We have said that when Edward opened his exhibition in Aberdeen, he
expected that there would be a large influx of visitors to see the
collection of objects in natural history, which he had made with
so much labour and difficulty. But there was no rush whatever. The
attendance was always very small. The exhibition-room was for the most
part empty. Edward at first thought that he had fixed the price too
high. But he could remedy that defect. The better classes had failed
him; now he would try the working-people. He would call “the millions”
to his aid. Accordingly he reduced the entrance-price to a penny.

[Sidenote: _THE EXHIBITION A FAILURE._]

But “the millions” never came. So far as Edward’s collection was
concerned, their minds seemed as hard and impenetrable as the
adamantine houses in which they lived. Their hearts, he thought, were
made of their native granite. Still he would make another effort.
He now advertised more widely than before, thinking that extended
publicity might prove successful. He had bills printed by the thousand;
he employed sandwich-men to carry them about, to distribute them in the
market, in the principal thoroughfares, at the gates of the factories
and principal working places, and in every place resorted to by
working people. To accommodate them, he opened the exhibition at eight
instead of ten in the morning; and kept it open until ten o’clock at
night.

It was of no avail. The millions did not come. The attendance even fell
off. Some days only a few pence were taken; on other days nothing.
Days, weary days, went on, and still there was no success. Yet Edward
had plenty of advisers. Some thought that the collection should have
been exhibited near the centre of the town, where the working classes
lived. Edward was fain to think that there might be something in this.
He found a large room which he thought would answer the purpose; but he
was required to pay the rent beforehand, and to give security for ten
pounds. This was entirely out of the question, for he could not give
security for “ten bawbees.” One person, who had been a showman, advised
him to have immense placards outside, and to have a band of music to
attract the people. He must have show and hubbub. “That was the thing
that attracted folk; whereas his exhibition was all in the inside.” But
Edward would not have any of such attractions.

In short, the exhibition was fast approaching its end. The rent of the
shop had to be paid, and he had no money to pay it. His wife and family
had to be maintained, and he had no means of maintaining them. All
that he took at the door, was required to pay the cost of the bills
and advertisements. By the end of the third week, he was deep in debt.
Though he had been earning small wages, he had never before been in
debt. To think of being in debt was in itself an agony. What was he to
do? He was sinking deeper and deeper, with no prospect of deliverance.

[Sidenote: _EDWARD IN DESPAIR._]

By the Friday of the fourth week, he had altogether lost hope. He
had taken nothing in the shape of money that day. His exhibition was
entirely deserted. He sank into the lowest state of despondency.
About three o’clock he received a letter from his master at Banff,
telling him that if he did not return immediately to his work, he
would be under the necessity of giving his employment to another.
“Return immediately?” That was impossible. What was he to do with his
collection? How was he to defray his debt?

It is scarcely to be wondered at, if, under these deplorable
circumstances, despair—despair of the worst description—should have got
the better, at least for a time, of his over-taxed and over-sensitive
brain. He was in a strange place,—a place which had once known him,
but knew him no more. His wife and his five children were altogether
dependent upon him, though they were at present living with his aged
and infirm parents. He was deep in debt, for which, if not liquidated,
his collection would be seized,—a collection, rather than part with
which, he would have sacrificed his life. At the same time, the loss
of work, starvation, and ruin, stared him in the face. Is it surprising
that, thus situated, despair should for a time have got the mastery
over his better and sounder judgment?

The afternoon was far advanced. His dinner, which had been brought
to him an hour before, still lay untasted. He was pacing up and down
the apartment, pondering over his miserable position, when his father
entered. Edward was looking so agitated, that the old man inquired
“what ailed him?” He said he was going out, and went towards the door,
fearing lest his wife or any of his children might appear. His father
stepped between him and the door, remonstrating with him, and saying
that he was not fit to go out in such a state. But a woman entering,
attracted his father’s attention, and Edward was thus allowed to slip
away unobserved.

[Sidenote: _RUNS TO THE SEA-SHORE._]

Edward rushed down Union Street, on his way to the sands. At first
he thought of going to the Dee at the Craiglug; but he bethought him
that it would be better to go to the sea-shore, where it might be
thought his death was accidental. From the time of his leaving the shop
in Union Street until about four hours after, when he recovered his
senses, his memory remained almost a complete blank. He had a vague
idea of crossing the links, and seeing some soldiers at the foot of the
Broadhill. But beyond that, he remembered next to nothing. Unlike a
dream, of which one remembers some confused ideas, this blank in his
mental life was never filled up, and the purpose for which he wandered
along the sands left little further impression upon his memory. He
remembered, however, the following circumstances:

[Sidenote: _THE FLOCK OF SANDERLINGS._]

He had thrown off his hat, coat, and waistcoat, before rushing into
the sea; when a flock of sanderlings lit upon the sands near him. They
attracted his attention. They were running to and fro, some piping
their low shrill whistle, whilst others were probing the wet sand with
their bills as the waves receded. But amongst them was another bird,
larger and darker, and apparently of different habits to the others.
Desirous of knowing something of the nature of this bird, he approached
the sanderlings. They rose and flew away. He followed them. They lit
again, and again he observed the birds as before. Away they went, and
he after them. At length he was stopped at Don mouth. When he recovered
his consciousness, he was watching the flock of birds flying away to
the farther side of the river. He had forgotten all his miseries in his
intense love of nature. His ruling passion saved him.

[Sidenote: _THE PROVIDENTIAL BIRD._]

How long the chase lasted he never could tell. It must have occupied
him more than an hour. He found himself divested of his hat, coat, and
vest; and he went back to look for them. He had no further desire to
carry out the purpose for which he had descended to the sea. His only
thought was about the strange bird among the sanderlings: “What could
it be?” Perhaps the bird had been his Providence. He tried to think so.

In the meantime, he was very cold. He found his coat, vest, and hat,
a long way down the beach. On his return, he found that he had been
followed by some people, who were watching him. When he returned,
they followed him until he reached his clothes. And when they saw him
dressed, and ready to depart, they disappeared. Not wishing to cross
the links again that night, he turned and went up Don side to the new
bridge, and took the road from thence into the town.

[Illustration: THE MOUTH OF THE DON.]

It was late before he got home. Being still very much depressed, and
feeling very unwell, he went almost immediately to bed, thinking that
he might be able to hide his grief yet a little longer from those who
were near and dear to him,—dearer to him now than ever. But, alas! the
ordeal he had passed through during the day, had been most dreadful;
and he was racked by conflicting and torturing thoughts during the
whole of his sleepless night.

Morning, anxiously-wished-for morning, came at last. Although still
feverish from excitement, and very unsettled in his mind, he got up,
dressed, and went down to the sea-shore a little after daylight,
eagerly searching for the strange bird of the preceding evening. But
although he walked several times along the sands, from the bathing
machines to the mouth of the Don, he never saw it. He saw its
companions, the sanderlings; but the providential bird had gone. So far
as Edward knew, he never saw the like of that bird again.

Although chagrined at his disappointment, he felt himself, on the
whole, more refreshed and settled in his mind than when he left
home. After breakfast—the first food he had taken since the previous
morning—he went to Union Street to open his exhibition. As he was not
disturbed by visitors, he had plenty of time for reflection. He had now
to consider how he could honourably extricate himself from the trap
into which he had so unwittingly and so unfortunately fallen.

[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION ADVERTISED._]

The only way which presented itself was by making a terrible
sacrifice,—namely, by selling the whole of his collection. It took
him many long and bitter heart-pangs before he could arrive at
this conclusion. But force, stern force, prevailed over all other
considerations. He must, so far as he could, get honourably out of
debt, although not a farthing of balance might remain. Yes! his eight
years’ collection of birds and natural objects must go, so that he
might stand upright before the world. Accordingly, an advertisement
appeared in the newspapers offering the collection for sale.

After the announcement appeared, several gentlemen called and told
him that he was quite wrong in offering his collection for sale. He
had several letters from Banff, to the same effect. Some of his
correspondents there offered their suggestions and advice. They said
that as the collection had been made in Banffshire, it properly
belonged to Banffshire; and that it would be an everlasting slur
upon the county if it were allowed to go elsewhere. One gentleman of
influence requested Edward to delay the sale for a few days, in order
that he might be enabled to obtain subscriptions, so as to secure the
collection for Banff. Twenty pounds could easily be collected in Banff
for such a purpose. If the subscribers did not themselves buy it, there
was a Scientific Society in Banff that would certainly buy it, to form
the nucleus of a collection of Banffshire fauna.

[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION SOLD._]

Edward accordingly postponed the sale for some days. He had great
faith in his correspondent, who was himself a member of the society in
question. The gentleman had considerable influence in the district,
and would doubtless do what he could to raise the requisite money to
purchase the collection. But, alas! how futile are promises. Words!
mere words! Days passed, and no further communications arrived. Edward
was now pressed for his debts, and he could no longer postpone the
sale of the collection. The spark of hope that had been kindled in his
breast, died out. All hope of salvation from any quarter had fled. He
must meet his difficulties as he best could. It was now the middle of
the sixth week, and his expenses were increasing daily. Accordingly, he
accepted the offer of £20:10s. for the whole of his collection!

[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION DESTROYED._]

It was a bitter pang to part with it; but the thing must be done.
Howling was of no use. Edward was even glad to get that paltry sum,
in order to be at last set free. The gentleman (Mr. Grant) who bought
the collection, wished it for his boy, who had a taste for natural
history. The specimens were removed to his house at Ferryhill. They
were afterwards packed up and sent to his place in St. Nicholas Street,
where they were stored up in some damp and unsuitable room; and,
being otherwise neglected, it is believed that the whole collection
eventually went to ruin.

Perhaps Edward might have got more money for his collection if he had
broken it up, and offered it in lots. Professor Dickie was willing
to buy a number of his specimens, and to pay a good price for them;
but this would have involved a considerable loss of time, and also a
considerable increase of expense. He was therefore under the necessity
of disposing of the whole at once.

[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S APOLOGY._]

“Whatever,” says Edward, “may have been the real cause of my ruin and
want of success, I must say that, although I was not supported and
encouraged, I had no real claim upon the inhabitants of Aberdeen. I
certainly do owe many of them—particularly those of the upper and
middle classes of society—a deep debt of gratitude for their courteous
attention and their offered hospitality. Although circumstances did not
allow me to avail myself of their kindness, I have never forgotten the
unfeigned favours which they proffered me. I know that some of them
were deeply offended at my refusing their invitations; but, had they
known of my deplorable position at the time, I feel certain that their
feeling of offence would have given place to the deeper and softer
feeling of pity for the unfortunate.”

[Illustration: THE SHORE AT ABERDEEN]

FOOTNOTES:

[33] It was afterwards found that the visitor was Dr. Cadenhead, one of
the principal physicians and oculists of the city.

CHAPTER X.

_RESUMES HIS FORMER HABITS._

EDWARD had left Banff on the 31st of July 1846, full of hope; after
six weeks he returned to it, full of despair. He had gone to Aberdeen
with his collection, accompanied by his wife and family; he returned
from it alone and on foot, without a single specimen of his collection,
and without a penny in his pocket that he could call his own. He felt
ruined, disappointed, beggared,—his aims and hopes in life blasted. He
was under the necessity of leaving his wife and children at Aberdeen;
for they could not travel fifty miles to Banff on foot.

Edward felt terribly crushed on re-entering his desolate home. A
strange-like heaviness of mind came over him. The place was drear and
lonesome. It was so different from what it had once been. It was no
longer enlivened by the prattle of his children, or the pleasant looks
of his wife. There was neither fire, nor food, nor money. The walls,
which, only a few weeks before, had been covered with his treasures—the
results of the hard labour of years—were bare and destitute. The house
was desolation itself.

After remaining there for a short time, a neighbour came in, and
asked Edward to come to his house and get some food. He most gladly
assented to the proposal. He afterwards went to see his master, and
arranged with him as to the re-commencement of his work. This was
easily accomplished, as Edward was considered a Don at his trade.[34]
After this had been settled, he went to pay a short visit to a friend
at Gardenstown, until his wife and family had returned from Aberdeen.
Edward could not bear to remain in his house until they had come back.
Nor could he yet pay for their journey. But the carrier, who had taken
the collection and the family to Aberdeen, cheerfully consented to
bring the latter back free.

It was during this interval that Edward lived for a few days with his
friend, Mr. Gordon of Gardenstown. The place had long been one of
Edward’s favourite haunts. He was able, in a sort of way, to enjoy
the coast scenery, to see the busy fishermen going out to sea in the
evenings, and to listen to the noisy clamour of the sea-fowl at Gamrie
Mohr.

[Sidenote: _EDWARD RETURNS HOME._]

When Edward knew that his wife and family had reached Banff, he
returned home, and was joyfully met by his wife and bairns. Home had
already begun to look more homely. There was a fire to sit down beside,
and a family circle to converse with. Care, despondency, and despair,
had already to a certain extent been cast aside. There would yet be
peace and plenty about the fireside. Edward threw off the showman’s
garb, and donned that of the hard-working sutor.[35] Next morning he
was busy at his trade, sewing, hammering, and “skelping away at the
leather.”

[Sidenote: _BEGINS AGAIN._]

During the ensuing autumn and winter, he passed his time at his
ordinary daily work. He refrained from going out at night. He had
parted with all his objects in Natural History, and he did nothing as
yet to replace them. But his mind had been at work all the while. As
spring advanced, he found it impossible to check his ruling passion.
His day’s work done, he again started with his gun on his shoulder, his
insect boxes and appendages slung round his back, his plant case by his
side, and a host of pill boxes, small bottles, and such like, packed in
his pockets. Away he went, with heart as light as a feather, to search,
as long as light remained, for tenants of the woods, the fields, and
the sea-shore.

When daylight faded into darkness, he would sit down as usual for a
nap—it did not matter where,—by the side of a rock, on a sand-bank,
in a hole in the ground, in a dry ditch, under the cover of a bush,
behind a dyke, in a ruined castle, or by the side of a tree: it was all
the same to him. There he lay until the first peep of morning appeared,
when he started up, and was at work again. He continued, until he
thought he had just sufficient time left to get to his workshop by the
appointed hour.

[Sidenote: _HIS ZEAL REDOUBLED._]

His zeal was more than renewed. It was redoubled. He proceeded with
even greater perseverance than before. His few friends warned him in
vain. They thought he might spend his energies to some better purpose.
If their advice staggered him, it was only for an instant. “One look,”
he says, “at my cobbler’s stool, dispelled every consideration. My wish
was, at some time or other, to wrench myself free from my trade.”

He adopted the self-same plan that he had formerly employed. As soon as
his day’s work was over, he started on his nightly expedition. During
five months of the year he slept out,—excepting on Saturday and Sunday
nights, or when the weather was stormy. To his former equipment he
added a small trowel for digging up plants and grubs, and a hammer for
splitting fossils or chipping off parts of any rock that he might wish
to preserve.

[Sidenote: _HIS PARAPHERNALIA._]

At first he used chip-boxes, to carry the insects which he collected
during his tours; but he found them such a worry that he was obliged to
use something else. He once bought so many chip-boxes from a druggist,
that he refused to sell him any more until his stock was replenished.
Edward carried in them slugs, caterpillars, snails, worms, spiders,
shells, various sorts of insects, eggs of small birds, and every other
little nick-nack that he wished to preserve. Here is his description of
his hunting paraphernalia:—

“My coat had eight pockets, four outside and four inside. The two lower
inside ones were ‘meal-pocks’ for size. My waistcoat, too, had four
rather big receptacles: the term ‘waistcoat pockets’ could scarcely
describe them. Besides these, I had a number of bags or wallets, hung
over my shoulders, or tied round my middle, or under my coat, according
to their intended uses. I had also several queer-looking things which
I carried in my hands and called ‘accessories;’ for there is no other
specific name for the articles. Nevertheless, all had their quota of
chip-boxes, except my butterfly and moth-case, and my plant book. These
were generally kept sacred for their respective purposes.”

[Sidenote: _EXCURSION TO BALLOCH._]

On one occasion Edward went out for a three days’ ramble among the
Balloch hills, between Keith and Huntly, about twenty miles south-west
of Banff. The object of his journey was to collect butterflies, moths,
and various objects. He had not his gun with him, but he had many more
chip-boxes than usual. A friend of his had often urged him to bring him
a lot of ants for some birds, and Edward determined to satisfy him. He
had been very successful in his search, and had also filled many boxes
for his friend.

On the afternoon of the third day, while he was busily engaged on a
wild, wide, and desolate moor, he was startled by a sudden flash of
lightning. Had he been attending to the weather instead of to his own
pursuits, he might have seen the brooding clouds wending their way
towards him from the south. He might then have found some convenient
shelter from the impending storm. But after the first flash of
lightning, it broke upon him almost at once. He had scarcely got his
things put in order, and the ant-boxes deposited in his coat pocket,
when down came the deluge! None but those who have been under the
influence of hill-rains, can have any idea of their tremendous force.
It is like the downpour of a cataract. The rain falls in sheets, in
waves, almost solid. Nothing but the stiffest weather-proof can keep
the water out.

[Sidenote: _A FURIOUS STORM._]

Edward’s first thought was shelter! But where could he find it? Not a
house was to be seen; not a wall, not a tree, not a bush. He could not
find even a hole in a sandbank. There was nothing that he could see
around him but a dreary, bleak, widespread moor. Nevertheless he set
off, running as fast as he could, in the hope of at length reaching
some friendly haven. After having run a long time amidst thunder and
lightning, through water, moss, and heather, he stopped for a moment
to consider where he was running. There was still no sign of a house,
or hut, or shealing. The place where he stood was crossed by numerous
paths, but he knew just as much of the one path as he did about the
other. The country round him was one wide expanse of moorland. There
was nothing before him but moor, moor, moor! He saw no object that
could serve to guide him. He merely saw the outlines of the nearest
hills faintly visible through the watery haze; but he did not recognise
them. He began to feel himself lost on a lonesome moor.

He was now at his wits’ end. Having been for some time without food,
he was now becoming faint. And yet he could not remain where he was.
He again began to run. The sky was now almost as black as night, and
the sheets of rain were falling as heavily as before. Only the vivid
flashes of lightning enabled him to trace the direction in which he was
going. He plunged into bog after bog; extricated himself; and then ran
for life. Sometimes he came to a likely track and followed it; but it
led to nothing,—only to a succession of tracks which led off in various
directions across the moor. At last he ran straight forward, without
paying any regard to tracks. By continuing in this course he eventually
came to a road,—a gladsome sight, because it must lead to some dwelling
or other. But which way should he go? He knew nothing of the direction
of the road, for he had altogether lost his reckoning, and every
landmark was invisible.

[Sidenote: _REACHES A HAVEN._]

After a few moments’ consideration he bethought him of the direction
in which Huntly might possibly lie; and as that town was his intended
destination, he faced about, as he thought, in that direction, and
commenced running again at full speed. After having run for about a
mile, he came in sight of his destined haven,—a house. It stood on a
slight elevation, with its back to the road, and was surrounded by a
turf-and-stone wall. Collecting his remaining strength he ran up the
slope, cleared the dyke at a bound, and rushed into the house without
further ceremony.

He found two little maidens inside, who looked rather frightened at
his sudden appearance. And no wonder! He must have looked more like a
Lunatic than a Naturalist. Being completely exhausted, he threw himself
right down on a seat without speaking a single word. When he recovered
his breath, he asked pardon of the little damsels for running in so
unceremoniously; “he had been overtaken by the storm.” He asked them if
he might be allowed to rest there until the storm ceased?

“I dinna ken,” said one of the girls, “oor mither’s nae in. She’s oot
breakin’ sticks; but,” she added, “I daresay ye may.”

There was a good fire of sods and peats on the floor. Edward went
towards it, with his dripping clothes, to dry himself. He now began
to look at his belongings. He first took off his hat, which was the
hiding-place for many of his treasures. He found that the bundles of
rare moss which he had picked up on the moor, and also the flies which
he had pinned into the crown of his hat, were all right. His hat was
usually two-storied; we wish we could have given a section of it. The
lower part contained his head, and the other, above it, separated by
a thin piece of board, contained mosses, birds’ eggs, butterflies,
insects, and such like.

[Sidenote: _HIS WALLETS EMPTIED._]

He next proceeded to take off some of his wallets. But, just as he had
begun to remove them, he heard the girls behind him twittering and
giggling. Turning round, he saw one of them pointing to his back, and
trying to suppress her mirth. He could not imagine the reason. Another,
and yet another stifled laugh! On his looking round again, they rushed
out of the room; and then he heard them exploding with laughter. The
cause of their merriment was this. The storm of rain had soaked Edward
to the skin. Every pocket and wallet was full of chip-boxes and water.
The glue of the boxes had melted; the ants, worms, slugs, spiders,
caterpillars, and such like, had all escaped, and were mixed up in
a confused mass. They shortly began to creep out of the innumerable
pockets in which they had been contained. It was because the girls
had seen the mixture of half-drowned spiders, beetles, ants, and
caterpillars, creeping up the strange man’s back, that they rushed from
the place, and laughed their full out of doors.

[Sidenote: _A TERRIBLE WOMAN._]

Edward was now left to himself. The girls had doubtless gone to fetch
their mother. He began to think of beating a retreat, as he seemed
to have been the cause, in some way, of the girls leaving the house.
But at that moment, a woman, of prodigious size and attitude, appeared
at the threshold. She stood stock still, and looked at the stranger
furiously. He addressed her, but she gave no reply. He addressed her
again, louder; but she was still silent. He looked at her again. In one
hand she grasped a most formidable-looking axe; whilst in the other she
held what looked like the half of a young tree. She was tall, stout,
and remarkably muscular; her hair was of a carroty-red colour, and
thickly matted together. Her dress was scanty; she was bare-legged,
but wore a pair of old unlaced boots, such as are usually worn by
ploughmen. With her axe in one hand and her pole in the other—with her
clenched teeth, and fierce aspect—Edward could entertain no other idea
of her than that she was mad; and that her intention was to brain him
with her axe! He could not rush past her. Her space filled the doorway.
He could not overpower her, for she was much more powerful than he was.
His suspense was dreadful.

At last she moved one step forward; then another, until Edward thought
he might plunge past her, and escape. But no; she opened her lips and
spoke, or rather yelled—“Man, fat the sorra brocht ye in here, an’ you
in siccan a mess! Gang oot o’ my hoose, I tell ye, this verra minit!
Gang oot!” This appeal brought Edward to himself again. He apologised
to her for entering her house, and begged her to let him remain until
the rain had ceased. “Not a minit,” was the sharp rejoinder; “ye’ll pit
my hoose afloat. Ye’re a’ vermin, an’ ye’ll pit’s in a hobble if ye
dinna gang oot!”

[Sidenote: _THE CHIP-BOXES EMPTY._]

He protested that he had nothing to do with vermin; but as he spoke
he lifted up his hand to wipe something off his cheek. It was a hairy
oobit! He was in a moment alive to the woman’s expostulations. On
looking to his clothes he found that he was a moving mass of insect
life. He cleared the room in a bound, regardless of the woman’s axe and
cudgel. He went into an old shed, threw off his coat and waistcoat,
and found them a mass of creeping things. On searching his pockets, he
found that all the chip-boxes had given way, and that the whole of the
collection which he had made during the last three days was lost. He
might have collected the insects from his clothing, but he had nothing
to put them in. He now found that he was the lunatic, and not the
woman. Before he departed, he apologised to her for the trouble he had
caused her, and then he departed homewards,—a sadder if not a wiser man.

After this adventure, he never again resorted to _chip_-boxes. He used
little bottles for holding beetles and various insects. He had also
a light flat box, about nine inches square, for containing the more
fragile portion of the insect tribe, such as butterflies and moths.
Before he pinned them down, he gave them a drop of chloroform to put
them to sleep, and prevent them destroying their beautiful plumage.
When he met these tender creatures reposing on a flower, he would
always, if possible, drop a little chloroform upon them, and thus end
their struggles. Then he boxed them. By this means he secured many
splendid specimens.

[Sidenote: _HOW TO PRESERVE._]

His hat was also an excellent insect-box, and a convenient receptacle
for many things. He had a false crown put in the upper part of it, well
stored with pins. And even when he went out to walk with his wife and
children, he would occupy part of his time in looking for and storing
up moths and butterflies, so that not an opportunity nor a moment’s
time was lost.

He carried his caterpillars in a tin box, with several compartments;
and his snails in a similar box of smaller dimensions. His eggs, after
being emptied, were put into a sort of canister, and being well packed
with cotton wool, they very seldom broke, although he carried them
about with him for days together.

Whenever he shot a bird or animal, his first business was to fill up
the mouth and nostrils with cotton wadding, and then to search for the
wounds and fill them up. By this means he always got his specimens home
clean. This he found to be indispensably necessary with sea birds, if
he wished to bring them home unsoiled.

Being unable to purchase presses for his plants, he used heavy flat
stones, and boxes filled with gravel and dry sand. These answered very
well, and were all the presses he ever had.

[Sidenote: _EDWARD A REFEREE._]

After his first exhibition at Banff, Edward became a general referee
as to all natural and unnatural objects found in the district. People
of all sorts brought “things” to him, to ascertain what they were.
Sometimes they were rare objects, sometimes they were monstrosities.
His decision did not always satisfy the inquirers; and then they sent
the objects to some other person, who, they thought, knew better. They
always found, however, that Edward had been right in his decisions.
When he knew with certainty, he gave his opinion. When he did not
know the object, he said he could not give an opinion. And this was,
doubtless, the best course to adopt.

Several of his friends told him that he ought to extend his
investigations into Aberdeen, and even into Elgin. They did not offer
to help him, but they advised him to go. He had now eight of a family,
and his wages, allowing for extra work, only amounted to about fifteen
or sixteen shillings a week. To range the counties of Aberdeen,
Banff, and Elgin, in search of objects in Natural History, while he
was maintaining his family on such slender wages, was therefore an
altogether impossible task.

His wife was his best helper. She bound all his upper leathers, and
also the upper leathers of several of the other workmen. The wages
paid to her were distinct from the wages paid to Edward. Very often,
instead of spending her earnings on clothes or bringing the money
home, she would buy for her husband bottles for his insects, wood for
his bird-cases, or powder and shot for his gun. None of his advising
friends ever helped him in this way.

[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S CERTIFICATE._]

And yet Edward did extend his investigations farther into Banffshire,
and even into Aberdeenshire. With that view he obtained a certificate,
drawn up by the Clerk of the Peace, and signed by sixteen Justices of
the Peace, enabling him to go over the country with his gun, in search
of birds and other things. He always carried this certificate with him;
and when he presented it to a gamekeeper, he was allowed to go wherever
he pleased. The certificate was as follows:—

    “These are to certify that the bearer, Thomas Edward,
    shoemaker, who is in height about five feet six
    inches, has dark eyes and hair, much pock-pitted,
    round-shouldered, and about thirty-five years of
    age—is, in addition to his other calling, engaged
    in collecting and preserving various objects of
    Natural History, particularly those objects which
    relate to Ornithology (Birds), Oo-ology (Eggs),
    Entomology (Insects), Helminthology (Worms, etc.), and
    Conchology (Shells);—That, for the purpose of procuring
    Ornithological Specimens, he is under the necessity of
    using a Gun, but in doing so, We, the undersigned, have
    never heard of a single case of poaching being brought
    against him, and, as far as we know, he is not in the
    habit of killing Game of any sort, nor of destroying
    property of any description, which, were he in the
    practice of so doing, being so frequently out with
    his Gun, he could not, we think, have escaped public
    notice so long,—having resided in this town for a
    period of sixteen years, during which time he has borne
    an unimpeachable character.

    “JAMES DUFF, J.P.,
    &c. &c.

    “BANFF, _March 1850_.”

[Sidenote: _LOVE OF BIRD-NESTING._]

Edward was now in the prime of life, yet he was drawing very heavily
upon his constitutional powers. Sleeping out of doors nightly, whether
the weather was fair or foul, subjected him to many attacks of cold
and rheumatism. Yet he had no sooner recovered, than he was out again
at his nightly work. He was still as wild a bird-nester as he had ever
been in his youth. He would go to any distance or to any place, to find
a bird or a bird’s nest that was new to him. He would run up a tree
like a squirrel, and come down again with the birds or the nest.

He would also walk or climb up a precipice when a nest was to be had.
Of course he had many falls. But what of that, if the object was
gained? The most dangerous fall that he ever had was at Tarlair. The
circumstance may be described, as a specimen of the dangers which
Edward ran in his pursuit of Natural History. The author went to see
the place, and was afraid to look down into the chasm amongst the rocks
into which the Naturalist had fallen.

[Sidenote: _TARLAIR._]

The little valley of Tarlair is about three miles east of Banff. It
is not far from Macduff. The road to Tarlair is along the bare bluff
coast; and when you reach the top of a lofty point, you see beneath
you a green grassy valley indenting the rocks. At the inner end of
the valley is a little well-house, where inland people come during
summer-time, to drink the mineral waters.[36] Eastward of Tarlair the
rocky cliffs ascend higher and higher,—rising to their loftiest height
in the almost perpendicular cliff of Gamrie Mohr.

[Illustration: TARLAIR]

The place at which Edward met with his accident, occurred at the
projecting point of the valley above mentioned, where the rocks begin
to ascend. Not far from the mouth of the valley there is, in the face
of the rock, a very large, high, and wide-mouthed cave or chasm,
fronting the sea. The back wall of the cave, as well as the sides,
contain a number of strange-like openings, and fantastical projections,
one of which is called “the pulpit.” Edward often sat in the cave, and
also slept in it; but he never preached in it, though he several times
brought down sea-gulls and hoodie-crows with his gun. The bottom of the
cave is thickly covered with stones and boulders thrown in by the sea,
which, in storms, dashes with great fury into its innermost recesses.

In the roof, and near the front of the cave, a few martens build their
nests every season. As Edward was coming home one morning from his
night’s work, and while he was walking under the cliff, intending to
come out at Tarlair, he observed one of the martens flying out of the
cave, and shot it. Instead of dropping at his feet, it fell on the top
of the cliff. How was he to get at the bird? He might have gone round a
considerable way, and thus reached the top of the rock. But this would
have involved the loss of considerable time; and he was anxious to get
home to his work.

[Sidenote: _ASCENDS A PRECIPICE._]

There was another way of getting at the bird, and that was by
scrambling directly up the face of the cliff. He determined on adopting
the latter course. Usually, when ascending rocks, he used to tie his
gun to his back, as both hands were required to grip and clutch the
edges of the rock above him. But, on this occasion, not wishing to lose
further time by buckling on his gun, he determined, dangerous though
it was, to ascend the precipice gun in hand. By grasping the stones
above him with his hands and nails, and putting the tips of his shoes
into the crevices of the rocks, or sometimes only on to a little tuft
of grass, he contrived to haul himself up. He managed very well until
he reached about the middle of the ascent, where a bend occurs in
the rocks. There he became fixed. To come down, unless headlong, was
impossible; and to go up seemed equally impracticable. In that case
he would have had to drop his gun, and smash it to bits on the rocks
below. This he could not afford to do. Still, he could not stay there.
With bated breath and steady eye, he clutched a little projection of
rock standing out far above him. He caught it, clambered a little way
up, then secured a firmer footing, and at last reached the summit in
safety.

[Sidenote: _FALLS FROM A CLIFF._]

His troubles were not over. They were only beginning. He looked about
for the bird. It lay only a few yards from him. It was on the edge of
the cliff, and seemed apparently dead. On stooping to pick it up, it
fluttered, raised one of its wings, and went over the precipice. In
his eagerness to catch it, or perhaps from the excited state in which
he was from mounting the cliff, Edward grasped at the bird, missed it,
lost his footing on the smooth rock, and fell over the precipice. His
gun fell out of his hand and lodged across two rocks jutting out from
the beach below. Edward fell upon his gun, and smashed it to pieces;
but it broke the force of the blow, and probably saved his life. A fall
of at least forty feet on rocks and stones would certainly have killed
most men, or at least broken many of their bones. When afterwards
endeavouring to recall his feelings on the occasion, Edward said,—“I
remember that, on losing my balance, my gun slipped from my hand, and I
uttered the exclamation, ‘O God!’ Then my breath seemed to be cut by a
strong wind, which made me compress my lips. I shut my eyes, and felt
a strange-like sensation of a rushing sound in my ears; and then of
coming suddenly and violently, with a tremendous thud, upon the stony
rock.”

His breath was gone, and it was long before he could recover it. He was
for a time utterly senseless. On slightly recovering consciousness, he
thought he was under the influence of a night-mare. He seemed to be in
bed, and saw before him hideous faces, grinning and grimacing, like so
many demons. He tried to shake them off, to shut them out. But no! the
monsters were still there in all their hideousness, and still he was
utterly helpless.

[Sidenote: _WEDGED AMONGST ROCKS._]

At length two ploughmen, who had been working in the adjoining field,
and seen Edward fall over the cliff, came forward to its edge, and
looked down upon him wedged among the rocks. “Ye’re no dead yet, are
ye?” said one of the men. Edward was unable to make any answer. “Fa
is’t?” said the other man. “Ou! it’s that feel chiel[37] that’s aye
gaun aboot wi’ his gun and his wallets!” The men looked down again in
consternation, with eyes that seemed about to leap from their sockets.
Edward at length began to feel about him. He felt himself wedged, as in
a vice, between two long and oval pieces of rock, and quite unable to
set himself free. The two countrymen went round by the Tarlair pathway,
in order to get Edward out of his fixture. It seemed to him an age
before they arrived.

[Sidenote: _DRAGGED OUT OF HIS VICE._]

They at first took him by the shoulder and tried to lift him out. But
this was so painful to him, that at last they desisted. They then
tried to remove one of the rocks, between which he lay clasped. This
also proved fruitless. Edward then observed that the other rock,
which they had not yet tried to remove, consisted of a loose shale.
It had either dropped from the cliff, or been tossed inshore by the
sea. Edward desired them to try and move it a little. But their joint
efforts proved unavailing. Many attempts were made to no purpose. A
stout fisherman then appeared on the scene. He put his shoulder to the
rock, and the block was at last moved sufficiently far, so as to enable
Edward to be dragged out of the vice.

He sat down and felt himself all over. His left shoulder and left side
were extremely sore. The back of his head was also very painful. But he
was thankful to find that neither his arms nor his legs were broken. He
was not so sure about his left ribs. He was very much bruised and cut
on that side. One of the splinters of the gun-stock was found sticking
through his coat. An old copper powder-flask, which he had in his left
pocket, was as flat as a flounder; all its contents were dashed out.

Edward entreated the men to help him to get to the cave. He thought
that, if left there for a time, he would soon recover. He got upon his
feet with difficulty, and found that his spine had been hurt. With the
help of two of the men, he was at last able to walk very slowly to the
cave. They urged him to allow them to carry him to the cottage near the
Mineral Well. But he preferred to rest in the cave. They prepared a
bed of seaweed for him, on which he lay down. His protectors then left
him, and, spite of his pain, he fell asleep. He must have slept some
time, for he was awakened by the murmuring of the sea, which was fast
approaching the cave.

[Sidenote: _LEAVING THE CAVE._]

Feeling that his sickly feeling had left him, and that he was on the
whole much better, although his left side and shoulder were still
very painful, he gathered himself together and rose to his feet. He
staggered about a little at first; but he was at last able to return in
search of his gun. He found it in a woeful plight. The stock was broken
to bits, and the barrel and lock were laid in the hollow. He gathered
up the fragments of the companion of his travels for so many years;
and, divesting himself of the heaviest of his wallets, he left them in
a corner of the cave. Then, keeping hold of the rocks, he contrived to
reach the inner side of the Tarlair valley. From thence he had a weary
walk to Banff. He took many rests by the way, and at length reached
home in the afternoon, sore, sick, and weary; and went to bed. His
wounds were then looked to. It was found that none of his ribs were
broken, and that he had only sustained some severe contusions. It
was, however, nearly a fortnight before he could do any work. A month
elapsed before he could walk to Tarlair for the wallets and remains of
his gun which he had left in the hollow of the cave.

To support his family during his illness, he was forced to sell a
considerable portion of the Collection which he had made during
the last few years. Although it was not so large as that which he
had exhibited at Aberdeen, it contained many rarer birds, insects,
crustacea, zoophytes, and plants; and it was on the whole much better
got up. He sold about 100 cases at this time, consisting chiefly of
preserved birds, insects, and eggs. He also sold about 300 plants, and
more than 200 zoophytes; besides about 100 minerals or fossils. Among
the plants, were a great number unnamed. He had as yet no botanical
books; and the friends to whom he applied could not supply the names.
They considered them very rare, if not new and unnamed.

[Sidenote: _DRAWS UPON HIS SAVINGS-BANK._]

It was a great blow to him to sell a portion of his second Collection.
But he had no help for it. It was his only Savings Bank. When other
means failed him, he could only rely upon it. He had no friends in his
neighbourhood to help him. His specimens went to many places, far and
near. A considerable portion of them went to Haslar, near Southampton,
where one of the hospital surgeons was making a collection of objects
in Natural History.

FOOTNOTES:

[34] Master shoemakers, in those days, employed Men’s men (that is men
who made Men’s shoes), Women’s men, Boot men, and Pump men, according
to the branch they worked at. Those who excelled in proficiency were
called Dons. Edward was a Don Pump man. Few excelled him at that part
of the business. It was for this reason that his master objected to
his leaving the shop so often on his Natural History excursions; as he
could find no one else to do this part of the work so well.

[35] _Sutor_—Shoemaker.

[36] This is the place so well described in _Johnny Gibb of
Gushetneuk_. “There was a little house, too, at the foot of the
north bank, where a drop of whisky could be got somehow in cases of
emergency, as when the patient got ‘hoven’ with the liberal libations
of salt-water previously swallowed, or when the taste lay strongly in
that direction; but this was no part of the recognised regimen.”

[37] _Feel chiel_—foolish fellow.

CHAPTER XI.

_BEGINS TO PUBLISH HIS OBSERVATIONS._

SHORTLY after Edward’s return from Aberdeen, his old and much esteemed
friend, the Rev. James Smith, of the Manse of Monquhitter, situated
about ten miles south-east of Banff, lent him some works on Natural
History. These enabled Edward to ascertain the names of some of the
birds which he discovered in the neighbourhood.

One day, while walking along the sea-coast, Edward shot a Bridled
Guillemot (_Uria lachrymans_),—a bird not before known to frequent the
district. When he informed Mr. Smith of the circumstance, the reverend
gentleman thus wrote to him: “The discovery of the Bridled Guillemot
at Gamrie is very interesting, and affords another confirmation of the
remark that there are many things yet to be found out, almost at our
doors, by those who have a relish for the works of Nature, and who
will make a good use of the faculties which the Almighty has bestowed
upon them. In my own case, I have now almost _no_ opportunity in my
power for prosecuting researches in Natural History out of doors; and,
even if I had, there is so little sympathy for any proceedings of
this nature, that I should to a certainty be regarded, by almost all
my parishioners, as half-mad, or at least as childish, and neglecting
my more serious duties. Still, I always feel a strong interest in the
subject, and in any discovery which is made in regard to it.”

[Sidenote: _EDWARD AND GRAMMAR._]

As Edward had no narrow-minded parishioners to encounter, he went on
with his researches. Mr. Smith strongly encouraged him to persevere. He
also advised him to note down the facts which came under his notice;
and to publish the results of his observations. This surprised Edward.
“Why,” said he, “I cannot write for the publishers.” “You must learn to
write,” said Mr. Smith; “and in order to write correctly you must study
grammar.”

He importuned Edward so much, that at last he said he “had no use
for grammar.” “You cannot write without it,” said Mr. Smith. “But,”
returned Edward, “I have no intention of writing.” “You _must_ write,”
said Mr. Smith. “You must write down all that you learn respecting the
objects you are collecting. It is a duty that you owe to society, and
it will be very selfish on your part if you do not publish the results
of your observations.”

After about half-an-hour’s arguing, Edward asked, “How long do you
think it would take me to learn grammar?” “Well,” said Mr. Smith, “I do
not think you would take very long to learn it. But,” he added, “you
will require to relinquish your out-door pursuits during that time.”
“If that be the case, Mr. Smith, I am afraid that I cannot become a
pupil. But, if I have any time left after I have done with Nature, then
perhaps I may begin to study grammar; but not till then.”

[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S SCRAPS._]

Mr. Smith’s advice, however, was not without its good results. Edward
_did_ begin to note down his observations about natural objects, and he
published them from time to time in the local paper, the _Banffshire
Journal_. When the present author asked for a sight of the articles,
Edward replied, “I think I could supply you with scraps of a good
number, although, on looking over my stock, I find that a great many
have disappeared. My family and friends have dealt very freely with
them. In fact, they were found good for ‘kinlin’.[38] The most of what
I wrote in the local papers is lost, for ever lost.”

[Sidenote: _THE DEATH’S-HEAD MOTH._]

Among the articles which he was able to collect, we find descriptions
of rare moths, rare birds, and rare fishes. Perhaps one of the first
articles which he published, was a description of a “Death’s-head Moth”
found in the parish of Ruthven—one of the most wonderful, as it is one
of the most extraordinary of insects.

“In its caterpillar state,” says Edward, “it has the power of making a
pretty loud snapping-like noise, which has been compared by some to a
series of electric sparks. The chrysalis squeaks, but more particularly
when about to change. And, as to the perfect insect itself, it is
gifted with a voice which it has the power of modulating at pleasure,
being sometimes of a plaintive nature, then mournful, then like the
moaning of a child, then again like the squeaking of a mouse. This,
together with the fact that it carries on a portion of its back,—that
part called the thorax,—an impression of the front view of a human
skull (hence its name of Death’s-head), has made it an object of the
greatest terror and dislike amongst the ignorant and superstitious.
It is looked upon, not as the handiwork of the Almighty, but as the
agent of evil spirits. The very shining of its large bright eyes, which
sparkle like diamonds, is believed to represent the fiery element from
which it is supposed to have sprung. On one occasion these insects
appeared in great abundance in various districts of Bretagne, and
produced great trepidation among the inhabitants, who considered them
to be the forerunners, and even the causes, of epidemic diseases and
other calamities. In the Isle of France it is believed that any down or
dust from their wings falling on the eyes causes immediate blindness.
All this is, of course, merely the result of superstitious prejudice.

[Sidenote: _BUTTERFLIES AND LOCUSTS._]

“The Death’s-head is said to be the largest moth we have, and is, in
fact, the largest found inhabiting Europe, save the Peacock moth. Be
this as it may, it is a very large insect, measuring from five to six
inches across the wings, and having a body proportionately long and
thick. The caterpillar, which is smooth, and of a greenish-yellow,
with minute black dots all over, and with seven or eight bluish
stripes on the sides, having a horn above the tail, is likewise very
large,—being, when full grown, about six inches long. It feeds on the
potato, the deadly-nightshade, the jasmine, and the _Lycium barbarum_,
and other plants of as dissimilar a nature.”

In another article he mentioned the Herald Moth (_Scaliopteryx
libatrix_), a specimen of which was presented to him by Mrs. G.
Bannerman. He describes this beautiful insect as occurring in great
profusion in some of the southern parts of England, but as very rare
in the north. It is called the “Herald” moth, because it is said to
indicate the approach of winter.

[Sidenote: _LOCUSTA MIGRATORIA._]

The Peacock Butterfly (_Papilio Io_), was caught in Duff House garden,
close to Banff. Although common in England, this butterfly is very rare
in Scotland. Morris makes no mention of its ever having been seen in
the north. A great flock of these butterflies passed over a part of
Switzerland in 1828, when they were described as a swarm of locusts.
This circumstance led Edward to insert some observations regarding that
destructive insect, the _Locusta migratoria_, which passed over this
country in the year 1846, the ever-memorable potato-famine year.

“Great numbers,” he says, “were found in the counties of Aberdeen,
Banff, and Moray. Several were also got in the sea at Aberdeen, as
well as near Banff. Some of those found were very large, being two
and a half inches long, and nearly as thick as one’s little finger;
their wings expanding to about four inches in breadth. Nine of this
size were found by one individual in a turnip-field at the Stocket,
near Aberdeen. They were brought to me while I was there with my
first unfortunate Collection. But, large though this may seem, it
is nothing to others. We are told that in India there are locusts
of a yard in length. I do not vouch for the fact; it is no story of
mine. Pliny tells it; and from him we have it. Some found in the sea
at Aberdeen were offered there for sale as ‘fleein’ fish,’ and no
less a sum than ten shillings was sought for them. Strange sort of
flying-fish this! Truly it may have been said that the entomological
and ichthyological schoolmasters were both abroad in those days. It
may, however, be remarked, that something of a similar kind took place
amongst ourselves not very long ago, so that we have little room to
laugh at the Aberdonians. A person having picked up a _galerite_ (a
species of fossilised sea-urchin of the Cretaceous system), near by our
harbour, was showing it to some individuals, when one of them, no doubt
puzzled, said, ‘O! it’s just something that _somebody has made_.’ But
to return to the locusts. Those of which we have been speaking arrived
in the month of August and the beginning of September. Now, this year
it would appear that something of the same kind had taken place, as
numbers have been picked up in various parts of the country. Three
have, at least, been found with us, viz. two near the Moss of Banff,
and one at Cornhill; another at Mintlaw, Aberdeenshire. I have also
one from Lerwick, where it is said they have been rather plentiful in
the corn-fields; as also in the Zetland Islands, in Unst, and the rest
of the bare and isolated Skerries. In some of the Western Isles, I
believe, they have actually proved a complete pest.

[Sidenote: _THEIR DESTRUCTIVE POWER._]

“As may be expected, there are many species of this creature, as there
are of everything else: but those here alluded to are perhaps the
most redoubtable of them all, as being the most destructive, the best
known from their migratorial flights, and being, as already hinted,
the species that constituted one of the awful plagues of Egypt in the
days of Moses. They were doubtless the same that wasted the land of
Canaan, and caused such a terrible famine, of which we read in the book
of Joel. A wind drove them into the sea; their dead bodies were again
cast on shore in such heaps that the Hebrews were obliged to dig large
pits in which to bury them. In this country, we have about twenty-five
different kinds belonging to the same family, of which the foregoing
is one; but of course they are all of small size, and therefore may be
said to be comparatively harmless.”

[Sidenote: _SAW-FLIES._]

In another article, Edward mentions another insect almost equally
destructive. A friend of Edward at Turriff found four _Saw-flies_
in a piece of a fir tree that was being cut up for firewood. They
are called _Saw-flies_ “from the fact that the female possesses,
posteriorly, an instrument by which she perforates, or rather saws,
holes in trees, into which she drops her eggs. From this it will be
seen that the larvæ are woodfeeders. In this country they are by no
means numerous, and it is well that they are not, or our forests
would shortly disappear; for, in places where they abound, such as in
Norway, they destroy hundreds of thousands of trees in a season. It
is only the growing and not the dead wood that they attack. The young
grubs, as soon as they emerge from the egg, cut their way right into
the very heart of the solid timber, and there they gnaw and bore in
every possible direction. By this means, the tree is either killed,
or so injured, that ultimately it pines and dies. The fly itself has
no English name, but is known to entomologists by the term of _Sirex
juvencus_.”

[Sidenote: _THE PATIENT SPIDER._]

In another article, Edward mentions the fact of a Spider (_Aranea
domestica_) having lived in one of his sealed-up cases for twelve
months without food. He had before written to his reverend friend
on the subject, but Mr. Smith informed him that he had no books on
Entomology, and could give him no information. Edward says of his
spider, that after the case had been sealed up, he saw him walking over
the birds contained there, until at last he became stationary in one of
the corners. “Towards noon of the second day of his incarceration, he
commenced operations, and by breakfast time of the day following, his
web was completed. The little artizan was then observed to walk slowly
and very sedately all over the newly formed fabric, seemingly with the
view of ascertaining if all was secure. This done, the aperture was
next examined, and with more apparent care than was bestowed upon the
rest of the structure. This wonderful mechanical contrivance,—which
serves at least the fourfold purpose of storehouse, banqueting hall,
watch tower, and asylum in times of danger,—being found all right, the
artificer then took up his station, within it, no doubt to await the
success of the net which he had spread, and from whence, had fortune
proved kind, he would boldly have rushed out to secure his struggling
prey. There was, however, no fly to be caught within the case. He was
the only living thing in it; and there the patient creature remained
without food, for the space of more than twelve months.”[39]

[Sidenote: _NOTES ON NATURAL HISTORY._]

The notices on Natural History which appeared from time to time in the
local journal, had the effect of directing general attention to the
observation of natural objects; and numerous birds, fishes, insects,
caterpillars, shells, and plants, were sent to Edward for examination.

In one of his notes he mentions a Cinereous Shearwater (_Puffinus
cinereus_) found on the beach near Portsoy. This led him to give a
very vivid account of the Stormy Petrel. Another of the specimens sent
to him was a _Dyphalcanthus longispinus_, from the fossil diggings of
Gamrie. “How strange!” he says. “Here we have an animal, or perhaps
I should rather say a stone, part of which had once been a creature
enjoying life,—but now how changed! How long is it since it lived,
died, and became thus transformed? Years ago, nay ages, many ages, long
anterior to the creation of man. How wonderful, and yet how true!”

Of another specimen he says—

“Here, again, is a black, pink, yellow, and brown creature, with crests
and ornaments like a duchess—just, in fact, like a lady of the olden
time, dressed up and decorated for a ball, with her head stuck full
of feathers, her ribbons flying, and fan in hand; in other words, a
caterpillar of the Vapourer Moth found in a garden at Buckie.

“And lastly, though not least, a specimen of the Mountain Bladder
fern (_Cystopteris montana_), found on Benrinnes by a gentleman from
England, and sent to me as a rarity. It was only in 1836 that this fern
was made known as British, having then been for the first time met with
by a party of naturalists on Ben Lawers. Since that time, however,
it has been found in a ravine between Glen Dochart and Glen Lochy,
Perthshire. It is also found on the mountains of North Wales, on the
Alps, and on the Rocky Mountains of North America.”

[Sidenote: _RARE BIRDS._]

Many rare birds were sent to him for examination, notices of which he
recorded in the local paper. Thus, he obtained the Little Crake (_Crex
pusilla_), a bird that had not before been found in the neighbourhood,
from a land-surveyor at Whitehills. The Mountain Finch (_Fringilla
montifringilla_) was sent to him from Macduff, where it had been driven
ashore during a recent storm. A Greater Shrike or Butcher bird (_Lanius
excubitor_)—a bird that had not before been found in Scotland,—was
found dead at Drummuir Castle, and sent to him for preservation.
The Spoonbill (_Platalea leucorodia_) and Bee-eater (_Merops
apiaster_)—very rare birds—were also found at Boyndie.

Of the latter bird, Edward says, “This is a splendid bird, as rare as
the last, if not more so. If we except the breast, which is of a bright
yellow, encircled by a black ring, and some other orange and brown
scattered here and there, it may be said to be of a beautiful verdigris
green. The two middle tail feathers are about an inch longer than the
others. The bill is longish and pointed. Though termed bee-eaters, they
also feed on beetles, gnats, grasshoppers, and flies, etc. The most
of these they capture on the wing, somewhat after the fashion of the
Goatsucker and Swallow. Although a scarce bird with us, they are common
in their native countries. In Asia Minor and the adjacent lands to the
north, and in Northern Africa, they are said to be so abundant as to be
seen flying about in thousands.”

[Sidenote: _ACCURATE OBSERVERS WANTED._]

Among the rarer birds found in the district, were the Bohemian Waxwing
or Chatterer (_Bombycilla garrula_), whose native home is Bohemia,—the
Black Redstart (_Phœnicurus Tithys_), a bird that had never before
been met with in Scotland. Edward, in describing this bird, says, “It
is quite possible that it may have visited the country before; but
from the neglect, or rather contempt, with which natural science is
regarded in this part of the country, it may have visited us, and even
bred amongst us, unknown and unrecorded. There is plenty of work among
us for Naturalists. A great deal has yet to be learnt regarding the
various branches of natural science. There is nothing better calculated
for the purpose than _attentive and accurate local observers_.”

On one occasion, when out shooting on the sands west of Banff, Edward
brought down a very rare bird. It was a brown snipe (_Macroramphus
griseus_), a bird well known in North America, but not in Britain. Here
is Edward’s story:—

[Sidenote: _A STRANGE BIRD OBSERVED._]

“Taking a stroll the other day to the west of the town, with my gun in
hand, to get the air, I crossed the sands at the Links, and looking
along them I observed a pretty large group of my old and long-loved
favourites—birds. Wishing, instinctively as it were, to know what they
were, I went cautiously forward to take a nearer view. I found that
they consisted for the most part of ring-dotterels and dunlins, with a
few golden plovers. I was somewhat astonished at seeing the plovers,
for they are by no means a shore bird with us at this season of the
year,—nor, in fact, at any time, except when driven by snow. But there
they were, and no mistake. Not yet satisfied, however,—for I thought
I could distinguish one that did not exactly belong to any of those
already mentioned,—I wished to go a little nearer, and on doing so was
glad to find my conjectures fully confirmed; but what the stranger
was I could not tell. I saw enough, however, to convince me that it
was a rare bird. There is no getting an easy shot at a stranger.
The dotterels are constantly on the out-look for squalls, and when
anything suspicious appears, they immediately rise and fly away. A
shot, however, after a good deal of winding and twisting, was fired,
and although at rather long range, broke one of the stranger’s legs.
This had the effect of parting him from his companions,—they flying
seawards, and he to the shingle which intervenes betwixt the sands and
the Links. Here he dropped, seemingly to rise no more.

[Sidenote: _A BROWN SNIPE._]

“Having reloaded in case of need, I then ran, as well as I was able,
to pick him up. I gained the place, and after some difficulty, having
passed and repassed him several times, I at last found my bird lying
stretched out at full length amongst the pebbles, and to all appearance
a corpse. It was now that I ascertained with satisfaction and pride,
that the great rarity I had met with was neither more nor less than
a specimen of the Brown Snipe, and a splendid one it was too, being
evidently an old bird. Being almost intoxicated with delight, I sat
down, and having taken some cotton wadding from my pocket to wrap
round the injured leg, and stop up any other wound that he might have
received, I took him up for that purpose. But, alas! there is many a
slip between the cup and the lip.

[Sidenote: _THE SNIPE ESCAPES._]

“Away flew the bird just as I was about to lay him on my knee; he
actually slipped out from amongst my very fingers. I fired both barrels
as soon as I could get a hold of my gun, sitting though I was. But
on the bird went, whistling as he flew, despite the dangling of his
shattered limb, but whether in derision at my stupidity, or exulting in
his own miraculous and fortunate escape, I cannot tell. Reaching the
burn mouth of Boyndie, he again alighted amongst the tumbling waves
there. It was now gloaming, and what between one thing or other, I
was rather like an aspen leaf than anything else. Follow, however, I
did; I searched the place, and was just on the eve of giving up the
pursuit as hopeless—having, as I thought, beat the ground over and
over again to no purpose,—when up rose the bird from amongst my very
feet. Both barrels were again emptied, but with little apparent effect.
The last one made him scream somewhat harshly, and falter a little in
his flight, but that was all. On he sped. Darkness now put an end to
any further operations for that day. Next day, however, and for many
days after, I was out, but, although I searched the coast as far as
the sands of Whitehills on the one side, and the burn of Melrose on
the other, I could find no traces of the bird. And thus I lost perhaps
one of the greatest ornithological rarities that has ever visited the
district.”

One of the most vivid descriptions which Edward inserted in the
_Banffshire Journal_, was a narrative of a day’s adventures on Gamrie
Head. The editor, in introducing it to his readers, said that it reads
not unlike a chapter of Audubon or Wilson. The reader will judge for
himself:—

[Sidenote: _EXCURSION TO GAMRIE._]

“Having promised to visit some friends in Gardenstown to partake of
their hospitality during the festive season of the New Year, I left
home with that object on the morning of the 31st of December 1850.
I passed through Macduff, and took the path which leads along the
cliffs, hoping thereby to meet with something rare or strange in the
ornithological world, and worthy of my shot. In this way I had nearly
reached the highest point of Gamrie Head without meeting with anything
but the common tenants of these rocky braes, when my attention was
attracted by the screaming of a number of birds at the bottom of the
cliff. On looking over I observed that they consisted of several hooded
and carrion crows, together with two ravens, two Iceland gulls (_Laurus
Islandicus_), and a number of other dark-coloured gulls, apparently
immature specimens of the great black-backed species, one of which,
in perfect plumage, was standing and picking at an object floating
in the water close to the rock, and about which all the other birds
were screaming. It appeared to me, and it afterwards proved to be the
case, that they were making food of the object about which they were
fighting; but the black-backed bird kept them all at bay, allowing none
to approach, not even the ravens themselves.

[Illustration: GAMRIE HEAD.]

[Sidenote: _A FOX’S LAIR._]

“Having feasted my eyes for a while on the Icelanders, the thought
struck me that I would descend the cliff in order to procure one of
them if possible, and also to get a nearer view of the object which
had drawn the various birds together. Accordingly, observing a narrow
track near me, I commenced my descent, but I had only proceeded a
short distance when I found myself on the brink of a precipice. I was
about to return, when, accidentally looking over, I observed a portion
of the rock jutting out a little beyond the one on which I stood,
and about four feet and a half below it. I now concluded that, if
I could gain this rock, I would still find the path to enable me to
continue downwards. With these hopes, and having laid down my gun, I
swung myself down upon the rock. I had no sooner done so, than I heard
a low growl, as if proceeding from a rabid dog; and on looking along
the rock, I was a good deal surprised at seeing two foxes standing in
a rather slouching attitude at the other end of the shelf, apparently
very much discomfited at my unwarrantable intrusion.

“Another look at the place and its surly occupants was enough to
convince me of the unmistakable truth that, instead of having met with
a path leading to the bottom of the cliffs, I had only found one to
a fox’s lair. My first impulse was to ascend the rocks, but in this
I was completely baffled. The brow of the cliff to which I wished to
ascend, was fully as high as my breast, and overhung the rock on which
I stood. I had nothing of the nature of a step to put my foot on to aid
myself up, and nothing to lay hold of with my hands but small tufts
of withered grass and some small stones, all of which gave way so
soon as any stress was put upon them. The last and the only remaining
object within my reach was a stone about twice as large as my head,
and partially embedded amongst the grass. I took hold of the big stone
with both hands, and succeeded in drawing myself about half-way up when
it suddenly gave way. The stone came into collision with my right
shoulder, and would in all likelihood have borne me along with it to
the bottom of the cliff, had it not been that at that instant I got
hold of a short tuft of heath with my mouth, by the aid of which, and
by using my fingers as a beast would its claws, I was enabled to regain
my former position.

[Sidenote: _DRIVES OUT THE FOXES._]

“It was now quite evident that I would require to descend the cliff by
some means or other, but how? That was a matter for deep consideration.
I was standing on the brink of a precipice,—had two cunning fellows to
deal with,—had to hold on, at least with one hand, to the rock above in
order to maintain my equilibrium,—and had to keep a steady eye on my
companions for fear lest they should rush at me and throw me over the
cliff.

“Such being the case, was I not in a pretty fix? If there were any
means of escape, it was from the point near which the foxes were. But
how could I dislodge them to get at that point? The space on which
we stood was only from about two feet and a half to one foot broad,
and about nine feet long, projecting to some distance over the cliff
beneath. To have shot them, and rid myself of their presence in that
fashion, was, from my position, utterly impossible.

“At length a thought struck me, and with the view of putting it in
execution, I laid down my gun close to the back of the shelving, out
of harm’s way; then crouching down with my feet towards my shaggy
friends, who kept up a constant chattering of their teeth during the
whole time, and pushing myself backwards until I reached the nearest, I
gave him a kick with my foot on the hind quarters, which produced the
desired effect; for I had no sooner done so, than I felt first the feet
of one and then of the other passing lightly along my back, and before
I had time to lift up my head, they had bolted up the precipice and
disappeared.

[Sidenote: _OVERLOOKING THE PRECIPICE._]

“I was now master of the place, though not of the situation. On
looking over the cliff, I found that there was no way of getting down
but by leaping into a crevice of the rocks, more than eight feet
beneath me, and in a slanting direction from where I was. This was a
doleful discovery, but there was no help now; so, taking off my coat,
shot-belt, and powder-flask, that I might be so much the lighter, and
have the free use of my arms, I threw them down to the bottom of the
rock. I next bound the gun to my back, having previously emptied it
of its contents. I then crawled over the edge of the rock, and hung
dangling in the air for a little, like the pendulum of a clock. I would
have given all that I ever possessed in the world to have been again in
the foxes’ den, stinking though it was. For then, and not till then,
did I discover, to my sorrow, that a rugged portion of a rock projected
over the entrance to the aperture to which I wished to descend,
and that, in leaping, I would require to go beyond it in order to
reach the landing underneath. To accomplish such a feat seemed to me
impossible.

[Sidenote: _MAKES THE LEAP._]

“I hung thus, being afraid to make the leap, though up I could not get,
until my hands began to give way; when, mustering all my remaining
strength, and having taken the last swing with some force, I let go
my hold to abide by the dreadful alternative,—for I had little hope
of gaining the desired haven. Most fortunately, however, I did gain
it, but, in doing so, I received a severe blow on the left temple from
the rock I had so much dreaded. I also lost my cap, which fell off
when my head struck the rock. From this cavity or chink, which was the
worst that I ever had to deal with, I managed,—by leaping and swinging
from one rocky shelf and cavity to another, and by crawling from crag
to crag, alternately, as circumstances required it,—to reach a huge
stone, which evidently had once formed a part of the higher portion
of the cliff, but had, at a bygone period, by some means or other,
become detached from it, and on rolling down had found a temporary
resting-place there.

“Beyond this stone, I found my leaping was at an end, for I had
now arrived at the top of a rather rough and almost perpendicular
declivity, fully fifty feet from the bottom, and bounded on both sides
by steep and overhanging cliffs. Before me was the sea, behind and
above me was an insurmountable barrier of 300 feet of cliff. Although
I had descended thus far, there was no human possibility of my being
able to re-ascend by the same path. In such a place—alone, and almost
powerless—bruised and nearly worn out with exertion—what could I do?
Throw myself down, and meet my fate at once, or wait till help should
arrive? But where was help to come from? Two boats had already passed
from Gardenstown, both of which I hailed, but they sailed along on
their way. Perhaps they were too far out at sea to hear my cries, or to
notice my signals of distress.

[Sidenote: _THE PEREGRINE FALCON._]

“Despairing of success, I sat down to consider what was next to be
done. While thus resting, I observed a falcon (_Falco peregrinus_)
sailing slowly and steadily along, bearing something large in his
talons. On he came, seemingly unconscious of my presence, and alighted
on a ledge only a few yards from where I sat. I now saw that the object
he carried was a partridge. Having fairly settled down with his quarry
on the rock, I could not help wondering at and admiring the collected
ease and cool composure with which he held his struggling captive (for
it was still alive) until death put an end to its sufferings. There was
no lacerating with his beak at the body of the poor and unfortunate
prisoner, in order, as it were, to hasten its termination; no expanding
of the wing to maintain his equilibrium; although the last and dying
struggle of the bird caused him to quiver a little.

[Sidenote: _DEVOURS THE PARTRIDGE._]

“All being now over, with one foot resting upon his game, and the
other on the rock, silent and motionless as a statue, the noble captor
stood, with an inquiring eye gazing at the now lifeless form of his
reeking prey, seeming to doubt the fact that it was already dead. But
there was no mistake. The blood, oozing from its mouth and wounds,
its body doubtless pierced by the talons of the conqueror, already
began to trickle down the sides of the dark cliffs, dyeing the rocks
in its course. Satisfied at last that life was fairly extinct, an
incision was then made in the neck or shoulder of the victim, and into
this the falcon thrust his bill several times, and each time that it
was withdrawn it was covered with blood. This being done, and having
wrenched off the head, which he dropped, he then began not only to
pluck but to skin his food, from the neck downwards; and, having bared
the breast, commenced a hearty meal by separating the flesh from the
sternum into portions, with as much apparent ease as if he had been
operating with the sharpest surgical instrument. I should have liked
well to have seen the end of the work thus begun; but unfortunately,
a slight movement on my part was detected by the quick eye of the
falcon, and my nearness was discovered. Having gazed at me for a few,
and only for a few seconds, with an angry and piercing scowl, mingled
with surprise, he then rose, uttering a scream so wild and so loud as
to awaken the echoes of the surrounding rocks; whilst he himself, with
the remains of his feast, which he bore along with him, rounded a point
of the cliff and disappeared; and there is no doubt that he ended his
repast in unmolested security.

[Sidenote: _FLIGHT OF THE FALCON._]

“I was glad, nay proud, of this unlooked-for occurrence, as I had never
before, on any occasion, had the pleasure of witnessing any of those
noble birds in a state of nature, or while engaged in devouring their
prey, and that too amongst the rugged fastnesses of their natural
retreat. In consequence of having paid particular attention to the
movements of the falcon, I was enabled to bring to maturity an opinion,
the seeds of which were sown many years ago—viz. that, if painters,
engravers, and preservers of animals, would endeavour to get lessons
from nature, and work accordingly, the public would not be so often
duped as they are, by having to pay for false representations and
caricatured figures, instead of the genuine forms of these noble birds.

[Sidenote: _SLIDES DOWN THE ROCKS._]

“The falcon had no sooner fled, than the reality of my own situation
again burst upon my mind. I had as little prospect of relief from
passers-by as ever; and, becoming a prey to evil forebodings, I felt
cold and sick at heart. It was now afternoon, and daylight would soon
be on the wane. I had no time to lose, for it was necessary that
something should be done to extricate myself, if possible, before dark.
The only way of doing so was by sliding down the declivity, be the
consequences what they might. Accordingly, I unloosed the gun from its
place on my back, and having taken my garters, which were very long,
from my legs, I tied them together, then attached one end of them to
the gun, and holding the other end in my hand, I dropped it as far as
the string would allow, and then letting go, I heard the gun clash to
the bottom. I next took the two napkins, which had bound the gun to
my back, and wound them round my head, in order to save it as much as
possible from the edges of the rocks. I then stretched myself upon the
rocky slope, with my feet downwards, and was ready for the descent,
when, repenting, I would again have drawn myself up. But the scanty
herbage which I held by gave way, and I was hurled down, whether I
would or no, and with such violence that, on landing amongst the rocks,
I became quite unconscious.

“On recovering, I found myself lying at the foot of the cliff, sick
and very sore. I found that I had bled profusely from the nose and one
of my ears. My first impulse, on recovering, was to move my limbs to
ascertain if any of them were broken, when, to my inexpressible joy and
thankfulness, I found them whole, though somewhat benumbed. Becoming
thirsty, and observing a pool of water at a short distance, I attempted
to rise, but my spine pained me so much that I was obliged to lie
down again, without being able to reach the desired spot. The thirst
increasing, I dragged myself to the water. I thrust my mouth into it,
and had partaken of a draught before I discovered that, instead of
fresh, I had swallowed _salt water_!

[Sidenote: _LOADS HIS GUN._]

“If I was ill before, I was worse now. Having sickened and vomited
again, I revived a little, and after I had washed the blood from my
face and head, I was enabled to sit up with my back against a rock.
Whilst thus seated, I observed all the articles which had been dropped,
except my cap, which, however, I afterwards found. After sitting for
about half-an-hour, I made another attempt to rise, and succeeded,
though I reeled about like a drunken fellow, and could scarcely stand
steady without the aid of my gun, which I found was not so much bruised
as I had expected. Having again assumed my coat and other appendages, I
then endeavoured to load my gun with the view of procuring one of the
Icelanders which I had seen from the top of the cliff. This, however,
proved a very difficult matter; and when I had loaded the gun I found
to my disappointment that I could not bring it to bear upon the object.
I made the attempt several times, but was at last obliged to abandon
the hope I had entertained of obtaining either of the birds.

[Sidenote: _THE SPINOUS SHARK._]

“I was vexed at this, for both came several times within easy shot.
All my hopes of procuring the birds being at an end, I then proceeded
to view the object in the water round which the birds were hovering,
and I was surprised to find it to be the carcase of an animal of a
very singular appearance. It was not until I had looked at it for some
time that I could bring my memory to bear upon it. I then thought, and
I have since been fully confirmed in the opinion, that I discovered
in it a specimen, or rather the putrid remains, of the Spinous Shark.
It wanted the head, which had been broken off by the fish having
been dashed against the rocks by the waves. The tail was also broken
off, but still hung by a filament to the body. In shape it somewhat
resembled the tail of the common dog-fish, but there evidently had
been two fins on the back, nearer to the posterior than the anterior
portion of the animal, though these had been broken or rubbed off. The
skin, which was of a dark blue colour, and had a leathery appearance,
was thickly beset with curved thorns or spines (whence the animal’s
name), nearly all of which were more or less damaged. I know of
nothing that I could liken these thorns or spikes to, but the thorns
or spikes which may be seen on the stem of an old rose bush,—with this
exception, that the spikes of the fish are larger. From its position in
the water, though close to the rocks, I could not make out its girth
in any part whatever; but, from where the head had joined the body to
the tip of the tail, it was about two yards in length. Having fully
satisfied myself that the present specimen, from its decomposed state
and the holes perforated in it by the gulls, was beyond the state for
preservation, I again left it, that the impatient birds might once
more descend and recommence their banquet.

[Sidenote: _RETURNS HOME._]

“I now wished to get to a sandy beach, at some distance to my left,
known as Greenside, from which I knew that a path led to the top of the
cliff. On my way thither, I met with a very serious obstacle in the
form of a huge rock, whose base extended into the sea; and, as a matter
of course, as I could not get round it, I required to get over it. I
was then far from being in a condition to climb a rock. However, I had
no alternative. The tide, then about to come in, would have shown me
no mercy. Accordingly, my gun was once more on my back, and on hands
and knees, for feet here were of no use, and with the aid of my mouth,
I succeeded in crawling over, and, with some further difficulty, I
contrived to reach Greenside. Instead of holding on to Gardenstown,
I turned my face towards home, where I arrived betwixt five and six
in the evening,—with the impression of the last day of 1850 so deeply
stamped upon my body and mind, that it will not easily, if ever, be
obliterated from either.”

FOOTNOTES:

[38] Kindling fires.

[39] “The superstitious notion, that a spider shut up without food for
a year is transformed into a diamond, has probably cost many of these
insects their lives; and if the eradication of ancient prejudices be as
serviceable to science as the discovery of new truths, the poor spiders
may console themselves with the honour of martyrdom as justly as the
innumerable frogs, who betrayed, amid their tortures, the mystery of
galvanism. In this, as in other things, people have obtained a very
different and perhaps more important result than they had expected. It
appears that though spiders do not turn to diamonds, they can live a
long time without food. An insect of this species, inclosed in a box
for this rational purpose, was found alive after the poor sufferer had
been forgotten for five years.”—_Ackermann’s Repository_, January 1815.

CHAPTER XII.

_RAMBLES AMONGST BIRDS._

THE Reverend Mr. Smith must have felt surprised at the graphic manner
in which Edward described the birds of the district. The truth is,
that Edward, though he had acquired his principal knowledge from
observation, had also learnt something from books. Mr. Smith had lent
him such books as he had in his library, and also referred him to the
articles on Natural History in the _Penny Cyclopedia_. Although Edward
did not accept his friend’s advice as to the study of grammar, yet he
learnt enough for his purpose. It is not so much by recollecting the
rules of grammar that one learns to write, as by the careful reading of
well-written books. After that, grammar comes, as it were, by nature.
Besides, if a man feels keenly, he will be sure to write vividly. This
was precisely Edward’s position.

Mr. Smith thought it unfortunate that Edward’s contributions to Natural
History should be confined to the local newspaper. He asked permission
to send an account of his observations to a scientific journal. Edward
expressed his fears lest his contributions might not be found worthy
of notice. He was always shy and modest: perhaps he was too modest.
There are cases in which shyness is almost a misfortune. A man may
know much; but, because of his shyness, he declines to communicate his
information to others. He hides his secret, and nobody is the wiser for
his knowledge. He is too bashful. He avoids those who might be friendly
to him, and who might help him. Edward often stood in his own light in
this way.

[Sidenote: _OBSERVATIONS PUBLISHED._]

Mr. Smith, however, persevered. He obtained from Edward some notes of
his observations, and after correcting them, he offered to send them
to the _Zoologist_, and publish them under his own name. “I have no
doubt,” he said, “that the articles would be acceptable to the editor;
but, if you do not approve of this plan, I hope you will not for a
moment allow me to interfere with you. At all events, I trust that you
will have no objection to let the information be known to a much wider
circle of readers, and especially of zoologists, than are likely to
consult the pages of the _Banffshire Journal_.”

Edward at last gave his consent; and in the _Zoologist_ for 1850,[40]
Mr. Smith inserted a notice of the Sanderlings which had been shot
by Edward on the sands of Boyndie. In the following year Mr. Smith
inserted, in the same magazine, a notice of the spinous shark which
Edward had seen under Gamrie Head.[41] “In order,” says Mr. Smith,
“to determine whether it was the spinous shark or not, I sent Mr.
Edward the 39th volume of the ‘Naturalist’s Library,’ which contains an
account, by Dr. Hamilton of Edinburgh, of the Squalida, or family of
sharks, and in which there is a coloured engraving of this particular
shark. In reply, Mr. Edward observes—‘I have now no doubt whatever that
the animal discovered and examined by me was the Spinous Shark.’”

[Sidenote: _EDWARD DESCRIBED BY MR. SMITH._]

In another article, Mr. Smith described Edward in the following
terms:—“I have oftener than once made mention in the _Zoologist_ of
Mr. Thomas Edward, shoemaker in Banff, who is a zealous admirer of
Nature and an excellent preserver of animals. Occasionally he tears
himself, as it were, from the employment to which necessity compels
him, and slakes his thirst for the contemplation of zoological scenes
and objects by a solitary ramble amid the mountains and hills which
so greatly abound in the upper portion of the shires of Aberdeen and
Banff. Of some of his adventures during a ramble of this description,
he has sent me an account. This I consider so interesting, that I have
rewritten it, and now submit it for insertion in the _Zoologist_. The
facts, the ideas, and the reflections, are all his own, and in many
parts I have retained his own impressions. Upon the accuracy and the
minuteness of his observations, and upon his veracity of character, the
utmost reliance may at all times be placed.”

[Sidenote: _THE BEAUTIFUL HERON._]

The paper that follows consists of the description of a ramble,
extending over several days, in the hill districts near Noth and
Kirknie. It is not necessary to transcribe the whole paper; but we may
select the following passages as showing the keen observation as well
as the character of the man. Edward had entered a narrow glen, at the
bottom of which runs the burn called Ness Bogie. He was listening to
the voice of the cuckoo, and the _clap-clap_ of the ring pigeons, which
rose in great numbers, when an abrupt turn of the road brought him,
suddenly and unexpectedly, within a few yards of a beautiful heron:—

[Sidenote: _CRIES OF THE BIRDS._]

“I immediately stood still,” he says; “the upright and motionless
attitude of the bird indicated plainly that he had been taken by
surprise; and for the moment he seemed, as it were, stunned, and
incapable of flight. There he remained, as if fastened to the spot, his
bright yellow eye staring me full in the face, and with an expression
that seemed to inquire what right I had to intrude into solitudes
where the human form is so rarely seen. As we were thus gazing at each
other, in mutual surprise at having met in such a place, I observed
his long slender neck quietly and gradually doubling down upon his
breast. His dark and lengthened plumes were at the same time slightly
shaken. I knew by this that he was about to rise; another moment, and
he was up. Stretching his long legs behind him, he uttered a scream
so dismal, wild, and loud, that the very glen and hills re-echoed the
sound, and the whole scene was instantly filled with clamour. The
sandpiper screamed its _kittie-needie_; the pigeon _cooed_; the pipit,
with lively emotion, came flying round me, uttering all the while its
_peeping_ note; the moor-cock sprang with whirring wing from his heathy
lair, and gave forth his well-known and indignant _birr birr-bick_;
the curlew came sailing down the glen with steady flight, and added
to the noise with his shrill and peculiar notes of _poo-elie poo-elie
coorlie coorlie wha-up_; and, from the loftier parts of the hills, the
plovers ceased not their mournful wail, which accorded so well with the
scene of which I alone appeared to be a silent spectator. But I moved
not a foot until the alarmed inmates of the glen and the mountain had
disappeared, and solemn stillness had again resumed its sway.”

On the following day, while crossing the Clashmauch, on his way to
Huntly, Edward observed a curlew rise from a marshy part of the hill,
to which he bent his steps in hopes of finding her nest. In this,
however, he was disappointed; but, in searching about, and within a few
feet of the remains of a wreath of snow, he came upon a wild duck lying
beside a tuft of rushes. It may be mentioned that there had been a
heavy snowstorm which had forced the plovers and wild ducks to abandon
their nests, though then full of eggs, and greatly interrupted the
breeding season in the northern counties. Edward proceeds:—

[Sidenote: _THE MOTHERLY WILD DUCK._]

“As I imagined she was skulking with a view to avoid observation, I
touched her with my stick, in order that she might rise; but she rose
not. I was surprised, and, on a nearer inspection, I found that she
was dead. She lay raised a little on one side, her neck stretched out,
her mouth open and full of snow, her wings somewhat extended, and with
one of her legs appearing a little behind her. Near to it there were
two eggs. On my discovering this I lifted up the bird, and underneath
her was a nest containing eleven eggs; these, with the other two, made
thirteen in all; a few of them were broken. I examined the whole of
them, and found them, without exception, to contain young birds. This
was an undoubted proof that the poor mother had sat upon them from two
to three weeks. With her dead body in my hand I sat down to investigate
the matter, and to ascertain, if I could, the cause of her death. I
examined her minutely all over, and could find neither wound nor any
mark whatever of violence. She had every appearance of having died of
suffocation. Although I had only circumstantial evidence, I had no
hesitation in arriving at the conclusion that she had come by her death
in a desperate but faithful struggle to protect her eggs from the fatal
effects of the recent snowstorm.

[Sidenote: _BURIES THE WILD DUCK._]

“I could not help thinking, as I looked at her, how deep and striking
an example she afforded of maternal affection. The ruthless blast had
swept, with all its fury, along the lonesome and unsheltered hill.
The snow had risen higher, and the smothering drift came fiercer, as
night drew on; yet still that poor bird, in defiance of the warring
elements, continued to protect her home, and the treasure which it
contained, until she could do so no longer, and yielded up her life.
That life she could easily have saved, had she been willing to abandon
the offspring which Nature had taught her so fervently to cherish,
and in endeavouring to preserve which she voluntarily remained and
died. Occupied with such feelings and reflections as these, I know
not how long I might have sat, had I not been roused from my reverie
by the barking of a shepherd’s dog. The sun had already set,—the grey
twilight had begun to hide the distant mountains from my sight, and,
not caring to be benighted on such a spot, I wrapped a piece of paper,
as a winding sheet, round the faithful and devoted bird, and, forming a
hole sufficiently large for the purpose, I laid into it the mother and
the eggs. I covered them with earth and moss, and, over all, placed a
solid piece of turf; and having done so,—and being more affected than I
should perhaps be willing to acknowledge,—I left them to moulder into
their original dust, and went on my way.”

Having thus related an instance of maternal affection on the part
of the wild duck, let us cite a still more remarkable instance of
brotherly sympathy and help on the part of the common Tern (_Sterna
hirundo_), called Pickietars in the neighbourhood of Banff.

[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETARS._]

“Being on the sands of Boyndie one afternoon at the end of August, I
observed several parties of Pickietars busily employed in fishing in
the firth. As I was in want of a specimen of this bird, I loitered
about on the beach, narrowly watching their motions, and hoping that
some of them would come within range of my gun. The scene around was
of no common beauty. In the azure heaven, not a cloud was to be seen
as far as the eye could reach; not a breath of wind was stirring the
placid bosom of the firth. The atmosphere seemed a sea, as it were, of
living things; so numerous were the insects that hummed and fluttered
to and fro in all directions. The sun, approaching the verge of the
horizon, shot long and glimmering bands of green and gold across the
broad mirror of the deep. Here and there several vessels were lying
becalmed, their whitened sails showing brightly in the goldened light.
An additional interest was imparted by the herring-boats which were
congregating in the bay; their loose and flagging sails, the noise of
the oars, and the efforts of the rowers, told plainly enough that a
hard pull would have to be undergone, before they could reach their
particular quarters for fishing, in the north-eastern part of the firth.

[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETAR FISHING._]

“While I stood surveying with delight the extended and glorious
prospect, and witnessing with admiration the indefatigable evolutions
of the Terns in their search for food, I observed one of them break
off from a party of five, and direct his course towards the shore,
fishing all the way as he came. It was an interesting sight to behold
him as he approached in his flight,—at one moment rising, at another
descending,—now poised in mid-air, his wings expanded but motionless,
his piercing eye directed to the waters beneath, and watching with
eager gaze the movements of their scaly inhabitants,—and now, as one of
them would ever and anon come sufficiently near the surface, making his
attack upon the fish in the manner so thoroughly taught him by nature.
Quick as thought he closed to his side his outspread pinions; turned
off his equilibrium with a movement almost imperceptible; and, with a
seeming carelessness, threw himself headlong into the deep so rapidly
that the eye could with difficulty keep pace with his descent. In the
least space of time he would be seen sitting on the water, swallowing
his prey. This being accomplished, he again mounted into the air. He
halts in his progress. Something has caught his eye. He lets himself
down; but it is only for a little, for his expected prey has vanished
from his sight.

“Once more he soars aloft on lively wing; and having attained a certain
elevation, and hovering kestrel-like for a little with quick repeated
strokes of his pinions, he rapidly descends. Again, however, his
hoped-for victim has made its escape; and he bounds away in an oblique
direction, describing a beautiful curve as he rises without having
touched the water. Shortly after, he wings his way nearer and nearer
to the beach: onwards he advances with zigzag flight, when suddenly,
as if struck down by an unseen hand, he drops into the water within
about thirty yards of the place where I was standing. As he righted
and sat on the bosom of the deep, I was enabled distinctly to perceive
that he held in his bill a little scaly captive which he had snatched
from its home, and which struggled violently to regain its liberty. Its
struggles were in vain: a few squeezes from the mandibles of the bird
put an end to its existence.

[Sidenote: _THE PICKIETAR SHOT._]

“Being now within my reach, I stood prepared for the moment when he
should again arise. This he did so soon as the fish was despatched. I
fired, and he came down with a broken wing, screaming as he fell into
the water. The report of the gun, together with his cries, brought
together the party he had left, in order that they might ascertain the
cause of the alarm. After surveying their wounded brother round and
round, as he was drifting unwittingly toward the shore with the flowing
tide, they came flying in a body to the spot where I stood, and rent
the air with their screams. These they continued to utter, regardless
of their own individual safety, until I began to make preparations
for receiving the approaching bird. I could already see that it was a
beautiful adult specimen; and I expected in a few moments to have it
in my possession, being not very far from the water’s edge.

[Sidenote: _WOUNDED PICKIETAR RESCUED._]

“While matters were in this position, I beheld to my utter astonishment
and surprise, two of the unwounded Terns take hold of their disabled
comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and bear him
out seawards. They were followed by two other birds. After being
carried about six or seven yards, he was let gently down again, when
he was taken up in a similar manner by the two who had been hitherto
inactive. In this way they continued to carry him alternately, until
they had conveyed him to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which
they landed him in safety. Having recovered my self-possession, I
made toward the rock, wishing to obtain the prize which had been so
unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by
the Terns; and instead of four, I had in a short time a whole swarm
about me. On my near approach to the rock, I once more beheld two of
them take hold of the wounded bird as they had done already, and bear
him out to sea in triumph, far beyond my reach. This, had I been so
inclined, I could no doubt have prevented. Under the circumstances,
however, my feelings would not permit me; and I willingly allowed
them to perform without molestation an act of mercy, and to exhibit
an instance of affection, which man himself need not be ashamed to
imitate. I was, indeed, rejoiced at the disappointment which they had
occasioned, for they had thereby rendered me the witness of a scene
which I could scarcely have believed, and which no length of time will
efface from my recollection.”

[Sidenote: _CLOSENESS OF OBSERVATION._]

On another occasion, Edward exhibited the same closeness, minuteness,
and patience of observation, with regard to the Turnstone (_Strepsilas
interpres_), a bird which is an inhabitant of the sea-shore, and has a
wide geographical range, though it has rarely been seen on the shores
of the Moray Firth. In Edward’s ornithological excursions, it was
not so much his object to kill birds as to observe their manners and
habits. He very often made his excursions without a gun at all. In a
letter to the author, he observes—“In looking over my printed articles,
you will find a great number of notices of the habits and workings
of various species. I spent so much time in observation, that I had
little time to spare to write out the results. And what I did write,
did not seem to be much appreciated. Perhaps this is not to be wondered
at. It appears that the compilers of works on Natural History in this
country do not care for details of the habits of the animals they treat
of. They rather glory in the abundance of technical descriptions they
can supply. These may seem scientific, but they are at the same time
very dry. In fact, Natural History is rendered detestable to general
readers. We want some writers of the Audubon and Wilson class to render
Natural History accessible to the public at large.”

[Sidenote: _THE TURNSTONE._]

If Edward himself could have been rescued from his shoemaker’s seat,
we might probably have had the book which he indicates. He was full
of love for his subject; he was patient and persevering in his
observations; and, notwithstanding his great disadvantages, it will
be observed that his style of writing was vivid and graphic. With
respect to the Turnstone, which Edward described in 1850,[42] it does
not appear that any ornithological writer, excepting Audubon, had
particularly described it; although Edward had never read Audubon’s
work. The Reverend Mr. Smith observed—“It is consistent with my
knowledge that Mr. Edward has never read the account given by Audubon
of the habits of the Turnstone. I mention this as a proof, amongst
others, of the accuracy and minuteness with which he makes his
observations. He is the only European, so far as I have the means of
ascertaining, who has described the efforts which are put forth by the
bird in question in cases of difficulty, not only with its bill, but
with its breast also.” The following is Edward’s description of the
bird:—

[Sidenote: _DESCRIPTION OF TURNSTONE._]

“The Turnstone is a very interesting bird, from its peculiar form and
singular habits. It is a strong thick bird, with rather short thick
legs, long expanded toes, and full broad breast. Its bill is in the
form of an elongated cone, strong at the base, on the culmen rather
flattened, and with a curve inclining upwards towards the tip. The
habits of the bird are singular, more particularly with respect to the
method which it adopts to procure food,—which is, as its name denotes,
by turning over small stones in search of the insects beneath them, on
which it feeds. When the object which it wishes to turn over is too
large for the bill to do so, the breast is applied; and it would seem
that the birds are willing to assist each other, just as masons or
porters will do in turning over a stone or a bale of goods. I may here
take the liberty of mentioning an incident concerning the Turnstone
which came under my own observation.

[Sidenote: _OBSERVATION OF THE TURNSTONE._]

“Passing along the sea-shore to the west of Banff, I observed on
the sands, at a considerable distance before me, two birds beside a
large-looking object. Knowing by their appearance, that they did not
belong to the species which are usually met with in this quarter, I
left the beach and proceeded along the adjoining links, an eminence
of shingle intervening, until I concluded that I was almost opposite
to the spot where the objects of my search were employed. Stooping
down, and with my gun upon my back prepared for action, I managed to
crawl through the bents and across the shingle for a considerable way.
At length I came in sight of the two little workers, who were busily
endeavouring to turn over a dead fish which was fully six times their
size. I immediately recognised them as Turnstones. Not wishing to
disturb them, and anxious at the same time to witness their operations,
I observed that a few paces nearer them, there was a deep hollow among
the shingle, where I contrived to creep into unobserved.

“I was now distant from them about ten yards, and had a distinct and
unobstructed view of all their movements. In these there was evinced
that extraordinary degree of sagacity and perseverance which comes
under the notice only of those who watch the habits of the lower
creation with patience and assiduity, and which, when fully and
accurately related, is not unfrequently discredited by individuals
who, although fond of Natural History, seem inclined to believe that
everything in regard to animals must necessarily be false, or at least
the result of ignorance, unless it has been recorded in books which are
considered authorities on the subject.

“But to return: having got fairly settled down in my pebbly
observatory, I turned my undivided attention to the birds before me.
They were boldly pushing at the fish with their bills, and then with
their breasts. Their endeavours, however, were in vain: the object
remained immovable. On this they both went round to the opposite side,
and began to scrape away the sand from beneath the fish. After removing
a considerable quantity, they again came back to the spot which they
had left, and went once more to work with their bills and breasts, but
with as little apparent success as formerly. Nothing daunted, however,
they ran round a second time to the other side, and recommenced their
trenching operations with a seeming determination not to be baffled in
their object, which evidently was to undermine the dead animal before
them, in order that it might be the more easily overturned.

[Sidenote: _JOINED BY A BROTHER TURNSTONE._]

[Sidenote: _TURN OVER THE COD._]

“While they were thus employed, and after they had laboured in this
manner at both sides alternately for nearly half-an-hour, they were
joined by another of their own species, which came flying with rapidity
from the neighbouring rocks. Its timely arrival was hailed with evident
signs of joy. I was led to this conclusion from the gestures which
they exhibited, and from a low but pleasant murmuring noise to which
they gave utterance so soon as the new-comer made his appearance. Of
their feelings he seemed to be perfectly aware, and he made his reply
to them in a similar strain. Their mutual congratulations being over,
they all three set to work; and after labouring vigorously for a few
minutes in removing the sand, they came round to the other side, and
putting their breasts simultaneously to the fish, they succeeded in
raising it some inches from the sand, but were unable to turn it over.
It went down again into its sandy bed, to the manifest disappointment
of the three. Resting, however, for a space, and without leaving their
respective positions, which were a little apart the one from the other,
they resolved, it appears, to give the work another trial. Lowering
themselves, with their breasts close to the sand, they managed to push
their bills underneath the fish, which they made to rise to about the
same height as before. Afterwards, withdrawing their bills, but without
losing the advantage which they had gained, they applied their breasts
to the object. This they did with such force and to such purpose,
that at length it went over, and rolled several yards down a slight
declivity. It was followed to some distance by the birds themselves,
before they could recover their bearing.

“They returned eagerly to the spot from whence they had dislodged the
obstacle which had so long opposed them; and they gave unmistakable
proof, by their rapid and continued movements, that they were enjoying
an ample repast as the reward of their industrious and praiseworthy
labour. I was so pleased, and even delighted, with the sagacity and
perseverance which they had shown, that I should have considered myself
as guilty of a crime had I endeavoured to take away the lives of these
interesting beings, at the very moment when they were exercising, in
a manner so happily for themselves, the wonderful instincts implanted
in them by their Creator. When they appeared to have done and to be
satisfied, I arose from my place of concealment. On examining the fish,
I found it to be a specimen of the common cod. It was nearly three feet
and a half long, and it had been imbedded in the sand to the depth of
about two inches.”

One of Edward’s greatest pleasures was in rambling along the sea-shore,
to observe the habits of the sea birds. The multitude of birds which
frequent the shores of the Moray Firth are occasioned by the shoals of
herrings, which afford food not only for thousands of fishermen but
for millions of sea-birds. To show the number of birds that frequent
the coast, it may be mentioned that during the storm that occurred in
December 1846, Edward counted between the Burn of Boyne and Greenside
of Gamrie, a distance of about nine miles, nearly sixty of the Little
Auk, which had been driven ashore dead, besides a large number of
Guillemots and Razorbills. Numbers of these birds were also found lying
dead in the fields throughout the county.

[Sidenote: _THE LITTLE AUK._]

And yet the Little Auk has a wonderful power of resisting the fury
of the waves. “It is a grand sight,” says Edward, “to see one of
these diminutive but intrepid creatures manœuvring with the impetuous
billows of a stormy sea. Wave follows wave in rapid succession, bearing
destruction to everything within reach; but the Little Auk, taught
by Nature, avoids the threatened danger, either by mounting above
the waves or by going beneath them, reappearing unhurt as they spend
their fury on the shore. The eye for a time wanders in vain amongst
the turbulent surge, to catch another sight of the little sailor bird.
One unaccustomed to such a scene would be apt to exclaim ‘Poor little
thing! It is buried amidst the foam!’ Have a little patience. See,
there it is, once more, as lively as ever, and ready to master the
approaching billow. Its descent amongst the waves may have been merely
in search of food, for it is only betwixt the waves, whilst inshore
during a storm, that the bird can descend for that purpose. The bird is
known in our locality by the curious term of the ‘Nor-a-wa-wifie,’ from
the supposition that it comes from Norway.”

The rocky coasts along the east shore were the most attractive scenes
for our Naturalist. Not only the wildest scenery, but the wildest
birds, were to be found in that quarter. Gamrie Mohr and Troup Head
were especially favourite places. We have already described Edward’s
adventures near the former headland. Here is his description of his
visit to Troup Head:—

[Sidenote: _THE SEA-FOWL NURSERIES._]

“Sailing in a little bark, with a gentle breeze blowing, I had ample
opportunities of viewing the various birds as they approached, and as
they flew past. Passing in front of the several sea-fowl nurseries of
Troup, I beheld scenes truly magnificent—scenes which could not have
failed to create feelings of the deepest interest in a mind capable
of appreciating the sublime and beautiful workings of Nature. Having
landed at the most famed of these nurseries, in order to view the scene
with advantage—here, I thought, as I gazed at the white towering cliffs
which had laughed to scorn the angriest scowl of the most mighty wave
that ever spent its fury at their base, and defied the stormiest blast
from the icy North; where the largest gull in its midway flight appears
no larger than the smallest of its kind; where the falcon breeds beside
and in perfect harmony with the other inhabitants of the rocky cliffs;
where multitudes of birds, of various forms and hues, from the snowy
whiteness of the Kittiwake to the sable dye of the croaking raven, have
found a resting-place whereon to build their nests and deposit their
young;—here, I thought, as I was about to leave the busy throng—even
here, man, the noblest creature, though too often degrading himself
beneath the lowest of animals, might learn lessons of industry and
affection from these humble monitors of Nature.”

[Sidenote: _NEIGHBOURHOOD OF PENNAN._]

During breeding-time the clamour of the sea-birds is tumultuous, though
the lashing of the sea at the foot of the cliffs tends to a great
extent to lull their noise. But towards evening all becomes still
again. Edward frequently ascertained this by personal experience.
Being in the neighbourhood of Pennan one day, he went along the Head,
in order, if possible, to get a sight of the far-famed eagles of the
promontory. He was unsuccessful on the occasion. He had loitered by
the way, and the declining day at length warned him to leave the place
without seeing the coveted sight. His road westward lay along the
coast. With disappointed hopes he trudged along, scarcely thinking how
the hours were flying. At length it became dark as he approached the
broom braes of Troup. He found himself fairly benighted. At the same
time he was tired and weary. He had endured many outs and ins, ups and
downs, that day. His intention was to have gone to the house of his old
shopmate at Gardenstown, and spend the night. But now he felt, from
his worn-out condition, that it would have taken him nearly two hours’
walking to reach the place. He therefore determined to stay where he
was, or rather, to go down to a sleeping-place near Troup Head, to
ascertain how his feathered friends conducted themselves during the
night time.

[Sidenote: _SLEEPS IN HELL’S LUM._]

[Sidenote: _SEA-BIRDS AT NIGHT._]

His sleeping place was a very wild one. It was no other than Hell’s
Lum. He knew the place well. He had entered it both from the sea-side
and from the land-side. He had been in it in storm and calm, in clouds
and sunshine. And now he was about to spend the night in it. The
weather was, however, calm; the sea was like a sheet of glass; so that
he had little fear of getting a wetting during his few hours’ stay.
While in the “Lum,” he was at the back of the cliffs, and in close
proximity with the breeding places of the myriads of sea-fowl. It was
now the busiest part of the season. The birds had been very clamorous
during the day, but as night came on, their clamour ceased. With the
exception of a few screams,—while, perhaps, the birds were being
displaced in their nests,—the night was silent, though Edward kept
awake and listened for nearly the whole time.

But with the first glimmerings of daylight, and just as he was
beginning to move and to creep out of the pit, Edward thought that he
heard some of the birds beginning to whimper and yawn, as if ready for
another day’s work; and by the time he had rounded Crovie Head, he
beheld the cliffs alive, and the multitude of sea-birds again in full
operation.

[Illustration: THE RED HEAD OF PENNAN.]

FOOTNOTES:

[40] _Zoologist_, 1850 : 2915.

[41] _Zoologist_, 1851 : 3057.

[42] First in the _Banffshire Journal_, December 31, 1850; and
afterwards copied by Mr. Smith in the _Zoologist_, April 1851.

CHAPTER XIII.

_LITERATURE AND CORRESPONDENCE._

[Sidenote: _THE REV. MR. SMITH._]

A GREAT misfortune befell Edward in 1854: his friend the Rev. Mr. Smith
died. He was a man whose richly cultivated mind and warm heart endeared
him to all with whom he came in contact. He was almost the only man of
culture in the neighbourhood who appreciated the character of Edward.
He not only made himself his friend, but became his helper. Edward was
under the impression that people looked down upon him and his work,
because he was a poor shoemaker. There were other persons who knew of
Edward’s perseverance, self-denial, and uncomplainingness, and also of
his efforts to rise into a higher life. But they did not help him as
Mr. Smith did. The true Christian gentleman treated the poor man as
his friend. He treated him as one intelligent man treats another. The
shoemaker from Banff was always made welcome at the minister’s fireside
at Monquhitter.

Mr. Smith helped Edward with books. He lent him such books as he had,
from his own library; and he borrowed books from others, in order to
satisfy Edward’s inquiries about objects in Natural History.

He wandered about the fields with him, admiring his close observation;
and he urged him to note down the facts which he observed, in order
that they might be published to the world.

In one of the last letters addressed by Mr. Smith to Edward he
observed: “It is, I conceive, the great defect in the natural sciences
that we know so little of the real habits and instincts of the animal
creation. In helping to fill up this gap, your personal minute
and accurate observations will be of no little service; although
individuals, solemn and wise in their own conceit, may look upon some
of them as so strange as to be altogether fabulous; and _that_ for no
better reason than because during all their lives,—having exercised
their faculties only in eating, drinking, and sleeping,—the things
related have never come under the notice either of their eyes or their
ears.”

We find, from a letter of Professor Dickie, that Mr. Smith endeavoured
to obtain employment for Edward as a preserver of British birds
for the Natural History collection in King’s College, Aberdeen.
Many kindly letters passed between Edward and the minister of
Monquhitter, sometimes about newly-discovered birds; at other times
about the troubles and sicknesses of their respective families. Mr.
Smith’s suggestion that Edward should note down his observations for
publication was not, as we have seen, without effect, as the latter
afterwards became a contributor to the _Naturalist_, the _Zoologist_,
the _Ibis_, the _Linnæan Journal_, and other Natural History
publications.

[Sidenote: _THE PARTRIDGE._]

In one of Edward’s articles in the _Zoologist_, he thus refers to a
circumstance which happened during one of the last excursions he took
with his reverend friend. He is referring to the partridge (_Perdrix
cinerea_). “A very cunning and faithful mother is the female; for
when she has eggs, she never leaves her nest without hiding them so
carefully that it is almost impossible to detect their whereabouts; and
if you take her by surprise, away she hobbles on one leg, and a wing
trailing on the ground, as if wounded! . . . Wandering about the Waggle
Hill one day with my friend the Rev. Mr. Smith, I chanced to observe
a moor-fowl squatted on the ground amongst the heather, close to my
feet; in fact, I stood above her before I noticed her. Being summer
time, I at once guessed the nature of the case. On my friend coming up,
I drew his attention to the bird over which I stood. ‘Oh,’ he said,
‘she’s surely dead, Mr. Edward.’ ‘Oh, no,’ said I; ‘there are eggs or
young beneath her.’ ‘Well,’ he answered, ‘if so, it is certainly a
very wonderful circumstance, but we shall see.’ Then, stooping down,
he touched the bird, but she did not move. ‘She must be alive,’ he
said, ‘because she is warm; but she must be wounded, and not able to
rise or fly.’ ‘Oh, no,’ I once more said; ‘she has something beneath
her which she is unwilling to leave.’ The bird allowed him to stroke
her without moving, except turning her head to look at him. On my
friend’s dog Sancho coming up and putting his nose close to her, she
crept away through the bushes for some distance, and then took to
flight, leaving a nest and fifteen eggs exposed to our gaze. Before
leaving, we carefully closed up the heather again, so as to conceal as
much as possible the nest and its beauteous treasure; and I need not
say that we were both delighted with what we had seen. Mr. Smith was
particularly struck with the incident, as he had never seen anything of
the kind before; and he remarked, ‘I verily believe that I could not
have credited the fact if I had not seen it myself,’ and he afterwards
spoke of it with the greatest admiration.”

[Sidenote: _THE LOCH OF STRATHBEG._]

Edward also numbered among his friends the Rev. Alexander Boyd of
Crimond. It was through the Rev. Mr. Smith that Edward was first
introduced to him. Mr. Smith was anxious that Edward should examine and
observe the birds of Strathbeg, near which the village of Crimond is
situated. Crimond is about thirty-five miles from Banff, ten miles from
Peterhead, and about seven from Fraserburgh.

The loch of Strathbeg was at one time of limited extent. It was
connected with the sea at its eastern extremity; but a hill of sand
having, about the beginning of last century, been blown across the
opening during a furious east wind, the connection between the loch and
the sea was closed, and it became a fresh-water loch, as it remains to
this day. The scenery in the neighbourhood is by no means picturesque;
but the loch is very attractive to sportsmen, in consequence of the
number of wildfowl that frequent it, or which breed among the islands
and marshes at its western extremity.

[Sidenote: _THE REV. MR. BOYD._]

The Rev. Mr. Boyd was the parish minister of Crimond. His hospitable
manse was always open to Edward when he visited the neighbourhood. In
one of Mr. Boyd’s letters to Edward, he said, “We have exactly the sort
of room that will suit you, and you will be left at liberty to pursue
your researches at your convenience; the room being so situated that
you can go out or come in at any hour of the day or night, without any
one being the wiser. There will always be something in the cupboard
to refresh you before starting at daybreak, or when you come home
at night, though every one in the house may be asleep. And you may
continue with us the whole week, if you be so disposed. My coble will
always be at your service, and I hope to be able to accompany you on
some of your rambles, though I am not nearly so agile now as I have
been. . . . Mrs. Boyd is now quite well, though she had a long illness
after you were here;—and we have a young specimen of zoology to show
you, which is worth all the rare birds of Strathbeg put together!”

The number of water-fowl that Edward found about the loch was very
great. During winter time it was the haunt of birds from far and near,
in prodigious numbers. In summer time it was the breeding-place of
numerous birds of a different kind. The people of the neighbourhood
say that “all the birds of the world come here in winter.” In angry
weather, when the ocean is tempest-tossed, the sea-birds fly in, and,
mingling with the natives, constitute a very motley group. The number
of birds is so great that when a gun is fired they rise _en masse_, and
literally darken the air, whilst their noise is perfectly deafening.

[Sidenote: _BIRDS AT STRATHBEG._]

The swans are among the largest birds that frequent the loch. Edward
found the beautiful White Hooper (_Cygnus ferus_), and the no less
fair and elegant Polish Swan (_Cygnus immutabilis_). The geese were
innumerable: the Bean Goose (_Anser segetum_), the Pink-footed Goose
(_A. brachyrynchus_), the White-pointed Goose (_A. erythropus_),
the Barnacle Goose (_A. leucopsis_), the Brent Goose (_A. brenta_),
the Canadian Goose (_A. Canadensis_), and even the Egyptian Goose
(_A. Egyptiacus_). The last mentioned was first detected by Mr. Boyd
himself. In a letter to Edward, dated the 24th November 1853, he
said—“One morning lately I was informed that there was a strange bird
of the goose tribe in my mill-dam. I sallied forth with a telescope in
one hand and a double-barrel, loaded with No. 1, in the other. I first
took a leisurely look at him with the former at less than 100 yards
distance, when I made the following observations:—Size and appearance
that of a small wild goose; Head, brown and grey mixed; Back, rich
brown, lightish; Breast and neck, grey; Tail, dark or black; Tips of
Wings, ditto, and glossy; Legs and Bill, reddish; a dark ring round
the neck, and a dark spot right on the centre of the breast. He was
nibbling the tender grass on the dam banks. I then approached nearer.
Instead of flying, he merely swam away to the other side of the pond,
and seemed either very tired or else accustomed to the presence of man.
I was quite within shot of him, but, from his tameness, I conjectured
that he was some fancy animal escaped from a gentleman’s demesne. I
then went for some corn, and scattered it on the banks, and as soon as
I moved away he came to eat it. When startled, he generally makes a
circuit of a quarter of a mile and returns again; but latterly he goes
to the loch of Strathbeg all night and returns in the morning for his
corn. I am afraid he will not be spared long, although I have sent word
in several directions that he is not to be shot. I should be glad if
he would become domesticated. I wish you would look over some of your
books and tell me what he is. I have not seen a bird of the same kind
before.”

[Illustration: VILLAGE OF PENNAN.]

[Sidenote: _THE EGYPTIAN GOOSE._]

From Mr. Boyd’s minute description of the bird, Edward was enabled to
inform him that it could be nothing else than a specimen of that rare
species, the Egyptian Goose. After about two months’ sojourn in Mr.
Boyd’s mill-pond, the bird flew away on the day preceding the great
snow-storm of January 1854, and never returned. Mr. Boyd was afterwards
enabled to ascertain the correctness of Edward’s information. He was
in Liverpool, and while visiting a poulterer’s yard, he observed a
bird exactly like the one that had taken shelter in his mill-pond. On
inquiring its name, he was informed that it was an Egyptian Goose.

[Sidenote: _THE WINTER BIRDS._]

The Mallard, the Widgeon, the Teal, the Garganey, the Pintail, the
Ferruginous, the Harlequin, the Shoveler, the Shieldrake, and the
Eider Duck, visit the loch occasionally in winter. The ducks were ten