not spoken a word to Charles Waterton these three days, to the best of my knowledge.'

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As the establishment was very large, and as it contained an abundance of prey, the Hanoverian rat, which fattens so well on English food, and which always contrives to thrust its nose into every man's house when there is anything to be got, swarmed throughout the vast extent of this antiquated mansion. The ability which I showed in curtailing the career of this voracious intruder did not fail to bring me into considerable notice. The cook, the baker, the gardener, and my friend old Bowren, could all bear testimony to my progress in this line. By a mutual understanding I was made rat-catcher to the establishment, and also fox-taker, foumart-killer, and crossbow-charger at the time when the young rooks were fledged. Moreover, I fulfilled the duties of organblower and football-maker with entire satisfaction to the public.

"I was now at the height of my ambition. I followed up my calling with great success. The vermin disappeared by the dozen; the books were moderately well thumbed; and, according to my notion of things, all went on perfectly right.

One of those wise teachers did him an inestimable service. He called the lad into his room, told him that his roving disposition would carry him into distant countries, and asked him to promise that from that time he would not touch either wine or spirits. Waterton gave the promise, and kept it to the hour of his death, more than sixty years afterwards. Once, when returning from one of his foreign expeditions, he took a glass of beer at dinner, but, finding the taste, from long disuse, unpleasantly bitter, he put down the glass and never touched beer again.

At the age of eighteen he left Stonyhurst with much regret, and after a year spent at Walton Hall amid the pleasures of the field, he started on the first of his journeys abroad. It was during the Peace of Amiens, and Spain was chosen as the country which he should visit. After staying a short time at Cadiz, he sailed for Malaga, and had the good fortune to visit Gibraltar just in time to see the celebrated apes.

Gibraltar was the last place in Europe where apes lived wild. How they got there no one knows, but Waterton suggests in one of his Essays that they belonged originally to Africa.

"Let us imagine that, in times long gone by, the present Rock of Gibraltar was united to the corresponding mountain called Ape's Hill, on the coast of Barbary, and that, by some tremendous convulsion of nature, a channel had been made between them, and had thus allowed the vast Atlantic Ocean to mix its waves with those of the Mediterranean Sea.

"If apes had been on Gibraltar when the sudden shock occurred, these unlucky mimickers of man would have seen their late intercourse with Africa quite at an end. A rolling ocean, deep and dangerous, would have convinced them that there would never again be a highway overland from Europe into Africa at the Straits of Gibraltar.

"Now as long as trees were allowed to grow on the Rock of Gibraltar, these prisoner-apes would have been pretty well off. But, in the lapse of time and change of circumstances, forced by necessity's supreme command,' for want of trees, they would be obliged to take to the ground on all-fours, and to

Generally, the Gibraltar magots keep themselves so much aloof, that they cannot be seen without the aid of a telescope, but Waterton was fortunate enough to see the whole colony on the move, they being forced to leave their quarters by a change of wind. counted between fifty and sixty of them, some having young on their backs.

He

After staying for more than a year in Malaga, and having apparently in the meantime acquired the Spanish language, of which he was totally ignorant when he entered Cadiz, but in which he was afterwards a proficient, he projected a visit to Malta, but was checked by a terrible obstacle. This was the "black-vomit," which broke out with irresistible force, accompanied with cholera and yellow fever.

The population died by thousands, and so many were the victims of these diseases that graves could not be dug fast enough to keep pace with the mortality. Large pits were dug-much like our plague-pits and as they could not accommodate the coffins, the bodies of the dead were flung promiscuously into the pits. An uncle of Waterton died of the disease, his body was taken out of its coffin and thrown into the pit, and just beneath him lay the body of a Spanish marquis. No less than fourteen thousand people died in Malaga, notwithstanding that fifty thousand persons had fled from the city.

Waterton did not escape scatheless. He was seized with the black-vomit, but, although it was thought that he could not live until the following day, his great strength of constitution, aided by his simple mode of life, enabled him to conquer in the struggle. As if to add to the terrors of the time, earthquakes followed the plague, and every one who possessed another home was anxious to leave a spot which had been stricken with such plagues, and among them was Waterton. But the authorities had meanwhile laid an embargo on the shipping, and it was next to impossible to get away. At last, at the risk of imprisonment for life, he escaped by the daring and forethought of a Swedish captain.

He took on board Waterton and his younger brother, the former being entered on the ship's books as a Swedish carpenter, and the latter as a passenger. How carefully the escape was planned, and how skilfully it was executed, must be told in Waterton's own words :

"We slept on board for many successive nights, in hopes of a fair wind to carry us through the Straits. At last, a real east wind did come, and it blew with great violence. The captain, whose foresight and precautions were truly admirable, had given the strictest orders to the crew that not a word should be spoken whilst we were preparing to escape. We lay in close tier amongst forty sail of merchantmen. The harbour-master having come his usual rounds and found all right, passed on without making any observations.

"At one o'clock, P.M., just as the governor had gone to the eastward to take an airing in his carriage, as was his custom every day, and the boats of two Spanish brigs-of-war at anchor in the harbour had landed their officers for the afternoon's amusements, our vessel worked out clear of the rest, and instantly became a cloud of canvas. The captain's countenance, which was very manly, exhibited a portrait of cool intrepidity rarely seen: had I possessed the power, I would have made him an admiral on the spot.

"The vessel drove through the surf with such a press of sail that I expected every moment to see her topmasts carried away. Long before the brigs-of-war had got their officers on board, and had weighed in chase of us, we were far at sea; and when night had set in we lost sight of them for ever, our vessel passing Gibraltar at the rate of nearly eleven knots an hour." It was indeed fortunate for Waterton that he

succeeded in making his escape, for in the following spring the plague returned with increased violence, and no less than thirty-six thousand more victims perished. Waterton never dwells on the hardships and sufferings which he underwent in his travels, but he remarks that his constitution was much shaken by the Malaga illness, and that in all probability he would not have survived a second attack. He had tried to persuade another uncle to take part in the escape, but he declined, and was carried off by the second outbreak of the pestilence.

So ended Waterton's first experience of foreign travel. It was not by any means an encouraging tour, for he had lost relatives, friends, and health, while he had gained little except a knowledge of travel, and the sight of flamingos, vultures, and apes at liberty. It was characteristic of Waterton that when he found himself at Hull, forty-four years after he started on his travels, he made inquiries about the captain of the ship in which he took his first voyage, discovered that he was alive, sought him out, and renewed the acquaintance begun so many years before.

His weakened state caused him to take cold as he was sailing up the Channel; the cold settled on the lungs, and he was scarcely in less danger in England than he had been in Malaga. However, he again rallied, and was able once more to join the huntingfield. Still, the shock to the system had been very great, and to the end of his life, though he could endure almost any amount of heat, he was painfully sensitive to cold, and especially to cold winds. chilly climate of England did not agree with his health, and he found himself again obliged to go abroad. He longed, he said, "to bask in a warmer sun.'

The

Some estates in Demerara being in possession of the family, Waterton went to superintend them, and in the interval before starting, made the personal acquaintance of Sir Joseph Banks, who at once appreciated the powers which the young traveller was afterwards to develop. He gave Waterton a piece of most excellent advice, namely, to come home for a time at least once in three years.

He continued to administer the estates for eight years, when, as both his father and uncle, the proprietors of the estates, were dead, he handed over the property to those who had a right to it, and thence began his world-famed Wanderings, the account of which will be given exactly as he wrote it; without the change or omission of a syllable, or the addition of a note.

CHAPTER II.

DURING his stay in Demerara, he was selected as the bearer of despatches to the Spanish Government in Orinoco, and received the first commission which had been held by any one bearing the name of Waterton since the days of Queen Mary; the commission being dated August 2, 1808.

While passing up the Orinoco river in the fulfilment of this mission, an adventure occurred which had wellnigh deprived the world of the Wanderings.

"During the whole of the passage up the river, there was a grand feast for the eyes and ears of an ornithologist. In the swampy parts of the wooded islands, which abound in this mighty river, we saw water-towl innumerable; and when we had reached the higher grounds it was quite charming to observe the immense quantities of parrots and scarlet aras which passed over our heads. The loud harsh screams of the bird called the horned screamer were heard far and near: and I could frequently get a sight of this extraordinary bird as we passed along; but I never managed to bring one down with the gun, on account of the difficulty of approaching it.

"While we were wending our way up the river, an accident happened of a somewhat singular nature. There was a large Labarri snake coiled up in a bush, which was close to us. I fired at it, and wounded it so severely that it could not escape. Being wishful to dissect it, I reached over into the bush, with the intention to seize it by the throat, and convey it aboard. The Spaniard at the tiller, on seeing this, took the alarm, and immediately put his helm aport. This forced the vessel's head to the stream, and I was left hanging to the bush with the snake close to me not having been able to recover my balance as the vessel veered from the land. I kept firm hold of the branch to which I was clinging, and was three times overhead in the water below, presenting an easy prey to any alligator that might have been on the look-out for a meal.

"Luckily a man who was standing near the pilot, on seeing what had happened, rushed to the helm, seized hold of it, and put it hard a-starboard, in time

to bring the head of the vessel back again. As they were pulling me up, I saw that the snake was evidently too far gone to do mischief; and so I laid hold of it and brought it aboard with me, to the horror and surprise of the crew. It measured eight feet in length. As soon as I had got a change of clothes, I killed it, and made a dissection of the head.

"I would sometimes go ashore in the swamps to shoot maroudies, which are somewhat related to the pheasant; but they were very shy, and it required considerable address to get within shot of them. In these little excursions I now and then smarted for my pains. More than once I got among some hungry leeches, which made pretty free with my legs. The morning after I had had the adventure with the Labarri snake, a cayman slowly passed our vessel. All on board agreed that this tyrant of the fresh waters could not be less than thirty feet long.'

I ought to state that the Labarri snake here mentioned is one of the most venomous serpents of Guiana, but as it will be fully described in a subsequent page, I shall say no more about it at present. Waterton never feared snakes, even though knowing that their bite is certain death, but the coxswain of the boat, not having such nerve, might well be excused for taking alarm.

A rather amusing incident took place when he had reached his destination.

"On arriving at Angostura, the capital of the Orinoco, we were received with great politeness by the Governor. Nothing could surpass the hospitality of the principal inhabitants. They never seemed satisfied unless we were partaking of the dainties which their houses afforded. Indeed, we had feasting, dancing, and music in superabundance.

"The Governor, Don Felipe de Ynciarte, was tall and corpulent. On our first introduction, he told me that he expected the pleasure of our company to dinner every day during our stay in Angostura. We had certainly every reason to entertain very high notions of the plentiful supply of good things which Orinoco afforded; for, at the first day's dinner, I counted more than forty dishes of fish and flesh. The governor was superbly attired in a full uniform of gold and blue, the weight of which alone, in that hot climate, and at such a repast, was enough to have melted him down. He had not half got through his soup before he began visibly to liquefy. I looked at him, and bethought me of the old saying, 'How I sweat! said the mutton-chop to the gridiron.'

"He now became exceedingly uneasy; and I myself had cause for alarm; but our sensations arose from very different causes. He, no doubt, already felt that the tightness of his uniform, and the weight of the ornaments upon it, would never allow him to get through that day's dinner with any degree of comfort to himself; I, on the other hand (who would have been amply satisfied with one dish well done) was horrified at the appalling sight of so many meats before me. Good-breeding whispered to me, and said; Try a little of most of them.' Temperance replied, 'Do so at your peril; and for your overstrained courtesy, you shall have yellow-fever before midnight.'

"At last the Governor said to me, in Spanish, 'Don Carlos, this is more than man can bear. No puedo sufrir tanto. Pray pull off your coat, and tell your companions to do the same; and I'll show them the example. On saying this, he stripped to the waistcoat; and I and my friends and every officer at table did the same. The next day, at dinner-time, we found his Excellency clad in a uniform of blue Salempore, slightly edged with gold lace."

His tropical Wanderings came to an end in 1825, in which year he published the now famous volume. At first, he received from the critics much the same treatment as did Bruce and Le Vaillant. Critics would not believe that Bruce ever saw a living ox cut up for food, or that the Abyssinians ate beef raw in preference to cooked. Neither would they believe that Le Vaillant ever chased a giraffe, because, as they said, there was no such animal, and that therefore, Le Vaillant could not have seen it.

Similarly, some of Waterton's statements were received with a storm of derision, more especially his account of the sloth and its strange way of living; of the mode of handling deadly serpents, and above all, his ride on the back of a cayman. There is however one honourable exception in the person of Sydney Smith, who devoted one of his wittiest and happiest essays to a review of the Wanderings and fully recognized the extraordinary powers of Waterton. According to Sydney Smith, Waterton "appears in early life to have been seized with an unconquerable

aversion to Piccadilly, and to that train of meteorological questions and answers which forms the great staple of polite conversation,

The sun exhausted him by day, the mosquitos bit him by night, but on went Mr. Charles Waterton. happy that he had left his species far away, and is at last in the midst of his blessed baboons."

Nothing can be better than Sydney Smith's summary of the life of a sloth, who moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and passes his whole life in suspense, like a young clergyman distantly related to a bishop." Or, than his simile of the box-tortoise and the boa, who "swallows him shell and all, and consumes him slowly in the interior, as the Court of Chancery does a large estate." Or, what can be happier than the turn he gives to Waterton's account of the toucan ? "How astonishing are the freaks and fancies of nature! To what purpose, we say, is a bird placed in the forests of Cayenne, with a bill a yard long, making a noise like a puppy-dog, and laying eggs in hollow trees? The toucans, to be sure, might retort-to what purpose were gentlemen in Bond Street created? To what purpose were certain foolish, prating members of Parliament created? pestering the House of Commons with their ignorance and folly, and impeding the business of the country. There is no end of such questions. So we will not enter into the metaphysics of the toucan."

Perhaps the oddest thing to be found in criticism is that which is given in Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopedia. Waterton's statements having been proved to be true, the writer now turns round, and tries to show that after all there was nothing very wonderful in the achievement.

"The crocodile in fact, is only dangerous when in the water. Upon land it is a slow-paced and even timid animal, so that an active boy armed with a small hatchet might easily despatch one. There is no great prowess therefore required to ride on the back of a poor cayman after it has been secured, or perhaps wounded; and a modern writer might well have spared the recital of his feats in this way upon the cayman of Guiana, had he not been influenced in this and numberless other instances by the greatest possible love of the marvellous, and a constant propensity to dress truth in the garb of fiction."

Putting aside the fact that the writer received some of his earliest instructions from Waterton, who was always ready to impart his knowledge to those who seemed likely to make a good use of it, the assertion is absolutely unaccountable. No man was less influenced by a love of the marvellous, and none less likely to "dress truth in the garb of fiction."

His knowledge of nature was almost wholly obtained from personal observation, and not one single statement of his has ever been proved to be exaggerated, much less shown to be false. He might sometimes discredit the statements of others. For example, he never could believe that any races of men could be cannibals from choice, and not from necessity or superstition. But, whether at home or abroad, his investigations were so close and patient, and his conclusions so just, that he is now acknowledged to be a guide absolutely safe in any department of Natural History which came within his scope. No one now would think of disputing Waterton's word. If he denied or even doubted the statements of others, his doubts would have great weight, and could lead to a closer investigation of the subject. But, if he asserted anything to be a fact, his assertion would be accepted without scruple.

As to the meaning of the sentence about truth and fiction, I fail to understand it, except as a poetical way of rounding a paragraph. In the first place, if truth be truth, it is essentially opposed to fiction, and cannot borrow her garb. In the next place, the writer gives no instance of this remarkable performance, except a reference to the capture of the cayman. Now, nothing can be simpler or more straightforward than Waterton's account of the whole transaction. He does not glorify himself, nor boast of his courage. He leaped astride the animal, being sure, from a knowledge of its structure, that he could not be reached by the cayman's only weapons, namely, its teeth and its tail, and he never repeated the feat.

Even the peculiar style in which Waterton wrote, could not justify such a charge as was made by Swainson.

It was, perhaps unconsciously, formed on that of Sterne, many of whose phrases are employed almost verbatim. Then, his mind was saturated with Horace, Virgil, Ovid, Cervantes, Washington Irving (himself a disciple of Sterne), Chevy Chase, and literature of a

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similar character. In the days when he first took up the pen, it was the rather pedantic custom to introduce frequent quotations from the classics into writings, speeches, and sermons, and Waterton followed the custom of the day. Moreover, it is an old Stonyhurst custom to employ such quotations both in conversation and writing, and Waterton could never shake it off. But, when he came to descriptions of scenes in which he had taken part, nothing could be more simple, terse, and graphic, than his style, especially when his sense of humour was aroused. for example the very scene which Swainson assailed. There is no fine language in it. There are a few of the inevitable quotations, which might be omitted with advantage, but all the description is couched in the simplest and most forcible English, without a redundant word. A better word-picture does not exist in our language. We see before us the captured cayman struggling in the water, the mixed assembly of South American savages, African negroes, a Creole, and an Englishman, all puzzled to know how to get the beast ashore without damaging it, or being wounded themselves.

Then, there is the amusing cowardice of "Daddy Quashi," the negro, who ran away when suspecting danger, hung in the rear when forced to confront it, and, when it was over, "played a good finger and thumb at breakfast." Waterton's strong sense of humour prevails throughout the story, but there is not a tinge of vanity. He explains his firm seat on the furious animal's back by mentioning that he dad hunted for several years with Lord Darlington's foxhounds, but he does not tell the reader that in that celebrated hunt he was considered, next to Lord Darlington, as the best horseman in the field.

It is illustrative of Waterton's character that when the reviewers impunged his veracity, he troubled himself very little about them, saying that the creatures which he had described would one day find their way to the Zoological Gardens, and then that everybody would see that he had but spoken the truth. So, when the first sloth arrived, Waterton had quite a little triumph over his detractors. Indeed, the probability was, that, after reading one of these reviews, he would invite the assailant to Walton Hall, offer him the good old English hospitality of that place, and settle the point of dispute in friendly controversy.

But, little as he cared for such attacks, he was deeply stung by the epithet 'eccentric' which one writer applied to him, and never could forget it.

Yet, had he not been eccentric, he could not have been the Charles Waterton so long known and loved. It was perhaps eccentric to have a strong religious faith, and act up to it. It was eccentric, as Thackeray said, to "dine on a crust, live as chastely as a hermit, and give his all to the poor.' It was eccentric to come into a large estate as a young man and to have lived to extreme old age without having wasted an hour or a shilling. It was eccentric to give bountifully and never allow his name to appear in a subscription-list. It was eccentric to be saturated with the love of nature. It might be eccentric never to give dinner-parties, preferring to keep an always open house for his friends; but it was a very agreeable kind of eccentricity. It was eccentric to be ever childlike, but never childish. We might multiply instances of his eccentricity to any extent, and may safely say that the world would be much better than it is if such eccentricity were more common.

It formed one of the peculiar charms of his society, and he was utterly unconscious of it. He thought himself the most common place of human beings, and yet no one could be in his company for five minutes. without feeling himself in the presence of no ordinary man. He had no idea that he was doing anything out of the general course of things if he asked a visitor to accompany him to the top of a lofty tree to look at a hawk's nest; or if he built his stables so that the horses might converse with each other after their work was over, or his kennel so that his hounds should be able to see everything that was going on.

Even the pigs came in for their share of his kindly thoughtfulness. He used to say that in a wild state, swine were not dirty beasts, but that when they are penned into small sties, as is usually the case, they have no opportunity of being clean. So he had his sties built of stone, with a stone platform in frout, sloping and channelled so as to be easily and thoroughly cleansed, and having a southern aspect so that the pigs might enjoy the beams of that sun which their master loved so much himself.

On these warm stone slabs they used to lie in a half-dozing state, and Waterton often used to point out the multitudinous wasps that came flying into the

sties and picked off the flies from the bodies of the drowsy pigs. If the sties at Tudhoe had been like those at Walton Hall, he would not have issued from them in the highly perfumed state which he so amusingly describes. See p. 2.

Some persons thought that his rooted abhorrence of mourning was eccentric. If so, the eccentricity is now shared by many, including myself, who have abandoned on principle the black crape, gloves, hat-bands, mutes, black feathers, black-edged writing paper, and other conventional signs of grief.

Waterton however carried the principle still further, and could never be induced to wear even a black coat of any kind on any occasion. He usually wore a blue body-coat with gold-not gilt buttons, but at the urgent request of the police, who told him that his costly buttons were a perpetual anxiety to them whenever he went to Wakefield, he at last consented to lay them aside, except at home, and have his buttons covered with blue cloth.

This peculiarity once caused him to lose the privilege of an introduction to the Pope (Gregory XVI.). Etiquette demanded that if uniform could not be worn, the presentee must appear in ordinary evening dress. Now, had Waterton qualified as DeputyLieutenant, he could have followed the usual custom and worn that uniform, but as he had refused to do so, evening-dress was the only alternative. But he would not wear 'frac-nero,' and so lost the presentation.

On another occasion however, the difficulty was evaded in a very characteristic manner. He bethought himself of his commission in the Demerara militia; but he had no uniform, and there was no time to make one. Some naval friends were with him, Captain Marryatt being, I believe, one of them, and with Waterton's blue coat and gold buttons, surmounted with a pair of naval epaulettes, and with the addition of a naval captain's cocked hat and sword, they composed an amusingly miscellaneous uniform. One friend wickedly suggested that spurs would have an imposing effect in connection with the naval hat and epaulettes, but he was not to be caught in so palpable a snare.

Of his travels on the Continent, there is but little to say as they are related at some length in the three volumes of Essays. It is remarkable, by the way, that on the Continent, as well as in England, he met with injuries far more severe than any which he received in Guiana.

Twice he was nearly drowned.

On one occasion he was on board a vessel named the Pollux, and bound from Civitá Vecchia to Leghorn. In the night of the same day, an accident befell the Pollux, almost exactly resembling that in which the ill-fated Princess Alice was destroyed. The night was peculiarly calm, the stars were shining brightly, and everything appeared to be in security, when all on board were startled from their sleep by a violent shock. A steamer, named the Mongibello, from Leghorn to Civi'á Vecchia, had run into the Pollux, and cut her nearly in two, the cutwater of the Mongibello having actually forced its way into Waterton's cabin.

Fortunately for the passengers, most of them, including Waterton and his family, were sleeping on deck. As is too often the case under similar circumstances, the officials on board the offending vessel lost their presence of mind, and were actually sheering off from the wreck. Had it not been for the courage and skill of Prince Canino (Charles Bonaparte) the loss of life must have been very great.

He was a passenger on board the Mongibello, knocked the steersman off the wheel, took the helm himself, and laid the vessel alongside the sinking Pollux. Only one life was lost, that of a man who had a large sum of gold sewed in a belt round his waist, and was drawn under water by the weight.

In this shipwreck, although Waterton's life was saved, he and his party lost their wardrobes, money in cash, and letters of credit, books, writings, passports, and works of art; the last mentioned loss being irreparable. Fever and dysentery were the results of the shipwreck, and did not loosen their hold until long afterwards.

Another time, he fell into Dover harbour while about to embark on board the steamer. Any one who has walked on cliffs on a dark night is aware of the difficulty of distinguishing land from water. At Margate I was once within a single step of falling over the cliff, whose edges corresponded so exactly in colour with the sea and rocks below, that, had it not been for the information conveyed by a stick, I must have been instantly killed. Several

persons, indeed, have lately been killed at the same spot. Thinking that he was at the gangway, he stepped over the edge of the quay, and fell fifteen feet into the water, sinking under the paddle-box, and only finding support by catching at the wheel itself. Thence he was rescued; but the cold winds blowing on him as he stood wet and dripping on the deck of the steamer, brought on a violent attack of fever. He had recourse to his usual double remedy, the lancet and calomel, and recovered sufficiently to attend the great religious festival at Bruges, for the sake of which he had left England.

His reliance on the lancet and calomel was almost incredible. In these times the former is hardly ever used, and the latter has been abandoned by a great number of medical men. But in Waterton's early days these were the principal remedies, and he never lost faith in them. When I last saw him in 1863, he told me that he had been bled one hundred and sixty times, mostly by his own hand.

morning frosty, and the planet Venus shone upon us as though she had been a little moon.

"Whether the severity of the frost, which was more than commonly keen, or the hardness of the pavement, or perhaps both conjoined, had deprived my feet of sensibility, I had no means of ascertaining; but this is certain, I went on merrily for several miles without a suspicion of anything being wrong, until we halted to admire more particularly the transcendant splendour of the morning planet, and then I saw blood on the pavement; my right foot was bleeding apace, and, on turning the sole uppermost, I perceived a piece of jagged flesh hanging by a string. Seeing that there would be no chance of replacing the damaged part with success, I twisted it off, and then took a survey of the foot by the light which the stars afforded.

"Mr. Fletcher, horror-struck at what he saw, proposed immediately that I should sit down by the side of the road, and there wait for the carriage, or take advantage of any vehicle which might come up. Aware that the pain would be excessive so soon as the The amount of blood which he would take at a lacerated parts would become stiff by inaction, I retime from his spare and almost emaciated frame was solved at once to push on to Rome, wherefore, putting positively horrifying. On this occasion he lost twenty-one shoe on the sound foot, which, by the way, had five ounces of blood, and next morning took twenty two unbroken blisters on it, I forced the wounded one grains of jalap, mixed with ten grains of calomel. It into the other, and off we started for Rome, which was no wonder that the vampire bat of Guiana would we reached after a very uncomfortable walk. The innever bite him, though he left his foot invitingly out jured foot had two months' confinement to the sofa of the hammock in order to attract it. He used to before the damage was repaired. complain that the bat never could be induced to bleed him, though it would attack a man lying in the next hammock; but he might have anticipated that the vampire would know better than to try to suck blood from a man who was constantly bleeding himself. Besides these accidents by water, he twice suffered severe injuries when travelling by land.

In 1818, while returning over Mount Cenis, he fancied that the baggage on the top of the carriage was loose, and mounted on the wheel to examine it. Unfortunately his left knee broke the window, and two large pieces of glass, ran into it just above the knee-joint. In spite of the darkness, he contrived to get out the two pieces of glass, bound up the wound with his cravat, cut off his coat pocket, and had it filled with poultice at the nearest house, and, although repeatedly attacked with fever, he reached Paris and there gained strength to return to England. The knee remained stiff for two years, but by continual exercise without the aid of a walking-stick, the limb recovered its normal flexibility.

The next accident might have been nearly as serious, and is here given in his own words :—

"I had a little adventure on the road from Baccano to Rome not worth relating, but which I deem necessary to be introduced here in order that some of my friends in the latter city, and others in England, may not give me credit for an affair which deserves no credit at all. These good friends had got it into their heads that I had reached Rome after walking barefoot for nearly twenty miles, in order to show my respect and reverence for the sacred capital of the Christian world. Would that my motive had been as pure as represented. The sanctity of the churches, the remains of holy martyrs which enrich them, the relics of canonised saints placed in such profusion thoughout them, might well induce a Catholic traveller to adopt this easy and simple mode of showing his religious feeling. But, unfortunately, the idea never entered my mind at the time. I had no other motives than those of easy walking and selfenjoyment. The affair which caused the talk took place as follows:

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"We had arrived at Baccano in the evening, and whilst we were at tea, I proposed to our excellent friend Mr. Fletcher, who had joined us at Cologne, that we should leave the inn at four the next morning on foot to Rome, and secure lodgings for the ladies, who would follow us in the carriage after a nineo'clock breakfast. Having been accustomed to go without shoes month after month in the rugged forests of Guiana, I took it for granted that I could do the same on the pavement of his Holiness Pope Gregory the Sixteenth, never once reflecting that some fifteen years had elapsed from the time that I could go barefooted with comfort and impunity; during the interval, however, the sequel will show that the soles of my feet had undergone a considerable alteration.

"We rose at three the morning after, and having put a shoe and a sock or half-stocking into each pocket of my coat, we left the inn at Baccano for Rome just as the hands of our watches pointed to the hour of four. Mr. Fletcher, having been born in North Britain, ran no risk of injuring his feet by an act of imprudence. The sky was cloudless and the

"It was this unfortunate adventure which gave rise to the story of my walking barefooted into Rome, and which gained me a reputation by no means merited on my part."

Two more serious accidents occurred within his own domains.

He was out shooting in 1824, when the gun exploded just as he was ramming the wad on the powder. Fortunately the charge of shot had not been put into the gun. As it was, the ramrod was driven completely through the forefinger of the right hand, between the knuckle and first joint, severing the tendons, but not breaking the bone, though the ignited wadding and powder followed the ramrod, through the wound. He procured some warm water at a neighbouring house, washed the wound quite clean, replaced the tendons in their proper positions, and bound up the finger, taking care to give it its proper form.

Of course the lancet was used freely, and by dint of poulticing and constant care, the full use of the finger was restored.

The other accident might have caused his death on the spot, and was a far more severe one than that by which he afterwards lost his life.

In 1850, he being then in his sixty-ninth year, he was mounted on a ladder for the purpose of pruning the branches of a pear-tree. The ladder, which was merely propped against a machine of his own invention, slipped sideways, and came to the ground, Waterton having fallen nearly twenty feet.

He had been repeatedly warned that the machine, not having side stays, must fall if the weight were thrown on one side. But he still persisted in using it, although, shortly before the accident, his son had left the spot, saying that he would not be responsible for an accident which he foresaw but could not prevent. He was partially stunned, and his arm greatly injured, the heavy ladder and machine having fallen into the hollow and smashed the elbow-joint.

His first act on recovering himself was to use his lancet and take away thirty ounces of blood. Unfortunately a second accident happened almost immediately after the first, a servant having thoughtlessly withdrawn a chair just as he was seating himself, and so causing a second shock, and the loss of thirty ounces more blood.

For some time he lay insensible, and was apparently dying fast, but his iron constitution at length prevailed, and he was restored to life, though not to health. The injured arm was gradually dwindling in size, and gave continual pain, causing loss of sleep and appetite. He had at last resolved on having the arm amputated, when his gamekeeper advised him to try a certain bone-setter living at Wakefield, who was celebrated for his cures.

Waterton took his advice and sent for the practitioner, Mr. J. Crowther, who decided that he could cure the injured limb, but at the expense of great pain. The wrist was much injured, a callus had formed in the elbow-joint, and the shoulder was partially dislocated. After a time spent in rubbing, pulling, and twisting, he got the shoulder and wrist into their places, and then, grasping the arm "just above the elbow with one hand, and below it with the other, he smashed to atoms, by main force, the callus

From this accident Waterton drew a characteristic warning, namely, never to use ladders when climbing trees.

One, if not the principal reason of his cessation from tropical explorations, was his marriage. In 1829, he married Anne, a daughter of the Charles Edmonstone, of Demerara, who is often mentioned in the Wanderings as a kind and true friend.

His marriage has a curiously romantic history. Mr. Charles Edmonstone, one of the Edmonstones of Broich in Scotland, had previously gone to Demerara, where he met a fellow-countryman, William Reid of Banffshire, who had settled there, and had married Minda (generally called Princess Minda), daughter of an Arowak chief. Charles Edmonstone married Helen, daughter of William Reid and Minda, and they had several children, one of whom, Anne Mary, became the wife of Waterton. He met her in Demerara, while she was yet a child, and made up his mind that she should be his wife.

Mr. Edmonstone afterwards returned with his family to Scotland, and purchased Cardross Park, an old family estate that had formed a portion of the dower of one of his royal ancestors; Sir John Edmonstone, who married the Princess Isabel, daughter of Robert II. of Scotland; and Sir William Edmonstone his son, who married his cousin, the Princess Mary, daughter of Robert III.

Through this branch, Edmund Waterton, the present head of the family, is descended lineally from Leofric and Godiva, whose romantic legend is, I regret to say, wholly a myth. It was impossible that she could have ridden through Coventry, for the same reason that, according to the old song, prevented Guy Faux from crossing Vauxhall Bridge on his way "to perpetrate his guilt." Coventry was not in existence at the time.

There is, however, some foundation for the legend. Godiva was a lady possessing vast wealth, with which she determined to found and endow an abbey. This did, "stripping herself of all that she had," and thence the legend. Coventry gradually arose round the abbey, and had no streets, and consequently no tolls, until Godiva had been dead at least a century. On the death of Charles Edmonstone and his wife, their three daughters, Eliza, Anne Mary, and Helen, were sent to the well-known convent of Bruges, for the purpose of completing their education, and, in the Convent Church, Waterton was married to Anne, on May 11, 1829, she being then only seventeen, and he forty-eight. There is an old Scotch proverb to the effect that a bride of one May will never see a second. It was but too true in this case, for Anne Mary Waterton died on April 27, 1830, twenty-one days after giving birth to a son.

Through him it is to be hoped that a line so interwoven with ancient history, and so prominent in modern times, will not be broken. He married Josephine, second daughter of Sir John Ennis, Bart., of Ballinahown Court, Co. Westmeath, Ireland. He has issue,-Two sons, Charles Edmund, now a student at Stonyhurst, and Thomas More. Four daughters, Mary, Agnes, Amabil (who died a few months after her birth), and Josephine.

Waterton could never bear to speak of his wife, but he needed help in the care of his infant son. For this purpose, he asked her two sisters, the Misses Eliza and Helen Edmonstone to take up their abode with him. This they did to the hour of his death, and he often wrote with affectionate gratitude of their devotion to him.

He yearned to go back again to the wilds of Guiana, but considered that his child had prior claims upon him, and so, according to his invariable custom, he sacrificed inclination to duty.

CHAPTER III.

WATERTON AT HOME, and, what a home! It was not magnificent in the ordinary sense of the word. Such magnificence may be the result of mere wealth, without either taste, imagination, or appreciation. The veriest boor in existence, who happens by some turn of fortune to be put in possession of enormous wealth, need only give the word, and he may revel in more than royal magnificence.

As for the house itself, no expenditure could give it the least pretence to beauty or stateliness. It is one

of the worst specimens of the worst era of architecture, and is nothing but a stone box perforated with rows of oblong holes by way of windows.

I tried on all sides to obtain a view of it which would soften down its ugliness, but could not succeed. The front of the house is, strange to say, the worst part of it, being a flat, smooth, stone wall, with three rows of oblong windows, eight in a row. The only specimen of architecture which could approach it in this respect is a workhouse of the same date, those of modern times being infinitely superior in architectural effect.

5

greater part of the estates, and what with direct rubberies, double taxation, fines, and so forth, the estates were terribly reduced when he came into possession of them. Even if he had wished it, magnificence would not have been attainable, but he achieved more than magnificence, and with the restricted means at his command, converted a Yorkshire valley into a veritable wonder-land.

Unfortunately, no paintings or engravings of this most memorable house are in existence, though there are innumerable plates of the "Seats of the Nobility and Gentry," most of them in the style satirized by Hogarth in his " Marriage à la Mode."

In fact, the architecture of that era is on a par with the classical costumes of the stage. I have posses ed for many years a volume of Shakspeare in which there is a portrait of an actor in the part of Troilus. He is classically costumed as a Trojan in a tight scale cuirass, a short cloak, knee breeches and silk stockings, Roman buskins, a tie wig, a helmet with a vast plume of ostrich feathers, and he is bidding defiance to Diomedes with a toy Moorish sword which would hardly cut off the head of a wax doll.

So if Waterton had desired architectural magnificence, he could not have obtained it, except by pulling the house down, and building another.

But, he had no taste for such magnificence, his life being one of rigid, not to say severe, simplicity.

His personal expenses were such as could have been covered by the wages of one of the labourers on his own estate. His single room had neither bed nor carpet. He always lay on the bare boards with a blanket wrapped round him, and with an oaken block by way of a pillow. As has been mentioned, he never touched fermented liquids of any kind, and he took but very little meat.

When I knew him, he always retired to his room at 8 P.M.

He loved natural history in all its forms, but his chief pursuit was the study of bird-life, and he modified the grounds to the use of the birds, caring much more for their comfort than his own. For this purpose the grounds were admirably adapted by Nature, and he aided her by art. There were a large moat and a succession of ponds for the accommodation of aquatic birds. There were swampy places where the birds could feed. There were ruined edifices for such birds as chose them for a residence, and the whole of the park was covered with stately trees.

WALTON HALL, FROM THE LAKE.

I had several friendly altercations with him upon shaving, but he would as soon give up the lancet as the razor. He would not even wear a particle of whisker, and kept his thick, snowy hair within half an inch of length. He had not lost a hair, in spite of his advanced age, and I have often thought that if he had allowed his hair and beard to grow to their full luxuriance, a nobler figure could not have visited an artist's dreams.

Then came reading Latin and Spanish books (Don Quixote being always one), and then writing, receiving bailiff's report, &c., until eight, when, at the stroke of Sir Thomas More's clock, breakfast was served. So, he had done a fair day's work and finished breakfast at the time when most persons of his position in life had scarcely awoke.

In the next place, he was not a rich man. As a rule, the old Yorkshire families are wealthy, and the Watertons would have been among the wealthiest of them, but for the shameful oppressions to which they were subjected. That most accomplished robber, Henry VIII., had confiscated the

The first need was obviously to allow the birds to be undisturbed by boys and other intruders, and to prohibit the firing of guns-the only sound which birds seem instinctively to dread. But, as there was a public pathway running in front of the house, he had great difficulty in obtaining permission to close it. This object, however, was at last attained, and he then began his wall. It is of a roughly circular form, the house being near the centre. Nowhere is it less than eight feet high, and where it runs along the canal, it is more than double that height, in order to protect the birds from the guns of bargees.

These men, by the way, used to be most determined poachers, and, on account of their mode of life, even if detected and chased, they could escape by means of their barges. They were chary, however, of venturing inside a sixteen feet wall, and after a while ceased from troubling. Such a work was necessarily very expensive, costing at least ten thousand pounds. It was too large a sum to be paid at once, and Waterton would not run in debt. So, every year, he put aside as much money as could be spared for the wall, went on building until the money was expended, and then stopped the work, and waited until the following year to continue it. The wall was three miles in total length, and inclosed an area of two hundred and fifty-nine acres.

The value of this wall was shown by the fact tha the very year after it was finished the herons cam

gorged themselves, they settled for the night in the

yews.

DECAYED ASH AND FUNGUS.

was the chief cause of dry rot, especially when it was used to cover the deficiencies of ill-seasoned wood, because it closed the pores and did not allow the sap to escape. As a proof that weather does not injure well-seasoned wood, he was wont to point to certain posts, gates, and other articles made of oak, which had never been painted, and which had been in the open air for some seven hundred years, and were perfectly sound. The oak doors of the gateway are fully seven hundred years old. They are pierced and torn with musket-balls, but are still free from decay.

When he had new doors made which would be exposed to the weather he used every precaution to keep the wet from lodging in them. No panels were seen on the outer side, which was as smooth as it could be made. The corners were bound with strong iron, painted before it was put on.

No matter how well-seasoned the wood might be, if the doors were made of deal, three years were allowed to elapse before painting, while, if of oak, it was never painted until six years had passed, and very often was not painted at all. it is also found that if holes were bored transversely into posts, so as to allow free entrance of air, the dry-rot scarcely ever made its appearance. If modern builders would act upon a knowledge of this fact they would render our houses, roofs of buildings, &c., far more enduring than they are at present.

Did we wish to show the wonderful command which Waterton had over trees, we need only point to the holly-trees in his park. The holly was a great favourite of his, as it is very hardy when properly planted, possesses a remarkable beauty of its own, affords shelter for birds in winter as well as summer, and can be formed into a hedge impenetrable to man

and beast.

"Small plants, bought in a nursery, and placed in your own garden for a couple of years, will be admirably adapted for the purpose of transplanting. Had I been aware in early life of this increasing growth of the holly, it should have formed all my fences in lieu of hawthorn."

I tried this plan with perfect success upon a stony and ungrateful soil. The rationale of the process is, that the young rootlets, which ought to be carefully spread by the fingers, are able to draw nourishment rapidly from the earth, and in consequence throw up branches in proportion. Waterton advised me to cut down the young hollies at first, and his advice was most valuable, although it cost some pangs when followed.

I mentioned just now that a good holly hedge is impervious to man and beast. So it is; and not even the rat, stoat, weasel, or even that worst of poachers, the cat, can get through it. True, they might push their way between the stems, but there is one obstacle which prevents them, namely, that they cannot put their feet to the ground.

The holly is perpetually shedding its leaves, especially in summer-time, in order to make way for the new leafage. The old leaves fall, become dry, and curl up, with their sharp spikes projecting in all directions. These points, sharp as needles, prick the feet of the prowling animals, and so prevent them from passing.

Of this property Waterton took advantage. Like many landed gentlemen he had a preserve of pheasants, and was consequently harassed by poachers. Now he hated prosecution, and always evaded it if possible. On one occasion, for example, when eight men and a boy were captured on Sunday morning, while trespassing in his rookery, he released them on

A

OWL HOUSE AND SEAT.

finding that they were tailors, saying that he could not think of prosecuting eight-ninths and a half of a man. So with the poachers in his preserves. He would not expose them to be shot by keepers, nor would he prosecute them if he could help himself, but he could circumvent them, and did so effectually by means of the holly.

The preserves were situated at some distance from the house, so that the poachers could make a rapid inroad and carry off their booty before they could be sized. So Waterton laid a deep scheme. First he planted near the house, and just opposite his window, a clump of yews, on which trees pheasants are fond of perching. Next he surrounded them with a thick holly hedge, leaving only one little gap, which could be closed by a strong padlocked gate. Then, leaving the trees to grow, he set about the other preparations.

He made a number of wooden pheasants, and did it in the simplest manner imaginable. He got some small scaffolding poles and cut them diagonally into pieces about as long as a pheasant's body. A lath fastened to one end made a capital tail, and all that was needed was to trim the shoulder to the neck, and put a head on the other end, a nail doing duty for a beak.

Meanwhile the wooden pheasants were nailed on the trees in the preserve, and so exactly did they resemble the actual birds that in the dark no one could detect the imposition. Even in daylight the dummy so closely represents the bird that a second glance is necessary in order to make sure that it is only an imitation. The accompanying sketch represents one of these dummies on the outskirts of the preserve.

The poachers were completely deceived, and Waterton used to enjoy the reports of their guns,

knowing that they were

only wasting their shot upon the wooden images, while the real birds were comfortably asleep under his eye.

If the reader will refer to the illustration on page 5, he will see that on the right hand, and near the poplar, is a rather curious circular object. This represents the pheasant fortress in question, and, although the small size prohibits any detail, the general shape and appearance are sufficiently shown. WOODEN PHEASANT IN TREE. It will also be seen how close to the house is the fortress, so as to be under the master's eye. He made several more of these ingenious refuges, of which other birds besides the pheasants took full advantage.

There was not a tree in the park that Waterton did not know, and, if the smallest damage were done, he would be sure to find it out. One day I found the keeper much disturbed, having discovered some shot in a tree trunk, and being quite sure that he would be called to account for it. The man was right enough, for Waterton found the shot, before many hours had passed, and the keeper had to undergo a severe cross-examination.

Not only did he know the trees individually, and had distinctive names for them, but there was scarcely one which he had not climbed and in the topmost branches of which he had not sat, pursuing his favourite amusements of watching birds, and reading Horace or Virgil. There are not many men who at the age of sixty would have either the power or nerve to climb a tall tree, but Waterton retained his powers of treeclimbing until his death, and very shortly before his fatal accident had ascended one of the largest trees in the park, he being then in his eighty-third year.

Such a spot for study may seem a remarkable one, but Waterton was never affected by heights, and the man who had scrambled up the cross of St. Peter's at Rome, climbed the lightning conductor, and stood with one foot on the head of the colossal angel of St. Angelo, was not likely to be made giddy by the view from the top of an oak-tree.

STRUCTURE OF WOODEN PHEASANT.

In part of his autobiography, Waterton mentions that he climbed to the top of the conductor, and left his glove on it, but he does not tell the sequel of the story. All Rome rang with the exploit, which reached the ears of the Pope, Pius VII. Knowing that the glove would spoil the conductor, he ordered it to be removed Not a man could be found in Rome whose at once.