birds caught in this manner are of the gull kind; on the contrary, numbers of them are of the penguin kind—auks, puffins, and guillemots. These all come once a season to breed in these recesses, and retire in winter to fish in more southern climates.

CHAP. VII.

OF THE PENGUIN KIND AND FIRST OF THE GREAT MAGELLANIC PENGUIN.

The gulls are long-winged, swift flyers, that hover over the most extensive seas, and dart upon such fish as approach too near the surface. The penguin kind are but ill fitted for flight, and still less for walking. Everybody must have seen the awkward manner in which a duck, either wild or tame, attempts to change place; they must recollect with what softness and ease a gull or a kite waves its pinions, and with what a coil and flutter the duck attempts to move them; how many strokes it is obliged to give in order to gather a little air; and even when it is thus raised, how soon it is fatigued with the force of its exertions, and obliged to take rest again. But the duck is not in its natural state half so unwieldly an animal as the whole tribe of the penguin kind. Their wings are much shorter, more scantily supplied with quills, and the whole pinion placed too forward to be usefully employed. For this reason the largest of the penguin kind, that have a thick, heavy body to raise, cannot fly at all. Their wings serve them rather as paddles to help them forward when they attempt to move swiftly; and in a manner walk along the surface of the water. Even the smaller kind seldom fly by choice; they flutter their wings with the swiftest efforts without making way; and though they have but a small weight of body to sustain, yet they seldom venture to quit the water, where they are provided with food and protection.

As the wings of the penguin tribe are unfitted for flight, their legs are still more awkwardly adapted for walking. This whole tribe have all above the knee hid within the belly; and nothing appears but two short legs, or feet, as some would call them, that seem stuck under the rump, and upon which the animal is very awkwardly supported. They seem, when sitting or attempting to walk, like a dog that has been taught to sit up or to move in a minuet. Their short legs drive the body in progression from side to side; and were

they not assisted by their wings they could scarcely move faster than a tortoise.

This awkward position of the legs, which so unqualifies them for living upon land, adapts them admirably for a residence in water. In that, the legs placed behind the moving body, pushes it forward with great velocity; and these birds, like Indian canoes, are the swiftest in the water by having their paddles in the rear. Our sailors for this reason give these birds the very homely but expressive name of "arse-feet."

Nor are they less qualified for diving than swimming. By ever so little inclining their bodies forward they lose their centre of gravity; and every stroke from their feet only tends to sink them the faster. In this manner they can either dive at once to the bottom or swim between two waters, where they continue fishing for some minutes, and then ascending, catch an instantaneous breath, to descend once more to renew their operations. Hence it is that these birds, which are so defenceless and so easily taken by land, are impregnable by water. If they per ceive themselves pursued in the least they instantly sink, and show nothing more than their bills till the enemy is withdrawn. Their very internal conformation assists their power of keeping long under water. Their lungs are fitted with numerous vacuities, by which they can take in a very large inspiration; and this probably serves them for a length of time.

As they never visit land except when they come to breed, their feathers take a colour from their situation. That part of them which has been continually bathed in the water is white, while their backs and wings are of different colours, according to the different species. They are also covered more warmly all over the body with feathers than any other bird whatever; so that the sea seems entirely their element; and but for the necessary duties of propagating their species we should scarcely have the smallest opportunity of seeing them, and should be utterly unacquainted with their history. Of all this tribe the Magellanic penguin is the largest and the most remarkable. In size it approaches near that of a tame goose. It never flies, as its wings are very short, and covered with hard stiff feathers, and are always seen expanded and hanging uselessly down by the bird's sides. The upper part of the head, back, and rump are covered with stiff black feathers; while the belly and breast, as is common with all of this kind, are of a snowy whiteness, except a line of black that is seen to cross the crop. The bill, which from the base to about half way is covered with wrinkles, is black, but marked crosswise with a stripe of yellow. They walk erect, with their heads on high, their fin-like wings hanging down like arms; so that to see them at a distance they look like so many children with white aprons From hence they are said to unite in themselves the qualities of men, fowls, and fishes, Like men, they are upright; like fowls, they are feathered; and like fishes, they have fin-like instruments, that beat the water before, and serve for all the purposes of swimming rather than flying.

They feed upon fish, and seldom come ashore except in the breeding season. As the seas in that part of the world abound with a variety, they seldom want food; and their extreme fatness seems a proof of the plenty in which they live. They dive with great rapidity, and are voracious to a great degree. One of them, described by Clusius, though but very young, would swallow an entire herring at a mouthful, and often three successively before it was appeased. In consequence of this gluttonous appetite their flesh is rank and filthy; though our sailors say that it is pretty good eating. In some the flesh is so tough and the feathers so thick, that they stand the blow of a scimitar without injury.

They are a bird of society; and, especially when they come on shore, they are seen drawn up in rank and file upon the ledge of a rock, standing together with the

albatross as if in consultation. This is previous to their laying, which generally begins in that part of the world in the month of November. Their preparations for laying are attended with no great trouble, as a small depression in the earth, without any other nest, serves for this purpose. The warmth of their feathers and the heat of their bodies is such, that the progress of incubation is carried on very rapidly.

But there is a difference in the manner of this bird's nestling in other countries, which I can only ascribe to the frequent disturbances it has received from quadrupeds in its recesses. In some places, instead of contenting itself with a superficial depression with the earth, the penguin is found to burrow two or three yards deep; in other places it is seen to forsake the level, and to clamber up the ledge of a rock, where it lays its egg, and hatches in that bleak, exposed situation. These precautions may probably have been taken in consequence of dearbought experience. In those countries where the bird fears for her own safety or that of her young, she may providentially provide against danger by digging, or by climbing; for both which she is but ill adapted by Nature. In those places, however, where the penguin has had but few vists from man her nest is made, with the most confident security, in the middle of some large plain, where they are seen by thousands. In that unguarded situation, neither expecting nor fearing a powerful enemy, they continue to sit brooding; and, even when man comes among them, have at first no apprehension of their danger. Some of this tribe have been called by our seamen "the booby," from the total insensibility which they show when they are sought to their destruction. But it is not considered that these birds have never been taught to know the dangers of a human enemy: it is against the fox or the vulture that they have learned to defend themselves; but they have no idea of injury from a being so very unlike their natural opposers. The penguins, therefore, when our seamen first came among them, tamely suffered themselves to be knocked on the head, without even attempting an escape. They have stood to be shot at in flocks, without offering to move, in silent wonder, till every one of their number has been destroyed. Their attachment to their nests was still more powerful; for the females tamely suffered the men to approach and take their eggs without any resistance. But the experience of a few of those unfriendly visits has long since taught them to be more upon their guard in choosing their situations, or to leave those retreats where they were so little able to oppose their invaders.

The penguin lays but one egg; and in frequented shores is found to burrow like a rabbit: sometimes three or four take possession of one hole, and hatch their young together In the holes of the rocks, where Nature has made them a retreat, several of this tribe, as Linnæus assures us, are seen together. There the females lay their single egg, in a common nest, and sit upon this their general possession by turns; while one is placed as a centinel to give warning of approaching danger. The egg of the penguin, as well as of all this tribe, is very large for the size of the bird, being generally found bigger than that of a goose. But as there are many varieties of the penguin, and as they differ in size from that of a Muscovy duck to a swan, the eggs differ in the same proportion.

CHAP. VIII.

OF THE AUX, THE PUFFIN, AND OTHER BIRDS OF THE PENGUIN KIND.

Of a size far inferior to the penguin, but with nearly the same form, and exactly of the same appetites and

manners, there is a very numerous tribe. These frequent our shores, and, like the penguin, have their legs placed behind. They have short wings, which are not totally incapable of flight, with round bills for seizing their prey, which is fish. They live upon the water, in which they are continually seen diving, and seldom venture upon land except for the purposes of continuing their kind.

The first of this smaller tribe is the great northern diver, which is nearly the size of a goose; it is beautifully variegated all over with many stripes, and differs from the penguin in being much slenderer and more elegantly formed. The grey speckled diver does not exceed the size of a Muscovy duck, and, except in size, greatly resembles the former. The auk, which breeds on the islands of St. Kilda, and chiefly differs from the penguin in size and colour, is smaller than a duck; the whole of the breast and belly as far as the middle part of the throat is white. The guillemot is about the same size: it differs from the auk in having a longer, slenderer, and straighter bill. The scarlet-coated diver may be distinguished by its name; and the ruffin, or coulterneb, is one of the most remarkable birds we know.

Words cannot easily describe the form of the bill of the puffin, which differs so greatly from that of any other bird. Those who have seen the "coulter" of a plough may form some idea of this odd-looking animal. The bill is flat, but (quite different from that of the duck) its edge is upwards. It is of a triangular figure, and ending in a sharp point-the upper-chap bent a little downward, where it is joined to the head, and a certain callous substance encompassing its base, as in parrots. It is of two colours-ash-coloured near the base, and red towards the point. It has three furrows or grooves impressed in it-one in the livid part, and two in the red. The eyes are fenced with a protuberant skin of a liver-colour; the eyes themselves are grey or ash-coloured. These are marks sufficient to distinguish this bird by; but its value to those in whose vicinity it breeds renders it still more an object of curiosity.

The puffin, like all the rest of this kind, has its legs thrown so far back that it can hardly move without tumbling. This makes it rise with difficulty, and subjects it to many falls before it gets upon the wing; but as it is a small bird, not much bigger than a pigeon, when it once rises it can continue its flight with great celerity.

But this and all the former build no nest, but lay their eggs either in the crevices of rocks or in holes under ground near the shore. They chiefly choose the latter situation; for the puffin, the auk, the guillemot and the rest cannot easily rise to the nest when in a lofty situation. Many are the attempts these birds are seen to make to fly up to those nests which are so high above the surface. In rendering them inaccessible to mankind, they often render them almost inaccessible to themselves. They are frequently obliged to make three or four efforts before they can come at the place of incubation. For this reason the auk and the guillemot, when they have once laid their single egg (which is extremely large for the size of the bird), seldom forsake it until it is excluded. The male, who is better furnished for flight, feeds the female during this interval; and so bare is the place where she sits, that the egg would very often roll down from the rock did not the body of the bird support it.

But the puffin seldom chooses these inaccessible and troublesome heights for its situation. Relying on its courage and the strength of its bill, with which it bites most terribly, it either makes or finds a hole in the ground where to lay and bring forth its young. All the winter these birds, like the rest, are absent, visiting regions too remote for discovery. At the latter end of March or the beginning of April a troop of their spies or harbingers come over and stay two or three days, as it

were to view and search out for their former situations, and see whether all be well. This done, they once more depart, and about the beginning of May return again with the whole army of their companions. But if the season happens to be stormy and tempestuous and the sea trou bled, the unfortunate voyagers undergo incredible hardships; they are found by hundreds, cast away upon the shores, lean and perished with famine. It is most probable, therefore, that this voyage is performed more on the water than in the air; and as they cannot fish in stormy weather, their strength is exhausted before they can arrive at their wished-for harbour.

The puffin, when it prepares for breeding, which always happens a few days after its arrival, begins to scrape up a hole in the ground not far from the shore, and when it has somewhat penetrated the earth, it then throws itself upon its back, and with bill and claws thus burrows inward, till it has dug a hole with several windings and turnings, from eight to ten feet deep. It particularly seeks to dig under a stone, where it expects the greatest security. In this fortified retreat it lays one egg; which, though the bird be not bigger than a pigeon, is of the size of a hen's egg.

When the young one is excluded the parent's industry and courage is incredible. Few birds or beasts will venture to attack them in their retreats. When the great sea-raven, as Jacobson informs us, comes to take away their young, the puffins boldly oppose him. Their meeting affords a most singular combat. As soon as the raven approaches the puffin catches him under the throat with its beak and sticks its claws into his breast, which makes the raven, with a loud screaming, attempt to get away; but the little bird still holds fast to the invader, nor lets him go till they both come to the sea, where they drop down together, and the raven is drowned; yet the raven is but too often successful; and, invading the puffin at the bottom of its hole, devours both the parent and its family.

But were a punishment to be inflicted for immorality in irrational animals, the puffin is justly a sufferer from invasion, as it is often itself one of the most terrible invaders. Near the Isle of Anglesey, in an islet called "Priesholm," their flocks may be compared, for multitude, to swarms of bees. In another islet, called the "Calf of Man," a bird of this kind, but of a different species, is seen in great abundance. In both places numbers of rabbits are found to breed; but the puffin, unwilling to be at the trouble of making a hole when there is one ready made, dispossesses the rabbits, and it is not unlikely destroys their young. It is in these unjustly acquired retreats that the young puffins are found in great numbers, and become a very valuable acquisition to the natives of the place. The old ones (I am now speaking of the Manks puffin) early in the morning, at break of day, leave their nests and young, and even the island, nor do their return till night-fall. All this time they are diligently employed in fishing for their young; so that their retreats on land, which in the morning were loud and clamorous, are now still and quiet, with not a wing stirring till the approach of the dusk, when their screams once more announce their return. Whatever fish or other food they have procured in the day by night begins to suffer a kind of half digestion, and is reduced to an oily matter, which is ejected from the stomach of the old ones into the mouth of the young. By this they are nourished, and become fat to an amazing degree. When they are arrived to their full growth, they who are entrusted by the lord of the island draw them from their holes; and, that they may more readily keep an account of the number they take, cut off one foot as a token. Their flesh is said to be excessively rank, as they feed upon fish (especially sprats) and seaweed; however, when they are pickled and preserved with spices, they are admired by those who are fond of high eating. We are told that formerly their Besh

The constant depredation which these birds annually suffer does not in the least seem to intimidate them, or drive them away: on the contrary, as the people say, the nest must be robbed, or the old ones will breed there no longer. All birds of this kind lay one egg; yet if that be taken away they will lay another, and so on to a third; which seems to imply that robbing their nests does not much intimidate them from laying again. Those, however, whose nests have been thus destroyed are often too late in bringing up their young-who, if they be not fledged and prepared for migration when all the rest depart, are left on land to shift for themselves. In August the whole tribe is seen to take leave of their summer residence; nor are they observed any more till the return of the ensuing spring. It is probable that they sail away to more southern regions, as our mariners frequently see myriads of water-fowl upon their return, and steering usually to the north. Indeed, the coldest countries seem to be their most favoured retreats; and the number of water-fowl is much greater in those colder climates than in the warmer regions near the line. The quantity of oil which abounds in their bodies serves as a defence against cold, and preserves them in vigour against its severity; but the same provision of oil is rather detrimental in warm countries, as it turns rancid, and many of them die of disorders which arise from its putrefaction. In general, however, water-fowl can be properly said to be of no climate, the element upon which they live being their proper residence. They necessarily spend a few months of summer upon land to bring up their young; but the rest of their time is probably consumed in their migrations, or near some unknown coasts, where their provision of fish is found in greatest abundance.

Before I go to the third general division of waterfowls, it may not be improper to observe that there is one species of round-billed water-fowl that does not properly lie within any of the former distributions. This is the gooseander-a bird with the body and wing shaped like those of the penguin kind, but with legs not hid in the belly. It may be distinguished from all others by its bill, which is round, hooked at the point, and toothed, both the upper and under chap, like a saw. Its colours are various and beautiful; however, its manners and appetites entirely resemble those of the diver. It feeds upon fish, for which it dives; and is said to build its nest upon trees, like the heron and the cormorant. It seems to form the shade between the penguin and the goose kind-having a round bill like one, and unembarrassed legs like the other. In the shape of the head, neck, and body it resembles them both.

CHAP. IX.

OF BIRDS OF THE GOOSE KIND, PROPERLY SO CALLED. The swan, the goose, and the duck are leaders of a numerous, useful, and beautiful tribe of birds, that we have reclaimed from a state of nature, and have taught to live in dependence about us. To describe any of these would be as superfluous as definitions usually are when given of things with which we are already well acquainted. There are few that have not had opportunities of seeing them, and whose ideas would not anticipate our description. But though nothing be so easy as

The marks of a goose are-a bigger body, large wings, a longer neck, a white ring about the rump, a bill thicker at the base, slenderer towards the tip, with shorter legs, placed forward on the body. They both have a waddling walk; but the duck, from the position of its legs, has it in a greater degree. By these marks these similar tribes may be known asunder; and though the duck should be found to equal the goose in size, which sometimes happens, yet there are still other sufficient distinctions.

But they all agree in many particulars, and have a nearer affinity to each other than the neighbouring kinds in any other department. Their having been tamed has produced alterations in each, by which they differ as much from the wild ones of their respective kinds as they do among themselves. There is nearly as much difference between the wild and the tame duck as between some sorts of the duck and the goose; but still the characteristics of the kind are strongly marked and obvious, and this tribe can never be mistaken.

The bill is the first great obvious distinction of the goose kind from all of the feathered tribe. In other birds it is round and wedge-like, or crooked at the end. In all the goose kind it is flat and broad, made for the purpose of skimming ponds and lakes of the mantliug weeds that stand on the surface. The bills of other birds are made of a horny substance throughout; these have their inoffensive bills sheathed with a skin which covers them all over The bill of every other bird seems in some measure formed for piercing and tearing; theirs are only fitted for shovelling up their food, which is chiefly of the vegetable kind.

Though these birds do not reject animal food when offered them, yet they can contentedly subsist upon vegetables, and seldom seek any other. They are easily provided for; wherever there is water there seems to be plenty. All the other web-footed tribes are continually voracious-continually preying. These lead more harmless lives: the weeds on the surface of the water or the insects at the bottom, the grass by the bank or the fruits and corn in cultivated grounds, are sufficient to satisfy their easy appetites: yet these, like every other animal, will not reject fish if properly prepared for them; it is sufficient praise to them that they do not eagerly pursue it.

As their food is chiefly vegetables, so their fecundity is in proportion. We have had frequent opportunities to observe that all the predatory tribes, whether of birds or quadrupeds, are barren and unfruitful. We have seen the lion with its two cubs, the eagle with the same number, and the penguin with even but one. Nature, that has supplied them with powers of destruction, has denied them fertility. But it is otherwise with these harmless animals I am describing. They seem formed to fill up the chasms in Animated Nature caused by the voraciousness of others. They breed in great abundance, and lead their young to the pool the instant they are excluded.

As their food is simple, so their flesh is nourishing and wholesome. The swan was considered as a high delicacy among the ancients; the goose was abstained from as totally indigestible. Modern manners have inverted tastes; the goose is now become the favourite; and the swan is now seldom brought to table unless for the purposes of ostentation. But at all times the flesh of the duck was in high esteem; the ancients thought even more highly of it than we do. We are contented to eat it as a delicacy; they also considered it as a medicine; and Plutarch assures us that Cato kept his whole family in health by feeding them with duck whenever they threatened to be out of order.

These qualities of great fecundity, easy sustenance,