NOTES ON THE SEASONS.—No. I.

BY A NATURAList.

SPRING.

WINTER is passing away, though still "the trembling year is unconfirmed:"

"And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,

Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightless."

Yet winter is passing away!—and spring-time (the time par excellence of poetry) is advancing, encircled by a floral band. The buds which formed last autumn at the base or axil of the leaves of the lilac, the apple-tree, and others which we need not particularise, from the oak and horse-chestnut to the willow, have already begun fairly to expand; the catkins of the birch and the ozier give a new grace to every pliant twig, and "the larch has hung all her tassels forth." The violet and the primrose render the hedgerow banks, and the sheltered beds of the coppice, a carpet of blue and paly gold, intermingled with russet-brown and tender green. The snowdrop, the crocus, and the daffodil, "that comes before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty," with the mezereon, yet leafless, but in the luxuriance of bloom, grace our gardens, struggling from barrenness into the teeming of Flora's prime. If we wander forth we shall find every mound of clay, however recently upturned, studded with the golden flowers of the coltsfoot. Green is the wheat-field, and let the day be sunny and clear, high overhead, from his loftiest pitch of flight, the lark will send down his melody—an animating strain, telling of brighter days, of warmer skies, of richer flowers "and a downy nest."

"Come to the woods"-the damp open spots are carpeted by the golden-eyed celandine; and in its depths, from amidst decaying leaves and crumbling branches forming a soft, deep over-layer of rich vegetable mould, the lovely wood anemone, or wind-flower, spreads in countless profusion its frail and delicate blossoms. Hark to the bold piping of the clear-toned thrush, seated as he sings on the topmost perch of some tall tree, while from the dense brake resounds the mellifluous warble of the shyer blackbird. These have already built their nests; and the female, serenaded by her

mate, is patiently incubating over her eggs. Let the profane foot of the spoiler never draw near! The rooks, too, are all busily engaged. What an animated scene at this season is a rookery. All is clamour and apparent confusion; and no doubt many acts of petty pilfering, many squabbles, and many contentions occur to disturb the harmony of the sable-coated community. But these soon subside, for rooks are wise birds, and strifes amongst individuals are soon composed, (would that man might take a lesson therefrom!) their old nests are duly repaired, and others, according to the increase of the colony, are built. Order reigns, and each pair attends to its respective duty, not forgetful of others, nor of orphans in the nest left destitute by the gun of the ruthless shooter.

We must not here forget our old favourite the magpie. During the year the magpie lives in pairs, that is, solitary, not congregational; but in the early spring, numbers assemble together, as if for the purpose of holding a sort of parliament. We have often watched this procedure. The spot chosen for the meeting is generally in some retired field, surrounded more or less by copsewood, plantations, and dense hedges. Here the birds of the district, as we presume, collect to the number of fifteen, twenty, or thirty. They hop and stalk about, they utter indistinct notes, and they seem evidently interested about some important business, perhaps connected with matrimonial projects or territorial allotments, for from their unknown language nothing very definite can be gathered. So, however, it is; and after a few of these discussions, the pairs separate, and each refits its old domed nest; the juvenile pairs having to construct their new domicile. Speaking on this subject to a Norwegian friend he informed us that in his country these spring-meetings of the magpies are very numerously attended, and that after their dispersion several individuals are found dead on the spot, as if a trial of delinquents had taken place, followed by the extreme penalty of the law. We think this circumstance may be thus accounted for: it seems to hold as a general rule among animals, (at least it is a common procedure dictated by instinct) that the weak, wounded, aged, or sickly, are maltreated and despatched by their fellows, a more merciful plan than that of leaving them to perish by slow degrees. Strange and unnatural as it may appear to civilized humanity, yet it is in accordance with the polity of a savage mode of existence, which will not easily tolerate the burden of helplessness.

In early spring we miss many quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, and

insects, which, as the weeks roll on, will soon make their appearance; on the contrary, some birds which visited us from the northern regions ate in the preceding autumn, and still linger within our shores, are seriously preparing for their journey to higher latitudes. In this point of view the British Islands, from their geographical position, are very favourable to the student or lover of nature. And here a few observations, the result of our personal experience, may not be without interest. Many species of animals which we justly claim as British (we include central Europe generally) would inevitably perish during our winter months, partly from a degree of cold which their system could not endure, but more directly from a failure of their necessary food. Now to obviate this sweeping mortality, two modes are in operation, as appointed by Divine wisdom, namely, HYBERNATION, or rather a state of life-preserving torpidity, distinct from ordinary sleep, and MIGRATION.

We need not say that all our animals do not either sink into torpidity or take their departure from our shores; quite the contrary: nay, many of our home-bred birds, which during winter associate in flocks, as the lark and others, have their numbers at this season augmented by arrivals of their foreign brethren; for in the north many birds are migratory which are here stationary and active, as the robin, the thrush, and even the rook; and, per contra, many birds which are in our island migratory are stationary in the south of Europe, as the blackcap, and various other slender-billed warblers.

Let us now glance first at Hybernation, or winter torpidity. This is not that deadly kind of stupefaction which spreads a lethargy over the frame of the alpine traveller, perishing in the snow-drift; but nature's soothing balm, which lulls sense and sensation into oblivious repose, and passes off even when the atmospheric temperature is lower than it was when that peculiar condition of the system began to be assumed. What animals do we now miss as we track the woodland paths, or wind our way along embowered hedgerows, whether by morn, or at midday, or "as evening draws o'er all her gradual dusky veil?" The hedgehog, that twilight wanderer, no longer trips, with its padding steps, across our road through the dingle or spinney. The little dormouse is not yet visible amidst the hazel-thicket; the squirrel now and then makes its appearance, visits its hoard, and retires to its snug dormitory; and the bat wheels not now around us, in chase of insect-prey, albeit on a fine warm day, while the sun feebly shines, some species emerge from their hiding-place, fly about for an hour, and then retire.

The beautiful little lizard of our hedgerows, and the snake, are still tranquil in repose; they will reappear in April, or early in May, but the frog has fairly emerged from his muddy bed, and every pond, ditch, and drainage-course, resounds with his reiterated croak. These reptiles come forth in March. No birds hybernate; all that has been said by early writers on zoology in favour of this theory is erroneous-they have been deceived by false appearances; the story of the submergence of swallows in lakes and marshes is nonsense, and could scarcely have been entertained by a truly scientific physiologist.

With regard to insects, great numbers pass through the winter in their chrysalis or pupa state, previous to their bursting forth from their shroud as spring advances. During the colder season the chrysalis is quite torpid, stiff, and apparently insensible, which was not the case when, in the previous autumn, casting off it caterpillar's skin, it assumed this transitory condition.

A few of our moths and butterflies pass the winter in a state of hybernation, rather as individual exceptions to a general rule than otherwise. These execptions are the relics of a late autumnal brood, which take refuge in holes or covert retreats. With respect to beetles and various other insects, many may be fairly ranked in the catalogue of hybernating creatures, and are called forth into active existence, according to the species, during the advance of spring from February to May. We have taken numerous small beetles from the crop of the wheatear (Saxicola œnanthe) early in March. This bird, one of the migratory tribe, is one of the earliest of our spring arrivals. The beehive, the wasp's nest, and the ant-mound, are now beginning to display scenes of bustle, and animation, almost as it might appear, of disorder. The insects are rousing from their lethargy, and long ere the spring merges into summer, these hordes will pour forth and pursue their various avocations; but we must not expect to see any wanderer from the hive in March; yet early in this month the sulphur butterfly may be observed strong on the wing, flitting along the sheltered lane or around the sunny copse.

We must not quite forget the creeping things of earth and water, excluding snakes, lizards, newts, and the like: the snail and the slug are profoundly torpid. With respect to marine worms and mollusks, inhabiting a medium which in our latitude varies, at a certain depth, very little in its degree of temperature, it can scarcely be expected that any species truly hybernate; but as regard terrestrial and fresh-water species, the case is different :