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J 3 Kave at ºff L.T 4-c ( {{. #ax *, *, * . . . …, 4-h-U. 9 aſwa & at , 6, t J & vlºſt- # 0 li e an # a cºcº, ! ſalue (fl.c. > ‘’’’ ‘’’) ºr , , 12/' “” & “” tº v ,,,,,,, e-ºv > z - P22' T **4 tº e-2/. %2-y ~/****, 2* / , , ‘r-”-->p -77 */ eſ »ovy 97.42 ºn 2 of 7 * 22 rºw)”y. > * 22 × 21, , , ”% cºv 4 », so, * * * > "voy rºy 9°y m '^*, v 4 » 72/7/2 ” 7% 2 ” ‘c’ ” tºwn Y vy ‘’”, tº 22, % *A y 2%f > * >2227 22%-42. C4 & / at 6 ſuffº, a.c. e., S., z c | ^* /* 6 - /4, acc 33 ( & %.4%ae, 474 a 6- … /a/~6. * , , , , , ( a. 4.4%. 4t/... . .2-1-c-C - 42% -- ~~4 21-24, %, ºth ºf . (4/6 # , , , aſ 6 a (ºvº /** ("Lºt - / *** * - Cº4(C.C. ºft at %T ſºft.* a .4 e-occº e ^* /* 6 - /4, acc 33 ( & *a*, *T** a 6- … /a/~4. * , , , , , ( a.ſ. 4.4%. 4t/... . .2-1-c-C (4 4. - - 42/4 - 2c 21-24, 4 ºth ºf , & 4. … * J. Jºa, ca. 44, 41, 4 &c.ca/ trace. *% C&C */* a (ºvº) /** & Lºt | *** * - º /* 2 /3 2. & Zºº - * - - * - GIPSY LIFE and GIPSYLAND iſ R. N. PA, E, RAMBLERS' LEAVES FROM THE B00K OF NATURE Gà || |& 5, Y, iſ []. SHORT DESCRIPTIVE Râmblés IOld LOldſ], the PrOWillſ'BS and Abrūd, A few words are required in explanation of this little work. The contents are principally narratives of Rambles by Lovers of Nature, given in simple, homely words. Toilers in the vast metropolis whose desire is to recruit the over-wrought forces of mind and body in the Temple of Nature, will find the descriptive walks within easy distance a pleasant addition to the various guide-books. The longer articles may be enjoyed as “outings at home.” The Staff of the “Gipsy Journal” includes authors of the highest literary ability, and the Publishers are in sympathetic touch with writers whose names are constantly appearing in one of the most influential London journals. No city in the world is surrounded by more natural beauty than London, and if the “Gipsy Journal” succeeds in promoting a love a - - - of the Great Book around, its object will be amply attained. The “Gipsy Journal” hopes also to take under its humble wing the question of Public Footpaths, and to unite its readers in effective opposition to an increasing landlordly greed, which threatens to deprive Britons of rights which have been theirs from all ages. In the present issue the articles and descriptions are merely intended to show the lines on which the “Gipsy Journal” will be conducted. The next issue will consist chiefly of original matter contributed, the Publishers hope, to a certain eatent, by their readers. 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London, E. Sept., 1893. - - º º | The Gipsy journal. º right. 3 ºf AmBLERs, LEAVEsº FROM THE **Book of nature.* ſº H.&E.C. oxon. T- ºl No. 1. First Series.] ELJ.M.M.E.R.—ALJT.L.J.M.N& “” [1893. “ FROM bright'ning fields of ether fair disclos'd, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes.” Thompson's Seasons. “CRow N’D with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on.” GIPSYLAND. * “w A TRAM]P THROHJGH BijgKS, BEAC0NSFIELD, GREGORIES, AND WYCOMBE, 0°. of these long and delightful summer days might be pleasantly spent in a walk to Beacons- field and back from Chalfont Road Station. The distance to and fro is eighteen miles, though a conveyance meets the train from London by which one may save the distance to Chalfont St. Giles and back, eight miles. Let us suppose. then, that we start from the latter village, go up the long, narrow road, called Penn Street, and walk on by luxuriant hedge-rows past Jordans—the Quakers’ meeting-house—and up through the shadow of beech woods opposite. On the left an old-world industry is carried on, that of clayware jugs, bottles. and pannikins--some of ancient classic form, worthy of a place among the properties of an artist's studio. The fierce heat is tempered by a gentle wind, that must perforce toy with the glossy sheen of twinkling beech leaves. Quiet and restful the valley lies, dotted here and there with lichen-stained homesteads. It is more beautiful, however, as early autumn frosts fling a glow of rose and crimson over the stately woods. - The village of Penn lies a mile or two to the There, it may be remembered, Burke estab- lished and supported a school for the children of exiles during the war. We reach Beaconsfield, a charming little town, with one great wide street margined with old-fash- ioned houses, scarcely any two of which are alike. In some respects our street architecture is improv- ing; neat little plots of turf and evergreens afford a friendly screen from the eyes of the too curious passers-by. In the old-world towns and villages the houses are flush with the street, and, in the case of cottagers, the door opened at once into the living-room. How greatly the appearance of an ordinary house is improved by a garniture of climbers one can see from such a delightful old town as Wendover. Even in winter it is cheered with the glossy scarlet clusters of pyracantha, or aglow weeks earlier with yellow roses and purple clematis. A nearer way to Beaconsfield than that sug- gested is by G. W. Railway from Woburn Green. We peep into the church and read the marble tablet to the memory of Edmund Burke, who lies buried beneath. But where is Gregories, where the great man lived during the Parliamentary recess. It was a peaceful happy life that Burke lived here with his wife and son and niece. Except a portion of wall and the gable end of an old stable nothing remains of the house. It was burnt to the ground shortly after the death of Burke's widow. Grego- ries or Butler's Court was purchased by Burke in 1768, but in a few years it was greatly enlarged and improved by him. It was a somewhat stately house, with colonnades on either side, and resem- bled on a small scale the late Queen Charlotte's Palace in St. James'-park. Lipscomb. in his history of Buckingham, tells perhaps, as much as is known of it :—“ The diversified combination of valleys, woods, hills, and beautiful enclosures by which the residence of Burke assumed a resem- blance of Chilton, Wotton, Cliefden, gave it at a distance the dignity of a Royal residence, which, together with the magic name of Burke, made it an object of general curiosity.” One is surprised to hear of Burke's success as a farmer While in London, the produce of the farm. mutton, poultry, eggs, dairy produce, and also of the garden, was taken up regularly by his carriage horses, which at other times were employed on the farm. Farmers, although, as a rule, a terribly 6 THE GIPsy Journal. LEAVES FROM TEIF BOOR OF NATURE. FAIMIBILIERS’ prejudiced class, were not slow to follow his example in improving their land. Hospitable to a fault, one may imagine his delight when surrounded by the distinguished men who were privileged to number him with their friends. Among these were Dr. Johnson and the inevitable Boswell, Sir Joshua Reynolds, at that time Presi- dent of the Royal Academy, Oliver Goldsmith, and Garrick. Not averse were they to a little homely banter at times. He is dining with the Prince of Wales (George IV.), when the latter, before proposing a toast, asked Burke if a toast- master was not necessary. “Yes,” was the ready answer, “jure de vino.” “That is the only way,” said George, “in which I should wish to be absolute. But the shadows are creeping across the wide, sunny street, and so we leave old Beaconsfield, stand a moment to picture to ourselves Butler's Court and its surroundings, then wander down the hill to High Wycombe, apparently a busy, pros- perous town, with a fine old church in its centre. Chair-making is the industry followed here, from the simplest Windsor to the most elaborate inlaid and silken-cushioned drawing-room or couch. I peep into one of the largest manufactories, and am courteously invited to look round. And a most interesting sight it is, from those terrible cir- cular saws to the studio where art workmen are putting a finishing touch to their elegant handi- craft. The exact number of chairs turned out at Wycombe per annum I do not recollect, but it is enough to supply a seat to every mortal in Europe and Great Britain. The work gives employment to a number of women and girls also. As one watches their nimble fingers caning they show their white teeth and laugh consumedly until the silvery laugh- ter is echoed on all sides, and I fain beat a hasty retreat. From the streamlet that babbles through the town, after leaving Lord Carrington's stately house, the hill rises, getting paler and paler as the chalk crops out. Over this hill and along the valley, there are some 1,200 allotments. But the crops have suffered greatly from the drought. The price varies, of course, per pole with the quality and depth of soil, from 3d. high up the hill to 8d. along by the brook-side. Perhaps one out of three of the tenants keeps a pig in a little home-made shanty. One wonders why they don't go to a little more expense and have a movable sty, and so manure the land more perfectly. I have seen such stys in Warwickshire, and then a neat, cheap iron fence would be helpful in allowing the tenant to grow. bush fruit. There is already an understanding that the incoming tenant pays for all crops and fixtures. - I am glad to avail myself of a baker's cart on returning to Chalfont Road. An elderly tramp is gathering what he calls “ yarbs” for Covent Garden. “ Agrimony ? " I ask. “Yes, Sir, they be.”—“What do they use it for "- “Oh, agee? (ague) and them complaints. But it makes a niceish bitter tea; and them we makes into a hint- ment and it does some wonderful cures. Why, it cured my little Jim o' the chincough in a wik.” “What other plants do you gather ?” I ask. “Oh, one of the gentians, the butter bur, the camomile, the goose grass, adder's tongue, arrow head, Aaron's rod, and a lot more, Sir, but it depends upon the moon and the tother planets. *—L.E. THE FOREST. BL00MSBURY TO WHIP'S CROSS, Tº a tram from Bloomsbury to Clapton, and § then another along Lea-bridge-road to Whip's- cross, in five minutes, in solitude as complete as any to be found in Epping Forest, in the gloom of Woods broken here and there by green glades, studded with gnarled Oaks. It is the most com- plete change of scene I know of anywhere in the compass of a tramway ride and sixpence. The old country houses and their wilderness gardens at Whip's-cross are primitive in their simplicity; but in a few hundred yards we leave them behind. and are in primitive England without a sign of the handiwork of man. • Nowhere in the wonderful and inexhaustible variety of the country girdling the province of houses that we call London do we get so far into the past. In an hour's walk I only met one neatherd, as brown as a berry and whittling a stick. He asked the time without apparently caring how it went in this Arcadia. * STANMORE, EUSTON TO HARROW, {" some of your readers require a really cheap and † edifying outing, let them do as I did last Satur- day afternoon “as ever was,” according to classic quotation. I took train from Euston to Harrow, and then proceeded to the good village of Stanmore, and found enough to interest my THE CIPSY JOURNAL. 7 º EAIMIBILEIRS’ LIEAVIES FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE. mind indeed. The serenity of the whole place was beautiful to begin with ; but before going into the lovely lanes all around me, I went into the new church, which stands beside the old one. Here an ancient villager told me such interesting details concerning the tombs, that I felt quite a rich volume of historic lore was open to me. The Abercorns are buried here, and the solitary lady visitor during the afternoon, is the present Duchess. Then I explored the ruined church. ivy-clad, vener- able, and beautiful beyond degree. Leaving these, I went into the lanes, which are pictures and poems. In the darkness I left, and in an hour was back in Tottenham-court-road. * -- DARTWOOR. THIS mild and romantic moorland, some 22 miles T north to south, by 14 miles east to west, well known alike to sportsman and tourist, will soon resound with the crack of the rifle as brown autumn days appear. Already heralded by the rich profusion of golden furze and heather flowers that empurple the hills and wide-spreading plains, mantling many a waste with a tone and colour of grace and comeliness, Dartmoor, like fair Scotia, is “Veritable land of Brown heather, and murmuring streams, '' intersected with lofty crags, and tors, that look down on the moorlands in solemn grandeur, as in the long centuries of the past. Singularly fine is the clustering heather bloom this season. lighting the landscape with its sunny smile, and cheering the pleasant autumn days. - “ Gem of the heath, whose modest bloom Sheds beauty o'er the lonely moor; Though thou dispense no rich perfume, Nor yet with splendid tints allure, Both valour's crest and beauty's bower Oft hast thou deck'd, sweet favourite flower.” There is nothing more exhilarating to the careworn toiler of the marts of commerce in our great cities than a day on the moors, where he can refresh his weary frame and “ knit up the ravelled brow of care” amid the invigorating breezes, the pure mountain air, the blossoming wild flowers, the music of the streams, imparting a new tone and vigour to those who seek a healthful resort in the realms of Nature. The four-in-hand coach leaves Morton Hampstead at 10.40 every weekday, covering one of the finest moorland routes in Devon ; passengers travel via Newton Abbot for Morton Hampstead. Anglers will find in the valley of the Lyd an excellent trout river, and the scenery in the imme- diate neighbourhood, notably Lydford Gorge and Brent Tor—the latter crowned by the ancient church of St. Michael some 1200 feet above the sea level—most interesting. The air of Dartmoor is bracing and pure, being more beneficial to the system during this tropical heat than at many of the places on the South Coast, where the sultry sands have allowed no respite to the health seeker. Dartmoor is the home of the famous red Devon cattle, as it was once of the red deer that now lift up their antlered heads in the country of “Lorna Doone," the great forests and moorlands of Exmoor, and where oftentimes the horn of the hunter is heard on the hills. Sunrise witnessed from the high tors opens out a magnificent prospect, spreading far to the sea, only rivalled by sunset, when the golden rays shed a halo of glory over the wide domain of Nature, creating a celestial pºcture of hill and and plain, mountain and moorland. Before brown autumn sheds her leaves, let the tourist try a ramble in this favoured district. In the very lap of Nature he will enjoy the varied scenery of the wheat, and revel in the pastures of perennial green in this beautiful and romantic land of flowers and Song. *—W.J.R. ABROAD. THE BOi)£T HA!.. Tº Bodethal is assuredly ºne of the fairest spots £ on this earth. To have stood on the towering rocks above the dashing, sparkling River Bode, or wandered along the labyrinth-like windings of the valley below, is to the natural scientist a retrospective feast for a lifetime. The Bodethal is Nature's own perfect representation of magnifi- cence and lovliness of the awful and the sublime. I have attempted already to describe the breezy mountains and the clustering pine groves of the Harz. A few lines concerning the valley of the Bode and its surroundings should give readers a very fair idea of this—to Englishmen—not very familiar holiday ground. The Bodethal came upon us as a suprise, as the road from Blankenburg to Thale at the entrance of the valley is merely the ordinary chausée. and the “ Sturm und Drang " of this world's affairs 8 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. EAIMIBILIERS’ LIEAVIES FROM THE BºoBC OF NATURE. palpitates too plainly on a main road, even in rural districts, to be acceptable to tourists. What, then, is a holiday-maker's delighted sur- sprise to come suddenly on the valley of the Bode, with two giant precipices guarding its narrow mouth, like the pillars of Hercules. Only much more grand than what is depicted of the latter are the Ross-trappe, or Horse-stairs, on the one side, and the Hexentantzplatz, or Witches' Dancing Ground, on the other. The Ross-trappe are 1,200 feet high, and when one has climbed up the woody ascent, the prospect of the handsome restaurant is very inviting. It is customary to take a good meal before exploring, as there is a stiff afternoon's task in front. Proceeding along a narrow ridge, we soon reach the vortex of the Ross-trappe, and leaning on a rail which protects our solitary emin- ence, look down into the vast gulf below. Jagged, bare pinnacles of granite rise up in fantastic masses in the chasm between us and the Witches' Dancing Ground, and it is over and by means of these that the local tradition represents the horses flying to the other side. One picture of an unseated horse- man whirling head over heels into space, whilst the undaunted steed keeps on its aerial course, is almost sickening. After hearing the seven-fold echo of the surrounding rocks aroused by means of pistol shots, we descend the narrow zigzag path which leads down to the Bode. The people below, like mere mites, are crossing a wooden bridge which, so inaccessible seems the valley, appears to lead no- where. On the map the distance between Thale and Treseburg is about three miles, and yet the time taken to follow the windings of the river is three-and-a-half hours. The Bode-Kessel, which we pass soon after crossing the bridge, is an enormous cauldron shaped cavity, into which the waters— especially after rain—seethe and foam with terrific impetuosity. But the sight from the bridge itself is grand. Between two perpendicular rocks at our feet, wedged in so narrowly that the depth must be tremendous, the black waters roll, whilst up aloft are the jagged horse-stairs which make the nervous giddy. Ever and anon the echo of the pistol shot above comes booming along. What must be the din when the thunder actually roars? Although—incredible as it may seem—the Bodethal has only been accessible to man since very recently (even Henrich Heine, who resided near, and wrote verses on the Horse-stairs and the Witches' Dancing Ground, has not written of the valley), it is now quite a pleasure garden, and every now and then one comes upon those charming “view points" so common in the Harz. But suddenly we are out of sight of the awful rocks and in a peaceful glade of birch and beech, with the river babbling down a few steps distant as i playfully as in an English meadow, and we make a pause. A squirrel is running up a tree close by, and does not in the least fear our presence. His antics as he scampers up and down, round and about, one moment at the very end of a distant branch, another at the top of the free itself, indicate that he is having a game with us. The pit-pat of his claws mingles with the wood-pecker's distant note, the rustling leaves, and the babbling stream. But presently there is a cry. He pats his nose with his paw, twirls up his tail, looks at us as much as to ask what is the matter, and darts off to his young, who are calling for him. But the glories of the Bodethal are too many to mention. After reaching Treseburg, we mount the hills above, and wander over the pine-clad plateau to the Witches' Dancing Ground. The tall hurdles lining the roads and the gates through which the carriages must pass indicate that we are in a hunting country, and as we approach the hunting lodge of Prince Henry of Prussia four stately animals come bounding up the glade. Like the squirrel, they do not seem to fear us. Two of them are stately bucks, whose antlers form a pretty foreground to the sun-smitten foliage behind. The does stand timidly by in the background, A few more paces and another surprise awaits us. In the middle of a fine grove is a handsome granite monument, surmounted with a splendid stag couchant, to the “Teacher and Poet Pfeil. ’’ Judging from the stag, we conjecture Pfeil to have been a huntsman's poet, though the sweet and tender chords of a poem from his own pen on the monument, indicate that the muse of Pfeil could scarcely have stooped to sing of hunting tame deer. And so there are surprises at every turn. It seems ever so in the Harz. As we reach the brow of the hill leading down to Treseburg a glorious sight awaits us. In the far background, beyond some fifteen miles or so of pine clad hills, the Brocken is bathing his venerable head in the streaming rays of the westering sun. * * From The Echo. TO RAMBLERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours’ walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Series. Address to—EIDITOR, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. \ THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 9 º RAMIBILERS’ LEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE. issue this portion of the Gipsy Journal will be devoted to a gentle causerie with our new readers, when the Knapsack must discharge its humble wares in a less prominent spot. T His arrangement is merely temporary, reader. Next # #: # 3% #: Therefore, good friends, if, in your recent rambles, you have met with any interesting adventures in wood- land, field, or rural village, send them on at once so that —to use a sportive expression—you may get on terms with this new expedition into Gipsyland. # # # # 3% What I want is something lively, chatty, and sparkling as the babbling brook, which tosses over the mossy boulders down a pine glen on the mountain side. Please do not rhapsodize, as a love of Nature is not aided so much by rhapsody as by sweet simplicity. “The crashing thunder rattling o'er the giant mountain's storm-tossed brow” is after all, like a wild hurricane, an exception to the general rule. Gipsies such as we, moreover, prefer to express our nature-loving ideas in every-day terms. We do not call a stream a rivulet. 3% # #: % 3& I suppose most of you know Bournemouth, but did you ever visit St. Alban's Head P I am every day more astonished at the ignorance of Britons concerning the beauties of our land. It was a mere fluke, or let me explain, a wilful habit of walking in one direction when I see a gang of tourists taking the other, which guided my steps last Saturday to St. Alban's Head, and the deserted grandeur of the noble promontory fairly took my breath away. The view past Lulworth is the most delightful piece of cliff scenery conceivable, but what surprises me is that, unless the whole multitude swarms to these sublime view-points, no one ever dreams of visiting them. I am really surprised at the Bournemouthites. # # # + # I discovered a secret, too, in sweet Dorsetshire last week which promises a rich harvest whenever I next make holiday hay—a snug, little village, nestling below St. Alban's landside shoulder, where only one death has occurred since January last. During this hot weather, when the other villages have been buying water dearly, a perennial spring has bubbled here. Unfortunately, there is no permanent rector at the pretty church, as the living is small. The name of this little paradise, do you ask * Well, since I only discovered one set of rooms to let and have half engaged them for my next holiday, I do not feel inclined to part with my secret until requested to do so by readers of the Gipsy Journal. From Bournemouth to Africa. It is a far cry truly, but I believe if Saturn or Neptune were my home, I should die without the enjoyment of a country walk. How the good folks in a South African village stared one day when I started after breakfast for a walk towards the Hex River Pass. It was just such a day when even a domesticated Kaffir would hang his best blanket over the crevice in his bee-hive to keep out the heat of the scorching sun. At a rude farm-house, where I begged a few peaches, a little black thing like the leg of a mahogany table lay under the rude dresser. Being very short-sighted, I stooped quite close to see whether mahogany could possibly be found in such a spot, and discovered a naked Kaffir infant. On panting back into the village, history repeated itself. The Kaffir maid-servant was snoring under the kitchen table. The shutters in the dining-room were jealously closed to keep out the glare of the sun and a muffled sound like the beating wings of an imprisoned owl proceeded from the apartment. This latter was my landlady flapping the swarming flies into the passage. Perspiring at every pore, and as red with my recent walk as a lobster, I tried to eat a mid-day meal, but the flies would not allow it. Swarms of flies everywhere ! Nose, ears, eyes, mouth, all threatened to become one black mass. The only thing was to devour the crisp, cold heart of a water-melon and retreat. The moral of this incident is that Dear Old Epping, sunny Surrey and pastoral Hertford are better regions for country-walks than South Africa. Everlasting blue skies and scorching heat with a baking wind, an atmosphere like cream for thickness, flies by dav and mosquitoes by nignt, a thermometer so high that even the woolly Kaffir is faim to hide himself in his beehive and slumber, such conditions may be all very well for a Stanley or a Livingstone, but they were scarcely intended for Britons. Wherefore, my Gipsy friends, value more your much-abused climate and enjoy the privilege of country-walks. Only those who have lived in hot countries can appreciate properly the British climate. Would you know a spot, reader, whereon to read No. 1 of the Gipsy Journal, take a train to Potter's Bar, G.N.R., and walk through Ridge to Shenley. Sit down on that rustic bench where the Shenley Road dips down towards St. Alban's, and meditate. Shenley is on a hill, but somehow it always reminds me of Auburn, sweet village of the plain. - A few years ago I was lost in the Scotch Grampians, having had my last meal on the Deeside at Inverey, a few miles from Braemar, in a game-keeper's cot, where I spent the previous night. After wandering past Loch Avon I took the turn down Glen Avon instead of down Glen Nethy, and on account of the frequent gorges had to wade waist-deep across the stream time after time. It was accordingly dusk before I reached a mountain dwelling. For hours upon hours I had rambled over moorland, bog, and swamp, down rocky glens and across rising rivers, in the very heart of the mountains. Now, would you believe that my suspicious host-I think a game- keeper—declared that he had kept an eye on my move- during that solitary walk 2 THE CIPSY JOURNAL. [Written specially for the “Gipsy Journal.”] T}R. GREENFE}_T}'S SłłłyjQW. This is only a week-day sermon, my Gipsy friends, and by no means intended to dissuade you from wending your way to the ivy-clad church, when the sweet Sabbath bells peal out a welcome in the fresh summer breeze. So, pray recline comfortably on the grassy sward beneath this greenwood tree. The bird voices are now our choris- ters, the surrounding woods our temple in which we love to pay a reverent homage to the beauties of Nature. I wish to commence this series of the “Gipsy Journal ‘’ with a few words on Exercise and on the benefits of walks, referring more particularly to the Country Walk. In the first place, as to Exercise, with a Capital “E” bear in mind. How few people, comparatively speaking, under-stand the importance of taking enough exercise in order to throw off the thousand and one ills which flesh is heir to. I have every respect for medical men but am none the less convinced that indigestion, dyspepsia, liver- complaint, head-ache and many other ills which drive man to the medicine chest and fill the medicine man's tills have their source in lack of exercise. I recollect once visiting Normandy with a very intimate friend whose system was thoroughly out of order and who could get no sleep might nor day. A h, those sleepless nights What a feature they are now becoming in this nineteenth century of bustle and worry! Well, listen what happened unto my friend, who had tossed about during many a live-long night, looking wearily and in vain for the morning. It was with difficulty I could induce him the morning after our arrival, to leave the cheery Normandy inn. Only my expressed intention of going on ahead and leaving him to follow by the diligence prevailed on him finally to acompany me on foot to the next village. We only walked some seven or eight miles that day, but the effort was rewarded with enough sleep, next night, to warrant a longer walk each succeeding day, until, on our return to England, when the waves were rolling heavily and the winds blowing, my friend slept, during what to me proved a disastrous night, as soundly as a child. He is now an enthusiastic walker and knows almost every nook and corner of Surrey b heart. - The most brilliant young scholar I ever knew is now dead. He had earned the highest honours which Cam- bridge University could bestow. His early training-ground was at a great town school where no playground existed and the boy’s minds were forced, with the rapidity of exotic plants, at the expense of the body. Whenever I look at the tablet erected to this young man’s memory I wonder whether he would be among us now if only his early training had been carried on under the all-important principle of mens sana in sano corpore. Do you ever feel head-achy, listless and heavy on leaving home after breakfast for business? Try for once the effect of casting physic to the dogs and arrange matters so that you have to walk a part of the way to the city. Some people choose houses a mile from the station so that, willy-nilly, they are compelled to walk. The bus fares are a great temptation to be idle. It is so very tempting, when we alight at Liverpool Street or Waterloo, to find a bus ready to convey us half through London for a penny. During the recent bus strike it did me positive good to see folks, whose growing corpulence proclaimed their want of exercise, forced to travel on Shank’s mare. The latter animal is a noble steed and Nature’s own method of conveyance. The sight of a wooden leg or a club foot should lead everybody to study this question. “Laugh and grow fat,” says a pro- verb, but “Walk and keep down fat,” is much more to our welfare. Do we not all know the amiable Mrs. Puffham who would almost rather die than live in a three-story house and who can scarcely pant up one flight of steps as it is P This genial, yet misguided creature, must have her penny- worth of bus if only to travel to the corner of the next street. “Walking does make such dreadful havoc with one, dear ’’ gasps Mrs. P., sinking like an expiring whale into her neighbour's easy chair. “Do let's hire a vehicle '' is the cry to which her husuand is long familiar whenever the family route lies a hundred yards beyond the bus route. The good soul would thind that you were insulting her if you ventured to opine that a brisk walk round Regent's Park, twice a week instead of that mis-used brougham and livery would render her, in a few months, as lively and brisk as the domestic ericket. Some day Mrs. Puffham will expire out of simple flesh-heaviness which a kindly doctor will call by a scientific name and no one will be any the wiser. Nature’s infallible law for man and beast, if health is to be maintained, is the due and proper exercise of lungs and limbs, all in their proper vocation. The polar bear and the fierce tiger, notwithstanding the bars of a prison, may be seen bounding to and fro in their limited space, between breakfast and dinner, at the Zoo, and no more pitiable sight exists on the face of the earth than an over- fed mortal whose clogged up tissues render it a martyrdom to walk a mile. There are others besides Mrs. Puffham who should take a friendly warning. We live in an age of competitive examinations and fierce cram both for girls and boys. Those of the latter, who can join heartily in games and gymnastics, are all right, but there are many who have no ability with the racket or the cricket-bat and for whom bicycling is too expensive. They are ambitious and the tendency is to spend holiday afternoons poring over Virgil and the Calculus. The “Gipsy Journal’’ hopes to en- mesh some of these in its nature-loving nets. Business men, too, who feel fagged and weary after leaving the city, would often derive incalculable benefit from an evening stroll, incredible though it may seem to them. The aim of this periodical is to induce a habit of exercise and a love of Nature. The only real means of studying Nature is the Country Walk and, so striking is the increasing fondness for this form of exercise, that I confi- dently expect to make many friends in my attempt to open more widely the gates leading into the leafy groves and verdant paths of Gipsydom. A.G.M. THE CIPSY JOURNAL. - | | OUR PRIZE COLUMN, To induce our readers, and especially the younger ones, to take an interest in country walks and other travels, we offer a first prize of five shillings and a second prize of half-a-crown to the competitors who send the best and second best articles respectively, on each of the three following subjects. Competitions, which must not contain more than 500 or less than 450 words each, are to be written on one side of the paper only, and addressed to Prize Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, E.C. NATURAL BEAUTY PRIZE. THIS prize is confined to London and the suburbs, within a radius of twenty miles, as the Prize Editor must himself visit the parts selected by competitors. The world at large has but the faintest conception of the beauties which surround London, and no one, who spends a day in Herts, Surrey, Kent or Essex, need fear not meeting with spots of idyllic beauty, well worth describing in this or any other journal. White Webbs Park and Wilkinson's Woods, near Enfield, are specimens of scenery which many provincial people would simply be astonished to find near our great metropolis, and places of similar beauty crowd round all our suburbs. In the Leith Hill, Holmwood and Dorking districts many a rural paradise exists. All that readers now have to do is to shoulder a knapsack and send in an account of their explorations to the Gipsy Journal. - THE WORD PICTURE PRIZE. THIS prize refers to no special locality, and may be drawn entirely from imagination. The competitor has here the whole Kingdom of Nature to draw from. There is as inuch art in describing rural scenes in simple, artistic English as in putting them on canvass. The Old Hall at Christmas, for example, when the snow-clad beeches act as sentinels to the frozen lake. The path across the park by which the squire's guests wend their way, in the gloaming, and the pale lights flickering through the diamond panes on to the white terrace in front of the drawing-room. The two lovers, taking yet one more turn round the wintry lake, when the rest have vanished, &c. Or a summer scene of fresh cut hay and dew-spattered roses may be chosen, to say nothing of the hope-reviving scenes of Spring, and the mellow decadence of Autumn. CURIOUS ADVENTURE PRIZE. IT is not necessary to have been nearly gored to death in a hay-meadow by a bull in order to win this prize, and the competition is not, by any means, confined to Great Britain. Doubtless many readers, on their annual holiday, have met with little adventures which are worth recording. For instance, the Prize Editor, when rambling vhrough Brittany last summer, found the shades of night falling by the sea-shore, when he was yet far from home. The path along the cliffs was rugged, and the one by the sands impossible, owing to the rising tide; accordingly the only thing was to encamp under a rick of oats, and so spend the night. The next morning, knowing that the hotel would not be open for some hours, he took refuge in a wayside church. Such an incident is well worth recording. Possibly many readers have had arguments with landlords about the bill. The Prize Editor had a hot debate once with a Black Forest inn-keeper, about the cost of a luuch for which an excessive sum was demanded, and would have come off victorious had it not been for the growl of a powerful mastiff at the landlord's feet. The sight of gleaming, canine teeth settled the matter in favour of the exorbitant host. Another time the Prize Editor paid a visit on horse-back with a Malay Guide up the famous Valley of Desolation, near Graafreinet, and, on returning from the mountains, was literally glued to the saddle with cold, so that he had to be torn off amid the jeers of blacks and whites who gathered round the hotel door. But these are merely given as instances. Everybody has some time or other been in danger, either on sea, in a mine, on a monntain-top, possibly nearly struck by lightning, lost in a mist or upset in a boat. One day the Prize Editor had the most thrilling incident of his life in a London fog. No reader of the Gipsy Journal need hesitate to compete for this prize for lack of adventure. - Address to— PRIZE EDITOR, GIPSY JOURNAL, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, E.C. THE CIPSY JOURNAL. FAIMEI/IEES” I, EAVIES FROIM THE BOOK OF INATUIR.E. y RAMBLERs. CANN00K CHASE, SOME little time ago the people who live in the vicinity of Cannock Chase were alarmed at the proceedings of Lord Lichfield, who had recently purchased the manorial rights over this fine stretch Of hill country, formerly belonging to Lord Anglesey. The commoners, and others interested in the Chase, have put themselves into direct communication with Lord Lichfield, who has promised to remove the fences, which he said had been set up by mistake, and to instruct his game- keepers irot to interfere with ramblers over the hills so long as they committed no illegal acts. In other respects, the replies of Lord Lichfield were mainly satisfactory, but the Defence Com- mittee will still maintain an attitude of vigilance. To the people of South Staffordshire, Cannock Chase is an invaluable playground. THE Queen has sent the Lord Mayor four fat bucks from Bushey-park, and to the City Sheriffs three bucks. This usuage had its origin in the times in which the City had rights of hunting in the Royal Forests and Parks. RICHMOND, THE building scheme of the trustees of Lord Dysart at Ham, which seems likely to spoil the view from Richmond Hill, should be closely watched. As an Act of Parliament would have to be passed in order to sanction the enclosure of a certain quantity of common land, and the closing of the footpaths which cross it, the chances of success are not very great, but it is desirable that the people of Richmond itself should form the first line of defence, and make a resolute stand for the chief charm of their beautiful suburb, notwith- standing the baits which are offered them in the shape of a gift of land by the side of the river. ** - - Z tº WORLDS WONDERS. WHERE the untrained eye will see nothing but dirt and mire, science will often reveal exquisite possibilities. The mud we tread under our feet in the street is a grimy mixture of clay and sand, soot and water. Separate the sand, let the atoms arrange themselves in place according to their nature and you have the opal. Separate the clay, and it becomes a white earth, fit for the finest porcelain; or if it still further purifies itself, you have a sapphire. Take the soot, and if properly treated it will give you a diamond. While, lastly, the water, purified and distilled, will become a dewdrop or crystalise into a lovely star. Or, again, you may see as you will in any shallow pool either the mud lying at the bottom or the image of the heavens above. IN the profound abysms of the sea are strange forms of life that never, save when brought up by the trawl, see the upper light. It has been established that forms of sea life inhabiting upper waters may descend to about 1,200 feet from the surface, but that below this, to the depth of 300 or 360 fathoms, a barren zone intervenes where marine life seems absent. But still deeper, strange to say, has been discovered an abundant and varied fauna, new to science, living under condi- tions of tremendous pressure, and paucity of the life-sustaining element of oxygen. Here, indeed, survive strange forms of life the like of which no inhabitant of the upper world, not even the sun himself, has looked upon before the dredgers of the Challenger, the Albatross, the Blake, and simi- larly equipped vessels dragged up marine creatures from congenial cold and dark. It might reason- ably be supposed that these denizens of great sea depths would be built more firmly and strongly than surface animals to resist the pressure of the element in which they live, but it is just the con- trary. The most universal characteristics of these creatures is the looseness and flabbiness of texture they exhibit. Indeed, they seem to need the exces- sive pressure of the water, about one ton to a square inch at a depth of 1,000 fathoms, about them to keep their parts together, for when they are brought to the surface they are ready to fall to pieces. Plant life is entirely absent from their place of abode in the dark caverns of the sea. THE CIPSY JOURNAL. 13 RAMIBILERS’ LIEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE. &\ººººººººº-ºº-ºº: }*PLORA AND FAUNA.º. § >º 㺠; : sº - ; *$º Yºº. - §ºzº ººzºº THE names of plants are derived from Latin and Greek that they may be understood everywhere, and remain the same in all languages. Each species has two names, as for instance, viola odorata, a binomial system which was first instituted by Lin- naeus in 1753. The first, a noun, represents the type of structure; the second, an adjective, denotes any special characteristic it may possess, as for in- stance, colour, size, situation in which it flourishes, country from which derived, or, it may be dedica- tory, as Linnaea Banksia, &c. As may be imagined, this nomenclature involves great ingenuity. To take a case in point, from another science:—An exceedingly large mouse was received at the British Museum, from Africa, and was considered worthy of a dignified appellation, so he was called Mus rex. Not long after a much bigger specimen was received, and for a while the christeners were down- cast, but, at length, they rose gloriously equal to the occasion, and called the second one Mus imperator. It remains for the future chronicler to record the name of the third, when it has arrived. The English can boast of possessing # of the flora of the whole world, for the simple reason that our colonies are so extensive, and include within their area every grade of temperature and atmosphere. India, for instance, embracing, as it does, several climates and altitudes, possesses quite remarkably rich flora. No one knows how many plants there are in the world, and as for having specimens of them all, that is, for a very long time to come, beyond the fairest hopes of the most optimistic botanist at Kew. But a gigantic attempt has been made to compile an index giving a list of all the plants known to science. The late Mr. Darwin gave annually dur- ing the last few years of his life a considerable sum of money for carrying out the work in question, and his family have continued the work since his death. The task was put into the able hands of Mr. Daydon Jackson who, with a staff of men, under the direction of Sir Joseph Hooker, has been work- ing at it ever since and, yet it is expected that two more years will be occupied before the whole is completed. As Mr. Jackson drew the line at the year 1885, no plant that has since been discovered will be found therein, but Mr. Durand, a Belgian botanist, has been engaged in writing a supplement which will bring the whole up to date. HERBS FOR THE HOUSEHOLD, - AGRIMONY TEA.—This herb is said to be beneficial, and recommended in jaundice and diabetes. It is usually prescribed with other herbs. YERBA.—This tea, perhaps better known as maté, is an infusion of the leaves and twigs of the Paraguay holly, (Ilex Paraguensis). It is largely used in South America, and is a most refreshing beverage. It possesses all the good qualities of Chinese tea, but is without its evil effects upon the nervous system. It is very sustaining, and the horsemen of the prairie country of Argentina frequently work all day without any other food than mate until sun- down. It is best drunk from the little pot or gourd which gives it its name, but may be made in an ordinary teapot and flavoured with milk and sugar. INDIGESTION.—Take the tops of the lesser centaury and camomile flower, of each half an ounce; yellow rind of lemon and orange peel, carefully freed from the inner white part, of each 2 drachms. Cut into small pieces, and infuse in a quart of boiling water. A tea-spoonful may be taken two or three times a day—with rambles in fresh air. WHoop1NG Cough.-One pennyworth each of hyssop, horehound, and coltsfoot can be had at any herbalist’s. Boil slowly for an hour in two quarts of water; strain, then add 20z. cloves, loz. ground ginger, Alb foot sugar, #lb. black treacle; boil again until well dissolved. Dose, a half to a wineglass three times a day, according to the age of the child, and add water or sugar to suit the taste. PYRETHRUM RosaCEUM. — A certain insecticide. — Sprinkle the powder in the furs just as you purchase it, and rap it over with a stick. It will hurt nothing, and can be beaten out again like ordinary dust; it is not destructive to furs, and is harmless to all animals. The more used the better. A pound weight, costing abont 10d. to 1s. 3d. from a wholesale chemist, will be enough for 50 sealskin jackets if judiciously used. This is what is called “Insect Powder,’’ retailed at sixpence per ounce. See you get it quite fresh. To destroy cockroaches put the powder inside a pair of bellows and blow it into the cracks they live in ; it will kill thousands at a time. ECZEMA.—Get a quantity of figwort, a wild herb that grows in the woods, which can be had at most herbalists’, and boil a handfnl for 15 minutes in a quart of water; strain, and sweeten with Demerara sugar or treacle. When cool add a teaspoonful of yeast by stirring well, then let it stand for 12 hours in a jug ; it will keep a week without being bottled. Dose : One wineglassful fasting in the morning and on going to bed at night, and not drink- ing anything else for dinner. Diet: Eat as much beef, mutton, lamb, or veal as you like, but avoid ham, bacon, pork, wine, spirits, or pickles. | 4 THE CIPSY JOURNAL. {}}}} {M}}}}}''}}}} {}{}#}}Eğ. CADIER IDRIS. Written specially for the Gipsy Journal. By OWEN G. JONES, B.Sc., Member of the Alpine Club. Of the many hundreds of tourists who claim acquaintance with Cader Idris, and who are right- fully proud of their knowledge of the various delightful routes up this magnificent mountain, very few actually know it at its best. Fine it is in all weathers; the long face of rock extending for miles from Myrydd Moel at its eastern extremity to Tyran Mawr, scarcely has its equal in Great Britain, and offers conntless attractions to the artist, the pedestrian, or the more venturesome cragsman; and whether the weather be wet or dry, clear or misty, a day spent on Cader will leave enduring recollections. But the right time to enjoy Cader in all its grandeur is the winter, when heavy snows have masked the green slopes, and left only the gaunt precipices uncovered. Then it is that the actual paltriness of its few thousand feet cannot be felt, and its beauties rival the Alps themselves. Moreover the climbing is frequently far from easy, when all tracks are obliterated and when long stretches of steep and slippery ice must be sur- mounted. Whenever hand-and-toe work is necessary there is always the cold to contend against, and the mountaineer must take care to attack the mountain with as much caution and previous preparation as if he were planning an expedition over the snow and ice of Switzerland. As for the best route to adopt, the actual choice must be left to the climber himself; but for those who are sufficiently well acquainted with the ordinary beaten tracks, and who would care to try conclusions with some of the greater difficulties presented at various points on the north face, the following notes may be of interest aud use. From the foot of the Foxe's Path, looking across the wild little lake Llyn-y-Gader, will be seen the huge buttresses of Cyfrwy. An awesome looking gully is enclosed between its two main portions, leading to a notch close to its summit. This in summer is an easy scramble, but with heavy snow there may be a fine hour's step-cutting, and the prospect is glorious along the whole climb. The right hand ridge of Cyfrwy, seen as a rocky aréte from the same point, with a flat-topped º pinnacle half way up, is a fine piece of crag-work, and has the advantage also of affording an easy retreat into the main gully on the left, whenever the difficulties of the ridge itself become excessive. Nevertheless the ridge has been climbed along its whole length, and by a lady too ! Then again, if the foot of the Cyfrwy face be rounded toward the west, so that one may view that portion faeing north, a notch high up on the aréte, close to the summit, may be seen to mark the termination of a gully striking up the clifi towards the left. This gully is easy except at one point near the top, where overhanging boulders block up the direct ascent and render an exit on the left necessary; it is then a rough scramble to the upper portion of the gully and a loose scree finishes the climb. A much easier route up the face of Cyfrwy is found in a huge crack well round to the right, but in wintry weather even this will make some tax on the skill of the mountaineer. The available space at our disposal prohibits anything further than a remark on the direct route up to the summit of Cader by the three oblique gullies that mark its tace so conspicuously; but perhaps enough has been said to indicate regions around Cader where new exploration is interesting and profitable. CONTRIBUTORS TO THE GIPSY JOURNAL, Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. Blyth Gerrish. (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Thomas Wright Haddon, M.A., Oxon. Owen G. Jones, B.Sc. (Alpine Club). A. G. Munro, B.A., Camb. Rev. T. Mitchelson, B.A. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. Lond. (Chats from my Laboratory). R. Ritherdon, B.A. Nugent Simner, B.A. Camb. (Potter's Bar). Rev. J. Howard Swinstead, M.A. Camb. and many others. All Correspondence (excepting Advertisements and orders for Journal), should be addressed to Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. THE CIPSY JOURNAL. |5 {}\}} \}''}#}\l, SEENCE £38MER. Written specially for the Gipsy Journal. IT is wonderful what confused, erroneous notions still exist upon this subject. It is generally believed that, when a tree is struck by lightning, it is actually struck by a thunder-bolt. Some maintain stoutly that they have seen one fall; many more that they are commonly to be found: and same claim to possess a veritable bolt. - The confusion is explainable and the facts are easy of comprehension. In the first place, when a tree or a man or a building is struck by lightning, no solid body or substance strikes. Now, the ordinary observer is not a very good judge on such matters. He is accustomed to see a bullet from a gun produce great effect or a hammer shatter an object, and he imagines it is the hammer or the bullet that produces the effect. But he is mistaken. It is the bullet in motion, not the bullet that does the work. It is the force which is so destructive : and the bullet, the ball, the hammer are only the means by which the force is brought to bear. In the absence of visible means to pro- duce such tremendous effects as the blasting of an Oak or the rending of a tower, the ordinary observer invents and imagines one—the thunder- bolt. Every one has experienced the effect of an electric shock; the twitching, quivering, convulsive cramps that run through the body. But familiarity enables us to understand (or at any rate to think we understand) the cause here. And from this we may easily proceed to the terrible effect of a death by lightning. Imagine the Ordinary current that we often amuse ourselves with, increased a thousand- fold, and we can easily picture the delicate nerves and muscles rent, torn and twisted, until they lose all power of returning to their original use—the conveyance of Sensation. The human machine will no more work. It has stopped. The man is dead—struck by lightning. But if nothing solid and tangible falls as a part of the thunderstorm, do any bolts ever fall from the sky Certainly: bnt these are meteorites. They have nothing whatever to do with thunder, though no doubt they occasionally fall during the Electric Storm and lend countenance to the popular notion. They fall in fair weather and foul, in rare, large masses, in not uncommon smaller pieces, and in very numerous minute particles. They are | vagrant portions of the materials our Solar system is made of ; and, whilst pursuing their purposeless way in space, come near enough to the Earth to be attracted by it—that is, they fall. In the Natural History Museum at South Kensington specimens may be seen varying in size from one which would take a team of horses to draw, to small specimens that will slip in your waistcoat pocket. In districts where chalk is the stratum immediately below the surface and excavations into it are of common occurrence, nodules of iron ore are found of a round cylindrical form, heavy, and brown of colour. On being broken they are found to glisten with a metallic shine, and to be arranged somewhat symmetrically round a central axis or point. Truly they are strange things, and it is perhaps not to be wondered at that an almost unusual consent has dubbed them thunder- bolts. How they become embedded in the pure white chalk (so entirely different in composition) is a puzzle. But however little we may be able to say how they did come, we can certainly assert without fear that the ordinary thunderstorm had nothing to do with their origin. Communications on this column addressed, Natural Science Editor, &c. to be Told under the Greenwood Tree Series. Our next issue will contain a Romance entitled “Heathcote Tempest’s Betrothal,” or “The Tragedy of Brindlemere,” by the Author of “The Bursting of the Redmire,” “A. Curious Accomplice,” “The Old Mine * (Cassell & Co.), &c., &c., &c. THE G|PSY B00T, C. BEDWELL, ALBACORE CRESCENT, LEWISHAM, S.E. On receipt of post card, C. B. will wait upon gentlemen at their residences for orders—A trial solicited. All applications respecting Advertisements should be addressed to Gipsy Journal Office, 30 Chandos Road, Stratford, E. THE GIPSY JOURNAL FOR ADVERTISEMENTS, GłPSY JOTTINGS, 1893. THE closest observers of Nature have seen things this year that have not occurred in their past experience. We have read of fruit trees bearing a second crop, and so forth, but this has been for the most part in the more genial temperature of the Southern shires. At the present moment may be seen chestnut trees in bloom in the neighbourhood of North Woolwich. In the old gardens now under the fostering care of the L.C.C., there are eight or nine young trees which present the almost unparalleled spectacle of brown autumnal leaves and fruit, with the bright contrast of spring leaves and, more strange still, many spikes of summer blossoms. OvºR ninety-nine hundredths of the globe the spider preys upon the fly;but in Ceylon there is a fly which preys upon the spider, and the brutality of the operation goes a long way to make things equal. The ichneumon fly is a green, wasp-like insect, which builds a dainty bower of clay, and goes out hunting for spiders. On finding a victim it scientifically injects a dose of poison sufficient to paralyze without killing. It then bears him off and plasters him, with many others of his kind, similarly treated, on to the walls of the nest. Then, carefully depositing an egg in each body, it seals up this ghastly tomb of the living, aud goes off to build another and begin again. When the eggs are hatched a filthy little maggot emerges, and finds itself, as a writer in a scientific contem- porary puts it, inside a larder of fresh meat, the spider being still alive. On this it subsists till the chrysalis stage puts an end to the horrid tragedy, after which a new ichneumon fly emerges radiant to carry on the traditions of its race with regard to spiders, and help them to fulfil the destiny for which they were created. AN instance of great bravery on the part of a blind boy was made public at an inquest at Waterford. The lad, who is named Stewart, was one of a bathing party, and on another lad named Myers being carried away by the current, swam after him, guided by his cries, and brought him safely to land. There were then cries that a boy named Higgins was drowning, when Stewart, though greatly exhausted by his exertions, again entered the water, and made an unsuccessful effort to save him. WHILE the Queen–Regent of Spain was out for a drive at San Sebastian a day or two ago, she observed a little girl playing on the railway line close to a level crossing. Alarmed at the danger the child was running, the Queen descended-from her carriage, and hastening towards the line, snatched the girl up, and carried it to a place of safety. A few moments latter a train dashed past the crossing. A serious accident is reported from Saundersfoot, near Tenby. It appears that a party of excursionists had visited that place, and one of them, a Mr. Rhodes, of Clifton, was climbing a high cliff between Monkstone Point and Saundersfoot Harbour for the purpose of obtain- ing rare ferns, when he fell from a considerable height, sustaining severe injuries, breaking a leg and arm and otherwise hurting himself. The tide being full, Mr. Rhodes was brought into Saundersfoot in a boat, and remains in a precarious state. Forest Ramblers Club 97, Tabernacle Street, J. H. PORTER, Hon. Sec. Northern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead, C. E. MAUERICE, Hon. Sec. Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. MARSHIMAN WATTSON, Hon. Sec. Any Information under this head will be gladly received. All communications should be addressed to Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East, in the Parish of West Ham, in the County of Esser. Copy by post, 1}.d.; Sia, 7d. ; Twelve, 1s. This Journal may be obtained through any Newsagent. Agents wanted. 4 ºv, ſº º *. | - T jº TheGIPSY JOURNAL º Nº. غ.º.º. **º RAMBLERS' LEAVES ò FIROIMI THE ºf S } \º º: R.G. ºb00% OF NATURE. º. *...**ś . No. II. First Series.] º º CONTRIBUTORS to the “G-IPSY JOURNAL.” Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. W. Blyth-Gerish, (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Miss Blanche Cuthbertson. - - W. Lloyd-Summers, M.A., Camb. Miss Augusta Mansford. Rev. T. Mitcheson, B.A. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. R. Ritherdon, B.A. IMiss S. J. Robinson. - INugent C. Simner, B.A., L.L.B., Camb. - W. C. Sutherland, M.A. (“Boy’s Own Paper”). Rev. J. H. Swinstead, M.A., Camb. Miss Grace Toplis (Co-Editress of “Our Magazine”). Allen S. Walker (Editor of the “Club Monthly ’). W. A. Young (Bournemouth District). &c., &c. Notice. To obtain this or any subsequent issue of the “Cipsy Journal,” please order at once of your Newsagent ; also of E. W. Allen, Publisher, 4, Ave Maria Lane, E.C. Gipsy Friends—get YOUR FRIENDS Order at all Bookstalls. EACH NUIMEER COMPLETE. to buy it. WII Nº.I.E.R.: New Park, says: ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1893-4. -- º, sº ſº, - º I dº." [I, ſº ciº- 3 : - - ºlº º . 3. - TO CHAS. H. HOLLAND.—I quite agree with you that pedestrians are entitled to their special organ quite as much as followers of other pastimes. I suppose many people would call walking hum- drum and slow, and, as an old pedestrian, I am not altogether sorry that such should be the case. What would become of your and my own favourite pastime if a hundred thousand Londoners took it into their heads to invade the seclusions of sunny Surrey or pastoral Hertford some Saturday when we were making our weekly holiday hay? Isn't it a mercy, after all, that Carlyle's opinion of the thirty millions contains more than a grain of truth 2 M. B. Q.-Whether we have a general enquiry column depends on our readers. In any ciſ- cumstances you might send on the question, which shall be handed over to our Natural Science Editor. - - CLAUDE F. GoDDARD, North Lynn, Highbury “Very many thanks for your journal, which I received the other day. I am glad to see that such a paper has been set before the Public, and I should think it will take Very well.” H. TREVOR FITCH, 28, Redcliffe Gardens, South Kensington, writes: “I like your journal immensely ; what is the subscription, per annum, post free? If you should, at any time, want any cyclist's jottings or rambles I should like to write them for you.”—As to cyclist jottings, it is a question which our readers must decide for them- selves, but if H. Trevor Fitch cares to send on a few as a sample they shall receive serious consider- ation. Concerning the means of procuring the Gipsy Journal, the highest service Gipsies can do to the paper is to order each issue in advance from any newsagent. - º, ſº ſº º ſº Prº nava & * º - 18 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. G. MC L., writing from Ferme Park Road N., amongst many compliments to the Gipsy Journal, thinks that there is a good field for such a periodi- cal amongst lovers of Nature. That such is the case we feel assured and confidently expect that, in the course of the coming year, many features which the publishers intend to introduce will come as quite a pleasant surprise. For example, how little is known about the resources of the colonies for country rambles. Is it not strange that such talented writers as Rider Haggard and Olive Schreiner, whilst familiarizing us with the lonely Dutch farm-house, the vast and almost uninhabited Karroo, the camps of dusky warriors bristling for the fray, and mighty trekkings over the lonely veldt have so little to say on village life? In another column I have endeavoured to show our readers what a shortholiday spent in an up-country South African Village is like, and, speaking from personal knowledge, my own experience of the Dark Continent varies so much from all I ever read as to be almost altogether unrecognizable. There is after all a come-day, go-day aspect of life in all parts of the world, paths and by-ways trodden daily by mankind in Australia, America, and Africa, as well as in our own island. Such aspects will appear from time to time in the Gipsy Journal, and, mean- while, if any readers of the paper will send us on any simple articles by which the common lot of country-folks in the colonies is set forth, nothing will please us more than to print them. Mr. J. PORTER, the Secretary of the Forest Ramblers' Club, desires to call the attention of all Gipsies to the immolation of oak trees to the left of the Sewardstone Road, near the “Woodman,” in Epping Forest. “We examined acres of the wood,” writes Mr. Porter, “and found the fatal mark all over the place. As the time for cutting down the trees will soon be here not a moment should be lost in calling public attention to the proposed mutilation of this beautiful woodland.” I am only too happy to accede to Mr. Porter's request, and will take care that this number of the Gipsy Journal reaches Lieutenant McKenzie, the deputy ranger of the Forest, who will, I am sure, from personal knowledge, give the matter proper attention. Whilst speaking of Epping I should like to add a request to the authorities on the matter of ball practice which goes on between Woodriddings and High Beech. During the past summer, I have myself strolled many times unconscious of all danger along that lovely wooded ridge without dreaming that the sequestered path I trod was the one indicated by the danger flags on the main road above. It was only a few Weeks ago that, on entering from the Woodriddings side, a cyclist gave me a friendly caution. Surely, since the path I allude to is well-trodden and lined at intervals with wooden benches, some notice ought to be posted up. As a Gipsy I would prefer that the everlasting bang, bang of the 1st Herts Rifles should reverberate in any other spot than dear old Epping, but if firing must go on here, at least let us have some regard to public safety. Why was not the flag flying on the staff near High Beech the last time we were there * Firing was going on, hammer and tongs, and it was expressly stated that, when such is the case, the red flag will be flying. Adjutant, up and do your duty, and, at the same time, touch up those notices so that all Gipsies may read them!. At present they are barely legible. To WALKER MILES.—I am delighted to receive your kind letter, and hope during the next walking season to become acquainted with you through your “Field Path Rambles in West Kent.” So far there seems every prospect of the “Gipsy Journal”—as you say—“ catching on.” This much is certain, that from the high tone of all communi- cations yet come to hand, one reader of the Gipsy Jonrnal is equal, intellectually speaking, to about a dozen readers of most papers. I shall hope to call on you for an article in the course of next year. - GEO. A. G., Smithfield Chambers, says: “I received your paper last night. I think it is a highly interesting and novel kind of periodical. I wish it every success. I have shown it to a few friends, and I think I shall be able to get several orders. Of course I shall take it in myself.”— Bravo, George I this letter of yours has a most business-like ring, and, as I see by the paper you write on that you are a solicitor, doubtless, when the G. J. is wound up and the Editor goes to the workus, your firm will, owing to our gratitude, get the contract. But, seriously, I shall be most indebted if you can help us to make the paper known. G. C., writing from Sheffield, says he is quite charmed with the Gipsy Journal, and adds: “I am a confirmed rambler myself, and, during the last four months that I have been here. I have seldom missed a ten mile walk every Saturday afternoon, either in the Derbyshire Peak district or tramping across the Yorkshire Moors. I am sure by all fellow ramblers the Gipsy Journal will be received with delight, as now-a-days every pastime has its journal except that one—which of all pastimes is the most rational—walking. I could not help writing you a few lines to express my appreciation of your new venture, which is bound to have tremendous success.”—Thanks, G. C., for this kind message from Yorkshire, whence we had already received a similar greeting. I know every inch of the country in the Peak, and should like to arrange a walk in that district some Saturday. - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 19 º * GIPSYLAND. A christmas holiday in a SOUTH AFRICAN WILLAGE. ONE hundred degrees Fahr. in the shade, and at Christmas. This was my experience a few years ago, and so striking seemed the contrast between that Christmas Holiday and Yuletide at home that readers of the Gipsy Journal may like to have a few words about it. Given a typical London fog, a fog of raw frost, choking yellow atmosphere through whose dim volumes red noses and mufflers flit like frozen shadows and what is more pleasing, by way of contrast, than to sit by one’s fireside reading cosily in the Gipsy Journal of the blue skies and everlasting sunshine in some far off land beyond seas. On a sultry, oppressive summer day at home, I like to enter a cool picture gallery and look at a refreshing picture of an old- fashioned winter. The old peasant woman drearily trudging with her bundle of brushwood over the snow towards the white gable of her little cottage seems to dissipate sultriness and languor. The Christmas festivities in Capetown were just over when we took the up-country train for the village of Worcester. about those white Capetown houses clustering at the base and side of Table Mountain. Visions of the early Dutch settlers rise up as the great ship anchors within sight of them. The great “Lion's Rump” suggested to us strangers from a far-off land a host of things we had read about—the great, unknown areas of plain, bush, river and mountain, mid which the wild beasts of prey roam unmolested. Some day I should like to write a few lines about our Capetown walks and wanderings, but at present we are bound for Worcester. Worcester is only about 108 miles from Capetown, but it took us eight hours to get there. The journey from Cape- town to the Karroo at the top of the Hex Mountains is slow and mostly steep. Indeed, the ascent from Worcester to the top of the Hex River Pass is a marvel of engineering. The wonder is, not that the train crawls so slowly with its two ponderous locomotives that passengers can almost get out and walk, but that it ever gets up to the Karroo as all. º How the fierce sun glared during our first rail- way journey in Africa. The approaching mountains There is a world of romance. Were literally baked, and a hot south-easter wafting the heated current across our carriage was a novel Christmas experience. We were grateful, at four o'clock, to catch the first glimpse of a settlement of white houses peeping out from a rich profusion of blue-gums and oaks. After the dry, parched-up land of the Worcester Valley, the cindery sides of the mountains, the scorching wind, this sight of living green and varying white was refreshing. On leaving the station, watercourses bubbling down each side the street told us the secret of this rich vegetation. The Hex and the Breede Rivers both flow near the village, and water is plentiful. Worcester has about 4000 inhabitants, and, though I call it a village, the natives make use of the word “town.” All the streets are lined with rich blue gums or oaks, at whose roots flow perpetual springs, and this was to us the charm of the place, the more so by the striking contrast of the wondrous vast world of bare mountain summits girding the great valley of scrub and arid bush. The village might be a green dot in the centre of a bowl-bottom, and, although in a valley, never- theless the surroundings, suggested all the grandeur and magnificence associated with the Dark Continent. º In the middle of the village is a large square of grass called the Pleine, surrounded by trees as well as by the more important buildings of the place—the Post-Office. Standard Bank of South Africa, shops &c., and ornamented in the centre with a handsome Jubilee Fountain. This Pleine is the best bit of grass we remember seeing in South Africa. I know that picture-books give us plenty of green in the colonies, but along the six or seven hundred miles stretch between Capetown and the diamond fields, except this Worcester Pleine, we scarcely saw as much grass as would cover a six- pence. But I am speaking of the summer only, and not of spring and winter. From the size of the Pleine, the original colonists probably had in view some such cities as Melbourne or Montreal. At any rate, they have ample provision for a magnificent town-square in the future. On this Pleine some young Dutchmen and others were having a game of cricket—a sight which for a moment carried us back to some English village. The gum trees ahead and the brooklets babbling round the Pleine were refreshing after the heat of the journey. But as we were to remain in Wor- cester for a short time we must look out for a lodging, which we found at an old Dutch house in Church Street, hidden away in the rich foliage and not many paces from the white church. Noticing a coolness in certain of our Dutch fellow guests, we made bold to ask one amiably disposed lady if Englishmen were unpopular in the 20 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. colony. The exact reply I forget now, but the effect of it was that Englishmen don't pay their debts. A few days after our arrival we took a stroll into the valley to explore. A white farmhouse on the opposite mountain's sloping side attracted us. It seemed quite near, but we got lost in the un- even bush land. It was then we felt what it meant to be for the first time in the open of South Africa, and fancy conjured up lions about to spring from every other bush. It was broiling hot when we got to our first South African farm-house, and the welcome was by no means cordial. In fact, these farmers would seem to think that no man who cannot afford a horse is worth entertaining. However, the farmer restrained his yelling hounds and sent out a little urchin with a bowl of peaches, which we ate beneath a vine-clad kopje. A Kaffir farm-labourer sat below on a rude axle, making his mid-day meal on what looked like a bone, and on a rude patch where the road-side and the tumbledown farm-porch met, the bones of oxen bleached in the fierce sunshine. When evening fell and the Hex river mountains glowed like burnished copper beneath the crimson, golden tracks of the westering sun, and the crescent moon rose amid the violet tints, we gathered on the village stoep. Later on other households did the same, and strains of music and song were wafted in the more pleasant evening breeze to mingle with the rustling leaves and the water. This night-time gathering on the stoep after the heat of the day is one of our pleasantest memories of South Africa. The bees flooded the silvery moonlight with a deep melodious chorus. One day we varied events by a drive to a hot spring called the Brandt-Vley at the other end of the valley. We had to haggle fearfully with a keen-eyed Malay over the Cape cart and the ponies. Finally we set off for the Brandt-Vley Spring under charge of as impetuous a Jehu as ever laid hands on reins. Shortly after leaving Worcester our Malay driver sighted an Ostrich—a fine male bird– and nothing would satisfy him but to give chase. Over ruts, boulders and ridges he sent the hardy ponies flying, and would not be restrained. At last the bird Scudded over an opening in a rude farm fence, the mad gallop of the steeds slackened into a trot and the eyes of our driver seemed to glitter less fiercely as we scolded him for risking our lives. On reaching the Brandt-Vley, we found a bullock convoy resting by the side of a Kopje. Sixteen tired oxen lay near a cluster of prickly pears under the gum trees. Suddenly there came the crack of a mighty whip-legs, hoofs, forequarters sprawled and kicked amid a whirlpool of dust, and, at many subsequent intervals, we heard the great wheels creaking and groaning in the distance. In the cool of the evening we drove back to Worcester, met troops of villagers on their way for a Saturday evening bathe in the Breede River, watched the golden sun-rays declining over the opposite Hex River Pass, and arrived home in time for another evening of conversation and song on the house-stoep. - $6ME HAMPSHIRE £HijR&HES. By AUGUSTA E. MANSFORD. IT is not generally known, but the best way of seeing churches is to start on a botanical expedi- tion. That was what we did ; it answered admir- ably. We ladened ourselves with a choice collec- tion of tins, empty pickle-bottles and pill boxes, and then made the interesting discovery that we were close to the old Priory of Christchurch. It was impossible to say what rare plants might be growing on those weather-worn Norman walls and Early English buttresses, and an Oxonian of our party, who veiled a very genuine love for antiquity beneath a show of interest in botany, declared it was our plain duty to investigate. Accordingly, in spite of our impedimenta, we mounted some dilapidated stone steps and came out on the roof of the choir. Restoration work was proceeding, and the foreman came forward with a look of questionable welcome. “Allow me,” said our university friend, indica- ting me with an airy wave of his hand, “to intro- duce you to a young lady who wishes to make a clean sweep of everything, and to begin by demo- lishing all ancient churches' " This infamous libel was a mean revenge for our political differences, but it had the desirable effect of putting the foreman in a good temper, so that he let us stop up there and admire the grand sweep of the bay, identify old Harry and his Wife at Swanage, point out Bournemouth and its many sandy chines, the Isle of Wight, The Needles, the fertile valleys of the Stour and Avon, and, in the nearer view, the ivy-clad ruins of a Norman keep. On the battlements we noticed some very healthy looking Cheiranthus Cheiri, otherwise wall- flowers, as well as the graceful fronds of that church-loving fern, Asplenium kuta muraria. –I do not see, myself, that that was any reason why we should examine the interior, but apparently it was considered so, and in we went. Week's marble monument to the poet Shelley first claimed our attention, and the sad thoughts suggested by it sobered us sufficiently to prevent our quarrelling over the species of the sea-weed appropriately TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 21 introduced by the sculptor to suggest the manner of his death, and we walked on to the presbytery; the reredos therein is considered matchless, and we tried hard to endure the mediaeval saints, but it was a failure, and we turned with relief to Flaxman's graceful figure of Harriet, Wiscountess Fitzharris, reading to the children at her knee. Then we went into the Norman crypt, which was so delightfully musty that our long-suffering botanical leader exclaimed, “I can't stand this ” and rushed out of the building. We, perforce, followed, and our antiquarian said to him in rather an ill-used tone, “ Perhaps, as you think we have been wasting time, we had better take a boat, and row to these wonderful shore-plants you are so anxious about !” “Anything, as long as .we get there without more delay, and do some work,” was the reply. “I am tired of carrying empty boxes.” We bargained for a boat, oars &c., but not for the boatman, not knowing that the Isis at Christchurch, Oxford, is one thing, and on a windy day, the Stour at Christchurch, Hampshire, quite another. Of course we were swamped, and eventually found ourselves, dripping and shivering, on a small island. “Let us have lunch,” said the Oxonian, who had heroically preserved the basket, “unless,” he added ironically, “you think this a good moment for plant collection.” - I had not quite decided to have an acute attack of bronchitis, or a turn at rheumatic fever, when our leader sympathetically suggested I should run races. It was good advice and kindly meant, but considering that I had about a pint and a half of water in my boots and a proportionate quantity in my pockets, I was not in a position to act upon it; so we decided to signal to some natives who had been watching our proceedings with considerable amusement, to come to our rescue, and go home and be dried. That accomplished, we started out again. “We will keep to Botany this time, and avoid churches,” said our guide, turning inland, and we quite meant to be obedient to his wishes, but for all that, we wandered into Brockenhurst church- yard, presumably to measure an old yew-tree that has stood there since the Conquest, yet we came out looking very indignant, because we had found the church door locked. But the last straw was when we reached Lyndhurst, and the Oxonian and the rest of us wanted to see Sir Frederick Leighton's celebrated fresco. “Have you come out on a botanical expedition, or have you not?” asked our leader, trying his very best to look stern and inflexible. “Yes,” we answered, “a thousand times, yes! We are longing and thirsting for new species and rare genera, but we feel we ought to restrain our feelings and have ten minutes interval.” “You keep time,” we added diplomatically. - We went in, and there, on the east wall, was the wonderful fresco of the Ten Virgins. Radiant light seemed to stream from the white-robed Christ in the centre, o'er whose head hung festoons of the symbolic vine ; on his right were the five wise virgins, in attitude and face expressing exultant joy, behind them, a white marble wall, through the openings of which pink almond blossoms and other signs of Spring were discern- ible. A fountain played merrily, and white doves bathed themselves in its glittering waters. On the left hand, gloom took the place of sunlight; on the floor crouched the foolish ones, some shrouding their faces in shame; the marble wall was rent, and through its fissures one saw a wintry forest of pines with broken, dead branches. An owl peered out of a dark corner, its uncanny visage being as much in keeping with its surroundings as were the gentle doves on the contrasting side. It is a grand subject, well conceived and finely executed, but perhaps the most beautiful thought of all was expressed in the two adjoining frescos : by the side of the happy virgins was a vestal figure in a flame-coloured garb, tending a lamp, and the inscription. “Vigila,” betokened that those who have hitherto been faithful still need to watch, whilst, on the side of the sorrowing women, the blue-robed kneeling figure, “Ora,” over whom an angel bends in gentle sympathy, symbolises that there is ever hope for all who repent. - It was lovely, very lovely, and—think how we triumphed—our leader was the very last to tear himself away ! - - - -- - A GRAND SAT]HDAY WA.K. By the REV. T. MITCHESON, B.A. IN response to a request from the Editor of this Journal—and editorial requests proverbially savour of commands—I propose to give the briefest of sketches for a Saturday afternoon's country-walk for the benefit of readers who live in London and are not well acquainted with the district I describe. Take a third-class single ticket from Waterloo to Putney (cost about 7d.). Don't trouble to con- sult time-tables; anxiety about catching trains de- tracts from enjoyment on these occasions. Besides, the service of trains between Putney and Waterloo is a liberal one. Walk up Putney Hill to Tibbit's Corner, and follow the Kingston Road over Putney Heath, 22 - - THE GISPY JOURNAL. - which is the name usually applied to the northern portion of Wimbledon Common. This will lead you into Kingston Vale, where, in the centre of the village, you will find the Robin Hood Gate of Richmond Park. Cut straight across the grand old park by a path which divides the lake into two parts, and make for the Richmond Hill entrance. Pause on Richmond Hill to contemplate the beauty of the winding Thames. You have now walked some four miles. Descend the sylvan slopes of the hill and follow the river bank till you arrive at Old Kingston Bridge—another four miles. You will not fail to note the many riparian mansions lining the Middlesex side in Twickenham, Tedding- ton and Hampton Wick parishes Some of these houses are rich in literary and historical associations, which editorial restrictions forbid my more than hinting at. - Go over Kingston Bridge, and keep to the Middlesex bank of the river for another three miles, and this will bring you to Wolsey's famous palace at Hampton Court. Notice, en passant, the stately villas of comfortably-off Surbiton, and the old fashioned structures dotted along the Thames Ditton region of the river. You will now require rest and refreshment, of which Hampton Court affords an embarras derichesse. If you have time, spend half an hour in inspecting the art-treasures of this palace and other reminis- cences of defunct royalties. Pass through the grounds and park, and you will find an exit not far from Kingston Bridge, which traverse once more, and stroll into the old market place, where you will find something to interest you, and much to remind you of scenes enacted far beyond the ken of ordinary London life. Don't forget to have a look at the ancient stone enshrined in a setting of modern iron-railing. It is hard by the busy market. Tradition connects it in some way with certain of the Anglo-Saxon kings. If you have walked enough, (Say 13 or 14 miles), take train to Waterloo from Kingston Station— fare about a shilling. If you feel good for another five miles or so, pass on through Norbiton till you get to Combe Hill, where a sign-post will direct you through Combe Woods, over Wimbledon Common, to Wimbledon Station, from which you can readily reach Waterloo. - The great merit of this walk is its infinite variety which is the spice of peregrination. Beautiful commons, a magnificent park, the liveliest part of suburban Thamesdom, a historical palace, a fine picture gallery, a picturesque market town, and a great deal more than I have time to enumerate, at a cost of half-a-crown, including what the boys call “grub,” try it. - Environed advantageously “FAgiliş EST DESEENSUS AVERN,” OR THE SAD TALE 0F THE SACGULINA, By Miss S. J. ROBINSON, (Authoress of “Love:versus Politics,” &c.) ARGUMENT The Nauplius is a small oval form having one eye and six legs, and is the common ancestor of the Crab, Prawn, and Barnacle, and also of a para- site called the Sacculina, which is a small purple bag having no organs except long branching roots, that penetrate into the flesh of the Crab, and suck up the nutriment. The Sacculina lost its organs gradually, through neglecting to use them. THERE was a little Nauplius Once swimming in the sea Who formed with others like himself A large fraternity. - - With each an eye and six good legs, And bodies just the same, They started life; but at the close, Quite different became. - Some, by ambition lured, to heights Above their former State, Improved their opportunities, And were both rich and great. It needeth not to tell of them, You meet them every day, You all must know the Prawn and Crab, And “ Barnacle, B. A.” - While our young lazy Nauplius Was quite another sort, He did what he should not have done, And not the things he ought. To study Hydrostatics, He would not learn, but sheered at Greek And scoffed at Mathematics. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 23 He did not heed his “ Latin Book” Which urged him on to strive, And said, “Man does not live to eat, He eats to keep alive.” He would not read, he would not think, He would not use his feet; He did not care to look around, - He only lived to eat. " - And so at last from want of use, This persevering diner, Lost all his organs, and became A horrid Sacculina | The moral you may surely read, It cannot but be clear; 'Tis written in an Ancient Book, I will not quote it here. But stay your scorn, ye Saintly few, Who dub him such a sinner; Is he the only one you know Who lives but for his dinner ? * Tis sad, but true, that many folk, (Above sea-water level) Can rival this poor Nauplius, In going to the Devil. GIPSY GEMIS. Too crowded indeed Meanwhile, what portion of this inconsiderable terraqueous globe have ye actually tilled and delved till it will grow no more ? How thick stands your population in the Pampas and Savannahs of America; round ancient Carthage, and in the interior of Africa; on both slopes of the Altaic chain, in the central platform of Asia; in Spain, Greece, Turkey, Crim Tartary, the Curragh of Kildare P One man, in one year, as 1 have understood it, if you lend him earth, will feed him- self and nine others. Alas! where are the Hengists and Alarics of our still-glowing, still-expanding Europe, who, when their home is grown too narrow, will enlist, and, like fire-pillars, guide onwards those superfluous masses of indomitable living valour; equipped, not now with the battle-axe and war-chariot, but with the steam-engine and ploughshare P Where are they P Preserving their game !! Not HING Divine dies; all good is eternally re-productive. And as to future destiny it is determined by character. The good, by affinity, seek the good; the vile, by affinity the vile. Thus of their own volition souls proceed into heaven, into hell. Therefore, I always say to men, every spirit buildsitself a house; and beyond its house a world; and beyond its world a heaven. Know, then, that the world exists for you. For you is the phenomenon perfect. What we are, that only can we see. All that Adam had, all that Caesar could, you have, and can do. Adam called his house heaven and earth; Caesar called his house Rome; you, perhaps, call yours a cobbler's trade; a hundred acres of ploughed land; or a scholar's garret. Yet, line for line and point for point, your dominion is as great as theirs, though without fine names. Build, therefore, your own world. But it is a sceptical age, and men will not listen. ORN THI& SYMPHATHY. SOME years ago I was sitting writing at a window which faced a stable under the eaves of which a swallow had built a nest. Some mischievous children coming out of school were amusing themselves by throwing stones and mud at the nest, and before I could prevent them, had destroyed the greater part of the swallow's little home, Having “read the riot act,” and given the children a homily upon cruelty, they let it rest without further molestation, and I returned to my writing-table. º About five minutes afterwards, I was again disturbed, by a whole swarm of swallows, flapping their wings and flying up to the partially destroyed nest, and expressing their sorrow with a curious “cawing ” noise. The birds seemed to come from north, south, east, and west, and it is no exaggeration to say that their number was at least fifty, probably more. That they came to express sympathy with their brethren in distress I have not the slightest doubt. A few days afterwards, the nest was rebuilt, and I have always thought it possible that the sympathy of the birds took the practical form of help in its reconstruction. J. P. BACON-PHILLIPS. GIPSY GEMIS. WHo loves Nature like an Englishman P Do Italians care for their pale skies P I never heard so. We go all over the world in search of beauty—to the keen north, to the Cape whence the midnight sun is visible, to the ex- treme south, to the interior of Africa, gazing at the vast \expanse of Tanganyika or the marvellous falls of the Zambesi. We admire the temples and tombs and palaces of India; we speak of the Alhambra in Spain almost in whispers, so deep is our reverent admiration; we visit the Parthenon. There is not a picture or a statue in Europe we have not sought. We climb the mountains for their views, and the sense of grandeur they inspire; we roam over the wide ocean to the coral islands of the far Pacific ; we go into the deep woods of the west; and we stand dreamily under the pyramids of the east. What part is there of the English year which has not been sung by the poets all of whom are full of its loveliness; and one, greatest of all, Shakespeare, carries, as it were, armfuls of violets, and scatters roses and golden wheat across his pages, which are simply fields written with human life. TO RAMBLERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours” walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Series. Address to—EDITOR, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. 24 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. {}}}} {M}{}}NTA}} [{}RNER. THE BLACK SAIL IN THE DARR. FARADAY and I had been ten days at Wasdale Head. The cold was fearfnl, even for January : but in doors we had been comfortable enough. since, for the latter part of the time, we had the hotel to ourselves. Two or three professors from a northern college had come to the end of their scanty vacation. Some school-masters had gone home to read their work for next term. A party of Cambridge undergraduates, who had slithered down the Sty Head Pass and arrived bleeding. had departed the next day. We were alone, and Faraday was in his glory. For myself, winter mountaineering was a new experience, and such indeed was mountaineering of any sort. I was bred in Essex, and, though I deny that my county is, as a whole, flat or uninteresting, I admit that it presents few opportunities for rock-work or fancy walking. Nobody iu Essex is fool enough to walk if he can afford to ride, and I abominated pedestrian- ism from my youth up. Faraday, on the other hand, is the native of a barren, mountainous district—in fact, is a sort of Chamois. I had been enticed into Cumberland by his descriptions of enjoyment. The miseries I en- dured would soften the heart of the Gable Needle. I had been dragged up Deep Ghyll and pushed down Broad Stand. I had been hauled violently over one obstacle and left to freeze for half-an-hour at a time, while Faraday tried a fancy-route over the next. I had been alternately plunged up to the neck in snow, and ground to pieces in frozen scree. My sufferings would fill a book, but I had professed to enjoy them, on the hoc olim meminisse principle, and, indeed, I had come off pretty well. I was all over bruises and frost-bites. My clothes were in rags and my boots cut to bits, but I was left with life, and that was something. We were to leave next day, and I thought the bitterness of the thing was past, so, when, after lunch, Faraday proposed a last stroll round by Windy Gap into Mose Dale, I assented cheerfully. He took me straight up Yew Barrow from the hotel. It is steep, and he had an aneroid. If this instrument did not mark a sufficient number of feet every five minutes, Faraday insulted me. I arrived, perspiring. Next came a barefaced attempt to take me to Red Pike by a course well to the left of Baddeley’s. After frightful escapes, we gained the top, to find a thick, driving mist, which shut out all the view and chilled me to the bone. We could not see more than sixty yards in any direction. My com- panion, however, led on confidently along the ridge and I followed, being assured that he would recognize Windy Gap in any weather. Whenever we came to a particularly bad snow-shoot, going perpendicularly down into abysmal mist, Faraday would take his axe and practise step-cutting, while I shivered. I can never feel sure whether it was the result of this distracting amusement, or whether he was intending it all along—but it so happened, that, in about half-an-hour, he admitted he did not know where he was, and said we must get down below the mist to take bearings. We con- sulted the compass, chose a likely gap, and des- cended some five hundred feet of scree info an un- recognizable valley: then further over rock and grass, still in doubt, but beginning to gain more and more certainty that we were altogether out of our route, until finally, all doubt was at an end, as we opened out the profile of the Angler's Rock in Ennerdale Water, cut sharp against the sunset. It was a glorious sight. Ennerdale is grandly stern and wild at all times, but is seldom seen so well as when the winter's sun gleams into it from sea-level, lighting up gold and pink flushes on the snow, and glinting on the opal of frozen becks, while the mist cuts off the tops, and leaves the imagination to create stupendous heights. More- over, it deepens the frown of precipice and chasm, and makes you stand in humbler reverence before the Eternal Majesty of Nature, if the winter night is closing in, and you are, alas for human weakness, an indefinite number of miles from your hotel. - Faraday said there was nothing for it but The Black Sail, so up the Pass we went, and were lucky enough to strike the track though it was already pitch dark. Faraday had the air of being afraid he would have to carry me, and indeed it was probable. The provoking thing was that he seemed to regard it all as a scientific experi- ment in corpore vili. The human fancy has been fond in all ages of picturing the future punish- ments of evil-doing. Such sufferings cannot, on the cold side, be realised by one who has not come down The Black Sail in snow, and ice, and darkness. Ice at an angle of forty-five degrees, snow hiding a litter of stones as big as portmanteaus. darkness such that I could not see my feet, and as I crawled and stumbled along, cold, empty, bruised and strained in every limb—the eternal THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 25 click of Faraday's ice-axe always twenty yards ahead—Sisyphus would have pitied me. If I thought to sit down and die quietly, so that my blood would be on Faraday's head and my ghost haunt him, he would suspect my inten- tion and come back, to ask with bland superiority —“How are you getting on ?” After a time I seemed partly to lose conscious- mess and to struggle on in a dream. I hardly remember the last three miles, only that I was half surprised when we actually reached the hotel. Then we had a great and foolish feed. Next day Faraday was as fresh as a daisy, and I was like a channel boat. One ought to train before going out with Faraday. - - T. W. CHATSWORTH. ANOTHER Englishman, Mr. H. F. B. Lynch, has conquered Ararat. He encamped on the snow-line on Sept. 18th and reached the summit on the 19th, after climbing seven and a-half hours. Mr. Lynch, who was accompanied by a Swiss guide, succeeded in obtaining some photographs. It will be re- membered that among the few who have achieved this feat is Mr. Bryce, a member of the present Cabinet. The Gipsy Journal, An Occasional Magazine. Organ of Footpaths, Common Rights Associa- tions; Protection from Cruelty & Wanton Destruction of All Nature; and Ramblers’ Friend. To Lovers of Nature 25,000 Subscribers wanted to ensure our Journal being established as a regular Monthly Periodical. All applications respecting Advertisements should be addressed to Gipsy Journal Office, 30 Chandos Road, Stratford, E. Postal Orders may be made payable to H. CRAPPER, General Post Office, Stratford, Essex. - All other communications should be addressed to Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. The next Series will be issued early in February. Published also by E. W. A.I.L.E.N., 4, Ave Maria. Lane, E.C., and may be obtained through any Bookseller and Newsagent in the Kingdom. THE MURDER OF OUR MINSTREL8. “I was passing down Vigo Street this morning, (Nov. 4) and saw thick FESTOONS OF LARKS with this notice attached : — SPECIAL ORDER, |O,OOO LARKS Is. 6d. A DOZEN. Unless active measures are taken speedily to prevent this slaughter, certain races of our wild birds will be exterminated, and time to come may find our public wiser, but probably also poorer and sadder. (). BARNARD.” # % 3% #: * THE Gipsy Journal hails with pleasure several recent letters and articles, on this and kindred subjects, in the London press—notably MR. HUDSON'S article on “Feathered Women’’ in the Times, and able letters from MISS C. BAR- NARD and MISS FLORENCE SUCKLING in The Echo. MR. HUDSON'S contribution may be obtained from MRS. PHILLIPS, 11, MORLAND ROAD, CROY DON. + :}; 3% #: # - THE most noble Marquis of Ripon, ex-Viceroy of India, Cabinet Minister, and one of the most famous converts to the Roman Catholic Church of this century, has been entertaining a distinguished shooting party at Studley Royal. Since the result of this distinguished gathering is announced to consist of the slaughter of 4,320 head of game we suggest that such gatherings should in future be styled eatinguishing gatherings. Most of the destroyed birds were pheasants. It really taxes the imagination beyond all bounds to conceive of such wholesale massacre, and the . cheapness at which bird life is held needs no comment. But what of the sufferings of the poor birds winged, wounded, bleeding, and yet not killed 2 - #: # :*: 3% 3% A LEAGUE has been formed in the old University town of Aix, in Provence, for preserving small insect-eating birds, and restoring all useful species tending to disappear. The league is seeking to enlist the aid of the administration officers and local authorities in the suppression of nets and other bird-catching machinery, including bird-lime. It also undertakes to instruct the public, so that a generation shall grow up, who have been taught that all birds are not mischievous creatures that ought to be destroyed. The wholesale slaughter of small birds in the Mediterranean countries is carried on so unmercifully that it is a wonder that they have not entirely disappeared. 26 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. DR. GREENFELD'S GHRISTMAS SERMON. THINK not good friends that the green summer-tide and the golden antumn alone delight the hearts of true Gipsies. Blow the fierce north wind never so wildly and bite the keen frost-laden air never so shrewdly, all seasons of the year must be laden with Nature's pºetic charms for you and me. Fantastic snow-wreaths fringe the branches of the hoary oak at whose moss-grown foot I last addressed you, the old road by the side of the wood where, a few months since, our kettle simmered gaily in the sun-smitten glades is now an untrodden track of virgin white, down yonder grove a score of village lads vary the merriment of the swiftly bounding sledges with a still more merry bout at snowballs, and on the pond in front of the ivy-clad Manor House the youngsters, let loose from school, both lads and lasses, slide and skate. No time to pause and address you here, where only the buoyant exercise of youthful gaiety can send the warm blood tingling to the finger-tips and coursing through The ragged old gate-keeper to whom we tossed: the veins. a few coppers in the full-blown charity of autumn revelry now wheezes and creaks in his rheumatic joints like the groaning hinges of the gate itself. What say you then to iurning in for a few minutes to the village Smithy Here it stands at the corner of the straggling street opposite the church porch, and a few yards from the swinging sign of the familiar inn. How the furnace roars and the glittering sparks fly up into the December blast as we pause. It was the crisp clink of that melodious anvil which we heard a good half mile away. The farmer's old brown cob has cast a shoe on the way from the Christmas market, and turns its velvet nozzle to us confidently as we peep in. As the Smith pauses for breath amid his ponderous blows, the farmer declares for the twentieth time that day that this is a good Christmas of the olden sort, and wishes us a happy Christmas. A happy Christmas! Is the expression not often a curious anomaly As the years flow by, does the great feast not rather inevitably gather somewhat of increasing sadness? Do not those fierce sparks, each one of them whirling out into the deepening twilight, seem to bear on their wing many a lingering memory of events wrought out on the little anvil of our own lives P And yet, with faces aglow with apparent cheerfulness, we brace ourselves up to give each other a happy Christmas and, what is more, illustrate the time-honoured greeting in ourselves. Well is it that it should be so. It is a testimony to that great bond of sisterhood and brotherhood which makes all good Gipsies one in sympathy with one another's joy’s and sorrows. There is no place for cynicism in the clear Christmastide. Pathos, yes, regret, and a tinge of sadness, perchance, but perish the thought of all past sorrows letting us drift from the sheet-anchor af sympathy into the cruel, selfish gulf of cynicism. Hark to the mellow bells floating out from the old Norman belfry. Their message should bring more joy to the young and joyous, whilst to the elders their accents are of reconciliation acquiescence. What a variety of methods, too, of spending this feast, and we may many of us adapt it to our surroundings. I see before me a solitary traveller on life's highway. Friends of early days, relatives, all vanished by a strange and healthful - prematurity into the great unknown. It is a cold, bleak, biting, boisterous, blusterous Christmas Eve, and he plods his way across the wintry moorland. Below his feet the great Atlantic waves boom and surge on to the rugged Cornish shore. This is the path where his forbears before him trod. That white house, which in summer nestles peacefully beneath the ragged elms whose branches now sport in the fury of the whistling wind, was once their home and his. The pale glint of light peeping through the lattice window is not for him, but out of fond memory for the days of old he leaves the din of the city and obtrusive mirth of many new-found friends to revisit his native clime. The old Cornish inn flings open wide its doors, and the landlord calls forth his wife and children to bid the old yeoman’s surviving offspring welcome and to dis- course, by the cheery ingle nook, of olden times. And amid the howling and the seething outside the porch the children play their blind-man's buff, and the elders chat pleasantly until the clock on the oaken stairs chimes the dawn of a new Christmas. A fancy picture perhaps, but like all genuine Gipsy pictures, it breathes of healthfulness and glad submission. There is charm and poetry in the very name of Christmas. The dullest London suburb of a wintry evening has romance enough for a hundred fancies. The very light from the street-lamp playing on the dark window-curtain-folds, as we gather, in the twilight, round the cosy fire, possesses a charm of its own. The fire-side shades and shadows tell, like the smithy anvil, their stirring tale. It is in the glowing embers that we cast up the totality of our own life's joys as well as crosses. We see in them the forms and faces of those gone before. What gods and goddesses are the vanished ones now become in the flicker of the flames And yet, a few years since, they actually fretted about butchers' and bakers' bills like ourselves, and found worrit in rates and taxes. Sometimes, alas, argument and even contradiction found entrance. There is infinite pathos as well as scope for cheer in the apotheosis we render to these long vanished forms and voices. Truly, the common-place aspect of life seems often in moments of our wintry discontent to be suppermost, but Christmas, if rightly viewed, is the time to re-adjust the balance, and to see in the common lot the emblem of our brightest hopes. Meanwhile the great ordeal of the shortest day will have passed, the lengthening daylight, meagre though it seems at first, will speak of the good time coming, when readers of the Gipsy Journal will herald with gladness the voice of Spring, and step out with quickening steps to welcome the budding beauties of Gipsy land. - GIPSY GEMs. The lark now carols the same song, and in the same key, as when Adam first turned his enraptured ear to catch the moral. The owl hooted in B flat; it still loves the key, and still screams through no other octaves. In the same key has ever ticked the death watch ; while all the three noted chirps of the cricket have ever been in B since Tubal Cain first heard them in his smithy, or the Israelites in their ash-ovens. Never has the buz of the gnat risen above the second A ; nor that of the house- fly's wing sunk below the first F. Sound had at first, the same connection with colour as it has now, and the right angle of light's incidence might as easily produce a sound on the first turrets of Cain's city as it is now said to do on one of the Pyramids. The tulip, in its first bloom in Noah's garden, emitted heat four-and-a-half degrees above the atmosphere, as it does at the present day. The stormy petrel as much delighted to sport amongst the first billows which the Indian Ocean ever raised as it does now. - - TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. - --~~~~ - From THE -º ſº ſ A FEw years, ago we were ploughing the watery main, one New Year's Eve, somewhere in the region of one degree, North Latitude. It fell to my humble lot on that occasion to organise a New Year's Eve entertainment at sea, and the memory of that entertainment abides vividly with me unto this day. : fruition. We were mostly a cargo of emigrants bound for the Gold- fields, and it was a stalwart muscular specimen of the modern emigrant in whose brain the idea of the festivity geridinated. Now, it is one thing for a seedling to germinate, and another to find a man bold enough to bring out an idea to The curious part was that, although everybody was unanimous that something should be done worthy of the occasion, nobody seemed anxious to do it. “Beastly lot of duffers,” growled the muscular emigrant, his thoughts possibly reverting to a tea-drinking in some village schoolroom, as he swept a scornful eye over the brokers, storemen and telegraph clerks composing the human convoy of that gallant ship. The above remark was received without one dissentient voice. Every one agreed that every one else was a duffer. “Hang it all man, collar hold of a pencil and go round the ship for names,” added our friend, singling me out as a leading duffer. Why he picked me is more than I can say. Possibly, because when the ship was rolling and pitching somewhere in the “Bay,” on Christmas Day, I had anchored on one of the saloon pillars and given them a sample of Bret Harte. By dint of perseverance and many snubs, I at last got out a programme. Amongst others, a Scotchman, after much pressure, agreed to render, in the full vernacu'ar, a piece called “The Auld Hame.” One young lady passen- ger had a reputation for singing, but unfortunately her music lay at the bottom of her big box, and the big box at the bottom of the hold. I recollect full well the pathetic smile on that young lady’s face as I begged to be allowed to put down her name for a song. She was embroidering a pair of slippers at the time. Those slippers were, as everybody knew, intended for the purser, a gay gallant youth of twenty-five, It was a business persuading that young lady to have her big box hauled up from the hold, but, in the firm faith that the ship's purser was to be one of us in our festivity, difficulties were surmounted and a weather-beaten mariner despatched down below. Other emigrants, too, found out that they could sing or recite, and a party of four jovial Dutchmen, carried away by the prevailing current of goodwill, bade me put them down for the Dutch National Anthem. Great was the excitement therefore at 7 p.m., the hour announced for the first event, and, in addition to saloon passengers, a great crowd of steerage emigrants crowded the open windows above the saloon, whistling, cats-calling, and showing other audible signs of impatience. - But there was an awful hitch. The steward, who had consented to preside, did not turn up, neither, alas, did the young lady vocalist, our sheet anchor. The purser had not been invited, simply because no one wanted him. So the purser told the young lady, the young lady told the steward, and the result was that our entertainment threat- ened to expire for want of a President. How I found myself in the chair, at last, I scarcely know. All I know is, that of all the wretched, squeaky, tin-pot, break-down voices I ever heard in my life, the crew I had the honour to call upon that night took leading honours. A rag and bone man in Whitechapel would have taken the palm from the very best of them. The cruel blow happened when the Scotchman was in the middle–how- ever he got there at all was a mystery--of the “Auld Hame,” when the very crème de la crème of the ship entered, in person of some members of parliament and their ladies. On their arrival, the Scotchman, without word or warning, collapsed like the South Sea Bubble. So, too, did the M.P.'s, at any rate, they walked out, quick time. After the Scotchman, failure succeeded failure, until, blushing with shame and mad with the jeers of the steerage passengers, I called-in despair on the four Dutchmen. - The rest was chaos. There was a mingling of two National Anthems, evoked possibly by patriotism, possibly by jealousy. Some score Scotchmen, thinking they were left out in the cold, struck up “Auld Lang Syne,” and the steer- age passengers, judging it was their time to cut in, made a rush for the saloon. Such was the end of the entertain- ment proper—the only festivity I ever presided over at sea. But for the rest of that night, and far into the small hours of the morning, “Auld Lang Syne,” echoed all over the ship. Even the leather-lunged Dutchmen were out-voiced. Long after the passengers had retired to their bunks, the Scotchman in the next bunk to my own pegged hard away at Auld Lang Syne. I have thought since that he had imbibed...... but perish the thought. At any rate, during that early New Year, when the ship was ploughing in the small hours over the line, the good man kept calling on imaginary friends to join him in “Auld Lang Syne.” > “Jamies,” and “Sandys,” and “Donalds” were called upon one after the other, although I knew they all existed only in the Scotchman's fancy. “Now then Jamie!” “Now then, Sandy, mon!”, “Should auld acquain...... ?” “Hang it, Donald, don't leave a chap “Come on for the chorus, boys!” to sing it alone º’’ How many times that gallant Scot repeated the above formula I cannot say , all I know is that he really believed Sandy, Donald, and Jamie were all in his cabin, mntil - A GoLIATH beetle from West Africa—a giant even among its own kind—has arrived at the Zoological gardens. The new comer is the first of its kind to make its home there and is believed to be the only living specimen possessed by a public society in the world. It measures between five and six inches across the body, and if the legs were extended to their full length, the total measure- ment would be some nine or ten inches. The home of the genus Goliathus is in tropical and Central Africa. Related genera also occur in South America and tropical Asia. One of the species in South America is roasted and eaten by the natives, who regard it as a great dainty. The new beetle at the Zoo, which, by the way, is a male specimen of the largest form, Goliathus Druryi, has been placed appropriately enough next to the giant spider from South America. It is suplied with food chiefly in the form of melon. the New Year's dawn-crept into the portholes of our vessel - - 28 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ pºſſ RAMBLERS' see RIGHTS. Hº TR-F-U-L-T-Z-> A Az, 2 --> --~~~~~~~~~~~ THE success of the Tunbridge Wells Footpaths Preservation Committee, reported to the Trades- men's Association, in November last, has given wide satisfaction among all classes in the town. Mr. Fred. Roberts—the Richard Jefferies of Tun- bridge Wells—is justly credited with good pioneer work in preserving the public rights of the pretty bye-paths which abound on all sides of the Kent inland watering-place. But, if Mr. Roberts, in his naturalist rambles round Tunbridge Wells, takes the first prize as the local champion of historic public privileges, the Footpaths Preservation Committee must be highly commended for giving influential expression to protests against the obstructions. RECENTLY, when a man was digging for clay on the common at Church Gresley, in Leicestershire, he suddenly struck coal, which soon proved to be a seam five feet thick. The news soon spread, as may well be imagined. There are coalpits in the neighbourhood, and skilled labour was soon brought to bear on the discovery. At present the common is divided into a number of claims, which are being actively worked by the villagers. In the Law of Commons Amendment Act it is laid down that no en- closure of any common shall be permitted which is not for the public good. The Church Gresley folk whose find is very possibly a valuable one, will no. doubt contend that they are the public as far as Church Gresley common is concerned. ANOTHER new society has been started. Bristol is its headquarters; the Duke of Beaufort is its president. Its title is the Property Pro- tection Society. Most people are under the im- pression that property is sufficiently protected al- ready in a country where a man is sometimes fined 20s. for kicking his wife about the head, and is sent to prison for six months for stealing a bunch of turnips. But they are greatly mistaken. An amendment of the law is needed, so that anyone trespassing in enclosed land and annexing any product of the soil shall be punishable by justices sitting in Petty Sessions. How do these property advertisement in a rural district. owners expect to induce the House of Commons to pass a law under which the magistrates would send to prison a boy who picked a few black- berries from a hedge? IT is only a few weeks ago that King Loben- gula's kraal was taken and stormed, and already the prospectus of the “Buluwayo Syndicate, Limited,” has been issued. Its objects are “the acquisition of licences and rights (rights, forsooth !) from the volunteers who have assisted, or are assisting, in the present Matabele war; also generally to acquire land and minerals, and carry on mining and other operations in South Africa.” Thus, by the risk of a few pounds, English gentlemen who sit at home at ease may partici- pate in all the solid advantages af murder and highway robbery without any of the customary risks. It is stated that a provisional arrangement has been made by a certain person with the buccaneers, who go by the name of the Bechuana- Land Border Police, for the acquisition of some 20,000 acres of land, as well as of their licences and rights. Thus, even before the surrender or capture of Lobengula, an English company is arranging to divide up his territory MR. CAINE’s Bill with regard to advertising among rural scenery proposes to prohibit, under a penalty of £5, the exhibition of any outdoor It is not to apply to railway stations or piers and landing-places, or to land on which the business advertised is actually carried on. It applies, equally, however, to advertisements of all sorts in prohibited spots. ARISING out of the late coal strike, a story is told concerning Lord Derby and a Lancashire collier. Wandering on some land belonging to Earl Derby, the collier there chanced to meet the owner of Knowsley face to face. His lordship inquired if the collier knew he was walking on his land. “Thy land 2 Well, I’ve got no land mysel'.” was the reply, “and I’m like to walk on somebody's. Wheer did tha' get it fro’?” “Oh.” explained his lordship, “I got it from my ancestors.” “An’ wheer did they get it fro’ ” queried the collier. “They got it from their ancestors,” was the reply. “An' wheer did their ancestors get it fro’?” “They fought for it.” “Well begad,” said the collier, squaring up to the Earl, “I’ll feight thee for it !” THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 29 for this Journal are received at the rate of 2s. per in. or £3 3s. per page 1 15 half do. - 1 0 quarter do. 126 one-eighth do. -ºº- Liberal terms for repeating, or blocks. No Canvasers or Advertising Agents to pay. Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0 may be made payable to H. CRAPPER, G.P.0., Stratford, Essex. sº. GLUBS. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. - IForest Ramblers Club 97, Tabernacle Street, London. J. H. Porter, Hon.Sec. INorthern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. - C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. People’s Palace Rambling Club - Mile End Road, London. Rambling Club - - in connection with the Church, Tenby Rd., Stratford. Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Watson, Hon: Sec. - South Place Ramblers - - Aldersgate Street, London. Protection of Birds, &c. No charge is made for insertion in this column. - HEATHCOTE TEMPESTS BETROTHAL. By the Author of “The Bursting of the Redmire,” “A. Curious Accomplice,” &c., &c. º BRIGHT September morning. Too bright, in fact, to hold forth promise of a fine day. The ragged peaks of Brindle Tor stood out sharp and clear, opposite the rectory breakfast-room, in the morning breeze, a bad omen for the Brindleford peasants whose crops were yet ungathered. The smoke from the rambling row of cottages in the valley curled out sideways, in fanciful gusts, instead of rising to the clear vault above, another sign that the autumn floods had not yet poured forth all their fury. - But the only infallible barometer in Brindle- ford was the wooden leg of old Hiram, the postman, or, more strictly speaking, that part of Hiram’s anatomy on to which the artificial joint was screwed. “Old 'Iram be bad, mortal bad, nobbled donkeys baint nowt to him,” said Martha Craggs to her husband who had done nothing but loaf all day for the past fortnight, owing to his oat-patch being half under water. “ Seems as if the 'Ewins was sendin’ these 'ere splendiferous mornings to spite us loike, Martha lass,” answered John Craggs, watching the groans and gesticulations of the postman, who was denun- ciating, to a little knot of peasants, the abnormal barometric pressure on his limb. How the heavy drops had showered down during the last fortnight! It was of an afternoon and evening that the clouds had burst, the mornings having been brilliantly fine. The valley of the Brindle, as far as the lake, was fast becoming one mass of water, and the narrow margin of footpath just where the giant rocks tower perpendicularly over the lake, had nearly vanished from view. Squire Tempest of Brindleford Hall grew un- easy too, about the Brindlemere Pool. The Pool was a kind of dam on an outlying farm, which served as a safeguard against Summer drought, and a protection against floods in the autumn. It lay 30 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. beneath the rugged shoulder of Brindle Tor, on a moorland plateau above the Brindle Valley. If the banks of the mere gave way, the overflowing waters of the lake below would submerge the crops on many a peasant-holding. Young Heathcote Tempest, however, crossing over the shoulder of Brindle Tor, was too full of other thoughts to notice the already opening gaps in the bulwarks of the dam. On a bright autumn morning, when the coveys are well stocked and the digestion good, what orthodox sportsman would think of aught but bags and braces : “I think I will just pop in on the way,” mused the young squire, “the rector has been out of sorts lately, and little Mary looked overworked on Sunday. Trapper and the dogs can wait on Langley Edge.” So, whistling up a disreputable looking fox- terrier, Heathcote Tempest struck down the hill- side path into the valley of the Brindle. Passing down the narrow path by the lake he did not notice that the waters were almost playing round his feet. His thoughts were in the distant past. He was a boy in Eton jackets, home for the Christmas holidays. It was the cold, grey twilight of a late December day, and the only light stealing into the old church came from the vestry where the rector was going over the accounts with Roger the sexton. The three Misses Gadds had departed with the curate, and Mary, a girl of fourteen was putting a few finishing touches to the chancel. It was Heathcote's first experience of Christmas decorations. He had merely peeped into the church on his way home from skating, and somehow got helping Mary with a refractory holly-wreath. Since that December day he had never wavered. Boy at Eton, and fellow-com- moner at Cambridge, there was but one woman in the world for Heathcote Tempest, and that was the rector's only child, Mary Deane. His was one of those apparently unimpulsive natures, and only his most intimate friends knew of the iron resolve and stern current beneath the surface. The Brindle- ford peasants, who saw in the squire's son only a handsome young man with brown hair and clear blue eyes, knew nothing of those terrible moments, when he had asked himself, half doubtfully, whether Mary returned his love. Passion such as this was the slow, sure growth of seven long years. Mirthful, lively and gay, the rector's daughter was, in some respects, the very opposite of her admirer. The Misses Gadds, claiming a freehold in the Society of the curate, mildly suggested that the girl was not only fond of admiration, but a flirt. The poor peasants of Brindleford, however, whose sorrows Mary freely shared, idolised her all the more, because she participated abundantly in their humble joys. Her bright, cheery visits brought hope and courage to many a humble cot. “Good morning, Heathcote,” said the rector, stepping from the open breakfast-room window into the sunshine, “here is Mary trying to con- vince me that Mr. Browning is a humourist. More so than Dickens, is he not, Mary, dear?” “But,” added the clergyman, holding out his hand, “I must leave you to finish the argument, Heathcote. Widow Humble's boy is down again with the fever. Good morning, Mary, you may try to convert Mr. Tempest, now.” “Kind regards to the squire * called the genial rector back to Heathcote, as he vanished beneath the chestnuts. “It’s too bad of papa, is it not, Mr. Tempest, after being vanquished himself, to hand me over to a fresh opponent 2 Especially as your speeches at Cambridge have penetrated the peaceful realms of Brindleford. They are always reported, you know, in the Wenderby Gazette. Suppose now we leave Mr. Browning, and remedy the faults of old. Roger," and Mary Deane, stepping up the little garden ladder, whence the debate with the rector had been carried on, made another attack on the refractory creeper. - The brilliant sunshine shimmered on the yellow dew-bespattered chestnuts, and a lively blackbird chattered a gay accompaniment to a young lady trying in vain to drive in a rusty nail, and the upward glances of a serious youth, who lent upon his gun and lost himself in admiration. The garden was a paradise to Heathcote, dis- turbed only by the gabble of the blackbird who had lighted on a big, fat worm. The squire's son was too happy to envy the blackbird his new- found feast. “Dear, dear, there the nail goes again,” said : Mary, “really, Mr. Tempest, it is most ungallant of you to stand calmly surveying my agonies?” “I’m sure my poor hand aches again I’ve scratched it so and all in vain.” “You see I can’t forget Browning.” “No, don’t bother, pray don't, ” added the girl as her worshipper came forward. “Hurrah, the nail's in at last. Now, sir, you may tell me all about the partridges, for I see poor Lindo is dying to be off.” - Somehow, the reminder irritated Heathcote, who almost hated Lindo for whisking so frantically in and out of the shrubbery, where the greedy blackbird was feasting. “Oh, the birds are all right, Miss Deane, thanks, better than usual, in fact, on Langley Edge. It's rather dull though, and I had hoped your cousin Lawrence would have been here for the first, and besides....?” - “Besides what pray ?” said the other, Saucily surveying Heathcote from her little eminence, her - - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 31 left hand supporting the prettiest chin the young man had ever seen, and her eyes looking down into his. “In just such an attitude he had looked on her that grey Christmas-tide in the church-chancel and the subdued passion of a life-time nearly burst into flames. - “And being in your presence, Mary, trans- forms this dear old garden into a Paradise,” were the words on his lips, when a rat-tat-tat on the porch door completely silenced Lindo and the blackbird. - “Just as he said this what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap ‘Bless us,’ cried the Mayor, “what's that ?’” exclaimed Mary, jumping down and tripping off to the rectory door. It was only old Hiram, after all, who, after vainly knocking for ten minutes in the ordinary way, had attempted to establish communication with the kitchen by means of his wooden leg. “Two for papa, and one—no it can't be— yes, it is though, from—Oh, Mr. Tempest, con- gratulate us, Lawrence's regiment is home, and he will be with us on Thursday next. No, stay, it must mean to-day. To-day's Thursday, and the letter’s dated the 16th.” True, a moment ago, Heathcote Tempest had wished for the presence of Lawrence Vane, but the glad, joyous face of Mary Deane, as she opened the letter, sent a little tremor down his back. The rector's daughter, however, did not notice the effect of her words. The joys of Paradise no longer reigned for - -º- the young squire in that garden. “Poor dear Lawrence, he’ll be home for the shooting after all. It seems an answer to your wish. You see Lawrence and I were such chums, Mr. Tempest, when your people were living abroad.” Another little tremor—a more icy one this time—especially as a military photograph, peeping out of an envelope in Mary’s hand, was just visible. - The young man seemed to read his fate in the girl’s sparkling eyes. “Oh, of course, you did not know that Lawrence was coming to Brindleford to get married. What a capital secret. To think that no one knew it outside the rectory !” said Mary, and the words cut her lover like a stab. The bright world around grew cold and dead. A sudden pride that he had never confessed his love restrained him from giving way. “I congratulate you, Miss Deane " he said, subduing with one gigantic effort the smouldering flames, “but Lindo and I must be off. Good morning.” º “What, so soon, Mr. Tempest, why I have not yet shown you Lawrence's photograph.” But Heathcote could endure no more. He raised his hat and speechless passed under the chestnuts. A tip of cloud was faintly gathering on Brindle Tor as he entered the lane. He forgot Trapper and the dogs on Langley Edge, crossed under the old churchyard elms, and wandered over the rising moorland back towards Brindleford Hall, but just as the red; quaint gables were in sight, he turned again, and made for the coveys below Brindle Tor. T - Bang! bang !! bang !!! how the shots flew, Lindo barked, and unsuspecting birds flew out from many a cover—for the shootings in these preserves were generally postponed until the end of the season. Old Trapper, waiting for his master on Langley Edge, could not make things out at all. Bird after bird fell down, and at two o'clock the exhausted young Squire rested a moment on a moorland rock. But the fever within him forbade rest. The cloud-capped Tor and the howling wind indicated that the rain was coming, yet, after a short pause, Heathcote was at it again. It was only thus that the raging storm of his mind was subdued and, at four o'clock, he found himself in a deluge of rain, just where the Brindlemere Pool lay over the glen below. In the midst of the deluge, a strange sight caught his eye. The bulwarks of the dam were emitting dangerous yawns through which the swollen waters were already Oozing. Casting a glance from the moorland eminence the young squire commanded a view of the rugged Brindle valley. Wenderby station was three miles distant, and the shortest way to Brindleford was over the hills, and by the lake-side path in the glen. As Heathcote gazed, he sighted a solitary traveller at the upper end of the glen, a young man of fine soldierly bearing. In ten minutes more, the stranger would be exactly beneath the Brindlemere Pool, whose gaps each moment grew more wide and deep. As a great chasm threatened to hurl the whole volume of the dam, in one tremendous ava- lanche, down below, Heathcote thought of the traveller's probable fate and sickened. But, like a flash of lightening, an idea struck him. The stranger was Lawrence Vane who had that day wrecked his life and was coming home to wed his darling, Mary. Why not let him perish The whole thing seemed a special interference of fate on his behalf “Let him die,” said the voice of the tempter, and a strange, over-mastering influence seemed to chain him body and soul. A few minutes more, and, unless a warning were given, the traveller would be swallowed up in the great gulf below. Then a terrific struggle raged in the storm-tossed bosom of Heathcote Tempest. That was the Supreme crisis of his life. 32 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. “Thank Heaven for the victory,” he humbly said, a minute later, amid the surging of the waters and the fury of the gale. But, not a second was to be lost, and, with a loud cry of warning, he bounded down the sheep path, to save Lawrence Vane from rushing on his doom. Half-way down, he climbed a jutting rock, and shouted again as he saw Vane already entering the glen, but the winds, in their tempestuous fury, mocked the words as they were uttered. But, at any risk, he was determined to save Mary Deane's lover now. Since leaving the rectory he had held his own life as but dust in the balance, and downward, over mossy boulder and treacherous crag, he sped. Before gaining the bottom, he shouted once more, but what was that heavy, roaring thud which boomed from rock to rock, and woke the glen, from Brindleford to Brindle Tor, from Brindle Tor to Langley Edge, until the whole valley was one heaving, watery mass? The Pool had burst, bringing with it rocks, earth, and branches in one fell swoop. Some corn-ricks, washed down from an up- land holding, rocked to and fro, like corks, a hundred yards from where Heathcote stood, and something black rose, tossing on the excited surface. Then the waters swayed violently against the encircling rocks, and the dark object was borne under the current, to rise helplessly a moment later. Rushing down to where the waters were narrowest, he plunged into the flood. Lawrence Vane, again at the surface, was no swimmer, and clung helplessly to the yielding corn-rick. In another moment, Heathcote would have been by his side, but the branch of a tree, swirling rapidly in the eddy, struck the drowning man on the temple, and he sank again. is - A few seconds more, which seemed to Heath- cote an eternity, and his rival was borne upwards to the surface, amid whisps of hay and straw. Young Tempest made a desperate clutch, and seized Mary Deane's lover by the hair. But Heathcote's strength was failing him now. Further and further the current carried him, and all his sinking strength could do was to hold his head and that of Lawrence above water. An oak stripling, project- ing from a neighbouring rock, threw out a friendly branch to which he clung with might and main. Then came a frantic effort, during which the torrent concentrated all its fury, and seemed bent on devouring its helpless prey, and Heathcote lost consciousness. - º, ** “Thank heaven, he lives | which fell on the young squire's ears half an hour later. That last supreme effort of the waves, which Heathcote had deemed his death-warrant, was caused by the flood emerging finally from the lower end of the glen into the valley. Had it not been for were the words . the oak stripling, the two men must have inevitably been sucked under. - Trapper, the keeper, hearing Heathcote firing, had followed his young master, and was only just in time to witness the final scene. The two keepers, after trying to restore animation to Lawrence Vane, had at last succeeded and, weak and helpless, he was borne to Brindle- ford Hall, which was nearer than the rectory. For weeks he lay between life and death, but a constitution which had battled through the Sou- dan campaign, conquered, and in a month's time, he was visited one October evening, by the rector and his daughter. - A pang shot through Heathcote's heart as he noticed how pale and wan Mary had grown since her cousin's illness. The party were sitting round a blazing fire in the hall library when the rector's pony-carriage arrived. The rector had a slight attack of gout, and could not walk home Law- rence, was barely convalescent. The only thing was for Heathcote to accompany Mary. For the first half-mile, neither spoke a word. It was the girl who broke the silence. The tears were welling up in her deep blue eyes. A yearning, pleading look met the young Squire's glance, as he turned to help her over the first style. “Mr Tempest, it was a noble act to save Lawrence's life,” she said, as they reached the rec- tory gate. “You were not aware that the poor boy was to have married Colonel Markham' daughter last month º' “Colonel Markham of Wenderby l’exclaimed Heathcote, “why that's the girl, isn't it, who played Queen Elizabeth, at the Colonel’s tableaux vivants º' “No, that was Maud Markham, and Lawrence is engaged to Pauline,” was the reply. - Heathcote's heart gave a bound of exultant hope. If those tear-stained eyes were not for Lawrence Vane, for whom could they be A few hours later, Heathcote and Mary were singing a duet in the cosy drawing-room. Law- rence Vane had retired to his room. Suddenly the rector entered. “Why bless me Heathcote, this is like old times,” said the rector cheerily, and—Mary, girl, how changed you look, an afternoon's walk is a wondrous cure.” - - There was a merry twinkle in the good rector's eye. The venerable arch-plotter had not let the two young folks walk home for naught. - “Ah, I see, I see,” added the rector, as the two regarded each other in confusion. “ Heathcote has found out that Mary is not in love with cousin Lawrence after all.” *º 23 - jºjº àº); 62%-º *:S º P --~~ º ºf wº ºf x2 tº Book No. III. 2nd Series.] w sº º * RAMBLERS' LEAVES º E"EOIMI THE 2 ºf --- ---> º jº AN-(. sºſ.ſ. - OxON. # Z: -- - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1894. COINTERIBUTORS to the “G-IRSY JOTUIRINAT.1.” Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. IMiss Blanche Cuthbertson. - W. Blyth-Gerish (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Thomas Wright Haddon, M.A., Oxon. Owen G. Jones, B.Sc. (Alpine Club). W. Lloyd-Summers, M.A., Camb. Miss Augusta Mansford. Rev. T. Mitcheson, B.A. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. R. Ritherdon, B.A. | IMiss S. J. Robinson. | - W. H. Spragge, M.A., Camb. INugent C. Simner, B.A., L.L.B., Camb. - W. C. Sutherland, M.A. (“Boy’s Own Paper”). Rev. J. H. swinstead, M.A., Camb. IMiss Grace Toplis (Co-Editress of “Our Magazine’’). Allen S. Walker (Editor of the “Club Monthly ’’). W. A. Young (Bournemouth District). &c., &c. Notice. To obtain this or any subsequent issue of the “Cipsy Journal,” please order at once of your Newsagent ; also of E. W. Allen, Publisher, 4, Ave Maria Lane, E.C. Gipsy Friends—get YOUR F///WNDS to buy it. Order at all Bookstalls. IEACH IN UIMIBIBR, COIMPLETE. 5.P.R.I.N.G. GORRESPONDENCE G. H. EMERY.—I am glad you like the Gipsy Journal: and quite agree with you that the walk you describe near Brighton is a fine one. To throw cold water, however, on holiday-makers who prefer enjoying themselves on the parade or beach is not in our line. The Gipsy Journal is not by any means published for one class exclusively, but appeals to every lover of Nature. There is music in the murmur of the waves, though the walk you describe is worth bringing before our readers if space permits, and in matters of out-door recreation, it is a case of “each one to his taste.” The Gipsy Journal would only be too happy to find the kind of berth you mention for all the unemployed, but for the present the influence of the little paper is not so great as you seem to imagine. The Secretary of the Selborne Society, Clapton Branch: Thanks for correction, which shall receive attention. You will notice that we are giving your Society first place in our series of sketches. - ALLEN S. WALKER.—Your kindness in bringing the Gipsy Journal into such welcome prominence is most gratifying. Your article on “My Favourite Haunt.” is just the thing for our next issue, and your suggestions for future purposes shall receive attention. - MISS C. BARNARD, whose efforts on behalf of birds were warmly commended in our last issue, writes: “I am - most interested in the work of your “ Gipsy Journal” and if it is any assistance would send a small money contribution of a pound or so. I will also forward you a few papers which please use as you please. Throw them away if?'...... I can assure Miss Barnard that it is my intention to do no such thing, least of all with that interesting pamphlet dealing with her Band of Mercy at Shaftesbury Hall, an extract from which we publish in another portion of the paper. Speaking of Shaftesbury Hall near Sawbridgeworth Miss Barnard writes: “It has occurred to me that perhaps we could arrange during the summer for the ramblers to have a meeting there, a kind of picnic.’’. Curiously enough a simil ridea had already presented itself to the Editor of the Gipsy Journal, and now that a locality for a summer outing has been suggested by Miss Barnard, we ask our readers to let us have their opinion on the project. 34 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. Correspondence. GEORGE CHAMBERs, Wood St., E.C., writes: “As an enthusiastic rambler I wish you all success in your under- taking. Directly after seeing a review of your paper I went to all the paper stalls to get a copy. That there is need for a paper of this description there can be no doubt, but I shall look forward to the time when it will come out as a full blown monthly magazine, and 1 would suggest that the price should be sixpence a copy, and that it should have an ornamental cover beautiful with flowers or a small scene, for truly to all good “ Gipsies” advertise- ments are an abomination. It is surely necessary in a paper of this description, devoted largely to the beautiful in Nature, that not only should the matter be choice, but that the details of print, picture, and paper be gratifying to the eye.” There is a good deal of truth in what Mr. Chambers says, and were the publishers of the Gipsy Journal in a financial position to issue their paper gratis and solely for the “good work’s sake,” doubtless they would be only too happy to dispense with advertisements, which are, sooth to say, a sore abomination to all aesthetic eyes. As it is, however, the four cover advertisements are the things which “make the mare to go,” and prevent dependence on the munificence of benevolent Gipsy friends Several correspondents, writing on the subject of our new cover, express a decided preference for the cover of our first issue. The publishers have given a great amount of care to the cover, and will be very glad to receive further communications on the subject. In several quarters the new cover was hailed as a great improve- ment. - THE DEAN OF ROCHESTER ON FRUIT GROWING. AT a banquet given by the Lord Mayor at the Court of the Fruiterers' Company, the Dean said that we in this country did not eat half enough fruit. owner, occupier, and labourer, there was a most profound ignorance with regard to its culture. In that respect, indeed, he thought we had retrograded rather than pro- gressed. He missed the grand Ribstone Pippin of his boyhood, and what had become of the Golden Pippin? Leaving Devonshire out of account, and perhaps two other counties, the orchards of England were, generally speaking, a disgrace—with cankered trees, no manure, no pruning, and a lot of rubbish grown on from father to son. What might not be done in the direction of improvement P Six apple trees growing near some well sustained roses one year brought him in £40. The farmer had stood still while the manufacturer was making immense progress. lt would well become the landlords of England to see that their property was well occupied with excellent fruit The Ecclesiastical Commisioners never made a farm now without including a good orchard in it, and every landlord ought to do the same Personally he believed in beer, but surely cider and perry were delicious beverages in hot weather. He had tasted gooseberry wine that was better than some champagne, and elder wine that was better There were great possibilities than a good deal of port. in the improved culture of fruit, and he hoped the sub- ject would be taken up by the Parish Councils they had heard so much talk about. The poor wanted teaching what fruit to grow. He should like to see a Minister of Horticulture, or else the Minister of Agriculture should attend to such things. Degrees should be given for knowledge of fruit culture, D.D., for instance, standing for “Doctor of Damsons,” and M.A. for “Master of Apples.” - On the part of the *~3. GLUBS. “--><<–3. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, ye. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. . COMMONS PESERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom.) Great George Street, Westminster. — Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science J. Mills, Hon. Sec. Forest Ramblers Club 97, Tabernacle Street, London. J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Hampshire Field Club Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Maidenhead Naturalists’ Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. NATIONAL FOOTPATH PRESERVATION SOCIETY (130 Branches.) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. TNorthern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. Old Friends Ramblers’ Club Shepherd's Bush. P. Hinde, Hon. Sec. People’s Palace Rambling Club Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club - - Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. SELBORNE SOCIETY (51 Branches, 3000 Members) Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, (See Article.) Hon. Sec. South Place Ramblers - Aldersgate Street, London. J. Mansford, Sec. HUMANITARIAN LEAGUE for Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, N.W. (See Article.) Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society - (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. & Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. -35 OUR PROGRAM. Now that the slowly, but surely lengthening days are once more heralding the glad approach of Spring, it may be well to put before our readers the aims for which the Gipsy Journal is published. Nature, with a capital N. sums up the object we have in view, and this paper is primarily an appeal to those who love Nature to do all in their power to protect Nature's works, both animate and inanimate, from the hands of the spoiler. The rich landlord who would spoil the poor of their common rights and ramblers of their rights of way will be mercilessly handled in our columns, and we invite our friends to join in the work. Of course it follows from what we have said above that we intend to afford our readers means of knowing where they can most enjoyably revel in their favourite pastimes, whether walking, cycling, riding, rowing, or in whatever form they prefer to enjoy Nature's beauties. The rambles round London are of such infinite variety as to fill our walking columns throughout the season, yet, in addition to longer and more descriptive walks on all sides of the Metropolis, we hope to publish many short outlines of attractive walks. It is in the latter department that we mostly need help, as our MS. drawers are already well supplied with matter dealing with the former class. The attention of all Rambling Clubs and Natural History Clubs is particularly called to the series of articles by Mr. Blyth Gerish, the first of which, on the Selborne Society, appears in the present issue. As to Cyclist runs, we shall be glad of the help of subscribers who cultivate this form of pastime. But the approach of Spring whispers of experi- ences farther afield than around London. We refer to that great event of the year, the annual holiday, which, whether it be a week at the sea- side or a tour on the Continent, needs planning and arranging beforehand, so as to make the best of the holiday hay when the summer sun—as let us hope it will—shines. The editor of the Gipsy Journal has had considerable experience on foot, both at home, on the Continent, and abroad, and will be glad to inform his friends where they can enter into the freshest fields and newest pastures for the most moderate outlay. A common error prevails that holiday-making, elsewhere than at home, is very costly, whereas in many parts of the Continent the exact reverse is the case. The editor once described in “ The Echo' a month’s trip in Switzerland which cost but £14 or £15, and another tour through Thuringia and Westphalia, in The Holiday Haunts column of “ Pearson’s Weekly,” for a like amount. In our next number we hope to give descriptions of several interesting Continental holidays. One form of recreation we should like to see more popularized—the picnic. Not exactly the noisy, yet mirthful gatherings which render Epping Forest notorious, nor yet that high function which consists in driving out a coach and fonr and revelling on Strasburg pies and champagne, but the simpler and more attractive method of taking a third class ticket and kettle plus a good plain loaf and other ordinary fare, and visiting one of the many frequented and sylvan spots so close to London. Visions of a Gipsy Journal revel in a pleasant haunt we this moment have in view rise up in our mind's eye to which our readers will be bidden. Let us hope that, like many of our airy castles, these dreams will not be idle visions also. But we have reserved till last one of the most important aims of our paper, which is to protect the birds, without whose glad voices the woods and forests would be stripped of half their charm. It is no less strange than true that cruelty seems an instinct to nine boys out of ten. As youngsters they take a catapult and go forth to hit a harmless sparrow. It is simply wonderful to behold the equanimity with which a father at the seaside will behold his offspring tearing asunder the limbs of a live crab. As a young man, “to kill something" seems young England's instinct still, but when a gun is the instrument of destruction the killing process is dignified by the name of “Sport.” Could all men but realise the sufferings which dumb Creation endures, things would be different. It is mostly thoughtlessness which causes these sufferings or even tolerates them. Let us then add in conclusion that the Gipsy Journal will not be published in vain if it saves from unnecessary pain even one of God's creatures, great or small.' TO RAMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Series. Address to—EDITOR, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. 36 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. WANSTEAD F#-ATS. By SCUTTY WIREN. WHEN I first heard of Wanstead Flats, the idea suggested to my simple imagination was that of a series of flat places situated one after the other ; when I visited it, however, I discovered it to be a stretch of meadow land, which might be more appropriately named Wanstead Plain, or Wanstead Common. To conclude that Wanstead Flats are superlatively charming or the most romantic of the numerous delectable and health-reviving resorts that abound on the eastern borders of the metropolis would be erroneous, though they possess a variety of pleasurable features which are by no means to be ignored or lightly esteemed. It is presumable, taking the name into consider- ation, that the visitor would expect to find some- thing level; he would scarcely anticipate coming into contact here, with hills and vales, and rocks, and running brooks; still, those who appreciate an ample promenade on smooth green turf will scarcely fail to find enjoyment in a region so devoid of ascents and declivities; nor will they lack the shadow of wide-spreading trees, should the summer's heat render such protection desirable. Wanstead Flats may be designated as an extensive moorland, about four miles long by one mile wide, with Ilford, Manor Park. Forest Gate, Leytonstone and Wanstead on its borders; it is intersected by numerous paths, nearly all of which lead in the direction of Wanstead Park, the approaches to this picturesque domain being numberless. Taking our journey from Ilford, on the right hand the City of London Cemetery will be noticeable, skirting the Flats a considerable distance. The walks, borders, terraces, gardens, trees and tombs in this cemetery are admirably arranged. Proceeding towards Forest Gate, several plantations of young trees are observable, which add materially to the landscape; each grove is circular in shape and surrounded by a trench, in order to preserve the trees from fire, which frequently visits the grass during the heat of summer, owing, probably, to the inadvertency of those who enjoy a cigar on their rambles, though they should be more circumspect, when they * inhabitants and visitors. enormously attractive. particularly wrote “The Song of the Shirt.” consider how distasteful such a casualty must prove to the colony of skylarks who inhabit this locality, and fill the air with their music. In addition to the aforesaid nurseries of trees, the authorities have added, and are continually adding, novelties agreeable to the sight, and contributing to the health and convenience of the There is no lack of resting places—garden seats beneath the trees, and by the wayside—a great boon indeed for young and old. Recently a very pleasant parade has been commenced, along which, on summer nights, the walk resembles a seaside stroll— imagining the Flats to be the sea at low tide, which it much resembles. A row of trees has been planted along the parade—stretching down to the ancient boundary hedge of hawthorn, sycamore, and oak, which I trust, will be left intact as it adds a pleasing variety to the scenery. Besides the parade, and the tree-planting, two artificial lakes have lately been added, which afford special delight to the younger branches of the community, who sail their miniature yachts from shore to shore; one of these lakes is situated at Forest Gate, the other one near the spot where the time-honoured Wanstead Fair is held on Bank holidays—a fair, which, judging from the multitudinous throng who frequent it, must be In course of time, when somewhat improved, and more fully developed, these lakes will doubtless be even more appreciated than they are at the present time. Crossing over Forest Road—a smooth highway much esteemed and affected by cyclists—which leads to Snares- brook and the Forest proper—we come in view of a fine old country residence, surrounded with its park and gardens, called Lake House. At one time it was approached through a long avenue of fine trees, a large number of which are still standing on the Flats, though most of them have long since decayed and disappeared. Though not remarkable in architecture, Lake House is somewhat interesting, owing to the fact of its having been the residence of the poet who Tom Hood excelled in song, but failed in finance; hence his abandonment of Lake House and departure from the Flats. Further on we come to a part of the Flats once marked out for streets by the specu- lative builder, when the City Corporation issued its mandate, “No further.” So there will be no further encroachment on these grassy plains. Approaching nearer Leytonstone, Bush Wood makes its appearance—a place unfamiliar to most Londoners, but much prized by all who have the privilege of living near it. Its name is appro- priate—the immense bushes, banks and groves of holly especially, giving a charm to this sylvan retreat, bordering as it does on the Flats a THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 37 considerable distance, and constituting a pleasant termination to our ramble. Though bushes are the staple feature of this wood, it is by no means devoid of trees which have attained gigantic altitude and immense girth, the oak, elm, chestnut, and horn- beam being well represented. There are also traces of many avenues planted by Sir Josiah Child about 200 years ago—which led to his grand residence in Wanstead Park. One very fine avenue remains almost intact; it is of a treble character—namely, a narrow avenue each side, and a much wider one in the centre—a fine stretch of lime trees, which for length and beauty will bear comparison with some of the most famous avenues in England. Bush Wood is attractive at any season of the year. In winter, when the Snow is crisp to the tread, it exhibits its evergreens —particularly its holly aglow with berries, In spring the nightingale finds a home here, and contributes to our enjoyment when his fellow- warblers have ceased. In summer moonlight nights our avenue is much frequented by such as appoint to meet by moonlight alone, and for such meetings it is well adapted. In the autumn the place is still delightful, with the variegated tints of the foliage, and the carpet of fallen leaves. Bush Wood deserves to be better known. Lovers of Nature would much appreciate a walk through the Flats, to a scene so romantic and delightful. On the 10th October last I visited Bush Wood in the evening, and noted the contingents of swallows from the neighbouring districts expati- ating and conferring on matters appertaining to their journey the following sunrise to the sunnier climes of the Riviera; and have never passed through it at any season without discovering something new and pleasant in its aspect, and abundant scope, not only for an intelligent admiration of the wonderful works of creation, but also for a reverent adoration of the great sustaining power that produces the changes and the beauties of the forest, and the fertility of the field and meadows as the months roll on. GIPsy jott INGs. THE cuckoo is the earliest riser in the morning, followed by the greenfinch at 1.30 a.m., the black- cap at 2.39, the quail at 3.0, the blackbird at 4.0, the robin and wren at 4.30, the thrush at about 4.50, followed by the house sparrow, tomtit, and lark soon after. - A CATERPILLAR in the course of a month will devour 6,000 times its weight in food. It takes a man nearly three months to eat a quantity of food equal to his own weight. - - RAMBLES Round AND ABOUT §Tiji)}_ANI). By W. A. Y O U N G. A MOST interesting but little known district in Dorset is the Isle of Purbeck. Swanage and Corfe Castle are certainly much frequented by visitors to Bournemouth, but Orme, Studland and our smaller villages and hamlets are rarely or ever visited. Nestling under, and yet in the Purbeck Hills, Studland may be reached by road either from Swanage or Corfe Castle, both of which tours are about five miles distant, and either road is pleasant, interesting walking. There is another -way to reach this village. Four miles from Bournemouth, and easily reached by rail, is Poole, and from Poole Quay at frequent intervals during the summer, a steamer runs to Studland Bay. Landing is a serious or humorous matter, according to one's own disposition. - The steamboat usually tows a barge down to land passengers, but that is often an example of proverbial wit, “ out of the frying-pan into the fire,” and the barge is as unable to reach the stage as the larger boat, so that the end of the journey is accomplished pick-a-back, or in the arms of the local fishermen. The wiser among the passengers engage one of the boatmen who come out from the shore, and for the moderate sum of one penny are expeditiously and dryly landed. Crossing the green which lies beyond the beach with its many coloured sand-stone cliffs, we wend our way up the path to the village, which at present seems to have been forgotten by that enemy of nature, the speculative builder. A smart little inn and one or too not very pretentious boarding-houses show that the place is not quite unknown; indeed, some of the best known men in journalistic, legal, and political circles in London have more than once resorted thither, to recruit themselves. Returning to the path, we pass a low thatched, double-fronted house standing back in its gardens. The open door reveals a little counter, and the substantial seats before the house well suggest a rest, and reminds us of thirsty throats, and an aching void about sixteen inches below one's mouth. The house is Savage's, and just the place for the hungry and thirsty. Studland is a paradise of leafiness from Spring to Autumn. Trees everywhere, the village streets are avenues, and here and there little glades are to be found, inviting ramblers to enter, and leading down and down, till a view of the sea opens 38 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. and the beach is reached. On starting from the beach we reverse our walk, and as we come up get a glimpse of a row of cottages among the trees, like a picture in a sylvan frame, and so lighted that, though the glade is shady and almost dark, the thatched roofs, eyebrow windows, and white exteriors appear as if illuminated by the footlights. Each lane, bend and corner presents some object of interest, and, to be paradoxical, forceful in its restfulness. Here a fine group of elms, there a pond, muddy and quiet, save for the chatter of a few ducks. At another point in the road, a mud hovel, covered in with a thatched roof, but without end walls, and now used as a wagon shed, suggests, from its position, a pound or lock-up for straying humanity in days gone bye. Then there is the church, dedicated to St. Nicholas, and dating back to the 11th. century. About a mile from Studland, across the Heath, is the Agglestone, an interesting phenomenon, since it is quite 300 feet above the sea. In shape this boulder is an inverted cone. The base circumference is about sixty feet, the top, which is slightly hollowed, being ninety feet round. its height is eighteen feet, and the local folks estimate its contents at 400 tons. Tradition attri- butes it to his Satanic Majesty, and says that Old Harry, taking the sea air at the Needles centuries ago, became aware of a state of activity in the building trades at Corfe, where the castle was just rising above its foundations. In a fit of wrath Old Harry drew off his night-cap and hurled it at the offending building, but it fell short upon Studland Heath, and the Agglestone testifies at once to the truth of the tradition and the importance of the old enemy. The derivation of the name is Saxon, but its meaning is disputed, so opposite indeed are the explanations that, while some would read “holy stone,” others accept “fiend or witch stone.” From Studland, too, at suitable times, may be visited those two rocks detached from the main- land, where Handfast Point divides Swanage Bay and Studland Bay, and known as Old Harry and his wife, but ramblers visiting these rocks by the beach would do well to ascertain the tides, which are peculiar, and run in with a great rapidity and apparent irregularity, to the no small discomfort of the unwary. - - Handfast Point is inaccessible from the top of the cliff. The right of way, if one ever existed, has been extinguished by the present lord of the manor, who, not content with his broad acres, further removed from the coast line, has erected a barbed wire fence on the edge of the cliff, so formidable and effective that to get over or round is quite out of the question. It is stated to be the only bit of cliff between Torquay and Dover not accessible to the way-farer, but this statement we have not been able to corroborate, and we repeat it with due reserve. - H. F F | N A W A N. By Rev. J. H. SWINSTEAD. I.—The Outsider's View. YOU would be astounded to find what an interest people get up for a new effort, when they are only expected to hear about it, to watch it, to criticize it, to subscribe a little (just a little, the effect would be spoilt by a large offering), and to pat the workers on the back. - - This is the fever that I suffered from once, but happily, now, I find it is undergoing a great change. The back-patting has transformed itself into an angel of light in the following way. I tried, last year, an experiment. With the permission and approval of the Bishop I hired a travelling van to go the rounds of a few fairs and outlying parishes where the clergy requested help. - When people saw I was actually at it, their phrase, “You will never do it,” was translated into, “How interesting and picturesque !” “What a beautiful van ’’ ‘‘How much I should like to live the life of a gipsy ’’ - So the invisible scheme, only known through the printed circular saw light. The circular was oftener basketed than read. I am confidant, that many people spared the time to glance at it and be assured that the enterprise was bond fide, and subscriptions enough were guaranteed to try an experiment, which, if successful, would of course be annually-supported. Hence, we had too types of spectators; the subscribers who trusted their money into the hands of one who wished to draw a van at a venture, and the critics who found much amusement in drawing vivid pictures of how they imagined we should spend our time and do our cooking, washing, sleeping, and so on. Very soon, though, we met another class; the poor bay mare—only seven years old and standing fifteen hands—seemed one day to be confused be- tween sunstroke and a sore foot, and refused to mount a slight knap which “Captain,” her mate in harness, was quite ready for. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 39 So we halted. The nearest dwelling was an - imposing Manor House a quarter of a mile off, and, as it happened, our little journey that morning being past this house, we had been asked by our last host to leave a donkey there. This donkey had afforded no little amusement to the man in charge ; the rope was continually breaking to within about nine inches, several brambles were quite worn out with stroking the hind-quarters of our long-suffering friend, and not once or twice had we pulled up because the “donkey brake ’’ had been put on. This consisted of “ Moke ’’ going down on his knees with fright, and allowing the van to rumble him along. The donkey-boy, an old schoolfellow of mine was always terror- struck at this acrobatism, and frequently cut the tether in addition to finding himself obliged to bawl out from the rearguard his request that we might pull up. “Woa ’’ was all he said, but he said it irresistibly. - But to go back to the Manor House. We walked—a majestic procession—with the donkey betwixt us longitudinally up the drive and pulled the bell. Having made ourselves and our commu- nication known, we explained that the donkey was for the children of the house. Then came a great scramble—only one of the six children being too shy for the work. As an exchange of courtesies we suggested our trouble in the bay mare's sick- ness, and were astounded to find the kind hostess ready to stable, feed, and nurse the tender creature, and also offer to conciliate a neighbouring farmer into lending us another horse to take us on to the end of our stage. That was as gratifyimg as we could expect, and we showed our gratitude by enjoying a solid and copious lunch, reading the newspapers of the mother began to feed them. LTTLE GPSES CORNER. ONE day two wrens entered a cottage and began exploring it, evidently intending to build a nest there. One who watched them thus describes what happened:— - They peered into every corner, and finally went away with the air of would-be tenants who say “ they will look elsewhere”; but in half an hour they returned, and the resident of the cottage, wishing to furnish them with a residence all their own, hung an old coffee-pot on a tree near the door, tying it securely that the wind might not shake it. The wrens presently discovered it, entered, and were apparently delighted. It was evidently just the kind of house for which they had been looking. The next day its furnishing was quite finished. They had lined it with bits of feathers, shreds of wool and downy vegetable growths, and it was as soft as velvet. Then one egg appeared, and then another ; and the little dame began sitting, while her husband, perched on a branch above the coffee- pot, poured forth song after song, flying away at intervals to bring her a fat worm. When the little ones came both father and They usually started from the nest together, but seldom returned at the same time. - If the little man came first he soon grew impatient, and after attending to his offspring, would begin calling her loudly and musically. Evidently her name was “Titty-tee,” for he cried : “Titty-tee! ah, Titty-tee " repeating the note until she arrived. Like a good husband he could not bear to enter his lonely dwelling until his wife appeared. picky bird society, conducted by Uncle Toby. MEMBER's PLEDGE.-1 hereby promise to be kind to all living things, and to protect them to the utmost of my household, and exchanging salutations, opinions and information. - - - A friend made in adversity is often a friend for life—I shall not be sorry in this case to prove the truth of that maxim. I am happy to say this style of friend is largely On the increase, and, indeed, it is the most valuable sort too ; for only love, no amount of money, would have enabled us to proceed that day. And what was the work we were trying to do? It was, and is, the work of the English Church in going out into the highways and hedges and com- pelling the gipsies, showmen, tramps, loafers and travellers of all sorts, to come to the Divine Master's supper. - Yes, as you probably say to yourself, it is a difficult work, and a slow one—and, if you wish, you shall hear more of it again. | drawing or picture of a bird. power, to feed the birds in the winter time, and never to take or destroy a nest. I also promise to get as many Boys and Girls as possible to join the Dicky Bird Society. GENERAL RULES.-Every Girl or Boy is admitted a Member on taking the above pledge. Each new Member must sign his or her name on the list sent to Uncle Toby. The lists must be accompanied by a letter attesting the genuineness of the signatures, signed by the Officers or other members of the Society, by the Teachers of the School which the proposed Members attend, or by the Parents or Relatives of the Boys and Girls who wish to join the Society. In case the new member cannot write, his or her mark must be witnessed in the same way as the sig- nature. The names, when thus guaranteed, will Ée entered in the Big Book, and printed in the “Newcastle Weekly Chronicle.” All letters, which should be addressed to “Uncle Toby, ‘Weekly Chronicle,” Newcastle-on-Tyne,” must be written on one side of the paper only. Every en- velope should bear outside it, at the top left-hand corner, a 40 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. Natural History Societies. - It is proposed, from time to time, to give under this head, accounts of the various Societies, their objects, and - work. The first of the Series will be— met together to promote certain objects, which are * now published as the Objects of the Selborne ! Society, and are as follows :- beautiful, or rare.” | Novº MBER, 1885, several prominent Nature lovers “To preserve from unnecessary destruction such “To discourage the wearing and use for ornament of birds and their plumage; except when the birds are killed for food or reared for their plumage.” “To protect places and objects of antiquarian interest or natural beauty from ill-treatment or destruction.” - º “To promote the study of Natural History.” Among the first members were Mr. & Mrs. G. A. Musgrave, Hon. Mrs. R. Cavendish Boyle, Rev. Gilbert White, Mrs. Martelli, and others. It was then called “The Selborne League.” Another Society, called “The Plumage League,” was formed in December, 1885, and the two were amalga- mated a month later, forming “The Selborne Society.” lin 1887 the Society issued a series of papers entitled “Selborne Society Letters.” changed the following year to * The Selborne Magazine,” again altered in 1890 to tº Nature Notes,” its present title. This magazine, which appears on the 1st of each month, is the Official Organ of tº Society, and contains current notes and articles on Natural History. Though at times of rather, an elementary character and one-sided in its editorial views (nearly everything touching upon Darwinism or evolution being excluded), the journal justly maintains its reputa- tion for Selbornian principles. members, the majority of whom are attached to some 50 Branches. The Annual Subscription is 5/-. This includes a copy of the Magazine free, and entitles members to all the privileges of the Society. During the Spring and the Branches, notably those of Clapton and Richmond, THE SELBORNE SOCIETY. wild birds, animals and plants as are harmless, future issues :- At the present time the Society mmbers about 3000 : Summer months of last year, in connection with several of Field Club Meetings have been held. The members met at some pre-arranged rendezvous—such as Chingford, Richmond, or elsewhere—when delightful rambles took place through field and forest, by riverside and hedgegrow, with zoologists, botanists, and archaeologists to instruct, interest and entertain. A halt was made from five to six o'clock, when tea was heartily appreciated, and in the twilight the party would return, greatly pleased with the brief outing. The cost of these rambles seldom reached half-a-crown per head for everything, and for this sum the maximum of enjoyment was obtained. Short papers were read at several of the meetings on the Natural History or Archaeology of the districts visited. year to organise a general Field Club for all the Suburban Branches, and arrangements for this purpose are now being made. We shall heartily welcome new members at any of these meetings. Besides these, the Branches have done considerable service in other directions. They have materially aided in preserving many of the most picturesque spots round London. During the winter months papers and lectures have been given at the local institutes, clubs and else- where, while from time to time leaflets are published and distributed free by the Society, appealing to the Public to discourage the digging up of wild flowers and ferns by the roots, and pointing out the cruelty involved by wearing ospreys’ and other feathers. Last year was the Centenary of the death of Gilbert White, of Selborne, from whom the Society derives A visit was paid to the village of Selborne, in Hampshire, by a large number of members and their friends. exceptional weather, a most enjoyable day was spent. The visitors explored the various spots so well known to readers of Gilbert White's book, “The Wakes,” “the church,” the “ Hanger,” &c. A luncheon was afterwards partaken of, presided over by Lord Selborne, Sir John Lubbock, the President, being unable to attend. It was suggested to erect a fitting memorial to Gilbert White, a matter which is at present receiving the consideration of the Council. - The Badge, a representation of which accompanies this article, is worn at all Field Meetings, and forms a ready means of recognition. The design is the Myosotis, combined with the initials of the Society S.S. enamelled on silver, and can be had either in the form of Brooches, Pins, or Badges. - W. R. Marshman Wattson, whose address can be found on page 34 will be very happy to give any further inform- ation to intending members, either ladies or gentlemen. It is anticipated this year that by means of the arrange- ments previously referred to, a very interesting and enjoyable series of Saturday afternoon rambles will be obtained. W. B. GERISEI. The following articles are in preparation to appear in - The North London Natural History Society. The south , × 2 .. The City of , x - -> The Norfolk and Norwich Naturalists , The Suffolk Institute of Natural History; - and others. -> xx 1t is proposed this The country was charming, and favoured with y r - TELE 41 GIPSY JOURNAL. * * * - $29A3 2Tºš º Sº? ºTº #ºss Gipsy Journal, An Occasional Magazine. Organ of Footpath Preservation and Common Rights Associations; for protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals ; for the Preservation of all Natural Beauties; the Ramblers’, Cyclists’, and Holiday-makers’ Friend. -- To Lovers of Nature 25,000 Subscribers wanted to ensure regular Monthly Periodical. ADVERTISEMENTS are received at the rate of 2s. per in. or £3 3s. per page 1 15 half do. 1 O quarter do. 1216 one-eighth do. Liberal terms for repeating, or blocks. No Canvassers or Advertising Agents to pay. Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0. may be made payable to - H. CRAPPER, G.P.O., Stratford, Essex. All other communications should be addressed to Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. our Journal being established as a THE MOON. SINCE time began, how many myriads of eyes have gazed with wonder on the silvery moon, “refulgent lamp of night,” as she has pursued through the long aeons of the past, her stately course in the heavens P Her waxing and her waning—the birth of the new and the decline of the old moon, have been never-failing sources of interest to the children of men. To the few only it has been given to understand the causes of the lights and shadows which are continually fitting over the face of the “beauty of heaven.” May the few soon become the many Night's luminary is known to all as our moon, but all are not aware of the fact that our earth is the moon of our moon ; and few have any conception of how grand a moon the world makes. To the inhabitants (if any) of our moon, the earth gives thirteen times more light than the moon favours us with. When the moon is full and the sky cloudless how charming is the sight ; but let us imagine thirteen full moons shining at the same time, and we will have some idea what full moon is to the Lunarians. Now all may know something of the moon- light of the moon if they would give themselves the trouble to think and observe. When the earth is at the absolute point of being full moon to the moon we do not see the moon at all, but immediately after that point is passed a very slender crescent, which we call the new moon, becomes visible. At this period, the earth being nearly full moon to the moon, the light it gives is very great, and the otherwise dark portion of the moon’s dise is illuminated. The narrow rim or crescent is burnished with sunlight, the remainder of the circle, which is distinctly visible, is lit up with moonlight. Thus we can realise, to some extent, the beauty of the full moonlight of the moon—the sun’s light reflected from mother earth on her faithful attendant the moon.— º A FEw months ago, says a writer in a naturalist journal, I was spending some time with friends in the southern part of Illinois. During my stay an incident occurred which astonished me not a little. It was on an early morning that I was awakened by a twittering outside my window. Looking out I saw two curious festoons hanging from the sill, and apparently in motion. It was, in fact, two semi- circles composed of twenty or thirty little wrens clinging together with foot and wing. They clung there for about two minutes, twittering mournfully all the while; then, suddenly, as if by common consent, they broke loose and flew away. Going out shortly afterwards, I found a dead wren directly under the window from which the strange festoon had hung. It looked as though the affectionate little creatures had been singing a dirge over their dead- friend. Upon consulting one who has made natural history a life study, I learned that this was called “the wren’s requiem,” and is an established fact though rarely seen. 42 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. º - FROM THE ºil Eſ...}, jºi"E. "G JUST four years ago this Spring, I rather surprised my small circle of friends by posting off suddenly for a walking tour through the Black Forest, and several incidents of that solitary ramble abide vividly in memory unto this day. Acquaintances snugly ensconced in easy chairs before a blazing fire in the reading room of a City club, smiled things sympathetic and cynical at the innocence of one who ventured alone to brave the chill pine-forests and the snow clad altitudes of the Schwarzwald in the month of April, and, doubtless voted me a lunatic. Nevertheless, that walk of some eleven days amid the snow and the pines was one of the grandest I ever had. To any reader who is perfectly sound in lungs and limbs the novelty of a walk of this kind should prove a strong attraction. Such a one is likely enough to be the only tourist swallow at the hotels, and the landlords—or more probably the landladies—will make much of him when present, and talk more of him after he has departed. - Ettlingen to Freiberg—this was the route I chose, and the first day's march through Frauenalb and Herrenalb, most of it, though pine-groves, was an inspiration, like the breath of heaven, to London lungs. The elevating effects of these pine-laden breezes are wonderful, and the atmos- phere of the crowded village inn, where I took luncheon after walking through that ambrosial atmosphere, was equally nauseous by contrast. Our cousins, the Germans, have a strange liking for crowded, unventilated, stuffy rooms, and seem to regard a breath of fresh air in railway carriage, tram, or dwelling-house like a French victory. Possibly, my Gipsy friends, you think that to wander for eleven days in such solitary guise across the Black Forest requires a profound knowledge of German. Not a bit of it. The first twenty exercises of a good school book, if thoroughly prepared, are, let me assure you, far more than we average Englishmen want when travelling in France and Germany. So many people debar themselves the pleasure of Continental rambles—I do not mean tours through towns and cities—because they think themselves not up in the language. But this is a great mistake. A very little of the language, well learned, goes a very long way; besides, if you keep your ears open, you are likely to learn more French or German during a fortnight abroad than by studying it, at intervals, for six months at home. Remember that one great advantage of all travel is to gain information. - When you do walk through the Schwarzwald and get as far as a hamlet called Schonmiinzach, look on a wayside refreshment house outside that hamlet, and shed a tear in honour of the Editor of this paper, since he was there “done out of four shillings.” The skinniest, most bony and tasteless of the finny tribe that ever come out of tarn or tank were served up for a mid-day meal, for which a mercenary host demanded well into five shillings. Had not a sanguinary monster called a bloodhound barred the way to the door that four shillings would have remained a debt unto this day. From Schonmiinzach up to the top of the Hornisgrinde was a grand ascent, the snow getting thicker and thicker all the way, and not a human voice or sound of other living thing breaking the solitude. The next morning saw me seated on a mossy stone, basking in the genial Spring sunshine beneath the ruins of Allerheilige—a former monas- tic foundation. Legends innumerable cluster round these decaying walls, and a few yards lower down the road a colossal waterfall bounds into the depths of the earth some three hundred feet below. These sudden contrasts from winter-clad heights and pines moaning over the deep snow to valleys smiling amid the genial promises of verdant Spring made the walk memorable. On the Feldberg I had an adventure. The Feldberg Hotel is some distance from the Tower on the top of the mountain, and shortly after setting out, the mountain mist mingled with the snow at my feet, which suddenly seemed to collapse and let me into the bed of a running stream. Fortunately the latter was not deep, but on scrambling out, the white fog abated not in denseness, and I blindly groped my way. When the fog had driven away, I was on the edge of an eminence towering above an encircling fringe of mountain pines, and looking down on the murky waters of the Feldberger See, hundreds of feet below. The Feldberg is the highest mountain in the Schwartzwald, and though this was the end of April the view from the Tower presented a series of pine-clad summits all buried more or less in snow. No wonder the landlord of the hotel was still suffering the dire consequences of a late attack of influenza. The dining-room and other guest chambers, which in August re-echo with Teutonic revelry and mirth, were deserted, so we gathered round the great fire in the kitchen, THE GIPSY JOURNAL 43 the landlord, his wife, the maids and I. The landlord, poor soul, talked about the Russian influenza, his old father snored awfully, the others stared into the fire, and I betook myself to my bedroom, and wrote an article to “ The Echo” on the wonderful superiority of the Schwarzwalders to ourselves in technical education, meagre com- paratively though their resources are. The descent from the Feldberg to the Freiburg valley was no less swift and steep—though the road is good—than pleasing. The whole valley was bathed in sunshine. Daisies, orchard blossom, chestnuts in bloom, all testified to the annual miracle of Spring. The next day I rambled through the buildings of the Freiburg University and listened to a Teutonic professor instilling : lessons of wisdom into the minds of his students. - - - #: :*: :}; :*: % I am only too pleased to hear from my old and valued friend, Mr. Swinstead. A few months ago, I saw Mr. Swinstead's name and work held up for admiration in the columns of “Tit-Bits.” I have ascertained from Mr. Swinstead that old books, old clothing, &c., are of immense help to “The Gipsy Van,” and in case any readers desire to co-operate in this direction, I will most gladly give them any further information. WHO MADE THE LAND Who made the land 2 - Did you, or you Who call this land your own From out your hand Came it, you few, Or from our God’s alone 2 What man can make He owns; 'tis right; That justly is his own ; But this you take From us by might, By right;ºtis ours alone ; This land you dare your own to call, This, Lords and Squires, belongs to all. Your title show This land to own ; Who signed it? Man or God God gave it? No! . The sword alone, Or some old tyrant's nod; - What was no king's No king could give. The sun, the common air, The earth are things For all that live To gladden on and share; We laugh at those who dare to call The land their own ; ’twas made for all. Song * * *S* OUR MOUNTAIN CORNER. WE have already published short articles for mountaineers in England and Wales. It is now Ireland's turn. In our next issue we shall print a few lines on Scotch mountains. Precedent, in the shape of our recent account of the Black Sail, seems to have decreed that these articles shall be humorous, and it is only in accordance with the fitness of things that the Editor shall follow suit. Let me then descend from the editorial “we,” and state that five years ago, a friend and myself left Killarney one glorious August morning to make the ascent of Carrantual in the Mcgillicuddies. My friend, only a few days ago, obtained the highest prize that Cambridge University under- graduates can carry off, and since both of us: were dead beat at the day's end, and borne, utterly discomfited in life and limb, back into Killarney, lying hors de combat at the bottom of a pig-cart, etiquette perhaps demands that my friend's name should be kept from public gaze. Had it only been an English or even a Scotch pig-cart things might have been more tolerable to two violent anti-Home Rulers, but we both felt, on crawling out of the redolent vapours of that vehicle and sneaking, ignominiously and in the dark back into Killarney, that Parnell and Home Rule were that hour avenged. - We had done nearly forty miles, however, and much of that steep mountain climbing, so that when the sound of wheels came upon us lying exhausted on the grassy sward, we possibly imagined the approach of a coach and four. In the early morning things had been couleur de rose, and my friend had the day before sought out a crafty Celt, Dan Moriarty by name, learned in the secret paths and rocky steeps of the Mcgilli- cuddies, who was to meet us in the Gap of Dunloe, and conduct us in triumph up the 3,414 feet which lay between us and the highest point in Ireland. Our Daniel proved a trusty guide enough, and had a keen eye to the main chance withal. Our bargain was half-a-sovereign for the day, but, in proportion to our advancing altitude, this sum rose and rose in the good man's eye, until, as we stood at last on Carran- tual and gazed proudly at the surrounding summits and down on Bantry, Kenmare and Dingle Bays, Dan caught up our enthusiasm and declared that our feeble arithmetic was totally unable to measure the market value of such a vision. Of course we put a few pebbles on the 44 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. mountain pile and left Carrantual higher than he was created. Two iron-clads lay in Bantry Bay, and northward the silvery windings of the Shannon stole into the great Atlantic. Was Dan in league with the few peasants who had straggled across our upward path that morning, I wonder, since one and all turned out to make monetary hay in the sunshine of our advent. Here is a specimen of a dweller on Carrantual’s verdant slopes. Dan introduced him to us as John Connor. Connor literally beamed on us with alcoholic expectancy, and we were entertained with the following passage of rhetoric which was a few days later printed in a leading London paper. It will be observed that Connor's estimate of pros- pective emolument was two shillings. Dan : 'avin for two shillin's, John Connor * * Connor : “Shure, and eleven glasses, I spose at truppence.” (Here we failed to follow the logic of Celtic arithmetic.) - Dan : “Jest lave us thin, now, and ye’ll be seein’ the ginthlemin on the road back.” Connor : “Shure, and it's a cliver rhogue that ye are, Dan, for the ginthlemin will be returnin' by the Black Valley.” - - Dan : “Why, thin, ye’ll not be seein’ us again, athall, athall, Connor.” - Connor : “Hould yer tongue. Dan, for it’s a good guide their honours have, an’ I’ll not be botherin' thim further. And so, at enmity with both Dan and ourselves, John Connor stole back to his mountain cot.” - The common way up Carrantual is through the Hag's Glen, the wildest spot in Ireland, followed by a steep cliff-scramble up the Devil's Ladder, whence a ridge leads to the top. The Hag's Lake is in the bottom of the glen, with an island called the Hag's Bed, whilst a prominence on the mountain side is called the Hag's Tooth. * The descent on the other side was a rough and tumble business indeed, mostly resembling primi- tive tobogganing. I would advise all visitors to Carrantual to secure a guide both ascending and descending. Our descent led us into the Black Valley, a wild and gloomy ravine, emerging from which we were blockaded by begging peasants, who requested us to “pay yer foothin' ginthie- men,” either in the way of tobacco or whiskey. Some of the peasants made a pretence of offering | us goat’s milk for sale. A bonnie Celtic lass, Kaythie by name, was very prominent among the latter. - - Somehow, these peasant girls have learned the art of separating money from others than pure fools, and only in Madeira have I seen them eclipsed in the art of begging. Visitors to Funchal will recollect the multitude “An how much whishkey will ye be roundings only. of skinny native hands which clutch the surf boats to the very last in hope of one more coin, but in the Gap of Dunloe no surf boat bore us away from the importunate sons and daughters of Erin. The last individual I recollect was a Kerry peasant, whose “wintry locks and tresses grey '' fully confirmed his statinent that he was the “Father of the Gap.” Of course no tender- hearted Englishman could resist such a claim as this. There is one moral which I should like to draw from our visit to the Mcgillicuddies, namely the desirability of giving the inhabitants technical education. That they are poor no one can deny. They are brimful of good nature, too. I have examined the natural conditions of peasants in the Black Forest and elsewhere, and think that the one thing necessary to improve the lot , of many of our Irish fellow-subjects is a sound system of technical education. SHORT RAMBLES, 1 I advise you, for a short walk, to take a ticket to Cheshunt, G.E.R., and to ask to be shown over the fields past the Government Factory up to Monkhams. The stroll from Monkhams past Woodriddings to High Beech is delightful, and from High Beech you go on to Chingford. I should imagine that in rainy weather the fields near the Government Factor might be too wet to be pleasant. - 2. There is no more enjoyable short walk than that from New Southgate, G.N.R., to Enfield. This embraces a stroll through a charming wood and by the side of one of the most lovely reaches of the New River I know of. If you want to walk farther than Enfield make for Cockfoster and proceed through Hadley Woods to New Barnet station. - 3. - - Those who are fonder of strolling than vigorous walking will find ample scope for a day’s outing in Hadley Woods and their sur- The old church, the site of the battle of Barnet, the village stocks on Hadley Common, are objects full of interest, and the finest inn in North London is the Hadley Hotel. 4. 2 Harrow is a good centre for a day's walk round by Bentley Priory, Stanmore, Whitechurch to Hendon (Midland Railway) or Hampstead. The village blacksmith is buried in Whitechurch churchyard, and at the church itself Handel was once organist. You can see the familiar notes scored on the tombstone. Bentley Priory was once the abode of Queen Adelaide, and Stanmore village is simply idyllic. - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 45 º - º RAMBLERS ºiſſiſ||Tiii. --~~~~~~~~~~~---------------------------- No Association ever had a better object in view, and deserved more popular support, than the Commons Preservation Society,” but it is by no means strong enough for the gigantic task of preventing the wholesale plunder, by private individuals, of common lands and paths in the whole of the United Kingdom. No person who walks with open eyes and ears can doubt that pilfering of public land has existed for years, and still continues. In many cases whole commons have been enclosed, while in others the process of absorption is being gradually accomplished. The great reason for this pilfering of common land is the inability of the residents and villagers to combine in order to oppose a grasping squire. The better class are his friends, who meet him in social life, while the villagers would lose the means of livelihood in the event of opposing him. The means adopted in many cases are very ingenious, ungenerous, and underhand. The ideas of the squire's ownership of common land are gradually and carefully spread until people believe such must be the case. Frequently where the commoners have exercised such rights as cutting gorse for fuel, those of turbary and digging gravel for domestic use, the lord of the manor has stepped in and informed them that the continuance of these acts must be by his permission alone, and knowing well that absorption must be a gradual process, this permission is not suddenly withheld. Enormous power is thus given to the lord or squire to say a few years afterwards, “I enclosed the land 20 years ago (probably by an almost in- visible wire fencing a few inches in height), since which time no rights of common have been exer- cised. I therefore claim that by the Statute of Limitation I am entitled to the land as my personal property.” A popular, but erroneous, opinion exists that common land belongs to the public generally for recreative purposes, but the reverse is really the case, as legally a person not having rights over certain common land is a trespasser if he venture thereon. Some people have rights of common in their parish on account of owning land within its boundaries, and by reason of their having exercised without hindrance their rights from time immemorial. In many instances where the tenure is of the nature of a copyhold, specific rights are mentioned in deeds, and frequently the * See under Clubs. number of animals permitted to be turned out to pasture will be found enumerated. In such cases it is of enormous importance that the rights should be exercised in order that their use be not allowed to lapse under the Statute of Limitation. - It is as well to call attention to the purposes for which Lords of Manors were created. Under the feudal system the Lord of a Manor was bound to perform some service for the benefit of his Sove- reign and country, such as supplying a number of men during war, or keeping certain roads in order. Such services are now rarely, if ever, heard of as being rendered by the lord, who, however, does not forget to claim his heriot or his fine on succession to property in the parish. Another important matter which is of great public interest, is the frequent loss or destruction of ancient vestry records, which, in many instances, mention the extent and boundaries of common lands. It is to be hoped that a Bill will be passed by Parliament compelling these records to be copied or placed in safe custody at certain centres. Such a Bill would not, however, be complete without powers being given to vestries or other public bodies to make full enquiry into the subject of lost records on such demand being made by a fixed number of parishioners. The necessity for preserving open spaces is growing more important every year, owing to the º - It is surprising that more increase of population. crime does not exist when one considers the squalor and poverty in which a large class of the popula- tion exists, and the small amount of healthy recrea- tion which it is possible for the poor to obtain. There is, however, a very general feeling existing that not only should future land-grabbing be stopped, but restoration made in cases which have occurred within a few years, and that the stigma contained in the following lines be removed :- “The law takes up the man or woman Who steals a goose from off the common; But lets the greater villain loose Who steals the common from the goose.” R. RITHERDON, FOR nearly a quarter of a century, Mr. Hunter, now Sir Robert, has fought the battle of open spaces for the people of London, and of other great towns. In the struggle for Epping Forest. for Plumstead Common, the Surrey Commons, and other tracts of open land, while others have been in the forefront, Mr. Hunter has been the patient, laborious, indomitable legal champion of popular rights. The people of London owe him more than they know. - - 46 JOURNAL. THE GIPSY FORTUNE GREEN, West Hampstead, was the scene of an enthusiastic meeting, called by the “Fortune Green Preservation Society’ to protest against the destruction of trees, and to urge the residents of the neighbourhood to maintain intact their ancient rights of free and unrestricted enjoy- ment of “ the village green.” According to report, the spot has always been a “village green.” appearing as such in a map of Middlesex dated 1700; and those now claiming to be the owners of it can show no title. The Home Secretary is said to sympathise with the movement for its preservation, and the L. C. C. and the Hampstead Vestry are to be called upon to assist the inhabitants in securing its preservation. Open spaces in the metropolis cannot be too jealously guarded, and it is to be hoped the “Fortune Green Preservation Society” may succeed in securing its praiseworthy object. THE Ninth Annual Report of the National Foot- path Preservation Society contains much interest- ing matter. The Society has dealt with 183 cases of footpath interference and encroachment during the past twelve months, and has successfully prevented the closing of old footpaths in the majority of cases. Seventy-three new members, including 28 public bodies, have been enrolled. It is gratifying to learn that there are now 130 public bodies, including 51 corporations, affiliated to this society, which is doing good work in such an unobtrusive manner. WORLDS WONDERS. A BIT of flint under a powerful microscope is one of the wonders of the world. Every atom of its substance is seen to be composed of the silicious skeletons of infinite minute animals. Whether the flint supplied a sepulchre for these creatures, or whether, dying in immense numbers, their con- solidated skeletons formed the flint, is a question about which microscopists have not agreed; but it is certain that the flint is the result of life, and that this particular form, like coal, is a product of animated nature. THE vast sun, to which we are under such sensible obligations for light, heat, life, and vegetation, is the centre of a vast system of planets, or globes like the earth; all of which move round his body at immense distances. º: -:42 ºxTºº u- ~-a- - - #FAU ºff" - } %FLORAºAND §% ********** - THE manner in which some plants travel is peculiar. A certain weed was transferred to an Antarctic island in the mould clinging to a spade, and soon became common. Birds carry seeds in- the clay which sticks to their feet; sheep and other animals in their hair; and few things are more common than the dispersion of edible plants by birds and beasts. The struggle for existence - between the native and the alien flora is, on a small scale, as remarkable as the same process in the case of men. In the end the struggle tends to right itself, for the prolific growth of the alien species on favourable ground leads to severe internal competition, and after the earth is drained of the substances which they specially require, they die a natural death, while the native plants which were temporarily banished recover their position. A CURIOUS instance of what might be called a device of nature to secure the continued existence of certain forms of life under disadvantageous circumstances has recently attracted attention in discussion of the brilliancy of the colours of Alpine flowers. It is known that insects are the most important agents in the fertilization of flowers, and this is true of the flowers that bloom among the snows of the Alps as well as those that cover the meadows far below. But it has been observed, at the same time, that the bees and butterflies which ascend the mountains in order to visit the brightly-coloured flowers growing there perish by the thousand in the sudden cold that envelops the peaks and glaciers at nightfall. It is only the extraordinary attractiveness of the beautiful mountain flowers that induces their insect admirers to venture into the realm of snow and ice. Here, then, according to the view of Doctor Joly, the principle of the survival of the fittest in the struggle for existence comes into play. Those Alpine flowers which possess the most vivid colours succeed in attracting the insects whose visits are essential to their propagation, while the less beautifully-coloured blossoms are neglected. The result is that only the brighter flowers are able to survive, and hence the peculiar brilliancy of the flora of the high Alps. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 47 - THE EXTERIMINATION OF BIRDS. By EDITH CARRINGTON. If once it could be impressed on the general mind that the bird-catcher and his supporters, in high places or low, are enemies to the human race, the battle for the birds would be won. When Ignorance is routed Cruelty will flee. If once the fruit-growers, gardeners, and farmers learn that birds help instead of harming them, they will find their interest is to preserve them, and will do so. There- fore the cue for those who wish to help the birds is that they be instant, in season and out ºf season, to teach and upbraid as incessantly as occasion offers. The old and bigoted may not lend themselves to new doctrines, but we have the young in our hands. In winter the starving birds ought to provoke our pity. They should be fed, and not robbed of the hedge fruits and berries. It ought to be part of every child’s education to master at least the rough plan of how a bird feeds. Primers should at least contain such rudimentary facts as that the sparrow feeds its young thirty-six times an hour, the redstart twenty- three times, with more that one grub at a time, the chaffinch thirty-five times in an hour, mºst often with green caterpillars, the titmouse sixteen times an hour with various insects; that a rookery of ten thousand birds was computed to have devoured upwards of two hundred tons of cockchafer grubs and wireworms, and that a single pair of starlings will rid of more than twelve thousand larvae in four months. It should be taught to every boy and girl that the small birds, almost without exception, eat in twenty-four hours an amount of food which equals about one-sixth of their own weight; which, supposing that human beings ate so much, would mean that a man ate twenty-five pounds of food in a like time. This bird- food consists of our secret enemies, or almost entirely so, noxious insects, harmful weeds. Surely all this is worth a paltry handful of fruit, or a scattering of corn Let the rising generation be made to understand that the Universe is the work of a careful architect, not a mere blundering hap hazard accident, and that Nature's corrective, the hawk, the jay, the owl, are appointed to act as a wise and vigilant police force over the smaller fry, and are a sufficient check, if left to do their work upon over-multiplication. But the rising generation must be trained to use their eyes, if a better state of things is to be secured, not only for a few weeks of the year, but all the year round. Not alone when the bird is taking a little transitory toll in payment for his services, but while he is, for the majority of his time, doing unmixed good. The precept of wise old Marcus Aurelius is a very sound one : “First, do nothing inconsiderately or without a purpose. Second, make the acts refer to nothing else but to a social end.” Such a mode of thought as this alone will avert the real and imminent peril in which the world now stands owing to the selfish principle of “Every one for himself.” It astonishes the present representative of humanity extremely, if one tells him he has not the right to destroy. It will not always be thus, for the race has within itself the latent power of turning its very failures into successes. But it rests with our generation to mould the newt, and avert the contingencies which it foresees—among them a birdless world, which means an uninhabitable one, given over to impalpable hosts of enemies too small and too vast in number for man to combat. “What wilt thou do, poor man? How wilt thou multiply thyself P. Hast thou wings to pursue them P Hast thou even eyes to see them 2 Thou may st kill them at thy pleasure, their security is complete. Where thou triumphest by sword and fire, burning up the plant itself, thou hearest all around the light whirring of the great army of atoms which gives no heed to thy victory, and destroys unseen.” Time and space have failed, amid the sterner aspects to be regarded, for any survey on the poetic side, of how an earth without the melodious charm of winged choristers could be endured; all that has been lost in an attempt to set forth the real danger that we are in of learning what a silent joyless desert such a world would be.—Humani- tarian League's Publication, No. 10. (See also under Clubs, page 34. SA WBRIDGE WORTH BANID OF MERCY. -- On the Sawbridgeworth “Band of Mercy” roll we have 363 members' names; at Litcham Street, Kentish Town, there are 130. Thanks to the Hon. Sec., Mr. Millward, the Litcham Street Band gets on well. The members meet during the winter every Thursday evening. Twelve of them with Mr. Millward attended the great Crystal Palace meeting when the prizes for essays on kindness to animals were given away by the R.S.P.C.A. The children throw less stones than they used to and have been warned against breaking glass bottles and leaving the glass in the road, or throwing it into ponds, a dangerous practice which causes injury to dogs and even to people. Here we would put in a protest against catapults. We are shocked to know that they are in common use in Sawbridgeworth even by girls. We believe the police can interfere in this matter. The use of catapults is mean and cruel, and the children or youths who employ them ought to be thoroughly ashamed of themselves. :}; * º: #: %: º: º: :}; Wild bird stores are on the increase : they are demoralising in many ways; the temptation is almost irresistible to the children to buy a live bird when they can do so for lò or #d. The little creatures are tormented in various ways. Bird-catching goes on all the year round, and will do so until a law is enacted which can be enforced. It has been suggested that it should be necessary for dealers in living and dead British wild birds to have a licence, and this proposition has met with the approval of several practical men. At any rate, the sooner something is done to stop bird-catching and its resultant cruelties and injuries the better. The Rev. T. Timmins having sent us a ticket, six of the Litcham Street Band with Mr. Millward were enabled to attend a Mercy Band meeting at Lady Ashburton's ; this they greatly enjoyed. C. BARNARD. 48 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. HºMEETINGS.;º- - 0XF0RDSHIRE NATURAL HISTORY & FIELD GLUB. A MEETING of this society was held in February in the geological lecture room at the Museum. The President (Mr. Warde Fowler) was in the chair, and there was a good attendance of members. The President then made some remarks respecting the programme for the coming session. He hoped that during the spring and summer, walks might be arranged in connection with some of the lectures, and that the members would be encouraged by these walks to become working naturalists, that some results he hoped might accrue to the society in the way of several short papers on the summer's work for the next winter session. He recommended as subjects not yet brought before the society: moles and birds in their rela- tions to the farmer, bee-keeping and wasps. IMIR. SIDG WICE ON THE ** CATERPILLAR of NOTOIDONTA IDICTAEA” Mr. Sidgwick then gave his paper on the “Caterpillar of Notodonta Dictaea.” He began by explaining the usual appearance and habits of the caterpillar. It is not uncommon round Oxford, and may be found by those who know how to look for it, in September or October, in open spots in woods, on the small aspen poplar. When a branch shows freshly eaten leaves at the end of it, on turning it over there may be found lying on the rib below the leaf a long light green caterpillar with spikes on the tail, a yellowish stripe along the body, which is smooth, and has the usual sixteen legs with which it clasps the twig. Its colour and general appearance are eminently suited for concealment, but the apparent thickening of the twig makes the caterpillar obvious to the eye of the experienced naturalist. Seen by itself on white paper the caterpillar may seem conspicuous enough, but in its natural surroundings it is extremely well protected by its colour. Mr. Sidgwick then went on to relate how one day last autumn, at the close of an unsuccessful expedition, he gave a blow to a white poplar, which brought down a shower of twigs and with them a caterpillar, which at first he failed to recognise. It showed, indeed, a strongly marked hump on the tail, but in other respects differed considerably from any he would have expected to find there. On further investigation, he had to conclude that this was only a dictaea, but instead of the usual smooth green caterpillar this kind was brown, with alternating dashes of darker and lighter shades, and the surface was roughened. How could this be accounted for P The caterpillar that lives on the aspen bush is like the aspen twig ; but this one living on the white poplar had assumed the look and form of the white poplar twig. This was forcibly borne out later when the naturalist saw a number of twigs of the white poplar lying on the road, and looking almost exactly like the caterpillar he had found. Mr Sidg- wick had not been able to find any mention of such a change or variety in dictæa in any book on the subject. He added that, of course no result can be worth much which depends on one case, but he intended searching the white poplars next autumn, and would be glad if any of the members of the society would assist in the investigation. ST, NIGH0 LAS CLUB Queen Victoria St., London. ON February 17th, a party of “ramblers,” from the St. Nicholas Club, Queen Victoria Street, City, accompanied by the secretary, Mr. F. W. Hildyard, paid a visit to the Natural History Museum, South Kensington. Notwithstanding the wet weather there were more ladies than gentlemen present. The party had the benefit of the guidance of Mr. H. Bernard, F.Z.S. A SCHEME has been started under the auspices of the Essex Field Club, to form an Epping Forest museum, to illustrate the natural history, archaeology, &c., of the district. The museum is to be strictly local, and no object gathered outside. a defined area is to find a place in it. OUTINGS. Selborne Society (Clapton Branch) Rambling Club. - April 14, Epping (Lower) Forest. Liverpool St., 2.32, Wood St., 3.0, and walk through the Forest, nr Woodford, to Chingford. - April 28. To Old Church and Manor House, Cheshunt. Liverpool St., 2.15, for Waltham Cross Station. Paper by Mr. W. B. Gerish. May 19. Chingford to Chigwell, via Roding Valley. Liverpool St., 2.32. Paper by Mr. W. B. Gerish. PRESS NoTICE. — London’s Organ THE CITY PRESS SAYS : THOSE who delight in country rambles will find this bright little paper, which is edited by one of the masters at the City of London School, a journal just to their liking. “The Gipsy Journal,” which has but recently come into existence, is written by ramblers for fellow ramblers, and aims at protecting rights of way, and providing chatty papers on rural wanderings. jºjº º - -- -- - "º. º ºr ºxº - sº sº $º Žº N2: ::ff --- Sºº--→-ºsſº * RAMBLERS' LEAVES IFIROIM TEIB “BOOK OF NAT IJR E.” ~ JUNE. A series of Out-door Sketches containing the secret of HOW TO OBSERVE WITHOUT DESTROYNE Miss EDITH CARRINGTON will appear in July and following months’ issues of this Journal : NO. 5. A Fallºn Tr}}. 6. Dimº Nature's Thriſt. 7. A Pºp Undergºld. 8. A Dºld Lºiſ. 9. Thorls All Tilsilº. | 10. The Homb Of the Lark. Order at once. If you cannot obtain a copy let us know by post card, giving the date and bookstall or news- agent, and we will send you a COPY FREE Address—G.J. office, 30, Chandos Rd. Stratford, E. GIPsy Jottings. IT is a common fact that birds are nearly as sensitive in their likes and dislikes as dogs. Some people can never gain the friendship of a caged bird. A bird has to learn by experience that it is safe with a human being before it will respond to kind treatment. - SoME of the sweetest pleasures of noble hearts have been derived from the dumb, loving companionship and attachment. of an innocent bird or animal. BUTTERFLIES. THE time for seeing beautiful butterflies and insects is come. In other years the cruel sight has been seen of little children catching and fastening them with pins to pieces of wood to slowly die in torture. They knew no better because not taught. When told, how readily have such children expressed - their sorrow, and said they would never be guilty of such bad conduct again. - Save the dear children fathers, mothers, and teachers of day and Sunday-schools from these thoughtless, soiling cruelties. by words of instruction in time. The long, dark night of. cruelty to human and dumb creatures is passing away, the day | of light and kindness is rapidly coming in.--Echo. THANKS to my stars I can say I have never killed a bird. I would not crush the meanest, harmless insec. that crawls my pocket. now feathered and almost ready to fly. morning I found them all cut up into quarters. upon the gromnd. They have the same right to life that I have, they received it from the same Father, and I will not mar the works of God by wanton cruelty. I can remember an incident in my childhood, which has given a turn to my whole life and character. I found a nest of birds in my father's field which held four young ones. They had no down when I first discovered them. They opened their little mouths as if they were hungry, and I gave them some crumbs which were in Every day I returned to feed them. As soon as school was done I would run home for some bread, and sit by the nest to see them eat for an hour at a time. They were When I came one The grass round the nest was red with blood. The little limbs were raw and bloody. The mother was on the tree, and the father on the wall, mourning for their young—Channing. - THE GIPsy journal. EORRESPONDENCE E. O. NºwMAN, writing from 4, Eastcheap, encourages us thus: Thanks for the numbers you have sent me for distribution. I have sent a set to my son in Manchester, with a letter asking his interest in the periodical; have also given a copy each to some clerks in the office here; the rest I will try and dispose of equally well.” For this good news much thanks. W. A. YoUNG.—Thanks exceedingly for article, which will doubtless appear before long. The “Studland ’’ article in our First Spring Number was a decided success. I am not surprised you find some very charming spots about York, as Yorkshire is the Editor's own native country. A few particulars about the best walk you have found—say that between York and Huntington—might be of interest to our readers. S. J. R. (Manchester).-lt is more than kind of you to look the newsagents up. We are hoping to get the Gipsy Journal on the book stalls of the Metropolitan Railway here, but, in the provinces, we are likely, for some time to come, to be dependent on our friends. Both publishers and editors are prepared to wait patiently. W. B. SPEAR–I was glad to receive the verses, and you must not be discouraged at their non-appearance in the Gipsy Journal. You see we print so little poetry, and we have already asked another contributor to help us in this matter. - F. W. HILDYARD, the Secretary of the St. Nicholas Club, 81, Queen Victoria Street, writes : “I think your Gipsy Journal fills a gap in periodical literature—for myself, I am very glad to welcome it, and will do my best to place it before the members of our club. We are thinking of joining (some of us) a good Field Club.”—Since it is just possible some of our readers may not be acquainted with the Club from which Mr. Hildyard writes, let me say that the St. Nicholas Club is something almost unique, since it contains both men and women, 400 members in all. Professor Shuttleworth, the founder, in whose parish of St. Nicholas the Club is situated, is the life and soul of the whole business, whilst the Lord Mayor, the Earl of Meath and Miss Ellen Terry are among the vice-presidents. The attractions offered to City workers in the way of sensible recreation and sociability after business hours, for the annual subscription of 15s., are simply astounding. “I have seen,” says Professor Shuttleworth, “weary-faced lonely girls grow happy of countenance and bright of mien ; I have seen shy, loutish young fellows become more polished and refined in manner, less self-centred in habits.” Surely here at last we have a fin de siècle club. GEoRGE CHAMBERS.–I hope we shall be able to use your “Night Walk” in due time. If you have any other sketches of short rambles, by all means send them on. Readers can always do a service by sending on a few lines whenever they come across a nice, short ramble, espe- cially near London. We are always harder up for short walks than long ones. C.A.SYMons.—The “Botley Hill Walk” is quite safe and you may be sure that it will be used if we have space. Thanks for kind wishes. W. FINCKH (Stuttgart). —Your translation from Hansa came just in the very nick of time for the Science Corner in our present issue. I am curious to hear what our sub- scribers will say of “The Doctrine of Calming the Sea.” It is easy to believe that with your glorious weather and all the fruit trees in full bloom, the country round Stutt- gart looks its very best. The chestnut bloom in the Schlossplatz must be charming. Some day, this summer, you may welcome, in dear old Stuttgart, travellers con- nected with the Gipsy Journal. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, jºc. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. COMMON'S PESERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom.) Great George Street, Westminster. — Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science J. Mills, Hon. Sec. Forest Ramblers’ Club - - 97, Tabernacle Street, London J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Hampshire Field Club Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Maidenhead Naturalists’ Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. NATIONAL FOOTPATH PRESERVATION SOCIETY (130 Branches.) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. Northern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec Old Friends Ramblers’ Club Shepherd's Bush. P. Hinde, Hon. Sec. People’s Palace Rambling Club Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. SELEORNE SOCIETY (51 Branches, 3000 Members) Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, - Hon. Sec. South Place Ramblers 30, Benthall Rd, Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. St. Nicholas Club (See Correspondence) 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. F. W. Hildyard, Sec. HUIMANITARIAN LEAGUE For Membership, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, N.W. - Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. $3 Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. ' TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 51 - - 3OMME GREATH}RES OF WAY A891A. NTANGE. No. III. A QUEER BOARDER. ONE day as I was sitting by myself, the servant came into the room and said, “would I please to step into the kitchen for a minute 2 for that there was SOMETHING there.” As she spoke her voice shook with fright, and her face was quite pale. At once I went out to see what this terrific “something ” could be, which blanched the faces of the spectators and produced all this agitation, but on looking round the kitchen it appeared perfectly empty, and devoid of anything whatever in the shape of monster, dragon or other fearful visitant. - “Oh, if you please Ma'am, it is sitting out by the sink!” said the maid, quite ready to drop. What is it?” asked I. “Oh, if you please Ma'am, I dont know, but it do jump at anybody dreadful l’” Somewhat nervous at this account myself, I went cautiously into the Scullery, peeping to right and left, in momentary expectation of being “jumped at. dreadful,” and at length, after patient search, in which Sarah was too much cowed to assist me, I discovered, beside the watertrough, what do you think? No fierce, savage or dangerous beast, nothing of the sort. Squatting quite still and contentedly in the cool moist place was a pretty little frog, staring with all his might at the ceiling, never blinking his bright eyes, or moving a muscle. His skin was of a fresh bright golden brown, with some dark delicate markings on it, not unlike those of a tabby cat, his webbed feet rested lightly on the stones, as if ready at any moment for a leap, his head, with its pair of brilliant jewels, for his eyes glittered like a pair of topaz lights, was turned the least bit on one side, in an attentive attitude. - - “Why Sarah, you silly girl, it's nothing but a poor little frog,” said I, “ where can you have lived all your life not to know a frog when you see one Bring me a damp clean cloth, and I will soon take it away, since you don’t like to touch it.” Sarah brought the cloth, turning her eyes away with a shudder as she saw me carefully lay it over the small stranger, and take him up in my hand, cloth and all. In my bare hand it would not have been kind to place him; for its warmth and dryness would not have been acceptable to so “cool a customer.” - “However can you bear to do it, Ma'am " " said Sarah. “I could’nt for the world !” “Then it is lucky that everybody is not so foolish,” I answered. “If you never touch anything worse than a harm- less gentle creature like this, it will be fortunate for you. The little thing has neither the will nor the power to do you the least harm. It is among the most timid and blameless of God's creatures. “Well, to be sure . * answered Sarah, as she usually did when she had nothing else to say. The question was, how could Master Froggie have got into our back kitchen * The house was in the heart of a town, the nearest streamlet in which his relations could make a home must be miles and miles away, hot dusty streets and roads lay all around. The frog, unlike the toad, has no power to travel far from water. How could our country visitor have reached us? It was a problem. At last, after a good many guesses, I made up my mind that froggie must have been somehow brought into the house with a load of wood or coal, or among the vegetables which a country cart brought us twice a week. He was so small and so slim that he could have easily been hidden thus and have escaped notice. - The next point to be settled was what to do with him now * The scullery was out of the question as an abode while Sarah was in her present frame of mind towards him, and besides he might be trodden on if left loose there. In a few days I thought I could manage to take froggie out into the fields myself and set him free in some ditch. In the meantime I thought suddenly of a large fern-case which stood in one of the windows down stairs, and in which I fancied he would find just the warm, damp, steamy climate which he and his friends love. I carried him there, and let him loose out of the cloth into the fernery. What a wonderful pair of hind legs froggie did undouble when he found himself at liberty to use them They were as good to him as the wings are to a bird, and I could understand how they would help him, in dry weather, in seeking a moister ditch if his own dried up, almost flying over the parched ground in between with- out touching it or injuring the skin of his body, which was like damp blotting-paper, and kept him. comfortable inside. As soon as he got well into the fern-case, froggie sat as still as a stone, just like a carving, except that he kept an eye on me all the while, and the little creamy white throat made a throbbing like the ticking of a clock. That was the only sign which froggie gave of being uneasy in his mind. Presently I went out and called Sarah to look at him now that he was safe behind the glass. - “Well, he's a queer looking thing. The queerest looking thing as ever I see . * was her comment. 52 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - times to watch the frog taking his meals. “Not half so queer as we look to him, I dare say.” said I. “I dare say he is saying to himself at this moment, ‘What a couple of extraordinary beings. I never met with any like them in the pond at home. I wonder what they call them- selves, and whether they will bite ”’’ As I spoke, froggie caught sight of a small fly creeping up the side of the case on the inner side. In an instant he was all on the alert. His head pointed at it—his eyes were fixed intently—all of a sudden like a flash of lightning he sprang. So swift was the movement that nothing couid be seen or heard but a sort of whirl in the air, the fly had vanished, and froggie sat as before with great satisfaction, munching something in his mouth. - “There !” said I, “Now you see what is the use of frogs, Sarah, “in the world.' Out of doors they go on eating flies, or small worms and slugs or other small fry, all day long. They are born as tadpoles in the water, and when there they keep that clear too So you see from babyhood they are useful.” “Well !”, said Sarah, “If I'd known that sooner, he might have stopped out by my sink and welcome ; for the flies out there is awful. He would’nt hurt anybody then.” “No more than a lamb would.” After this Sarah was fond of coming in some- It was wonderful to see the crafty way in which he would avoid making the least stir until he was close upon his prey, and the rapid dart with which he would pounce—hardly ever missing his mark. It happened that for a long while I was hindered from going into the meadows with froggie—cold winter set in, and I was afraid that if taken out the little fellow would perish miserably, for, at the first touch of frost, all the frog community bury themselves snugly out of the way in the mud or in some deep warm hole or cranny. So as froggie seemed well and happy where he was for a time, I resolved that it would be more merciful to let him stay there till the Spring. But how to feed him was the difficulty. Sarah had overcome her dislike of our odd boarder so entirely and was so much concerned at his having “nothing to eat in that bit of a place ’’ that she would spend half an hour at a time catching flies to put into the case for him. These he would instantly fix with his eye, and soon snap up, and what was more, he learnt to know Sarah quite well, and to come up to the edge of the fern case when he saw her coming. This was partly no doubt to welcome the flies, which to our dismay got fewer and fewer as the winter went on. It became a great difficulty to provide him with enough. He had evidently cleared the house of all living things, and I did not much like the fly-catching business. What- - - ever might be froggie's useful mission in the out- door world, it did not seem to be our place to catch for him, and we were very clumsy at it too. Yet a prisoner's diet must be thought of. One day I tried froggie with a thin shred of raw meat. Placing it on the ground, I thought he might be deluded into taking it for a worm. He sat and looked at it, but when it did not move he would have nothing to say to it. His work in life was to consume living and not dead things, and froggie, unlike human beings, was not able to break the law laid on him by his CREATOR. - I began to be distressed about our little guest, come by accident to throw himself on our hospitality and detained too long. Surely he was hungry yet how to cater for him to his liking 2 When the flies run short, froggies in a wild state go for their winter's nap, till their natural food is again ready, the flies torpid time and theirs, being arranged in a wonderful order so as to fit in together. But the fern case was summer all the year round, and it kept him lively. At last one day a bright idea struck me. I fetched a bit of thin wire, of that sort which quivers and shakes easily in the hand if slightly shaken. To the end of this I fastened a tiny portion of meat, quite loosely, so as to come off at the least pull. Then I opened the little chink at the top of the case, and lowered the wire till the meat was within a hop skip and jump from froggie's attentive nose. It kept in motion, which was so life-like that it deceived even his sharp eyes. To my great delight he sprang; the scrap of food disappeared, and he calmly sat looking for some more. He throve on this diet, and there was no longer any difficulty in feeding him in his prison. Sarah was quite charmed to give him his dinner, the only fear was of his getting too much. The pleasantest part of all was to see the way in which froggy learnt to make friends with us both. He grew at last to take the morsels almost from between our fingers, and I have no doubt that had he stayed longer in his glass prison he would have fed from our hands. But it was but a prison after all, and as there is nothing I hate more than the oppression of free wild living things by selfishly shutting them up from their own companions and liberty, I was anxious to take froggie back to the life in which I knew he would be far happier. What right had I to make a kind of plaything of any living creature ? So one lovely Spring day I got a clean mustard tin, which I thought would feel pleasantly cool to froggie during the journey, coaxed him to jump in to it by a bit of meat held inside at the end of the wire, and then Sarah with me, took him to a rippling streamlet, where, amid green moss and tufts of budding king-cups, I thought that froggie might find some friends to welcome him among the rushes. TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. Pretty, harmless, gentle useful froggie I should like to know how you get on now. The fern case is lonely without you, but I know that you would not care to come back. If Sarah finds another frog under the sink she will not run away in silly terror. You have taught her a lesson that GOD has made everything to be admired and loved as His work. I wish everyone would think Who is the maker of all living things. Then no one would dare to call them “ugly.” or venture to lay a hand on them except in kindness. - EDITH CARRINGTON. A SERIMION INT STOINE. IN an inscription on an Egyptian memorial stone discovered recently at Mount Barkal, there is evidence that acts of cruelty in high places by edu- cated men were severely punished in the days of the twenty-fifth dynasty in the land of the Pharaohs. Dr. Brugsch thus translates the passage to which we refer. “When his Majesty visited the stables and the studs of foals, he observed that they had let them starve. He said: ‘I swear, as surely as the youthful Sun-god Ra loves me, as surely as I breathe in life, it is a viler thing to my heart to let the horses starve than all the other faults thou hast committed. That thou hast laid thine heart bare through this, evidence is furnished me of thy habitual views. Hast thou forgotten that the shadow of God rests upon me? The proof thereof shall not be wanting to Him on my part. Would that another had done such a thing to me, an ignorant man, not a haughty one as he is. I was born out of my mother's womb, and created out of the egg of a divine essence. I was begotten by a God—by His name; I will not forget Him in what He has commanded me to do.’ Then he ordered his (Nimrod's) possessions to be assigned to the treasury, and his granaries to the property of the government. Amen of Apet.” Pharaoh would have made short work of the vivisectors. A COMPANION.—One of the quaint remem- brances of Robert Louis Stevenson's South Sea life is that of his Honolulu mouse. A small shelf hung over the couch whereon he used to lie when ill and trying to forget his pain in “tooting" on his flageolet. Out on this shelf the little mouse would venture, and soon became so tame as to delight in the novelist's caresses. If it got no immediate attention it would scratch on the shelf and make a little whine or song to attract its friend, and after a time it actually persuaded its spouse to pay a daily visit to the musician in its Company. - - A DISCREET CAR-HORSE. A WASHINGTON driver says that there is an old gray hill horse there that sometimes cannot get back to his accustomed place in time for the next car. “ This horse has nothing to do with the blue line, and knows the difference between the blue and brown cars. If he is on his way back to the starting point and sees a brown car coming, this shrewd animal will turn around and stand alongside the track waiting for the car to reach him. No amount of coaxing can induce him to move, but after the car reaches him he will ‘ pull like a major until he reaches the top. Then he returns to his post, and when he again sees his car coming, turns and gets into position. “A day or two ago the hill boy, intead of walking back with the horse or riding him, as was his usual custom, jumped on a car and rode down. The horse saw this and stopped half way up the hill, and would not move until the boy came after him. Whenever the boy rides on the car the horse stops half way down the hill, but when the boy remains with him the old gray pursues the even tenor of his way until he reaches the bottom.” A SNAKE MOUNTAIN.—There is a horseshoe- shaped mountain in Manitoba which literally swarms with snakes every year. In the early autumn these slippery customers gather there from all directions, mostly from the prairie country of . the south. In one side of the mountains there is a circular hole about fifteen feet deep, and as smooth as if it had been fashioned with a well auger, where tens of thousands of reptiles spend the cold winter months together. Persons who have tried to explore this immense snake den during the summer, when the regular tenants are absent, say that dozens of subterranean passages lead out under the mountain in all directions from the bottom of the well. An authority estimates that he has seen as many as 300,000 snakes of all sizes knotted together and piled up in a semi-torpid state in this “Well of Serpents,” as it is called in the North-west. - - THE collie, it is said, was named from the sheep which it was trained to care for on the hills of Scotland. These sheep had black faces and black legs, and their name was derived from the Anglo- Saxon word “col,” which means black. “Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.”—Shakespeare. 54 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. –3:/EETINGS.º- 0XFORDSHIRE NATURAL HISTORY & FIELD CLUB, A meeting of this society was held on May 16, in the geological lecture room at the Museum. As the president (Mr. W. Warde Fowler) was to give the lecture, Mr. Druce took the chair. There was a large attendance.—Mr. Warde Fowler gave his lecture, on “The arrival of Summer Birds.” He began by a few remarks on migration in general, and on the theory of glacial epochs as the primary cause of the phenomenon. aside, as likely to be matter of discussion at the approaching meeting of the British Association in Oxford, he proceeded to consider the main fact in the Spring migration of birds, viz., that their object is to find suitable quarters for nesting and bringing up their young. In close connection with this was another question—Why some birds come to us early in Spring, and others quite late— a question more easily asked than answered. The lecturer then went through the list of Spring mi- grants in the order of their arrival here, indicating when and where they might be looked for, and adding a few remarks about each. Some few were singled out for special attention as charac- teristic Oxford birds; among these were the Yellow Wagtail, the Redstart, the Lesser White- throat, and the Sand Martin. Last of all came the Marsh-Warbler, which might be expected to find a breeding place again this year within the limits of the country.—Mr. Druce exhibited a specimen of Sagina Reuteri-Boissier, a plant found in Spain, but not known in England before. railway station in one of the Midland counties. OUT INC.S. Selborne Society (Clapton Branch) Rambling Club. The Secretary of this Society, Mr. M. Wattson, 14, Narford Road, Clapton, will be pleased to for- ward particulars of their rambles for June to any lady or gentleman wishing to join the party. Notice arrived too late for the first issue of this No. Putting this This specimen had been found growing on some brickwork in a | All Correspondence should reach us not later than the 15th of June for in- sertion in the J uly Number. SPRING MIGRANTs. Dates of arrival of the greater part of our Spring Migrants, as they have come under notice, within a radius of two miles round Wallingford, Oacon, from March 29th to May 14th :— Mar. Apr. 29. Chiff Chaff 22. Swallow - Apr. 23. Red Start 9. Willow Wren ,, . Wryneck 10. Cirl Bunting , White Throat, greater | 2. 24. Grasshopper Warbler 28. Nightingale May Garden Warbler. 11. Tree Pippit 6. Swift 17. Wheatear 7. House Martin 19. Wood Wren ., Reed Warbler. 21. Cuckoo 8. Dove ... Yellow Wagtail 9. Landrail , Winn Chat 14. Flycatcher There are a few that I have not yet heard or seen this season which should have been here some time since. Good luck to them and their little families. Live AND LET LIVE. - - WHICH. - SEVERAL years ago there was a sad sight in Central Park, New York, spoiling its summer beauty. On the ground lay a helpless intoxicated man. A large crowd gathered round. Over ſhe degraded man, guarding him, there stood a fine Newfoundland dog. - Policemen came up to remove the drunkard to the lock-up, but the dog told them, with his teeth, that it would not be safe to come nearer to himself and his unworthy master than about fifteen feet. - - They threw buckets of water on the faithful dog, but he only stood the nobler to his duty. “We cannot take the man,” said a policeman, “unless we shoot the brute.” - A gentleman looking asked the ques ion, “Which is the brute 3 '' The eyes of all looked down with disgust on the man, but with admiration on the fidelity of the dog; and then policemen- and crowd went on their way, leaving the drunkard in charge of his dumb friend. TO CORRESPONDENTS. All correspondence should reach us not later than the 15th for the following month's issue. Several articles are held over for want of space. Received:—A Night's Walk. Rambles Round Bath. Notes, by Miss C. Barnard. Also from the Rev. Bacon-Phillips, and Live and Let Live. All should read the “G.J.” Gipsy Friends—get YOUR FI'ſ ENDS to buy it. Order at all Bookstalls. Back Numbers, 2d. each. office, 30, Chandosº Road, Stratford, E. ". . - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 55 ãº-º-º: *...* airs, iii. Nº º GIPSYLAND.S. N A GATE OF THE BERNESE ÖğERLANT), By W. H. SPRAGGE, M.A. My friend Hastings and myself, in the course of our wanderings through Western Switzerland, had taken the train from Martigny to the little market town of Leuk, in the Rhone Walley, and thence we walked on towards Leukerbad (the baths of Leuk) eight miles distant. The broad road, ever rising and ever winding, at last becomes a kind of shelf on the side of the mountains, with a gulf below, in which the Dala thunders down to Leuk. On the other side of the torrent there is just such another road hewn in the opposite cliff. Both roads lead to Leukerbad, which lies at the foot of the famous Gemmi Pass. Looking back, the view of the Rhone valley with its pleasant farms and ancient castles gradually broadens out beneath us; steep cliffs on either hand form a gorge, which gradually becomes narrower until at Leukerbad it is shut off by a blunt barrier of rock, which, from the road, seems insurmountable. In the neighbourhood of the village we met groups of peasants with hand- drawn carts removing in the cool of the evening the hay gathered on the steep sides of the torrent bed. Here we decided to remain a day—not for the purpose of bathing in the hot springs to which the place owes its name, but in order to recruit our energies, while still further enjoying the view of the fir-clad gorge contrasting well with the barren grandeur of the Gemmi. On the morrow, as Hastings' knee had given way, we arranged with the head guide there for a horse to carry him to the summit of the Pass. In the afternoon I walked along the left bank of the Dala to the foot of a precipice, which is ascended by a series of rude wooden ladders leading to the mountain village of Arbignon. I mounted three, but as the second rung of the fourth gave way beneath me, I thought it the better part of valour to descend to firmer footing. Our night's rest was disturbed by the noisy talk and discordant songs of the guides and voituriers in a neighbouring café, but never- theless my companion had me out of bed at a quarter to four next morning, and after a hurried breakfast we started on our journey. A gently rising track through stone-walled meadows leads to the foot of the Pass, and then for the first time we saw the path which we should have to take. The cantons of Berne and Valais united to construct this remarkable piece of work. A kind of gallery has been blasted on the face of the crags, winding round and round like a spiral staircase, with beetling crags above and a deep gulf below. At first I kept by the side of the horse, which was a sturdy animal and fully equal to his work, but soon left him behind, gaining at every zigzag. At one time I could see down the gorge of the Dala almost as far as the Simplon, until the view was cut off by a fresh turn. The descent on horse- back is extremely dangerous; in 1861 a French countess fell out of her saddle over the precipice, and was killed on the spot. A tablet in memory of her is fixed to the rock. Dumas, in his Voyage en Suisse, says that he was so affected by the descent that his handkerchief, placed between his teeth like a pad, was bitten through before he reached the bottom. A little higher up I overtook a stout German climbing laboriously up with two guides to help him. Even then he kept stopping them, either to look back at what he had accom- plished (always a most gratifying proceeding), or to hear the marvellous echoes of their jodels, which the rocks flung back to him. I left this party behind, and had the satisfaction of reaching the inn at the top a quarter of an hour in front of them. At this inn the German and myself amicably shared a bottle of wine while I was waiting for Hastings, who came up on his horse shortly afterwards. He had ascended with the greatest coolness, though for my own part on such a road I would have preferred Shanks' mare to any other. Near the Hotel there is a fine view of the Alps of the Valais, including the horns of the Mischabel, the Weisshorn and the Matterhorn; on your left hand are the Wildstrubel and the Amertenhorn; on your right the Altels. After a few minutes we began our descent into canton Berne, which is soon reached. The road passes a gloomy lake, the Daubensee, fed by water from the glaciers, and then crosses a plateau, very desolate and bleak, with boulders flung wildly here and there. But as soon as it takes a downward direction the scenery becomes very different. The crags are covered with pines ; herds are grazing on the mountain pastures, and miniature falls and running brooks sound pleasantly in your ear. We descend between steep cliffs sundered with ravines until we strike the river Kander. Keeping alongside the stream the road widens, and passes between two lovely valleys, the Ueschinen Thal and the Gasteren Thal. At Kandersteg the descent may be said to end; here we stopped to procure a carriage to take us on to the Lake of Thun. - - 56 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. --- £RYSTAL PALACE TO SHIHLEY. By E. O. NEWMAN. – THE writer can remember when, many years since, he visited the Crystal Palace for the first time, and looking at the glorious prospect from the terrace, embracing parts of Kent and Surrey, and seeing, on elevated ground in the far distance, a village church, with short, pointed spire, seemingly embosomed in trees, he wondered where it was. It looked like a little Paradise, having a back- ground of pines, with heather-covered hills beyond them ; and although now he resides within half an hour's walk of that church, and often visits it, he has —considering his more mature age and experi- ence—almost the same thought and feeling—for Shirley is a charming spot, those pines are real, and those hills are the famous Addington Hills. To reach Shirley from the Crystal Palace one must needs go through Lower Norwood, about which we have nothing particular to say, remembering Cowper's words:— “God made the Country, Man made the Town,” - and Lower Norwood is a small town. After crossing Woodside Green, one of the many recrea- tion grounds of Croydon, we reach Stroud Green Road, on the left-hand corner of which are exten- sive grounds once used for horse racing and steeple chasing, now happily for the more peace- ful and healthful recreation of golf. We pass some small rustic cottages on the left—most of the gardens of which do the tenants great credit— and on the right hand side are some convalescent houses and homes of rest for poor Londoners, erected and principally supported by the excellent and benevolent Lady Ashburton. - Just beyond these, although out of our road, we are tempted to cross a stile, and wander over meadows thickly bordered by large elms, Oaks, and other trees. In parts of these meadows there is no house or building of any description whatever visible in any direction; it is “truly rural.” ſº After crossing another stile we enter Upper Addiscombe Road. There is an old farm cottage on our right, dated 1676, with farm yard opposite, and all around cultivated land. So on for a quarter of a mile or so to the left, when we turn out of Addiscombe into Shirley. On the right is the seat of a late Earl Eldon, on the left a road to West Wickham, the first village in Kent. So we go onwards and upwards, till we come to Shirley Church Road on our left, entering which we seem to leave the world behind us for awhile, and having nothing but trees and fields and the - pretty village church in view, we arrive at the Lych-gate, where we instinctively raise our hat in view of the neatly-kept graves of departed worthies around. The church door being open, we pass through the porch into the sacred building. How plain, simple, and pure it seems! What solid . masonry ! What tasteful windows' - - - - -- An EASTER BAMBLE in 3|J&K NGHAMASHRE. By A. G. MUNIRO, B.A. HAVING heard many wonderful things about the beauties thrown open to Londoners by the Metropolitan Railway into Buckinghamshire, in company with a friend I started off one Friday morning a few weeks ago as special commissioner for the “Gipsy Journal.” In order to make our investigation more complete we decided to extend our ramble until the following Monday evening. Starting from Edgware we wandered along a lane to Whitchurch, and entering the fields a few yards past the church rambled at leisure as far as Stanmore. There was no time to linger over the ruins of the old abbey church here, nor to admire the stately modern structure, so we left the familiar attractions of Stanmore and moved on towards Pinner. Dear old Pinner . How its inhabitants would have been stirred to the inner- . most depths of their being fifty years ago at the sight of the Metropolitan Railway train, steaming away within full view of the quaint, irregular, village-street, which from remotest ages has known no other vehicular traffic than carriage, cart or stage coach. It is worth a city man's while any day to take a return ticket from King's Cross or Baker Street—the fare is but trifling—to make a modern pilgrimage to Pinner. - But, instead of entering the village, we two, after passing the L.N.W. railway station, some distance past the Commercial Travellers' Schools, enquired the way to Rickmansworth, which we were told lay across Pinner Green. We intended strolling within easy distance of the Metropolitan Railway—so as to take the train if fatigue over- came us—as far as Amersham, where a third friend was to join us. The morning mist had broken by the time we reached the golf-links on the common land at Northwood, where gorse and bush shone in the radiant spring sunshine. But the hard main road is apt to grow tedious, even on sunshiny spring mornings, and we enquired for THE GIPsy journ AL. 57 some field-path to lighten our labours. Then came one of those little surprises which so thoroughly delight the hearts of all country ramblers—a grand old English park rich in all its glory of woodland oak and other timber, Probably some readers are familiar already with Moor Park, but the soft, springy turf, the verdant glades, the noble trees and stately mansion, all rejoicing in the cheery sunshine, came on us as a glad revela- tion. Six bonny English maidens tripping merrily, amid jest and laughter, over the crumbling dead bracken ahead, added to Dame Nature's mirthfulness around. “See Naples and die,” runs an old saying. “See Moor Park, and be grateful to the Metropolitan Railway,” is our variation, since either Rickmansworth or Northwood stations give access to its many beauties. A pleasant way-side inn afforded us a modest lunch on bread and cheese followed by a dish of apples. Our verdict on this and other inns visited during our tramp was that, though modest and unpretending outside, inside they are clean and cosy. Leaving Rickmansworth, we wandered through Rickmansworth Park in the direction of Amersham, refreshing ourselves in the ingle-nook of an ancient inn near Chalfont Road on ginger wine and biscuits, and entered Amersham Station simultaneously with our other friend, who came by train. Amersham consists principally of a long irregular street running through a valley. It was our first night at a Buckinghamshire village, and although so near London we seemed to have entered another country, so old-world and curious were the mingled dwellings, shops, and public houses. At the Crown Hotel we received a cordial reception, and, on the following morning, to our welcome surprise, the kindly landlord, Mr. Bennett, who had entertained us with many a stirring incident of his campaigning days abroad the night before, expressed his intention to drive us to Beaconsfield. Up hill and down dale we bowled right merrily, past meadow and arable land, pheasant-haunted copse, smiling brooklets and ponds, and typical Buckingham homesteads. The roar and din, the smoke and dirt of the great city a few miles away, seemed well-nigh an impossibility in these woodland solitudes. At Beaconsfield our good host Bennett showed us the church, wherein lies all that is mortal of the im- mortal Edmund Burke, also the burying-place of the poet Waller outside, and, after driving us to Penn Church, bade us farewell. Strolling on in the direction of Hughenden, we thought of Lord Beaconsfield, and turned in for luncheon at a typi- cal wayside inn before resuming our afternoon journey. Scarce a cloudlet was visible in the blue, sun-lit vault above when we first sighted the solemn shadows of the over-arching trees flitting across the greensward of Hughenden Park, and reclining on the hill opposite the famous manor- - - - house, we basked in the glowing sunshine and talked of the departed statesman. Hughenden is beautiful, very beautiful, but there is a touch of solemnity about the house and park nevertheless. The shadows cast by the trees on the steep slopes impart a sobriety, in its way as impressive as are those cast by the solemn foliage in close proximity to the house itself, and these are gloomy indeed. The sun's shadows were lengthening, so we had not time to enter the famous woods behind the manor house, and retraced our steps as far as the vicarage, which, as we lay on the opposite hill, we had, by the way, mistaken for the house itself. Of course we paid a respectful visit to the grave of England's former premier before strolling through the park in the direction of High Wycombe. The best view of Hughenden Manor is probably that obtained on emerging from the park near the latter town. High Wycombe combines the attractions of the old-world style with modern developments, and is a brisk and business-like sample of a country town. We had set our minds on seeing Wendover, so early the following morning took the train from High Wycombe to Prince's Risborough, in order to have a day in the fresh air of the Chilterns, before visiting that village outpost of the once robber-haunted hills. It was a lovely Sabbath morning, and we began with the service at the parish church. On the chalky summit to our front stood out a large cross—the perpendicular being really a rough rude road. This is the celebrated “White Leaf Cross,” which lay right between us and Wendover. Instead of climbing the steep perpendicular we made a détour. Never to be forgotten is that view of smiling valleys, farms and villages, seen from the “White Leaf Cross.” No fairer vision of this world's beauties could be had from Heaven itself, so enchanting was our stand-point in this mingling of earth and sky. An affectionate couple, seated on a grassy mound, were holding a little Easter morning service on their own account. “And the other disciple did out-run Peter,” were the words borne by the balmy mountain breeze as we passed by. At Green Haley we missed our way, and were directed by a friendly native past the “Velvet Lawn,” where many a rabbit scampered over the velvety turf and bracken down to the steep glens and wild woodland glades below—in the direction of Chequer’s Park. We ascended a hill once more, and found ourselves on a table-land of the Chilterns commanding the whole sweep of the Aylesbury valley, two palaces of the Rothschilds, and Lord Rosebery’s seat Mentmore, in the distance. The picturesque village of Wendover lay at our feet, as complete a specimen of old-world England as exists, Wandering through this out of the world 58 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. spot, with its past century features all unmolested, we imagined ourselves living in the middle ages, and should not have been surprised to have seen some Elizabethan costumes on the natives moving about the streets. And to think that the Metropolitan Railway actually runs into the very spot . It is round such spots as Wendover that cluster the romances of the merry coaching days, and now it is merely a matter of an hour or more to King's Cross and Baker Street. Tempora mutantur indeed. Of our Monday's walk from Wendover to Chesham and then past Latimers and Chenies to Chorley Wood I must write another time. It was full of interest at every turn, and all readers should make this section of the walk this summer. No one who has missed seeing such spots as Chenies, Latimers, Chalfont St. Giles, could believe them to exist so near London. These Buckinghamshire haunts are simply grand, and so easily accessible. Do, my Gipsy friends, get a time table, and take a trip out to some of them one Saturday afternoon. 5.53TURDAY WALKS - #FOR E.ONDON ERSº Samps; ºilº ºurs The following walk near Bromley is recom- mended by Mr. Walker Miles. Starting from Bromley Market Place, cross the railway near the L. C. & D. Station, and make for Hayes Lane via the Tiger's Head. Proceed to Hayes Railway Station and up a hill opposite the station gates to Hayes Common. When the border of the Common is reached, keep the road to the right until reaching a notice board forbidding further progress. Close to the board a swing gate opens into a path between a fence and a holly hedge. This path ends at a charming spot—the foot of Coney Hill, three miles from Bromley. Then pass Coney Hill Farm, and enjoy a refreshing stroll along a stretch of springy green turf known as Chatham's Ride. The fourth mile is completed at Baston Manor. Pull up at “The Fox,” and enjoy the glorious view from the top of the Common. On a clear day the dome of St. Paul's is visible. After following the Downe and Westerham road a few dozen yards, enter a path by a stile near a smithy on the side of the road opposite the Fox. Follow this path as far as Keston Common, and you ought to complete | and the “Bird in Hand.” (8 miles). your sixth mile in the Sevenoaks road near the village of Farnborough. Pass the workhouse at Locksbottom where the road opens on a smallish piece of wild-looking land—Farnborough Common. You will then pass the “Plough,” a large pond, Bencewell Farm, some posts in a fence on the left, a red-brick cottage, a lane resolving itself into a mere cart-track, a stream, a stile by the side of a gate, another stile and a walk along the border of a wood, are the next items in this peregrinatory puzzle. Unless you want to lose your way be very careful, at this juncture, to ask for Hayes Village. When in the main road, after leaving Hayes, turn to the right, and proceed, until you see some cottages met with earlier in the ramble. The last points in your walk will be a path straight up hill, the comfortable looking cottage hospital, and the L. C. & D. railway station at Bromley. Recommended also by Mr. Walker Miles are the following Bromley walks. Full particulars may be had in Mr. Miles’ “Field Path Rambles,” but as the walks are all short, ramblers might find amusement in sketching out the details on their own account. Route 2.- Bromley, Plaistow, Shrofield Farm, Grove Park, Burnt Ash Hill, Mottingham (6 miles). Route 3.−Bromley, Plaistow, Whitefoot Lane, Southend, Plaistow Lodge, Farwig (5 miles). Loute 4—Martin's Hill, South Hill Park, Pickhurst Green, Hayes, Bickley, Widmore (6 mls). Route 5.-Southborough, Town Court Wood, Chiselhurst Common, Camden Park, Sundridge Park, Bickley Station (7 miles). Route 6.—Pickhurst Green, West Wickham, Nash, Hayes Common (6 miles). Route 7–Widmore, Chislehurst, St. Mary Cray, Orpington, Town Court, Bickley (11 miles). Route 8.-Bromley Common, Skim Corner, Broad-st. Green, Starts Hill, Farnborough, Green-st. Green, Chelsfield, Holwood Farm, Keston Church, Keston Ponds, Hayes Common, Keston Mark Route 9–Bromley Common, The Old Race Course, Town Court, Pett's Wood, St. Paul's Cray Common, Chislehurst Common (8 miles). THE GIPsy journ AL. 59 * RICHMOND AND BUSHY PARKS. NOW is the season of the year to see these parks in the prime of their glory, Hammersmith is a capital starting point for Richmond Park, after strolling through which, the pedestrian “takes in ’’ Hampton Court Palace and grounds, before pro- ceeding through Bushy Park to Teddington Station for the journey home. Suppose that we Londoners lived four hundred miles away, what dream-lands of delight would such spots as Hampton Court and Kew appear in the distance, yet now that they are within a shilling ride of all of us, we never go near them. People in the Midlands and the North would travel fifty miles any day to visit dear old Hampton Court, with its picture galleries, cloisters, maze and grounds, alone. - CROYDON TO WEYBRIDGE. READERS who can spare two or three days should book to Croydon, and walk by Woodmanston and Banstead Downs to Dorking. It is needless to print here all the short and long cuts over the breezy downs and hills between Croydon and Dorking, since a good map is obtainable at almost any bookstall. The first view of Dorking from the hills above will never fade from memory. On leaving Dorking, stroll round by Holmwood, Abinger, Gomshall, Shiere and Albury to Guildford. The approach to Guildford is particularly pleasing, and from Leith Hill, some distance from Holm- wood, perhaps the finest view in all Surrey is obtainable. From Guildford to Weybridge is a pleasant stroll along the bank of the Wey. EDMONTON TO HIGH BEECH. DWELLERS in the N.E. district may spend a delightful Saturday afternoon outing by walking from Edmonton in the direction of Chingford, a distance of about six miles. Pedestrians should ask the way to the “Sir Wilfred Lawson,” at Woodford, and about a mile before reaching this well-known house, a lane near a public house and a little bridge branches off to Chingford. From Chingford to High Beech the road runs for another three miles through the 'most charming glades of Epping Forest. Dip down from High Beech to “'The Woodman,” and a pleasant walk of some four miles will lead past Waltham Abbey to the station, or the return journey may be made back to Edmonton. The views across the valley of the Lea into Middlesex and Herts from High Beech are, of their kind, simply unique. CHESHAM. To RICKMANsworth. ON Lord Mayor's Day, 1893, a party connected with the “ Gipsy Journal” took the train from King's Cross to Chesham. After inspecting the village and noticing the progress of the cress - industry on the River Chess which extends its waters there, we rambled under the rich late Autumn foliage as far as the red-brick Elizabethan mansion, Latimers, and admired the tints of the trees in the finely wooded park, just then expiring in their varied maturity. Opposite Latimers, tourists should look carefully for a stile which leads through the fields up to Chenies. Chenies is a model Buckinghamshire village, and those who are of a romantic turn will readily picture the gaffers and goodies gathered on a summer evening on the rustic circular bench in the neighbourhood of the church and manor house, whilst the children play on ths slopes beneath the surrounding trees. There is an inn which leaves to hungry and thirsty Souls nothing to be desired. An afternoon’s walk, mostly across fields, took us to another old-world spot, Chalfont Saint Giles, and after due explora- tion of its beauties, we entered the fields once more, and wandered across country to Rickmansworth. FINCHLEY WALKS. 1,–SEVERAL interesting walks may be enjoyed by taking the train to Finchley, G.N.R. Leaving the station, proceed under the viaduct of the Edgware branch as far as Mill Hill Station, and thence ascend the road as far as Mill Hill Village, Turn down by the church, over the fields, in the direction of Totteridge, and in about a quarter of an hour the last stile opens on to Totteridge Heath. After walking some distance down the heath and passing a picturesque pond, enquire for the entrance to | other fields which leads to Woodside Park Station, G.N.R. This ramble may be comfortably com: passed within three hours. 2–INSTEAD of walking down Totteridge Heath the walk may be extended by traversing another series of fields in the direction of Barnet. The entrance to these fields, which is rather difficult to find, lies near a farm house, a few hundred yards —in the direction of Highwood Hill—higher than the stile leading into the lane from the Mill Hill track. This walk will find a suitable termination at High Barnet Station. 3.—PROCEED as far as Mill Hill as in the first walk, and enquire for a path through the Mill Hill School football field which leads into a lane below. Along this lane you can wander in the direction of Edgware,and extend the walk as far as Whitchurch. By enquiring at Edgware you can make the return journey to Finchley almost all the way through fields and meadows, or continue along the main road from Edgware to Elstree. The view from Elstree village over the lake is very striking. 60 --- --> THE GIPSY JOURNAL. -- TIRIENT FAIREC. THIS is one of the most charming parks in the north of London, and just the identical spot for you to compose your next poem for the “Gipsy Journal.” Those who love a sylvan and secluded nook should take train to New Barnet, walk across the fields to Cockfosters, entering the park by the gates some three hundred yards from the “Cock Inn.” The present writer believes a right of way exists through the park, and, though formerly challenged by the lodge keeper, passes in and out at discretion. There is little doubt but that all persons of repute and respectability will be allowed to do the same. A summer afternoon in Trent Park is not likely to be forgotten. - WBOTHAM PARK. ANOTHER of the famous parks in the north is Wrotham, the residence of the Earl of Strafford. In case the lodge-keeper disputes your entrance at the main entrance, continue the main road for a quarter of a mile, when you will come to a public stile, nearly opposite Wrotham House. Fine herds of cattle may be seen grazing in the park from time to time. The nearest station is High Barnet, some one and a half miles distant, G.N.R. EIIGH BARNET TO SEIFINLEY & RIDGE. LEAVE the main road near High Barnet Church and, after walking for some distance along Wood Street, you come to a finger-post pointing over the fields to the Shenley Road. Go on as far as Shenley in accordance with the walk next described. At Shenley enquire for a lane leading to Ridge. Be sure and ascertain the whereabouts of a stile which leads you over the fields to Ridge Church, as the beauty of this walk will be otherwise totally missed, and the field path, even when found. is indistinct. You will best recognise the particular stile by noticing another one on the opposite side the lane. From Ridge you wander down another lane and, after skirting a noble park, emerge into the St. Albans road about a mile from the town of High Barnet, G.N.R. TO RAMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. Humane Articles by Miss E. CARRINGTON, and Notes, &c., by Miss C, BARNARD. IllSisi OlhãVillg this JOIlſlål HAMPSTEAD TO ST. ALBANS. HAMPSTEAD HEATH to St Albans, mostly across green fields. On reaching Hendon, ask for the field path to Mill Hill. Near Mill Hill Church you will find a stile, which get over, and walk again over the fields to Totteridge. Arrived on Totteridge Heath, enquire the nearest way to High Barnet Church. After the Church take the Elstree Road a short dis- tance, until you come to a finger post pointing over the fields into the Shenley Road. On emerging from these fields look for a house on the gate of whose garden is written, “The Oaks.” A few minutes after passing “The Oaks,” a stile (rather hard to find) leads into fields on the left. Presently you will have to cross a pretty lane before entering the fields again. In about ten minutes you come on the Shenley Road, and must pass a very charming pond fringed with evergreens. Proceed leisurely into Shenley, which village must appeal to all poetic minds. “The White Horse Inn” is a capital house for man and beast, and you must ask to be shown into the quaint parlour for a snack of bread and cheese. “The Star Tavern” on the opposite side the road is very popular with teetotalers. Have a look at the Shenley Lock-up, a stone beehive on the walls of which are engraved the words, “Be sober, be vigilant.” This is a very curious bit of masonry. Sit down for a few minutes on a rustic bench on Shenley Hill before descending the lovely valley between you and St. Albans. The grey cathedral stands out clearly five miles or so in the distance. At the bottom of Shenley Hill is the old Church amid yew trees hundreds of years old. Read the epitaph on the old sexton, John Rogers, which will make you smile. All then you have to do is to ramble along a wooded lane and cross over a rustic footbridge, which, five years ago, was impassable owing to floods. It is necessary to cross the Midland Railway Bridge, after which you will enter St. Albans through fields. On the left hand notice the sluggish river watering the fat pastures which adjoin the “ tattered relics" of the old abbey, and you will conclude that our monastic forefathers knew where the kine throve best. I can strongly recommend a temperance house adjoining “The Queen Hotel,” where a Cambridge friend and myself had a good meal last Saturday for one shilling. Look out for the next Cipsy Journals, and order at once; the Jilly, Allg, S8), 0:1, 000185 or write to Office, 30, Chandos Rd., Stratford, E may be had at any Newsagent. TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. 61 Natural 5tiºnſ Cºmº. THE DOCTRINE OF CALMING THE WAVES. Translated for the Gipsy Journal, by W. Finckh, of Stuttgart. THE German Nautical Magazine, “Hansa,” published the following interesting article :-‘‘Who is able to count the millions of human lives and property that have been destroyed and annihilated through the agency of Boreas or the fury of Poseidon, since man has ventured to en- trust himself in frail vessels to the watery elements 2 During the infancy of our race, people tried to allay these personified forces of nature, and to obtain their favours by voluntary sacrifices. But in later years, with increas- ing experience and knowledge, some people devoted themselves to observing previous phenomena of nature, and to these observations we owe it, that in ancient times Aristoteles was able to give literary experience to his opinion regarding the calming of the waves of the sea. In his 41st Problem he expressly makes mention of how mariners, on the approach of storms, made use of oil to break the force of the waves. Pliny likewise speaks of it, and it would seem that the knowledge of this property in oil has never been entirely lost sight of among sea- faring nations; for right through the middle ages up to modern times we find in the pages of some authors passages pointing to this. But it was only reserved for the present day to shed some light on the subject. Certain it is that the latest investigators solely confined themselves to find out whether oil in reality produced the effect in question, and which kinds of oil were most reliable. Thus a number of scientific men of the present day —among others Jos. Grossman, R. Harlowa, W. Köppen, and E. Rottock—have furnished us with very many materials and have published their observations, without however any one of them having gone further and having approached the proper cause, the principle of smoothing the waves. Now, Doctor M. E. Richter, a scien- tist living at Hamburg, has undertaken to solve this problem in his book, “The Doctrine of Calming the Waves,” (Berlin, Robt. Oppenheim). He reports that, having read the writings of the above mentioned authors, it had struck him th t in their observations and experi. ments the fact had always come to light that only certain kinds of oil showed this soothing property, whilst others had only produced little effect or none at all: what had particularly struck him was that bad, rancid oils had done better service than fresh and refined oils, however, as for instance olive oil had been of no use at all. This forced upon him as a chemist the probability that the cause of this phenomena was to be found in the pollution of oils, that is to say in that constitutional part which characterises them as bad. He now examined all kinds of oil that were known and accessible to him, and he soon found out that oil which produces a bad effect contains only a minimum per centage of acid of oil ; whereas oil. producing a good effect contains a high percentage of that acid, that body which turns oil rancid and stinking. He now began himself to make a series of experiments on the Elbe as well as on the river Bille, and it was always shown with the certainty of a law of nature that, when the oil he used contained any acid of oil, the effect of soothing the waves was produced, and as soon as it did not contain it, it had no effect. Nay, when he chemically freed the oils containing acid of oil from the latter- though on the same day they had shown some excellent results—and when he poured the oil thus purified on the waves, it had lost all its influence of soothing. He pro- ceeded with the opposite test by diluting some petroleum (which was completely non-effective for that purpose and which he had previously examined) with only one per cent. of acid of oil. Mineral oils generally produce no effect. Such petroleum containing one per cent. of acid of oil showed then the same characteristic of calming the waves. Richter was consequently able to advance with full right the proposition : “The effective principle of calming the waves is formed by the small quantities of liquid acids of oil contained in oil in various quantities.” Now many would probably have been satisfied with that, or guided by Grossman’s very reliable tables, perhaps have limited themselves to providing seamen with the list of the various efficacious oils, so that in providing their ships with oil they might not have been at a loss in time of need. Pratically this would have been - of great use indeed. Not so Richter. He asked himself: “What then is the cause why just this undiluted sebacic acid, the acid of oil, produces that effect P” He again began a series of experiments, when he found that the representatives of the group of acids of oil, as acid of castor oil, of linseed oil, of hemp oil, &c., must be soluble in water, and indeed more so in fresh water than in sea. water. To establish this solubility he made extensive in- vestigations, the result of which centres in the proposi- tion : “The principal property of acid of cil is its solubi- lity in water; for the extension of acid of oil on water and the calming of the waves are depending on it.” The following interesting particulars of these experi- ments may be mentioned. Dr. Richter put a quantity of grass seed, small bodies easily to be moved, into the water of the river Bille, sowing it in such a way as to cover a large surface of several square metres; he then dipped a pointed stick of wood into the liquid mentioned and touched with it the surface of the water. The infinitely small quantity of acid of oil now spread with the quick- ness of lightning over the water in such manner that the grass seeds were carried off in all directions, and this lasted until all the acid was separated from the water. During a moderately strong wind, he in the same way put a number of pieces of wood, weighing two grammes, into the river; they were at once driven off by the wind, but as soon as he touched the surface of the water with the stick, previously saturated with acid of oil, the pieces of wood quickly receded against the wind. The power ori- ginating from the solution of acid of oil in the water is consequently so great, that not only was it able to over- come the pressure of the wind but also the friction and the active power communicated to the pieces of wood. Now, it ought not to be difficult, even for a layman, to understand how the experiment applied to the sea would check the destructiye waves. A quantity of acid of oil, and indeed by no means a large one, would be sufficient to protect the surroundings of a ship against approaching dangerous waves. The acid of oil striving to be dissolved spreads on the water in all directions,—that is to say, it covers in exceedingly thin layers all the surrounding water, and its power of solubility asserts itself on each point of contact with the water. In other words: The acid of oil in the first place spreads with great speed on the bulk of water, showing a power working horizontally, so as in the second place to press down the wave verti- 62 - TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. cally. Richter conceives the process of applying acid of oil to the sea in the following propositions: 1. In the first part of the wave an exceedingly effective process of solu- tion takes place, while fresh particles of water, as they approach rapidly, absorb the acid of oil. 2. This process of solution goes on essentially slower in the second part of the wave, in descending, since the particles of water are already saturated with acid of oil, and, moreover, those that have already been in contact with it are con- tinually receding into the water. 3. The particles of water swinging in curves are therefore dashed sideways in the direction of the wave, which consequently changes from running in mountainlike curves into running in long extending elliptical ones. In that way the previously perpendicular axis of the wave almost coincides with the horizontal one. At the end of his work the author proposes to himself the question : “Now what are the properties of a quick and surely effective specific for calming the waves P’’ and his answer is : 1. They must be always equal in quality. 2. Must never alter its composition chemically and phy- sically. 3. Must remain equally liquid and effective in every temperature, cold or warm. 4. Must not contain any solid or slimy substance which obstructs the pores of the bag of oil. 5. Must not contain any volatile or in- flammable substances such as benzine, ether, spirit, &c. 6. Is not to be too liquid. 7. Must show as much speed as possible in spreading over sea water. By this work, carried out with all the appliances of science, and by its brilliant results, Dr. Richter has rendered to all maritime countries a great service, the consequences of which will show themselves in not too long a space of time. Twº A few Sundays since, on the family of Mr. W A. Wykeham-Musgrave entering their pew in Thame Park Chapel, they were surprised to see a partially-built robin's nest on the book ledge against a prayer book and a hymn book. The family immediately decided to occupy another seat, and to leave the little red-breast unmolested in its strange abode. On the following Sunday, the nest was completed, and contained five eggs, and on the succeeding Sunday, the bird sat on the eggs during the whole of the service. On Sunday last it was found that the bird had hatched four young ones, and the mother flew in and out of the Church during the service with food for her off- spring. SWANS.–Clapton Pond has long been noted for a pair of swans which live there, and from time to time, bring forth cygnets. A peculiarity, how- ever, is that for three years in succession the young ones have made their appearance on one of the first three days in Whitsun-week, notwithstanding the moveable character of the festival. Organ of Footpath Preservation and Common Rights Associations; for protection from Cruelty to and wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals ; for the Preservation of all TNatural Beauties; the Ramblers’, Cyclists’, and Holiday-makers’ Friend. ADVERTISEMENTS are received at the rate of 2s. per in. or £3 3s. per page 1 15 half do. 1 O quarter do. 1216 one-eighth do. Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0. may be made payable to H. CRAPPER, G.P.O., Stratford, Essex. All other communications should be addressed to Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. PRESS NOTICE. – London's Organ THE CITY PRESS SAYS : THOSE who delight in country rambles will find this bright little paper, which is edited by one of the masters at the City of London School, a journal just to their liking. “The Gipsy Journal,” which has but recently come into existence, is written by ramblers for fellow ramblers, and aims at protecting rights of way, and providing chatty papers on rural wanderings. - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 63 --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ RAMBLERS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ R - ,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-7----,-,-,-,----- The Countess de Morella v. Coram & Others. THE adverse verdict given in The Queen's Bench Division in the above case is not only an unpleasant surprise to Gipsy readers, but serves to illustrate both the tremendous uphill work it is to preserve our public footpaths, and several nice points in English law. No less than three Q.C.’s were employed over the case, which lasted a whole week, so that the costs given against the defend- ants must have been exceptionally heavy. The facts are no less simple than curious. Since 1817, the date of the Enclosure Acts, the public had enjoyed rights of way over an estate at Egham which in 1861 passed into private ownership. The Enclosure Act of 1817 enacted that all roads then existing should cease and that new ways should be marked out. Among the new ways marked out those at Egham were not included, the land in question having been allotted to trustees for the poor, and between 1817, and 1861 the public were allowed to roam over it at will. the estate passed, in 1861, into private ownership the “Gipsy Journal” does not care to discuss. The strange part is that the very fact of the estate having been allotted to the poor during the above period seems to have brought an adverse verdict upon the defendants. Had a private owner meanwhile held tenure, the fact that the public had possessed right of way would have enabled the jury to infer that the paths had become “dedi- cated,” and another verdict been possible, but, in the existing circumstances, Mr. Justice Romer held that the use of the paths by the public was simply incidental to their enjoyment of the rest of the heather-covered land. In other words, ramblers are to be deprived of their rights of way simply because the estate over which the paths run was allotted to trustees for the poor, and not in the hands of a private owner. We commend this important case to the consideration of “ Gipsy Journal" readers. Mr. Justice Romer, be it noticed, while expressing his sympathy with attempts to defend rights of way in general, observed that to press public rights too far might result in making owners of land jealous of intrusion on their domains. “But,” as the “Daily News” observes, “the real danger is that public rights. unless actively asserted, are speedily lost. It is unfortunate that there is no other way for How . establishing them than to embark on costly, and, as the present case shows, very uncertain litigation.” In the latter observation the “Gipsy Journal’’ heartily concurs, and trusts that the outcome of this very curious case will be a general rallying, on the part of all Gipsies, round the Footpath Preservation Associations, see list on page 50. The Rights of Way Libel Suit. As many of our Gipsy friends probably expected, the verdict in the libel suit, Robinson v. Dell, has been given in favour of the plaintiff, Admiral Robinson. The moral of the case, as far as we are concerned, is to leave out all personal matters when fighting for our rights of way, and to trust to the righteousness of our cause alone. No good, and possibly much increased antagonism on the part of wealthy landlords, will come from bringing personal charges such as those which Mr. Justice Grantham has decreed, under the libel laws, to be unjustifiable. The one point about which all Gipsies will be anxious has reference to the foot- path which was the source and origin of the law- suit in question. Sir Henry James, speaking for the defence, stated that it could not be denied. that a right of way existed over the Charlswood estate. What then has become of this right of way ? Hundreds will be interested in this practical aspect of the question, even when the excitement caused by the action of the “Surrey Mirror" has died away. Too much genuine work has to be done by the defenders of our footpaths to allow of our resources being spent on libel suits. To beat down barriers and destroy wire fences, when justice is on our side, is a far more effective and, let us add, more dignified method of proceeding than to court defeat in libel cases, and for the ultimate success of our cause we recom- mend this view to the champions of our liberties. LAND-GRABBING AT MANOR PARK. FROM time immemorial the folks at Manor Park have turned to their own uses a piece of common land between the “ Three Rabbits Hotel ” and the site of the old Gaol. These few acres are all that now remain of Manor Park's many open spaces. A former prime minister and a parson are respon- sible for previous encroachments, and on waking up a few mornings ago the Manor Parkites were startled to find this last stretch staked out, presumably for building purposes. We are told that, in the most unassuming manner possible, a 64 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. small syndicate, in which a member of the East Ham Local Board is interested, and not a rich land- owner, is the sinner, this time. If this indifference of local boards to public rights goes on,Gipsy readers may well despair of securing their rights. Land- owners delight in land-grabbing, of course. As Dr. Watts says—it is their nature to. But when enterprising members of local boards cast specula- tive eyes on common lands, we can only ask quis custodiat custodes ipsos? We read in the “Star ’’ that Manor Park people are indignant. Naturally so. If Manor Park was in Ireland, the bricks and mortar necessary to the object the syndicate has in view would probably be flying about the head of that enterprising local board member, and the natives would begin pegging out claims for them- selves. We offer the latter part of the suggestion for their consideration. - - New Books, Reviews, &c. The the Green, Quintain, Offham. No genuine rambler will peruse Walker Miles “Field-Path Rambles '+ without a desire to take a railway ticket there and then, and visit for himself the scenes so pleasantly described. Clearness in outline is no less manifest than minuteness in detail. bush, cottage, woodland glen, farm-house, meadow, fence, pond, church, public house—even cemetery and workhouse is utilized in turn by Mr. Miles as a landmark in the pedestrian's way. So accurate are the author's descrip- tions of the various routes that the excellent maps, # inch to the mile, given with the 4s. edition—seem to us almost a superfluity of detail. The walks range from three miles to eleven, but, so cleverly are the routes arranged, that they may be varied almost infinitely. Were Mr. Miles a romancist, his readers would be apt to wonder where on earth he has picked up the quaint names of all those places which seem so eminently fitted to deck the pages of a Dickens. In fact, no reader will be surprised to learn that one of the walks—that from Sole Street to Rochester—has been immortalized by that great writer in the pages of Pickwick. The coffee room of the “Leather Bottle '' inn at Cobham, included in this walk, is, we are told, a veritable store-house of reminis- cences of Dickens. In the tale of “The Seven Poor Each passing | Travellers,” the same writer alludes to the charity founded by Richard Watts of Satis House. The statement that Queen Elizabeth gave this name to Mr. Richard Watts' house because a visit there had given her satisfaction reminds us, with dme respect, however, to Mr. Miles, of the mythical origin of Purfleet. The names of the road- side inns in “Field-Path Rambles,” savour very strongly of the good old days gone by. We have the invitation to refresh the inner man at “The Fox,” “Fox and Hounds,” “Tiger's Head,” “Bird-in-Hand,” “ Chequers,” “Crooked Billet,” “The Red Cross,” “Game Cock,” “The Man of Kent,” and so on. How common in comparison with these are our Crowns, Eagles, Red Lions and Jolly Brewers' All country walkers are inevitably attracted by such names as Tinkerpot Shaw, Bessels Green, Ivy Hatch, Echo Mount, Squerryes Court, Froghole, Bence well Farm. There is a ring of genuine rusticity, somehow, here. But not only in remote nooks and villages does Mr. Miles see this world’s beauties. On the Esplanade at Rochester he asks his readers to sit in the sun and “watch the little pleasure boats as they dart in and out among the larger vessels, while the barges come gliding dreamily down the river,” and prettily describes how all the craft manage with much labour to scramble safely under the bridge at last. Even the dockyards and manufactures at Chatham, the huge chimneys, cumbrous looking buildings, &c., all seem to fit in with the rest of the panorama. Of the many historical allusions in “ Field-Path Rambles,” the most thrilling is probably the extract from Wilberforce's Diary, concerning his resolution, after a conversation with Mr. Pitt at the root of an old tree in Holwood Park, to move, in the House of Commons, for the abolition of the slave trade. The illustrations, seventeen in number, are both well chosen and excellent, the one which we present to our readers being the “Quintain '' on the village green at Offham. Offham is one of the most unique villages in the County, if not in all England, in the possession on its green of a fac-simile representation of the ancient Quintain which originally stood tiere. Running at the Quintain became a recognised game in the reigh of Henry III. To break the broad part of the movable top-piece was the horseman’s object, the prize given to the most skilful competitor being a peacock. On the whole, Mr. Walker Miles’ handsomely bound little book is just such a gift as we should choose for a fellow-rambler on his birthday. * Field-Path Rambles, by Walker Miles, price 4s. with Maps. Robert Eimund Taylor & Son, 19, Old St., E.C. - PottºR’s PopULAR GARDENING. —Have you a garden, and would know what seeds to purchase, when to sow, what kind of culture to bestow on all that you require to grow 2. Then lay out a penny on “Potter's Popular Gardening.” May be had ºf booksellers generally, and at Smith's bookstalls-128 pages, woruh a shilling a page. BUTTER FLIES are pretty things. Prettier than you or I. - - See the colours on his wings || Who would hurt a butterfly P. Not to hurt a living thing .. Let all little children try. - See again he's on the wing, . . . . . ." Good-bye, pretty bu terfly.—Mrs. Fol em. GIPSY CONUINDRUM. Q.—Why is Buckinghamshire like a goad 2 A.— Because it runs into Oxon (oxen) and Herts (hurts). - - . . . FIROIMI THE Xà: NATURE. º. OxO N. - - 㺠No. V. 3rd Series.] JULY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1894. HE prayeth best, who lowest best, All things both great and small, For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.—Coleridge. - HOW TO OBSERVE W}}}}}}'' {}{S}'}}}}}}}} EDITH CañRINGTON will appear in the future months’ issues of this Journal : 6. Dām, Nāillº's Thrift. T. A Pºp UndergrOld. 8. A Dºld Lºiſ. 9. Th(IIIS and Thişilºš. 10. The HOmē Of the Lärk. Order at once. If you cannot obtain a copy let us know by post card, giving the date and bookstall or news- agent, and we will send you a COPY FREE Address—G.J. Office, 30, Chandos Rd., Stratford, E. G-IIH’SY GEMIS. “NEVER,” said my aunt, “ be mean in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you.”—CHARLEs DICKENs. “SwºT mercy is nobility’s true badge.”—Shakespeare. Puss’s Hunting v. that of Man. WHEN puss heard father bragging over His well-filled bag of game, She thought—to go a hunting Could give no cause for blame. But when she hunted ma’s pet bird With emulative zeal, She found in human ethics, There are wheels within a wheel. She found “To kill a bird with gun and shot, Is matter for applause ; But 'tis a wicked cruel deed To kill with teeth and claws.” Moral (by author.) Yet to my mind betwixt the two, The only difference is That father's hunt was just his sport, While pussy's hunt meant “bizz.” Mother Nature. MEDICAL science has long sought for a sovereign remedy for that scourge of childhood, diphtheria, yet the coloured people of Louisiana and, erhaps, of other localities, have for years known and used a cure which is remarkable for its simplicity. It is nothing more nor le s than the pure juice of the pine- apple. “The remedy is not mine,” said a gentleman, when interviewed, “it has been used by negroes in the swamps down South for years. One of my children was down with diphtheria and was in a critical condition. An old coloured man who heard of the case asked if we tried pine-apple juice. We tried it, and the child got well. I have known it tried in hundreds of cases. I have told my friends about it whenever I heard of a case, and never knew it to fail. You get a ripe pine- apple, squeeze out the jnice, and let the patient swallow it. The juice is of so corrosive a nature that it will cut out diphtheritic muc us, and if you will take the fruit before it is ripe and give the juice to a person whose throat is well it makes the mucous membrane of his throat sore.”—Humanitarian. 66 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 60RRESPONDENBE. My first duty this month is to thank, on behalf of both editors, the head master of a large London public school, who informs us that he will do his best to get the “Gipsy Journal” into circulation amongst his pupils. Other masters in public schools, please follow. Are we to have a cycling column? This question has agitated my mind day and night. As an experiment I am this month printing one or two very simple bicycle runs written by boys, in what will in future be known as our Variety Page. Mr. Fitch, the Secretary of the famous “Owl Club,” has kindly consented to edit this page, and as the latter cycling club has branches in every corner of the world, our circulation, if we decide on continuing a cycling column, will receive a great impetus. Will our old subscribers, however, who joined us simply because we were a rambling paper only, please take note that it is for them to settle this question finally. “No scorching no record-breaking, no slang,” is the editorial order meanwhile. I want Gipsies to reflect that many cyclists use their machines, sinply as we do the train, just to get quickly into fresh fields, and verdant pastures. To the latter class scorching is a vile abomination, and the slang of the scorcher more detestable still. The nature-loving cyclist, pure and simple, has no paper exactly fitting his requirements, and yet, in his fondness for rustic delights, he is a genuine Gipsy. Ought we then to black ball him along with the scorcher? My own impression is that we ought to shake hands and be friends. JAMES TUALE, of Woodside Grange, North Finchley, and a High Beech landowner, sends me a letter the contents of which are of the utmost importance to all ramblers. This communication deals with the subject of rifle practice in the neighbourhood of High Beech. “I have always regarded it (rifle practice at the High Beech range),” writes Mr. Turle, “as most culpably dangerous, and consider that the flag signals are of no use whatever to others than those already acquainted with the rules of the locality. I have property at High Beech and have often seen the flags, but they have never been any indication to me.” Let me assure Mr. Turle that I have done my very best to prevent the firing from being resumed at the High Beech range. Letters on this subject above my humble signature have appeared in “The Echo,” “Daily News,” “Westminster Gazette,” “Star” and “Evening News,” a fact which proves that the London Press thinks this question of dangerous rifle practice in metropolitan suburbs of the highest importance. Another correspondent besides Mr. Turle suggests that he should have printed with my assistance an appeal to the English Press generally, but I have decided to ask all Gipsies their opinion first. Will all those of my readers willing to act as a committee for the prevention of dangerous rifle practice in suburban districts, send in their names at once * We can then print all the names and organize for future operation. was shot dead on the the threshold of his mother's kitchen by a rifle-range bullet, and we all know the sad fate of poor grave- digger l ngram. Surely something should be done. The noise in the most beautiful part of Epping Forest, let alone the danger to ramblers, was, last year, simply dreadful. E. A. CoPE, the President of the Phonetic Shorthand Writers' Association, writes: “I came across your Journal the other day for the first time, and am pleased with it -except, its inappropriate title. Why not “ Rambler's,” instead of Gipsy P’ In answer to Mr. Cope, I should like to point out that the Editors have no choice in the matter. It was “The Gipsy Journal,” which the publisher, for weal or woe, first put into their hands, and now that the Only the other day, a poor lad at Tipton jonrnal has been widely advertised in such papers as “The Daily Chronicle,” “The Morning Leader,” and “The Echo,” s “The Gipsy Journal,” to change the name at present would be an expensive luxury. We hope, however, when Mr. Cope and his large circle of friends see our new cover, they will better appreciate the title chosen by the publishers. F. W. SMITH, 12 King St., Camden Town.—Your walk is the very kind of thing we want most. If you have any friends who can send us a few more similiar short walks, by all means let them do so. Look out in the August number. Miss C. BARNARD very kindly sends me a list of wild flowers noted by her at Barmouth during September, 1886, no less than ninety-seven specimens in all. The list contains the English name, the natural order, and the genus and species. The curious part about the catalogue is that it was submitted to a classical scholar for revision, and the gentleman in question made in several cases right, wrong. The list, which is most various and interesting, is a striking testimony to Miss Barnard’s love of wild flowers. John Fox, Blackfriars Rd., writes: “Attracted by an advertisement in the ‘Echo' I procured all the recent numbers of your journal. 1 am an enthusiastic rambler. Some of the walks described are known, but the majority will have the charm of novelty as a further attraction for me. I have often felt that the recreative pedestrian should have a representative in the Press, while every other interest seems to have its organ; perhaps here is a rôle for the ‘G. J.” l hope to pick up a few a. hints in the next month or two, on the question uppermost in : my mind —what to do with a week’s holiday.” MRS. F. H. SUCKLING —I am pleased to hear from Miss Carrington that you are thinking of becoming a contributor. Miss Frances Power Cobbe is also going to write for us, and, as you will see, Colonel Coulson has an article in the present issue. I think Mrs. Marriott may also be induced to send us a article. "VIVISECTION. A VALUABLE TESTIMONY. The following letter needs no comment, and shall be given in the exact words of the writer:— To Miss Edith Carrington. DEAR MADAM, Ever since I read your admir- able letter in “Our Work,” I have been wishing to write to send you my small testimony, such as it is I have been an invalid for thirty-six years, and I know that my case is quite hopeless. But if I could be relieved or even cured by the con- tinuance of these hideous cruelties I would not accept the boon at that cost. I believe that this is the feeling of the majority of sick people, and it would be desirable that the question should be cleared entirely of this element of cure, which is not the real cause. I believe it is only morbid scientific curiosity which is the real root. Please excuse pencil, as I write in bed. You can make any use of this letter that you like, or think worth while. Believe me, yours faithfully, - S. SINNOTT. TEIE GIPS Y JOURNAL. 67 #H.G.W. T.G. G.B.S.E.R.A.I. WITHOUT DESTROYi MG : A SERIES OF OUT-DOOR SKETCHES - BY BDITEI CARIFINGTON. a pallen the E. “Sweet is the lore that Nature brings, Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous form of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.” # - Wordsworth. - HošE who wish to enjoy rural NT life must “keep their eyes % open ‘’ as the saying is. It is **** º not while strolling carelessly %; along or gazing listlessly around during the pause in our ramble that the true pleasures of the country and its deep interests are to be felt ;-no—it is to the earnest, not to the indolent, that the prize is conceded in this, as well as in other matters. “The seeing eye” secures to its happy possessor all that the magic wand of a conjurer calls up for his delighted audience, drawing forth all manner of hidden and un- suspected marvels from what are, to a casual observer, the Like the poet described by Wordsworth, the real lover of Nature studies her as she is most unlikely places. at home;—and to him she lends powers unknown to the so-called naturalist who comes forth to do nothing but slay. “Glasses he has that little things display, The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, A mailéd angel on a battle day, The mysteries that cups of flowers unfold, And all the gorgeous sights which faries do behold.” Mother Nature will not lend her spectacles to those who enter her shrine to destroy her workmanship. It is to the patient and kindhearted that her “glasses” are entrusted. It is not long ago that, while resting for a few minutes on a fallen tree trunk, I was led into a long train of The day was lovely, the air balmy, “the little birds sang east, musings on the mighty ministry of minute things. the little birds sang west,” everything spoke of peace, calm joy. The young larch trees rose like green church spires; here and there stood a stately oak, ash, or willow, while a tiny streamlet went now tinkling through a fringe of flowering grasses, now sliding noiselessly between the borders of blossoming herbs, which, amid the tangled brambles, served to muffle the knees of gnarled pollards, standing along the water-course. It was here, lying half across the hidden brooklet which had dwindled down from the summer heat to a mere thread, that there lay the huge helpless bulk of timber, once a grand tree. How and wherefore had it. been hewn down and left to moulder away P I examined that end of the trunk next to the root, and saw that no axe had been brought against it, —the wood was frayed and ragged, no human hand had been lifted against this monarch of the wood, Nature herself had been the exe- bands foresters and woodmen, combining their influences with cutioner here ;-her of silent workmen, her those of the rain, sun and air, had conspired against and slain this forest giant. Once a vast lodging-house and halting place for birds and sqirrels by the hundred, it was now a mere mass of rotten timber, rapidly crumbling into touchwood. Now this could not have been done in a day. Trees have an enormous power of self-preservation, they do not perish easily or quickly. The process of decay is not only extremely gradual, but, as is the case in human beings, it may in some degree be checked by careful nursing, and, of course, in cultivated lands, loss of timber is avoided by carefully cutting it before it becomes over- ripe. If man, however, is not thrifty and industrious in time, other agents of Nature will be thrifty and industrious instead; he will lose his property, his trees will become the forfeit to busier influences, When a sudden gale sweeps over a tree, especially over an old one, it breaks perhaps one of its main branches, leaving the wood in a jagged uneven state where the fibre is left exposed—that portion which once joined the limb to the trunk. A death blow is thus dealt to the tree,_ unless the cautious hand of the woodman repair the damage, which he may do by carefully sawing away the With an oak or elm it is much the same as with a wounded man. broken portion, leaving a smooth flat surface. Should the latter be left without a surgeon’s care the result is likely to prove fatal;-with a tree it is certain to do so, if it be injured. If the broken branch, however, be removed with an even cut, across the grain, the ascending sap renews the bark over the inner wood fibre, the wound heals, and the tree is as sound as ever; but should the 68 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. splintered surface be exposed to the atmosphere, the doom of that tree is sealed. Nothing can save it after water has once penctrated to the core. The sap has no power to make new bark, the raw sides of the tubular cells through which it ascends, being laid bare to the decomposing influences of heat, frost and damp. The rain sinks by degrees further and further in, reaches the heart of the tree, it becomes hollow, great flat fan-shaped fungi (a sure sign of approaching dissolution in a tree) sprout out from it, it is a prey to the first severe storm, it falls, and next a whole army of living creatures, small yet invincible, step in to complete the wreck. It is a great and beautiful natural law that death shall be the cradle of life. Nothing is melancholy in Nature for this reason—the annual funeral, which we call Winter, is the birthday of the resurrection which we call Spring. No sooner is anything dismal to be seen in her territory than Dame Nature seems to cry, “Get rid of it as fast as possible ! Make room for something new and fresh and young ’’ Therefore the aged oak or ash or willow falls before the gale, when its core is rotten, and no sooner does it lie low than a troup of busy labourers begin to turn old things into new. It is the special office of the insect tribes to perform these labours. What seems in them a destructive and mischievous course of action is, if we look at it through Nature’s glasses, exactly the reverse ; for we must keep in mind that the world was originally constructed in such a way as to keep in good order without the labour of man. That was an innovation,--a curse laid not only on him, but, by its effects on the dumb creation, a penalty on them also. Let us see then in what manner a provision is made for the removal of lumber such as old and decayed timber, and how, from Nature's workshop, it would be got rid of without human means. Look first at the bark of the fallen tree. It would be long years before so stout a fabric would yield to the comparatively gentle decay brought about by heat, cold, and damp. Therefore help has been lent by living beings. You will see some round shot-like holes drilled in it, they look as if some one had been practising with a toy-pistol and using the trunk as a target. But lift the bark care- fully, your fingers can split it easily enough, and you will see something beneath which looks as if a map had been traced upon the wood. It consists of one straight line not unlike the mid-rib of a leaf, or the back-bone of a fish, with many other lines radiating to the left and right after the fashion, however, of wheel-spokes, for they are not always quite parallel. Take out the small magnifying lens, which nobody ought to go into the country without—a good one with three folding glasses of different strengths can be bought for a trifle, and examine the central track. It is chiselled deeper into the wood than the rest are, and of the same breadth all the way along, while the others running out from it on either hand grow broader gradually towards the end. Now look at the bit of bark you stripped off, and you will see that, roughly speaking, one of the curious round shot holes corresponds to the end of each branch. The secret of the plan is this. A small beetle (it has no common name, but is called “Scolytus Destructor”), settled on that tree, and bored into it until she reached the place where the wood and bark met. Then she made a tunnel in an upward direction, placing her eggs along it at short intervals, and feeding on the portions of woody substance as she dug her way. After laying them all, she died, according to the laws in the insect world, which almost invariably ordain this fate directly the object of life—the perpetuation of the species—is accomplished. But—think of the wonderful instinct . She contrived to die in such a manner that even her corpse should be useful to her progeny. She did not contaminate with her dead body the future home of her young, nor leave it in the nest as useless rubbish, but creeping outwards at the hole made by her entry, expired there, so as to become a sort of matural stopper, preventing the piracies of foes, and thus mounting guard, even after death, over the helpless grubs within. As soon as the eggs were hatched, each young grub, by an instinct equally marvellous, began to nibble out a separate tunnel for itself, not going upwards along- side the middle one, for, if it did, endless confusion and scarcity of food would result from intersection of the tracks; but each grub invariably starting at right angles from the central track, and eating its way onward. Of course as the grub grows, the tunnel becomes larger and larger, till in due time the creature turns into a small chrysalis, finally changes into a little beetle, and bores its way into the air, making a shot-like hole, not yet to perish as its parent did, but to rove a short time as a pleasure—seeker No tool ever invented could so effectually tend to separate the bark from the tree and thus bring on decomposition of the wood as do the attacks of these beetles, and the hosts which follow in their train have the door opened for them, so to speak, by this insect. first, before following the same example. When they attack living trees, as they will do in places where the birds which search after and feed on them have been exterminated, their ravages are tremendous, and whole forests fall before them. They are too minute and too subtle a force for man to combat. A few of them do no harm however, or a healthy tree is able to repair the slight harm done. Besides the passive enemy to the tree which enters at the breach made by this small beetle, I mean the rain, other THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 69 The most formidable of these is a great mahogany-coloured caterpillar, three inches long or more, that of the goat- moth (Cossus Ligniper da), which for three years dwells in winding passages excavated for their owner by its power- burrowing insects instantly join in the warfare. ful jaws. It swallows the scrapings of timber thus powdered. Into the very pith of a trunk this creature is able to work its way, and its deserted burrows are taken possession of afterwards by centipedes, earwigs, wood- lice, and a tribe of other intruders who carry on the work of honeycombing it has begun. Each winter it constructs for itself a cocoon closely fashioned of wood-chips joined together with a secretion from its mouth. Its name is derived from the powerful goat-like odour which it emits and by which its burrows may be traced out. The willow is its favourite tree, though it also lives in the ash and elm. Although it is an excellent plan for those who wish to observe, without destroying the works of God, to take home with them such caterpillars and chrysalids as they find, feeding the caterpillar on the herb upon which it is found, and keeping the chrysalis in the surroundings proper to it until the perfect insect emerges, when it ought to be allowed to go free, after an examination, some notes, or perhaps a drawing having been taken from it ; I cannot recommend anyone to take the goat-moth caterpillar to their own abode. It is able to eat its way through any wooden box, and its escape into the premises is not pleasant. It is always restless in confinement, as, like many other creatures under similarly painful circumstances, it appears fully to k ow that it has been wrested from its Also it cannot easily be furnished with its right food in proper proper sphere in life, and is uneasy in consequence. condition. How much better it is, as a general rule, to watch Nature's workmen in their own laboratory ! torn from their field of usefulness how little, worthy of attention, can be known about them How little really is known of true interest, for this very reason, that people's first thought is to kill, forgetful that when life is gone the most fitting object of our study is gone too ! A formidable destructor of fallen timber is the goat-moth caterpillar indeed, but there are others. No sooner does the inner sub- stance of the tree begin to succumb in consequence of being riddled by channels of rain, and by the varied causes already named, and to become soft in texture, that its trans- formation into soil for future growths, animal and vegetable, is further accelerated by myriads of insect warriors too numerous for description here. They apppoach it armed with implements more cleverly made, and of material more fitted for the purpose, than any bag of tools ever contained. They drill holes, they grind it with saw-like jaws, they file it away. A very small exertion of the hand, or, if needful the use of a small chisel or saw will lay bare a curions scene of domestic economy — a perfect network of burrows, a colony, a township, of which the inhabitants consist mainly of beetles and moths of various sorts in their various stages — all of which have taken up an abode in the daily mouldering trunk. Among them is an extremely beau- tiful beetle, the Musk Beetle (Cerambya Moschatus), whose favourite retreat is the willow, though its family of flattish white grubs may be found in many sorts of decayed wood. This creature is of a malachite green, nearly an inch in length, and is of a slender and elegant shape, with long curved antennae or horns. No lovelier object for the pocket magnifier can be found than this beetle. It is prone to lie on the mossy bark or beneath a green leaf in such a way as to tone in with the general colouring, being tinted as many other insects are, so as to match what lies around them, and thus escape the lynx But a careful search can hardly fail to discover it, and the perfume from which it eyes of its winged enemies. is derived is also a guide to its presence. Beneath the lens the dull green of its wing-shields appears as a glittering mass of gems, reminding one of King Arthur's miraculous sword hilt, flashing with “Myriads of topaz lights, And jacynth works of subtlest jewelry.” From its tapering horns to its curious brush-like feet, every atom of this insect is a wonder. To kill such a creature for the sake of carrying back its dead body to decay dismally in some dark drawer, is to lose all the delights of seeing its perfect living mechanism in motion —and surely such a deed must leave its perpetrator a worse and not a better man, woman, lad or girl, than If folk would but learn to enter the great Temple of Nature with before– blunter in sensibility, harder in heart. reverent feet and hands restrained from slaughter, – worshippers of the Creator revealed in His works, not as thieves and murderers on a petty scale, their reward would be great, and a stock of real and greatly needed knowledge would be added to the now very musty storehouses of Science,— musty, because always stocked with dead, not with living, animal lore. A rapid sketch, a few words jotted daily in a diary to be elaborated afterwards, careful models, accurate life-histories, these are what we want. It is not the possession of dead carcases which will teach Nature's student, but the life-long, persevering, gentle acquaintance with happy living creatures in their own homes. We sorely need a modern school of naturalists whose ideas shall be more in accordance with a civilised age, who will merge the desire to possess in the yearning to know without demolishing the types of life around their path. But the history of a fallen tree on its way to be turned into 70 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. earth cannot be completed without an account of one more insect, perhaps the most interesting of all the agents, employed in the useful task. It is the Rose-cutter Bee (Megachile Willough biella), or Willow Bee as it is sometimes called from its preference for the tree of that name. It does not attempt to tunnel out the wood until it is quite rotten. This insect then bores a hole as large as she requires, and going to the nearest rose-bush or laburnum tree she runs over the leaves for a few minutes and balancing herself in the edge of a chosen one proceeds to turn her body into a set of compasses. Steadying herself by her feet on the edge of the leaf, she describes a semicircle on the leaf around with her jaws, cuttiug out a piece as she moves them. As she is standing on the portion about to be cut off, she would fall with it, unless she took care. But before makiug the last bite she spreads her wings, and thus balances herself. She next flies away with the prize to her burrow, and comes back for another. The reason why she chooses curved pieces of leaf is plain. She wishes to make a thimble-shaped shell, and thus the semi-circular bits fitted over one another are exactly the right thing to line it neatly and comfortably. When she has finished her nursery she lays an egg in it, and also places a store of bee-bread there (made of honey and pollen kneaded together), so that the future baby in grub form to issue from the egg may find its wants supplied. She proceeds then to make more cells, each about two inches in length. After a few days the interlaced leaves become so compact and hard that they may be removed from the burrows and put back again without injury to them. - - Such are a few—a very small portion of the secret powers which were meant to govern this earth of ours and keep it in repair, before man was himself degraded into the position of a husbandman, and bidden to dress the ground from which he was taken. It is his labour which has interfered with Nature’s, not Nature's servants which intrude on him, as in his pride he is too prone to fancy. - - It is high time, at least in this century, that men abandoned the foolish and suicidal policy of going forth to obliterate Nature's police force,—whatever their less cultivated ancestors may have done. With regard to the over-multiplication of destructive insects, the disas- trous results of that policy are only too plain. The Woodpecker, the Treecreeper, the various species of Titmouse, the Wrens,—all wage war upon timber-boring insects in their grub stage, prying with bright eyes into chinks and crannies, bringing clever sharp beaks to bear. When in their perfect stages and on the wing or sitting on the branch preparing to lay eggs, they are dealt with by the swallow, the sparrow, the robin, and a thousand - - others in the day, and, by night, the night swallow (or night jar), the bat, and the owl, act as a perpetual safe- guard. And their wages are paid to these helpers by the gun, the trap, and by ruthless egg-collecting ! We may depend upon it that such interference cannot go on without some terrible disaster. Of the magnitude of Nature’s slow and sure scheme the tale of a fallen tree gives a small notion. The whole universe is guided by the same Great Hand—it balances not only the huge ball which we call the world, but also balances its economy, down to the grayitation of the water drop, and, where man does not rashly and cruelly interrupt and break its links, all is one fine chain binding it together. Where he has by carelessness or brutality stamped out any species, even one seemingly mischievous, evil results have fol- lowed. He shoots the hawk and the small birds “eat him out of house and home.” He sweeps away the lesser winged tribes, and lo! insect pests threaten a worse invasion. He has to pay the price of his stupid mistake by infested crops, devastated orchards, worm-eaten timber. Famine shakes her fist at him, the very air he breathes and the water he drinks become corrupt. When shall we learn to be wiser? There is no tree that has not its destroyer, not one of those destroyers, but which is, in its turn, a prey to some natural corrective. There is no insect, it is believed, which, however small, is not the victim of a race of destructive parasites, as well as of a race of larger beings to which it becomes a food. There is no occasion for man to step in. Ample provision has been made to secure the welfare of the lord of animals if he would but leave things alone, not make a sport of death, cease to be a tyrant, and learn humility and forbearance in his treatment of the creatures delivered into his hands. - [Copyright strictly reserved.] INew Malden Band of Mercy. Opening of the INew Drinking Trough and Fountain, The excellent and humanitarian work set on foot by the New Malden Band of Mercy towards the close of 1892, with the object of providing a drinking trough and fountain in the district, was brought to a completion on Saturday, June 2nd, when the water was turned on with befitting ceremony and rejoicing. - - - Sir Richard Temple, Bart, M. P., with his characteristic readiness to go wherever wanted for any good work, had promised to attend and present the fountain to the Local Board on behalf of the donors, and Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, who have taken the lead in providing it, made the necessary preparations for the ceremony. - - - - The warmest thanks of the Band are due to Mrs. Suckling, through whose kindness many friends have helped, among them Mrs. Greenhough, who alone subscribed £50 towards the expense of erecting the Cattle trough and Drinking Fountain. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 71 4. G|PSY -é, VAR | ET | E.S. #- G. I P S Y J O U R IN A I, A prize of half-a-crown will be given to the best list of birds whose names begin with the above letters. The following names illustrate what is meant, only in this composition, compe- titors must adhere to the names of birds. Giraffe, Ippopotamus, Pig, Salmon, Yak, Jaguar, OX, Unicorn, Rat, &c. (For boys & girls under 15). We offer a prize of half-a-crown for the best original conundrum—preferably relating to the Gipsy Journal. Also a prize of half-a-crown for an anagram on the words forming our sub-title—namely, “ Ramblers' Leaves from the book of Nature.” As an example of an anagram we suggest the following : “Nature's aid, meal of all tired folk.” This anagram is made up of the letters in a phrase referring to Dalu Kola Tea. The phrase ruins: “Dalu Kola Tea is Tamil for tender leaf.” - 1.—THE other day, when riding out on a bicycle, the Prize Editor came across a most wonderful sign-post about twelve miles from London. Here are the names of some of the places it pointed to : Newgate Street, Digdag Hill, Goff's Oak, Appleby Street, Bread and Cheese Bridge Corner. We offer a prize of half-a-crown to any boy or girl who first sends us the place where this wonderful sign-post can be met with ; also a further prize– Miss Edith Carrington's last book—to any reader who sends us the greatest number of places pointed to on any sign-post. 2.—HERE is a funny inscription taken from another sign-post : “This is the bridle-path to ---------- If you can't read this you had better keep to the main road.” Half-a-crown to the first reader who correctly fills in the blank space. 3,--THE following notice is posted up near a most formidable brick wall not many miles from London: “Drivers of vehicles are requested not to damage this wall by driving against it.” We will give half-a-crown to the first reader who can tell us where this notice may be seen. What Guide or Book of §***. h Walks is this taken from §. "-. vºyºº and who is the Author P S * § ºl- Who, also, is the present § ºf: Publisher P Our Young Gipsies at School. HERE are a few specimens of harmless innocence —at any rate, as far as historical lore is concerned— on the part of some English school boys whose answers the writer examined a few years ago. The spelling, it is needless to state, is not carefully revised. “The Feudal system was a system called up by Henry VII stating that all lights should be put out at eight o'clock because of the thatched roofs.” “Cardinal Wolsey did not agree with Henry VIII about him cutting of so many of his wives heads.” Does this mean that each wife had twenty heads 2 Ed. “Wolsey was a warrior, he won several battles.” “William Wallace was a High Priest.” “Edward III gave the title of Duke to all his sons, and married them to rich heiresses so that they should all be kept together in one bond of love.” “Uniformity were a law that no one but the King were to let their servants wear liveries or uniforms.” Does this imply that our English monarchs are descended from a long line of butlers ? Ed. “Will, with his Normans won by playing a trick.” This, we presume, alludes to the battle of Hastings. Ed. “Wolsey was accused of heresy. He died in peace at Lutterworth.” “There were soldiers, working men, gentlemen, clergy, sailors, generals, lawyers and nobles in the Parliament proposed by Simon de Montford.” Are we to infer from this that generals, law- yers, and nobles are a distinct order of beings from gentlemen 2 Ed. - A few days ago one youngster wrote about a far off land having an equilateral (equable?) climate. Another puzzled us by writing of electro (electorate 2) wool, whilst another declared that the Act of Uniformity was framed to put down heresy and immortality (immorality ?). 72 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. Young Gipsies at Play. Streatham Hill to Kingston. THERE is an extremely nice ride for a bicycle on the road from Streatham Hill to Kingston. It is a wood road stretching about 14 miles, and hundreds of cyclists go on it every day, being nearly all the way down hill. Also at the end there is a big fountain in the middle of the road, and it is very amusing to watch, for nearly everybody stops to drink there: it is a natural spring. There is very little traffic, though a tram-line goes down the middle of the road, but as the road is wide, the trams do not get in the way of the cyclists. It is commonly known as the “cyclists road,” and it would well repay anyone to take the trip.–H. S. PLAYER Dulwich to Redhill. STARTING from Dulwich we first pass through the Park, up College Road and so reach the Crystal Palace; riding straight along the parade and through the own we come to the steep Norwood Hill, and bearing to the right before getting to the bottom, we find ourselves at Sou h Norwood, which we pass, The next place of importance is Croydon. About two miles from Croydon is the pretty little village of Purley; here begins the Brighton road proper. Where we turn into the Brighton Road there is a sign-post, giving distances to various places. Passing on along a level stretch of road we come to Coulsden, thence up a slight incline to Merstham ; here the road gets narrower, and runs between high hedges on either side. Merstham has a very fine old church, and this is abont the prettiest part of the ride. Three or four miles further on, and going down another hill, we come to Redhill, which is really built in a valley. The road here is composed of chalk and flint, which dries very quickly after rain, and, except when very dusty, is capital for cycling. O. H. EVANs. - Westerham. A Good bicycle ride is to go to Westerham. If you start from London, come by any road to Bromley, go straight up to Keston, then branch off to Leaves Green, pass the Salt Box, and get some one to direct you to the Black Horse, where you can have, if already hungry, something to eat. Once there, it will be very easy to find your way to Westerham, which is at the end of a beautiful valley. There are one or two very steep hills; but it is a splendid place, with hop-fields, woods, etc. On your way back, turn to the right for Cockham Hill Common, and from there to Brastead Chart (where you can have tea). - - Then take the road to Sevenoaks, returning to Bromley by the main road. Instead of going to Cockham, Hill when at Westerham, you could go to Brastead, thence to Chevening (where there is a large park) pass through Knockholt, Pratt’s Bottom, Green- street Green, and come by the main road through Bromley. Rob ERT WILLIAMs. TO RAMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. WELITE IIIEAE CIROSS. To the Editor of the Gipsy Journal. SIR.—Can any of your readers give me informa- tion as to the above interesting relic of a bygone age 2 What is its origin And which of the Oxford Colleges is under an obligation to keep it clear from grass and weeds Yours truly A SUBSCRIBER. EPPING For Est.—HAwkwood and some other impassable and densely wooded parts of Epping Forest having recently been subject to a process of thinning-out, we hasten to assure the numerous correspondents who have written to us on the matter that after personally exploring the localities in question on their behalf, we conclude that the Conservators could not have acted more wisely in the interests and for the conveni- ence of the people. - IT is estimated that there are on Ailsa Craig alone 10,000 gannets. Assuming that each bird only consumes six herrings a day, the gammets on Ailsa Craig alone must devour 60,000 herrings a day, 1,800,000 a month, or 21,600,000 a year. On the modest assumption that there are fifty gannets in all the rest of Scotland for every one on Ailsa Craig, the Scottish gannets alone must consume more than 1,110,000,000 herrings a year, or 37 per cent, more than all the Scottish fisherman catch. A SERIMION IIN A IN UTSEIRBLL. “AND God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth mpon the earth after his kind, and God saw that it was good.” Wha kind of son would he be, who took a pleasure in tearing to pieces and destroying that which his father made P-would any one of us think such a son dutiful, affectionate or good? Then what attitude do we adopt towards the great Heavenly Father when we make a sport and pastime of slaughtering, maiming, or torturing His beautiful works—the creatures which he made 2 God saw that they were “very good "-without exception man too often finds them very evil;-despises them, nicknames them “ vermin,” says, in his blind ignorance of their services that they are mischievous ; assumes, in his arrogance, that he alone has a right to the boon of life. Nevertheless, unless any man would be pleased with such a son who behaved in a like way towards himself, he cannot imagine that his Creator and theirs can be otherwise than displeased at the wanton destruction of His handiwork. That they must die either naturally or artificially is a sad necessity;-that their death should be a joy to men and women is an insult to their Maker, which will one day have to be placed before human eyes in its full enormity. Look out for the next Gipsy Journals, and order at once; a (0) ſº flyºlſ (S.6d,00Sifré May be had at any Newsagent. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 73 #AMº E #64}\in {}A^T}. By SCUTTY WIREN. “THE beautiful Queen of the West,” as Roebuck flatteringly and not inappropriately termed the city of Bath when contesting the borough against Lord Ashley, is situated about 108 miles from London on the Great Western Line, Desirous to have a long day’s ramble in its vicinity, I availed myself of one of the frequent midnight trains that afford such opportunities, and reached Bath about 5 o'clock. The morning was unusually bright and clear, and I resolved to make the best use of my holiday that circumstances would permit. After glancing at a few objects of interest in the city—notably the old Abbey, the ancient Roman baths, the Pump Room, hot water fountains and hospitals, I diverged towards the suburbs, and was soon passing beneath the heights of Beechen Cliff—from which the finest view of the city is obtained, and, proceeding through Widcombe- originally Wide Combe—signifying a wide valley between two hills—in a short time reached the “Carriage Road” leading up a hill two miles in length to the freestone quarries of Combe Down. This road was formerly a tramway with two lines of rails for the carriage of freestone to Bath— hence its name “Carriage Road.” A great part of the city is built of this stone, which is very hard and durable when exposed to the air. The road is now a comparatively private one, skirted partly on one side by the Bath Cemetery, and on the other by the beautiful grounds and shrubberies of Prior Park, and here “the charm of earliest birds" resounded. From this rising ground the view of Bath in the morning light was very distinct; and when I reflected on the sciatica, gout and rheu- matism under treatment in the hot water city, I could scarcely do otherwise than congratulate myself on my own buoyancy. Being anxious to have a fuller sight of Prior Park, I mounted a stone against the wall, and peeped over, when I saw an individual sauntering under the trees, apparently watching the movements of a robin. When he observed me he nodded, and said I could get over if I liked. I therefore did so. He told me he was a poet, and sought this spot for solitude and thought. “This is called - be seen. Pope's Walk,” said he “here he composed his well-known ode “Vital spark of heavenly flame,’ when he resided here as the guest of Ralph Allen, who built the mansion, and of whom he Wrote :- ‘Let honest Allen with unblemish’d name, Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.’” I was much interested in his conversation, and would have liked a longer stay with him, although I knew I was trespassing, as he acknowledged he was himself; but, wishing to continue my ramble I scrambled back over the wall with the poet's assistance, and within a quarter of an hour reached the top of the hill, and found myself in the straggling village of Combe Down—scarcely awake yet; smoke eman- ated from a chimney or two, a few stone- masons were making for their quarries, and a milkman had just started on his round. A solitary shopman was taking his shutters down; the post-office was attached to his shop. He took particular notice of me, being evidently surprised at a stranger putting in an appearance there so early. I entered into a little confabu- lation with him, and he invited me to come in to breakfast; so, nothing loath, I readily accepted his invitation. He gave me an entertaining account of the village, in which he had spent most of his life; and said that as he had an hour or so to spare, he would take me round and show me what objects of notice there were to I was willing enough to accept his kind offer, and accompanied him first to the subterranean quarries, which extend for miles under the village, and from which most of the stone has now been excavated. We then went through a wood, called Beech Wood, to a valley where a spring of pure water bubbled from the ground, and which, by an ingenious contrivance of pipes, supplies several villages with aqua pura. A fuller's-earth manufactory is in operation close by. From this valley, by a circuitous route, we proceeded to a wild and rugged region called Hampton Rocks, which was once the site of a Roman city, and a cave was pointed out to me as being connected with a recent murder mystery. The prospect from this eminence is very striking. My guide now began to intimate that “ business must be attended to,” so I took a reluctant leave of the genial postmaster, and went on my ramble alone, wending my way down the rocky hillside till I reached the towing-path of the Kennet and Avon Canal, and followed its course till I came to a place called Dundas, where the canal by an aqueduct passes over the Avon. A picturesque walk it is between Dundas and Midford, from which latter place, for the sake of a rest, I 74 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. took the train to the next village—namely Wellow. Having read in an old guide-book of rose, tea and strawberry gardens at Wellow, I looked for them, but found them not. On inquiring at the village inn, I was informed they had long since ceased to exist, although a chance comer could get a cup of tea at the place. I therefore after a while discovered it, and obtained some refreshment. One or two strawberries and a rose tree or so remain ; but the proprietors found that vegetables were more profitable than flowers and fruit, and acted accordingly. Passing through the village, I came to the church—an imposing structure— and, as my custom is, I entered the churchyard. Feeling somewhat sentimental, I took off my hat by the side of one of the mouldering heaps, and was repeating after Gray: “Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have sway’d, Or waked to extasy the living lyre ; ” when a villager accosted me, and said, “ Perhaps, sir, you would like to go up the tower. It is the highest tower, and has the finest peal of bells in the county. I can get the key at the cottage.” This was a chance too good to be refused ; and in a few minutes I was at the top of the tower, and enjoying a magnificent view. To the south lay the Westbury Downs, with their white horse, said to have been cut on the chalk by King Alfred's soldiers, but still in good form and condition; Clay Hill, close to which is Longleat, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, with its 365 windows; and, more to the west, on a height of the South Downs. Stourton Tower, one of King Alfred's signal stations. Looking to the north were seen the hills about Bath, with the stately tower of Beckford on Lansdown. Beckford was a man of genius, wealth, and eccentricity. I consider a man eccentric who lives in the strictest seclusion, and who could discharge a servant for the crime of accidentally meeting him on the staircase —such was Beckford; he was the son of Alder- man Beckford, twice Lord Mayor of London, and was an authority on painting, sculpture, and literature. He died in 1844, his body was the first to occupy a position in Bath Cemetery, before alluded to, but his remains were subse- quently transferred to Lansdown, where, beneath the shadow of his palatial tower, he sleeps in peace. Gratified with the view, I descended the church tower, and, by a shady lane with wheat fields on either side, came to Combe Hay, where once resided Carrington, late proprietor of the Bath Chronicle; he was a poet as well, and of Combe Hay he writes, “A lovely spot thou art, - Combe Hay.” So it is, Carrington, a very lovely spot indeed, most tranquil and calm, with its pleasant gardens, valleys and wood-crowned hills, its daisied meadows, and undulating pastures, suggestive of new-mown hay ; with its white lilies and roses by the cottage doors,and bean-blossoming fields beyond. Well might a poet love a place like this. The church being usually open to a stranger, I looked inside, and saw the poet's resting-place, with his own epitaph:— “Here let me rest, Like a tired bird in her own quiet nest, *nd find—how exquisite to find it !—there Life's stormy noon crown'd with a sunset fair.” Bidding farewell to Combe Hay, I made tracks to- wards a village called Odd Down—a rather odd place too—which I soon reached, and obtained some tobacco at an old-fashioned inn called the Cross Keys. Near here is the Bath Union Work- house. A group of workmen were busy in an adjacent field, and one of them, seeing me looking over the hedge smoking, came up to me with a little black empty pipe, which he touched sig- nificantly. As I replenished it, he became conversational, and gave me a touch of his history; he was a mason by trade, and had laid every brick and stone in the little church attached to the “house.” Passing the workhouse I was surprised and pleased to hear the children singing to Hullah's music, as Minot taught it at St. Saviour’s, Southwark:— “Springing from his grassy bed, See the warbling lark arise, By his grateful wishes led To the clear bright morning skies.” I heard that the schoolmaster had much difficulty in getting permission to teach the poor pauper children the art of singing by notation, but he eventually succeeded, and no doubt many a home has been rendered happier thereby. The weather now became rather cloudy, and some drops of rain fell, so I stood for a few minutes beneath a cottage porch, when the proprietress addressed me, and said “I knew we should have some rain, because it was a Saturday moon.” Although I hardly followed the argument, I gathered that when the moon changes on a Saturday rain will follow, and made a note of it. But the rain was soon over, and passing through Englishcombe, where may be seen the old Roman foss-way and some ancient barrows, I re-entered Bath well satis- fied with the day’s excursion. Humane Articles by EDITH CARRINGTON, and Notes, &c., by Miss C. BARNARD. IllSisi OlhãWing this JOITIlāl or write to Office, 30, Chandos Rd., Stratford, E THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 75 gº FROM THE º EDITOR'S KNAPSAGK. READERS, I crave your advice. Pardon me then if just for this one issue the Knapsack is transformed from Sylvan nooks and sun-smitten glades in continental and homeland scenes, and discharges notes of a less romantic kind. The fact is, several readers insist that we must have notes for cyclists. “To bike or not to bike,” that is the question. I fear many of our rambling friends will read this with a shock, but let us face the matter boldly before we decide. My own experience of the past month may help non-cyclists to settle whether the “Gipsy Journal * shall enlarge its bounds. Now, a few months ago, I hated cycling and looked on cyclists as positive bugbears in the Queen's highway. In fact scorching and dust have long ago made the latter hateful to all ramblers. Hence is it that they love the green fields and meadow paths with increased ardour. But friends were so very insistent. “Get a bike,” said a well-known member of the Alpine Club. “Get a bike,” added a fellow of St John's, Cambridge, “ and be sure and learn to ride on the step.” In short, everybody said that cycling would make a new man of me, and in truth I had been much out of sorts previously. My only reminiscences of bicycles were at Cambridge, and that in the days of those terrible ordinaries. A University friend, who rode side- saddle on one of these monsters, beguiled me one disastrous week into hiring a formidable ordinary. Oh, the horrors of being fairly lifted into that dreadful engine and,after a few moments scrambling in mid air, finding myself maimed and bruised on the hard road Once, however, I got fairly started, and that was on the top of a hill. What happened until both bicycle and rider woke up in a hedge bottom, with a countryman calmly surveying the scene, I cannot exactly say. All I do know is –I took that ordinary back to its stable, and for a dozen years abandoned cycling. But the safety, my friends recently said, is another and more tender machine, and, just a month ago, a friend made me promise that, if he brought his own pet machine to my doorstep, I would let him teach me to enjoy the thriling experience of learning to ride. And I consented. As the hour drew nigh I grew nervous, but, with cruel regularity, the machine turned up. However, I let myself be held on, and made a feeble show of working the pedals. When nervous at cricket of being bowled first ball, I have found it answer to fancy I was Grace or Shrewsbury. Hence, in bicycling, I tried to think I was Shorland or Zimmerman, and that a distant lamp-post was the goal of the race. But somehow it didn't work, and Shorland, in my person, bit the dust. The following night both friend and bicycle turned up again. Perplexedly though I wondered what possible harm I had done this friend, my honour was pledged, and we spent another hour in close and mingled intimacy, the friend, the machine, and I. - “Why, you’ve only to jump up, and go,” said a female relative, scornfully. “Keep it in motion and it's easy enough,” added a lame neighbour who seemed interested in our little proceedings. Then came the third hour, and somehow, what with wriggling with the handles, and digging at the pedals, I found myself, to my surprise. wobbling along unaided, and my friend jubilantly claiming that he had discharged his task—for he had stated from the first that he would teach me in three hours. - - The following Monday I arranged with another friend that we should run on a hired machine a distance of twenty miles—to Hatfield and back. We were to share the machine and help.one another on and off by the way, and no one was more surprised that day than I, to find myself ride three miles alone. Things became smoother after that. Finding myself dismounted the day after, in a country lane, I made use of the tips my coach had given me, and boldly scrambled into the saddle alone. And this, reader, is how I learnt to bike ; and, if any of you think it worth your while to try I am convinced that bicycling is within your reach. After my Cambridge experience I vowed the machine should not run away with me, and during my early attempts, rather than face this ordeal, I let myself be pitched headlong, at the start, into a bed of nettles. But I have since learned the correct use of the brake. Now of what use do I make the bicycle 2 No scorching at any price, but a run of twelve or twenty miles takes me to Epping, Edgware, St. Albans, or Hertford in quarter the time I could have walked, and leaves me a long day to dismount and explore the field-paths and woods in regions remote from home. The other day, for instance. I rode from Barnet to Stratford, transacted business with our publisher, popped up to Chingford, and rode leisurely back home. My opinion is, 76 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. that for journeys of this sort the machine is a time- saver and—as far as trains go—a money-Saver. The dread of the scorcher and pace-maker is, however, still as keen as ever. My great grievance is that my second-hand solid safety will squeak at times, and if I have no oil the natives and even little children make naughty remarks. “Grease, grease, Governor gie it some grease,” cry all the rustics along the lane and in the villages. The children take up the chorus, and the curious part is that in each spot I pass the demanders for grease seem convinced by their tones that they have made an original joke. But my oil-can will in future soften the point of this heartless jesting. WAYSIDE INTERVIEWS. We had dismounted from our bicycles the other day at the gate of Whitchurch churchyard in order to have another peep at the tombstone of Handel's harmonious blacksmith. ground at Whitchurch, girt with a quiet Middlesex lane, It is a pretty-dreamland spot—this burying rich meadows, a cluster of cottages which look as if they had stepped out of childhood's picture book, and one of the loveliest rectories in England. The church itself is immortalised by the memory of the great village organist whose fame has since resounded through the whole It was in this sacred building that the Oratorio, “Esther,” was first performed. musical world. But perhaps the greatest attraction on a summer morning is the rectory garden, into which, after copying the epitaph and rude music score on the harmonious blacksmith's tomb, we cast longing glances. Desirous of reproducing in the Gipsy Journal a facsimile of the famous organ, we ventured to enquire of a passing servant if the rector could assist us in our task. By way of reply the rector's wife herself appeared and at once invited us to take a stroll round the rectory garden. “An interesting church, madam, 1 suppose a good many people find their way here in the summer time.” “Ah, yes, there's been such a quantity of talk about the Elegant Chamber, and "-this was added depre- catingly—“you've possibly read the correspondence in the papers.” The lady seemed rather to suspect us of journalistic enterprise, but accepted our disavowal of any intention to write anything uncomplimentary of so charming a church and churchyard as this. “What papers?” we ventured to ask. “The Pall Mall Gazette,” was the reply. “A corres- pondent to the “Pall Mall” complains that the Elegant Chamber of the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos is falling into dilapidation; but have you not read the article P” and leaving us a moment, the rector's wife soon returned with the obnoxious document. The letter in the “Pall Mall ” complained that, although sixpence was charged to view the splendid paintings and the Chandos Chamber, the rector devoted the admission fee to the maintenance of the church proper. “I suppose the sixpences amount to a tolerable sum then, forty or fifty pounds P’’ “Dear no, between four and five pounds,” was the prompt reply ; “why our collections for church expenses do not exceed thirty pounds per annum. Then we pay five pounds for maintaining the churchyard and the sexton has eleven ; moreover we pay five for cleaning the in- terior,” and our hostess pointed with pride to a row of pews, which, truth to say, were models of cleanliness. In fact, looking round the pretty church one could not but wonder where another could be found to beat it. The classic beauty of the roof and walls seemed no way affected by the old-fashioned pews, and we offered con- gratulations on the perfect condition of the church. But with the elegant marbles and the roof in the ad- joining sarcophagus it was otherwise; things here were certainly falling into decay. “Who is the responsible representative of the Chandos family now ’’ P we asked, desiring to ascertain the reason of these pitiable dilapidations. But the long and short of it was that the rector regarded the grievance as real as did the “Pall Mall,” but with this difference, that the former thought himself deserving of sympathy rather than otherwise for being expected to maintain the sarcophagus of a noble family. The one thing which puzzled us was that, if the Elegant Chamber was included in the sixpenny fee, why some of the money was not spent on it. “The charge of sixpence was merely levied because one bank holiday, when showing some ladies round the church, 1 saw three young men standing on tiptoe on the altar looking over at the famous organ, and,” continued our hostess in tones of real sorrow, “there was on the altar a much valued altar-cloth—in fact, I worked it myself.” Such a dismal record of profanation roused our keenest sympathy, and we left the sacred building with the con- viction that had the “Pall Mall” known the wife of the rector of Whitchurch annoying letter, it would have spared her that Thanking the latter for her courtesy, we tendered our modest offerings, begging that they might be included in the next day's offertory, and in a few moments were skimming along on our bicycles on the road to Stanmore. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 77 THE SUMMER HÚlº. “WHERE shall we spend our summer holiday ?” will be a ques ion shortly troubling the mind of the public in general, and blessed will those persons be to whom the perplexity of solving the problem is compensated for by the subsequent outing. Indeed, there is much to be desired from several points of view in the annual holiday as at present celebrated. That many mothers do not altogether enjoy the month at the seaside is notorious, and I quite agree with a neighbour—-the mother of a rising family—who told me last year that the annual migration to the sea was merely a change of daily worry from one venue to another. The same anxiety about cooking, attendance, and family health transferred from a convenient home to an inconvenient, ill-adapted lodging-house. Boys, too, and even lordly men are wont to turn out unamiable companions when the resources of the eternal spade and sand-tin fail, or the weather is unpropitious. This kind of thing may be endured by the noble male, but if I were mamma and had a family of boys and girls at school, I should be inclined to insist on the happy brood—especially if they were at home all the year round—being entrusted independently to some trustworthy boarding-house keeper, whilst papa and I took our little jaunt elsewhere. Moreover, I should not attribute to parents any undue selfishness if they thought fit occasionally, when holiday-season returned to go each their separate way visiting friends, nor be surprised if in such circumstances increasing family blissfulness attended their return to the domestic circle. So much for families in fairly affluent circumstances, but what about those who have to scrape and pinch three months before and three months after the event in order to take the customary holiday P Does not common-sense dictate that a little excursion every other day into some rural spot a few miles out of town with comfortable ease and adequate funds would be as beneficial to mind and body as fourteen days by the sea plus present pinching and subsequent self- denial P My own impression is that we make too much of the sea as a necessity to health. Our inland fore-fathers, a hundred years ago, scarcely ever saw the sea, and surely they were no strangers to health and strength. In the present day, too, hundreds of thousands scarcely know what the sea is like, nor even have had a week away from home in all their lives. The seaside is well enough under suitable financial and domestic conditions, but not the absolute necessity many think. For little children and infants to sport by the glad sea waves is in every way desirable, but for growing lads and young men to loaf for days together is a premium on idleness and even vice. A walking tour is in every way more instructive and benefi- cial. The country passed in a three weeks' walking-tour is a better lesson than a dozen school geographies. There is, in some quarters, rather a prejudice against cycling, yet signs are not wanting that, in a few years time, the most popular summer holiday will be touring about in cycling parties. During the coming season many will be in doubt whether to spend their holiday at home or abroad. A well-known writer in “The Echo" stated the other day, that the more he saw of England the more surprised he felt that people went holiday-making on the Continent. Now this is sheer rubbish. How can a man compare England with France or Germany unless he visits those lands P. To flatly state that the Continent is not worth visiting is to beg the whole question. I quite agree that visiting other countries results in an increased admiration for our own land, but that is quite another matter. In order to acquire knowledge and learn the beauties of the world one must travel. Readers who have already spent past holidays in England or the British Isles might do worse than try a trip abroad for a change. The Rhine district, for example, is full of interest, and for a £10 note a young man should be able to cover three weeks in this part. The second class return to Cologne via Harwich is some- thing over £2, at many a pleasant, well-managed boarding-house in such places as Bonn and Coblentz the terms for excellent fare are well under £2 a week, and third-class travelling up and down the Rhine is ridiculously cheap. Bonn is a perfect specimen of a German town, the market-place and chestnut alleys are simply unique, above the town a fine walk in the woods commands views of the famous river, and the lordly Drachenfels towers erect amongst the Siebengebirge some miles up stream on the opposite bank. The Drachenfels may be ascended on foot or by the new railway. The view from the top is worth either alternative. After visiting Bonn there is Coblentz the Confluenza of the three rivers—and Ehrenbreitstein towers aloft—a stern sentinel—in the middle of the three. This is the far-famed Ehren on the Rhine. The Anlage at Coblentz displays, each summer afternoon, a gay and glittering galaxy of military and social life, and in the evenings the strains of the Wacht am Rhein are borne by some passing steamer over the waters in the moonlight. Then there are numerous places, such as Bad Ems and Ahrweiler, some few miles from the banks of the Rhine, to be visited, to say nothing of the immortal Lorelei, the Niederwald, the statue to Germania, the wrecks of many a lordly castle, the Monse Tower, and so on ad infinitum. It is narrow-minded and insular to shut our mind to such beauties as these. There is no grander eye-opener, on the whole, to an untravelled young Englishman than a sojourn in Rhineland. The ways of seeing the Continent are of course plentiful. One summer a few years ago I paid 25/- for a month’s rent of a pleasant room in Stuttgart, and made an inspection of the general condition of things in Wurtemberg, with special reference to technical and agricultural schools, popping over to the Ober-Ammergau Passion Play by way of variety. It is possible to live with great economy in most large continental cities, and some years since we only paid three or four francs, a day for accommodation in a chamber with a pretty balcony over- looking the Lake of Lucerne. The American young men show considerable enterprise in travelling on the Con- tinent. In fact travel is, in their case, part of a regular education. To visit the collections and galleries of Florence, Dresden and Munich is a fitting completion to a student's college days. Moreover, the simplicity of their foreign travel and study is only equalled by the economy. A young American will settle down for a few months in a continental city as naturally as a Scotch student at Aberdeen or St. Andrew's. Perhaps the day is coming when our nation will follow the example. Meanwhile, if any of our readers desire to know particulars concerning parts of the Continent near home isest adapted for walking, cycling tours &c., it will give me pleasure to answer any queries addressed to Temple Avenue Chambers, E.C. Of course travelling is much cheaper by joining a party, but independence of action is thereby fettered. Two, or at the most three, is an ideal number for a holiday, as without the compulsory proceedings binding on large parties, many little expenses are shared in common. Read the First Page of this Copy. Back Numbers, Price 2d. 78 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. THE RICHTS OF ANIMALS. IT is granted as a general premise that animals have a nervous system of acute sensibility, rendering them as susceptible of pain as great as that which human bodies feel. Even their scientific tormentors admit this, and no one can doubt it who has seen them suffer. Yet in actual fact scarcely anyone who has to deal with them remembers this, or is in any way influenced by it. Animals are usually treated as if they were without any feeling, mental or physical. They are sold from hand to hand, bartered from owner to owner, torn from their homes and from their habits, forced into alien and unnatural ways of existence, flogged, struck, chained, over-driven, often starved as well, and unless in some cases of extreme cruelty, the law does not interfere; in many countries it does not interfere even then. Societies for the defence of animals are ridiculed, and even where they exist in some force are almost useless through the apathy or reluctance of the tribunals to which they appeal for authority to act. Of the hundreds of thousands who use and profit by animals there is not one in ten thousand who cares how they are treated, or would incur a personal danger or a passing opprobrium to save them from suffering. The whole attitude of man toward the animal is mean and unworthy: it is simply the bullying brutality of the stronger over the weaker, or rather of the cunning over the frank, for the dominance of man over the larger animals is entirely obtained by the exercise of ruse and ingenuity. No kind of warfare is deemed too treacherous to use in the pursuit of wild animals, and no usage too barbarous to be given to tamed ones, if the interests or pleasures of the human race are thereby promoted. This may be natural, it may be inevitable, but it is certainly ignoble ; and the boastful self-admiration with which men speak of it is singularly out of place. - The whole attitude of that nineteenth-century god, science, is surely most unscientific towards animals. Since man is to the scientist merely like all other forms of life, a thing of gasses and phosphates, alive a little while, to be blown out like a spent match in the dark, wherein does he differ so greatly from all other animals that these others should be sacrificed in tens of millions to him P-OUIDA, in the Animal’s Guardiam. º COULD YOU BUT SEE Ten thousand thousand little birds In cruel hands a-dying; Could you but see the white wings torn From birds alive and bleeding, And note their quivering agony, I had no need of pleading, BLACK CALIEND AIR. tº Wed. (Derby). Great Horse-beating Day. June 6. Absence of common sense and—Gipsies. , 8. (Oaks). | Ditto. ditto. Now read CRUEL AIMUSEMENTS. CRUEL AMUSEMENTS. IT is painful to reflect upon the baseness and cowardice | of a section of men, and, alas, women. Those living in the country seem, specially, to fall into cruel ways. They need excitement and occupation, and, too often, some poor animal, who has never done harm or injury to any, is selected to cater for that excitement and provide the required occupation. Lately, attention has been drawn to the amusement (?) of bull-fighting, and we in England shake our heads and stroke our chins and murmur, “Thank goodness we are not as these Spaniards.” But have we not our cruel and savage amusements P Yes, to our shame we have. I will point to one, out, I grieve to state, of many, that is about as vicious and needless a form of cruel recreation as is possible for man or demon I allude to otter worrying, or, as its Otters are endowed to enter into. devotees prefer to call it, hunting. with wonderful intelligence. They fight for dear life with splendid courage. If tamed they show great devo- tion. They are hard to kill, and are classed as vermin. Yet, because their torture and death cause pleasure, they are, virtually, bred and preserved in order that idle men and heartless women may find delight in seeing them suffer and die. “That people,” wrote a gifted author to me not long ago, “should find such a recreation pleasant, is so sad and so bewildering.” And yet, so is it. It is looked upon as a legitimate form of amusement, and so pertaining to Christianity, for the Clergy join in the fun (?), and then talk the following Sunday of a just and merciful Being, who, nevertheless, will call us to Could inconsistency go account for all our actions. further P Too many appear to think that because they enjoy a sport that it is of necessity right. They quite overlook the fact that taking a delight in causing prolonged terror and suffering puts human beings upon a very low platform indeed; that it is mean and cowardly ; that it shews humanity in its worse, not in its better light; and that to place any creature in a position where it receives need- less pain, for no edification, is utterly and entirely opposed to all religious and ethical teaching. Public opinion is rapidly being aroused on the detestable cruelties perpe- trated in the name of sport. To my mind no form of vice is so great as that which loves to cause extra pain for fun And when women join in bullying the weak, and gloating over their bloodshed, it seems an outrage on decency and a bitter disappointment to all who believe in the gentleness of the sex. WILLIAM LISLE B, COULSON. THE GIPsy Journal, 79 - --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | RAMBLERS --~~ ####### iſſiſſiſſiliº rº-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,- ALL Gipsies who are endowed with a sense of the ludicrous will have no difficulty in calling up a Smile at a curious case of land-grabbing reported from Wiltshire. Land-grabbing as a rule is a serious business, but, in the case in question, we are told that a nobleman—since deceased—whilst fencing in a modest strip of land, adjoining the main road—a mere three quarters of a mile only— succeeded in annexing a milestone also. The revolving wheel of Fortune brings strange changes, and the very man employed fifty years ago to fence in the road-side strip has now the pleasure of paying eightpence per perch for the same land which his own hands enclosed. Possibly as rent days come round, Mr. Townsend—this is the man's name— wonders why he did not annex his now hired holding for himself just as easily as for a noble lord. The amusing part of the business is that when the authorities want to furbish up the milestone, they must first get permission from the tenant. This is one crumb of comfort for Mr. Townsend, at any rate. He missed his chance of grabbing a good slice of land, but still he is lord of a milestone. Is there not an old parish pump or a disused village pound which Mr. Townsend could annex to keep the milestone company His joy should then be Supreme. The “Bristol Times and Mirror” says: A COPY of the Gipsy Journal, not long ago launched, has been sent to us with a request that we will notice it. It is a clever little monthly paper, edited by Edith Carrington and A. G. Munro, B.A., one of the Masters of the City of London School. It aims at encouragement of the study of Nature by personal observation, and its chief object is to turn personal recreation into wholesome channels. This magazine will be useful to Londoners, for it gives to them full information on the subject of where and how to ramble. This is the recognised organ of the Common Rights and Footpaths Association. It contains articles of literary merit, which should be read outside the Metropolis. The price is one penny monthly. Special attention is devoted to the pro- ceedings of the Selborne Society, of which there are branches in the West of England. E. W. Allen, 4, Ave Maria Lane, London, E.C. New Books, Reviews, &c. WE have received a packet of excellent leaflets, Pamphlets, &c., from the hand of Lieut. Col. John R. Camp- bell, their author. The chief of them is entitled “Cruelty to Animals, as most frequently practised in everyday life.” Of the tone in which this paper is written we cannot speak too highly ; and it forms an almost exhaustive essay on the crying evils of the day in this respect, on which it is so desirable that all humane folk should possess a sound opinion. From much interesting matter the following account of reasoning powers in a dog, combined with memory, may be selected : “For years I had a Skye terrier called Bob, and there was a strong friendship between us. He used to sleep in the stable, but was admitted into the house every morning at an early hour when, supposing I was at home—he very . soon made his way up to my bedroom door, and remember- ing the effective signal, (a scratch or a peculiar bark) he gave it, and I let him in. But I was frequently away for a week, and sometimes for many weeks. So long as Bob saw me start, (and he seemed to grasp the idea of leave- taking and luggage in the hall) he soon became reconciled to his loss. He might miss me, but he had several friends in the house, and I believe considered himself one of the family. Should I, however, have left home unknown to him, he was miserable for a time, apparently thinking I might be hidden somewhere about the premises. During my absence he never went up to my room. But the curious thing was this ; should I return any night after he was gone to bed, he never failed to detect my arrival next morning, simply by a nasal examination of the family boots before the kitchen fire. If mine were there, he would at once trot up to my door. - Here the present impression was scent, which vivified the memory of its master, and that recalled to him the fact that when my boots were by the fire, I was always up stairs. The conclusion Bob came to was that he should find me by barking at my door. Here 1 apprehend that the conclusion was an inference from the last memory direct.” But we will quote no more from this valuable booklet, because we hope that after this tantalizing fragment, our readers will get the little work and finish it for their own edification. The only point on which humane persons will differ from the writer is when he implies that vivisec- tion under any circumstances is justifiable ; a position which is untenable from a high ethical and merciful standpoint. In effect, however, he totally condemns it by his affirmation that the infliction of pain on animals is cruel, and therefore wrong, unless absolutely necessary for “human or animal welfare,”—which vivisection never was, never is, and never will be. [PARTRIDGE & Co. 6d. The “City Press' says: THOSE who delight in country rambles will find this bright little paper, which is edited by one of the masters at the City of London School, a journal just to their liking. “The Gipsy Journal,” which has but recently come into existence, is written by ramblers for fellow ramblers, and aims at protecting rights of way, and providing chatty papers on rural wanderings. - 80 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. The Gipsy Journal, Organ of Footpath Preservation and Common Rights Associations; for protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals ; for the Preservation of all Natural Beauties; the Ramblers’, Cyclists’, and Holiday-makers’ Friend. ADVERTISEMENTS (of the best class only) are received at the rate of 3s. per in. or £5 5s. per page Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0. may be made payable to H. CRAPPER, G.P.O., Stratford, Essex. All other communications should be addressed to Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. TO CORRESPONDENTS. All correspondence should reach us not later than the 15th for the following month's issue. Several articles are held over for want of space. Rational Friendly Society, London District. THE first annual excursion in connection with the Lodges of the London District of this Society took place on Saturday, June 23rd. This was a 20 miles drive in Brakes, Waggonettes, &c.; through the charming Epping Forest, starting from Mark Lane Station at 1.30 a.m. and passing through Whitechapel, Bow, Stratford, Leytonstone, Snaresbrook and Woodford to High Beech. This Very romantic spot, in the centre of the Forest has very marked scenic attractions, being nearly 800 feet above sea level and commanding a view of six counties. The party visited most of the places of interest, including Paul & Son's famous nurseries. A high class tea was prepared at 5 o'clock, and it was all that could be desired. The meeting afterwards was presided over by Mr. A. Beaumont (Chelsea), and among the principal officers taking part were Messrs. England (Leyton), Tucker (Lambeth), Thomas (Hoxton), Wilkinson (Stratford), and Charles Morsley, member of the executive council. Cricket, quoits, and other games were indulged in. A concert took place at the “Dick Turpin's Cave,” when songs were sung by Messrs. Baker, Tibble, Morsley and others. The party started on their homeward journey at 8:30 p.m., arriving in London about 10 o'clock. Great praise is due to Mſ. Charles Morsley (the organizing secretary) for the admirable arrangements; everything moved with clock. work regularity, which added greatly to the enjoyment. In a great institution like ours we cannot have too many fraternal meetings, and to those of our members and friends who were not present I say : For rational enjoy- ment come to the next rational outing of the Rational Friendly Society. ONE OF THE PARTY. *—S->wº s :- GLUBS. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. COIVIMOINS PESIERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom.) Great George Street, Westminster. — Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science J. Mills, Hon. Sec. Forest Ramblers’ Club - 97, Tabernacle Street, London. J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Hampshire Field Club Southampton, M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Maidenhead Naturalists’ Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. INATIONAL FOOTPATH PRIESERVATION SOCIETY (130 Branches.) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. Northern Heights. Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. Phonetic Shorthand Writers’ Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President: E. A. Cope Esq. People’s Palace Rambling Club Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. SELBORNE SOCIETY (51Branches, 3000 Members) Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, Hon. Sec. South Place Ramblers 30, Benthall Rd, Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. St. Nicholas Club (See Correspondence) - 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. F. W. Hildyard, Sec. HIUIMANITARIAIN IIIEAGUE - For Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, N.W. Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. tº Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary ; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. Established 1893. No. 7, 4th Series, will be ready on Sept. 10. G *º-e—ree—e- º º º, O Sºº-ºº: :: Pºſº. BLERS' LEAVES ºº FIROIMI THE Book of NATURE. º ***** ºf wº OxON. - No. VI. 3rd Series.] - IMPORTANT. To our Gipsy Friends. THE great difficulty experienced by many in getting the “Gipsy Journal” compels us to make a pressing appeal to our readers. That the “Gipsy Journal” is gaining popularity is proved by the kind letters which reach us, as well as by the generous and welcome words of encouragement received from “The Sun,” “Star,” “Morning Leader,” “Newcastle Daily Chronicle,” “City Press,” “ Gloucester Chronicle,” and other leading papers. One obstacle only meets us on the thres- hold of success, and, unless promptly dealt with, threatens to cripple our circulation. The cry that our friends cannot get the paper is heard on all sides. It is no uncommon thing for would-be purchasers to be told at a book-stall that they can have the paper in a day or two, and, in some instances, not at all. It is evident that the most attractive paper in the world cannot, unaided, cope with such stupidity as this. We have offered to guarantee to Messrs. Smith a monthly sale of fifty copies each on certain specified bookstalls, if only they will let it appear for sale. All we want is that the “Gipsy Journal” shall be SEEN. Will our readers kindly remember that a determined order at one of Messrs. Smith's bookstalls for one copy only, is a service of inestimable value * We have spent much money in advertising the paper, and so created a wholesome interest in its columns, but these disbursements are of little avail unless the “Gipsy Journal” can be had when asked for. The fact is, the “Gipsy Journal” is a novel idea in literature, which seems to startle the mind of ordinary newsagents by its originality— so unlike the sensational illustrations which fre- quently garnish bookstalls—to such an extent that it seems to them incredible that a paper dealing with country rambles, holiday outings and kindness to the dumb creation can really succeed. We confidently appeal to our friends to prove to this incredible fraternity that the “Gipsy Journal” supplies a long-felt want. AUCUST. boldly through the streets of Whitby and made an ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1894. --~~ --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lipnº RAMBLERS # == -------------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A THRILLING episode from Whitby reaches us just as we are going to press. The Rev. Haydn Williams is once more to the fore in his determi– nation that the rights of the public to their open spaces shall be stoutly maintained. On Thursday : evening, July 19th, Mr. Williams, at the head of some thousand sturdy Yorkshiremen, marched assault on the railings and gates which enclosed the West Cliff Saloon Grounds. Amid tumultuous cheering these iron barriers were laid level with the ground. When morning dawned a ruined turnstile and demolished palings testified to the completeness of the reverend gentleman's work. Evidently this Gipsy parson does not do things by halves. One gentleman, we are told in the “Daily Graphic,” attempted to stay the seething tide of irate northerners with an umbrella, but was forced to beat a hasty retreat. What became of the umbrella “ The Gipsy Journal” is not told. Truly history repeats itself, and that noble gingham should henceforth grace fickle phantom fortune's museum in company with Dame Partington's proverbial mop. - - TO RAIMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to-EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, - TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLEAVENUE, LONDON, E.C. 82 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. 60RRESPONDENBE. *. CHARLEs GRANT—Letters received. The pamphlet is kºright and interesting, and you will see that we have #hought it worthy of a short press notice. MRs. LAWRENCE-PIKE–Thanks for the extracts which appear in the present issue. How do you like our little arrangement, “Leaf and Sheaf” P. We think of devoting a certain space monthly under this head to suitable extracts culled from time to time by our friends. Miss F. SUCKLING—Thanks for communication. The fragments are simply splendid, and any one who cannot raise a laugh over “Shortening the Sermon” must be claimed by Melancholy for its very own. It is such kind friends as yourself and Miss Barnard who encourage the editors nobly in their at present somewhat arduous task. E. O. NEWMAN writes: “The 24 copies of the June number I sent to relatives and friends in all parts of the world at my own cost, and it ought to bring in a few sub- scribers.” Mr. Newman's kind words set the publishers and editors pondering over the stupendous circulation the Gipsy Journal would reach if only they had a few score subscribers who interest themselves to such an extent as Mr. Newman in the matter. As it is the paper is winning golden words of praise from every quarter—the press notices are such as almost make the editors blush, but the uphill fight is in getting the Gipsy Journal known by the class of readers for whom it is intended. Nothing can be done in these days without advertising, and advertising, to Sey nothing of the production of the paper, is so very expensive. The publisher will gladly send on a dozen copies to friends who desire to emulate Mr. Newman's good example. R. C. WELDoN-We cannot yet definitely invite yon to send on the etching, as we shall not be able, for a few months to come, to produce it. However, we will bear your offer in mind, and give you the first chance. H. CRAPPER, OxFor D.—Yours the receiv WaS in answer to White Leaf Cross. only reply E. C. EVANS.–We shall be glad to hear from you again. NATURE LOVER.-Many thanks; help in any way thank- fully received. L. BEAUMONT, the Secretary of the St. Mark's Rambling Club, Battersea Rise, sends us a programme of this season's outings with a request that we will call the attention of readers in that district to the advantages of that Club, and insert the name of the association in our monthly list. This we gladly do, as we notice several very attractive features in the programme, notably the names of several ladies on the Committee. The President is the Rev. A. Chambers, and the vice-president Mr. A. O. Sorrell, F.R.A.S. The Committee consists of Miss Sprigge, Miss L. Sprigge, and Messrs. E. B. Rossiter, J. Strong, P. Green and W. Innals. The subscription is only one shilling, and any member may bring a friend to the rambles which extend over the most picturesque parts of Surrey and Kent. The August outings are on the 18th and 25th, the latter fixture beginning with a river trip to Hampton Court. We should imagine that the St. Mark’s Club contains as happy a sprinkling of Gipsies as ever shouldered knapsack, and wish them every success. REGINALD TAYLER.—Your article “In the Chilterns,” is now under consideration. Our last Buckinghamshire article seems to have made us many friends. For genuine hospitality we give the Bucks landlords the palm, blend and shall always recommend our Gipsy readers, when tramping in Bucks, to be sure and visit Mr. Bennett of “The Crown,” Amersham, in particular. If you had let us have a look at your last new book we might have given it a review. SWEET REASONABLENESS. “I AM sure God Almighty never sent us into the world to do such acts as these,” said a working man's wife to me the other day, when we were talking over an act of gross cruelty that had lately taken place. No, indeed. Whatever the meaning our presence on earth may have, I decline to believe that the Creator intended us to abuse the creatures under our care. And yet, alas, how terribly frequent is crueltya to animals. There is no use in a higher form of education unless we with it what Matthew Arnold has wel described as “sweet Reasonableness.” The abus! we make of our power over the creatures that? cannot speak is truly deplorable. We overloadt our brakes when on excursion bent. We brace back the necks of our horses into cramped, unnatural positions, by the use of bearing reins. We goad our oxen and sheep to desperation when driving through our streets and markets and to the slaughter- house (I heard lately, of one poor bullock escaping from the shambles and rushing about with a ghastly cut on its throat). We allow thousands of beautiful birds to suffer terrible deaths in order to adorn (?) our garments. We imprison others to gratify our whims And, to our eternal disgrace, we sanction the awful horrors of vivisection for a disputed good, and, to find employment for our many idle hours, we make merry over the terrors and agonies of wild creatures, actually breeding them for the very purpose, and call it sport. These are a few out of, the sad to relate, many acts of Our want of “Sweet Reasonableness.” We would not, could not do these things had we more pity in our compositions, did we encourage “Sweet Reasonableness '' in the minds of the young. “No crime, no folly, of my past life,” said a gentleman to me not long ago, “causes me such sorrow as the recollection of how I have ill- used animals, particularly under the guise of sport.” Ah! and how many of us, if we only thought, could make the same admission ? let us from hence- forth make up our minds, therefore, never to do an unnecessary or cruel act. There is pain and sorrow enough in the world. Let us seek to diminish not increase it. Reflecting that:— “THE well-taught philosophic mind To all, compassion gives. Casts round the world an equal glance, And feels for all that lives.” WILLIAM LISLE. B. COULSON. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 83 SOWERSETSHRE 89AST. - By T. W.R.E.N. “IN the days when I went gipsying ”I dis- covered some congenial resorts for that purpose on the coast of Somersetshire—I need not say the west coast, as that goes without saying—notably Clevedon, the romantic home of Coleridge the poet, and Weston-super-mare. are so familiar to tourists that it is scarcely necessary to make more than a passing allusion to them. I admit that I got tired of them after a few days' sojourn in each. The air is salubrious enough, and the surrounding walks and scenery sufficiently attractive to satisfy all but the most fastidious ; but these seaside resorts so much resemble Brighton on a small scale, combining the gentility of a fashionable watering-place with poor supplies and avaricious charges, that my inclinations induced me to seek a more homely if a rougher spot for recreation. I accordingly on Saturday morning took the train to Bridgwater. This town certainly is rough enough and sufficiently unattractive for any who affect roughness and unattractiveness. However, I did not remain very long in the town. I walked down its immense long street to the river, and saw the tide come in ; it is not a gradual process here, but comes in all of a heap as it were, in the form of a huge tidal wave, which is here called the “bore.” It being about dinner time, and seeing there was a table d’hote at an inn, “Honest Lawyer,” who was denominated the depicted on the sign as a man carrying his head under his arm, I went in, and found myself in company with a score or two farmers—it being market day—who were bargaining about their pigs, “wuts,” and vetches, and other farm produce. I certainly was never served with a more substan- tial dinner in my life—no shilling cut, carved the thickness of a wafer to cover the plate, and one potato. The farmer who sat next to me overloaded my plate, cutting from the joint ad libitum, with Vegetables in profusion ; bread and cheese, salad and ale in abundance; and I was certainly surprised at the proficiency the farmers had attained in These two places. roared with laughter at their little joke. clearing their plates, which I could not help envying. I felt that I had never laid out eighteen- pence to greater advantage in the way of eating. . The farmer who sat next to me did all he could to make me feel thoroughly at ease, seeing I was a stranger and somewhat diffident. I confided to him the fact that I was looking out for a place to spend a day or two's holiday; and he told me he had a farm down at St. Decuman's, near Watchet, and if I would like to accompany him he would be only too pleased to accommodate me; and as nothing could have suited me better I fell in at Once with the suggestion. He said he was going to have a smoke and a little business with his friends for a short time, and if I would return in an hour he would have the trap ready. I took a stroll, therefore, through the neighbourhood, and re-appeared at the appointed time. I found the good-natured farmer already in his trap, and, what was altogether unforeseen and unbargained for, his wife was seated beside him. Had I known the good lady was going to accompany him, I might have re-considered the matter. It was too late now, however ; and after an introduction, I was duly escorted to the vehicle, and became very comfortable and sociable. It was a pleasant ride, indeed, through the country for several miles, till we came to a very steep hill near Highbridge, when the farmer asked me if I would like to walk up the hill to relieve the pony a little—a hint which I fell in with. When I reached the top of the hill I saw to my dismay the trap going rapidly a long way ahead till it was lost to view by a bend of the road. “There must be some little mistake here,” I thought : “Some slight mis- understanding, evidently.” But, being on the journey, I resolved to keep on anyhow, and went leisurely along. When I turned the corner, however, there was the trap standing still, and the pony quietly grazing by the roadside. The occupants seeing I looked rather glum and serious, I was soon re-instated in the trap, and without any further mishap reached the farm about dark. My good friends made arrangements for me, and after an early supper I was soon sleeping the sleep of the just—in other words enjoying a sound refreshing slumber. I was awakened in the morning by the singing of the birds and some farm-yard music; and the weather being delight- fully fine I opened the window, round which ripe clusters of grapes looked very tempting. Early, and on Sunday morning too, “the house was stirring.” and the fragrant smell of the faggot fire was distinctly noticeable—not so very much coal being used about here. I made my way down to the farm-yard, in the middle of which an immense tree loaded with ripe Paradise apples was standing ; and as the farmer's son was about to - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. start on his morning expedition to count the sheep I accompanied him. Standing on an elevated part of the farm, and looking on the flocks below, he could tell in a minute or two if one were missing. I thought the morning air was a good tonic, considering the appetite I had when I got back to breakfast. I then strolled through the orchardstill church-time—some of them went to church and I went with them—but there is no need to depict a Sabbath service in a quiet old country church such as St. Decuman's. The housewife had dinner pre- pared on our return—a couple of ducks—presum- ably from the farm-yard; but there was a look of expectancy round the table when the farmer commenced, and as he tasted his duck with a puzzled look and remarked how much like wild duck it tasted, he set the table in a roar—it being a little deception—the farmer's son having shot two wild ducks the preceding day while his father was at Bridgwater; and they were served up as a surprise. I found the family most agreeable and friendly, and should have fallen in love with the farmer's daughter had I not previously made other arrangements. The farm is most delightfully situated, the fields and meadows through which I strolled in the afternoon extending along the sea- side a considerable distance. Here you can have a dip in the clear waters of the sea without any difficulty; and the view from the edge of the cliffs is very extensive and pleasing ; the two islands called the Flat Holmes and the Steep Holmes are not far distant, and beyond them the outlines of the heights of Toombarloom in Mon- mouthshire. On the following morning I went to count the sheep as usual, and accompanied the farmer's son in fern-gathering and botanising. A stream runs through the farm well stocked with trout, but these are strict preserves claimed by the superior landlord. A few hours of great enjoy- ment and interest were spent along the coast, where the miles of crystalline cliffs present a curious appearance, with caves, pillars, and arches of pure alabaster. In the afternoon I saddled the pony— very little is done in the way of bicycling here as yet—and took a ride through Williton, Snailholt, Stogumber, and made my way to Minehead and Cleeve, all of which places are full of attraction; and I left the neighbourhood impressed with the opinion that it was one of the prettiest on the west coast, and that the air was a specific for sleepless- ness and also for loss of appetite. Do you know That every cruelty inflicted on an animal in killing, or just before death, poisons to a greater or less extent its meat 2 engine's whistle. DERbyshing. By A. G. M.U.N.R.O, B.A. A NEW HOLIDAY HAUNT, A RECENT article in Chambers’ Journal on the Dore and Chinley Railway reminds me very forcibly of scenes enacted years ago in the Wonderland of Derbyshire — the land of Peveril of the Peak. Were it only on account of the glamour cast around this romantic corner of England by the fascinating Sir Walter, a short article might recall many pleasant past visions of dreamland as we pondered in days gone by over the pages of the great Scotch novelist in Some sequestered glade or sylvan glen. Imagine reader, if your early days were spent in spots so far distant from the din and roar of city life that many of the natives knew nothing of railways Save by report—the effect upon your mind were you to read in to-morrow's newspaper that the “place where you were born ?? is in future to be found in the pages of Bradshaw, that the dales and hills which once resounded only with the song, of the lark, the babbling of the brook, the tinkle of the village anvil, the laughter of the haymakers, the shouting of harvest home, the mirth of children fresh let loose from school and the music of the Sabbath bells, are henceforth to re-echo the roar of the locomotive and the mad shrieking of the - By all means, Gipsy friends, visit this far-famed land of the Peak, now that the Midland Railway have thrown it open, but as for me; why I prefer to roam elsewhere, and to describe for the benefit of our readers who go there, the impressions of more than twenty years ago. Truly, however, this Dore and Chinley Railway is a stupendous business. As I read that in one tunnel the Midland Company has employed twenty millions of bricks, and in another thirty millions, I was startled, and wondered whether Little John would not rise from his grave in Hathersage Church-yard at the news. I fancy I have read that the old chum of Robin Hood is interred in several other churchyards besides the Hathersage one, but the Hathersage folks claim that the giant was both born and buried in their midst. If you alight at Hathersage and saunter into God’s Acre, you may see the long grave for yourself. How we lads revelled in a scamper across the Ringing- lowe Moors to Hathersage in the good old days gone by. For rocky grandeur and massive boldness of rugged peak and jagged tor those moorlands between Hathersage and Ringing lowe are, I warrant, unsurpassed. But there were no tourists in that part then, and, as we hounds hunted the hares over moss and crag, we had the THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 85 glories of surrounding Nature and the fresh sweetness of the pure Derbyshire breeze all to ourselves. Somehow, I doubt whether Gipsies now-a-days ever have outings like those, and the breeze seems to blow fresh across the MS. as I write. On some occasions, when we had a whole holiday, we continued our ramble past Hathersage and Hope—there is a station at Hope now—along the banks of the silvery winding Derwent as far as Castleton, the ancient home of the Peverils, Castleton, we were taught to believe, is the end of the world, and verily we believed it. Jammed into the hollow caused by several contracting heights, it really seemed as if to get past Castleton was an impossibility. All along the verdant valley between Hathersage and Castleton the lordly ruins of the ancient castle tower aloft full in the tourist's face, and the sight thereof is but a foretaste of the mysteries to be unfolded when the village is at last reached. The castle is on a huge pinnacle of perpendicular rock, actually above a rude subterranean cavern, and to add increased romance to the situation, in the long vaulted entrance to the labyrinthic caves below, spinners and weavers are at work, the whirr and rattle of their looms ascending into the rude canopy above. Like the fatal sisters three these toilers spin out the woof and warp of their threads in silence. Passing the spinners, the tourists will, on entering the jaws of the cavern, be each provided with a torch, where with to explore the hidden mysteries beyond, and, when the work of exploration is past, new joys will be in store for those who wish to climb up the steep cliffs leading to the abode of the Peverils. Then there is, of course, a visit to the Blue John mine, a pilgrimage most wonderful indeed. A long march down one of Nature's sub- ways terminates suddenly in a landing stage to a subterranean river—the Styx we used to call it— and entrusting himself to the care of a modern Charon, the traveller sets out on his gloomy voyage. In the distance is the roar of a thousand waters, dashing down into a tremendous abyss, at the edge of which old Charon moors his craft, and bids his passengers alight close to the Bottomless Pit. Lit up by artificial light, which ascends into the rocks above, as the surging waters roar down into the darkness below, it is indeed easy to imagine that this vaulted chamber is the entrance to the infernal regions, and, “Abandon hope all ye that enter here,” would be a fitting inscription for the dread portico. - But no aceount of Castleton should omit the * Shivering Mountain.” Years ago, when we were lads, the shale and shingle shivered down that massive perpendicular, to-day they shiver down in quivering atoms still, and the wonder of it all is that the mountain looks as intact and immoveable as ever. Reader, if ever you are O'er many a fairy nook, tempted to ascend the face of the Shivering Mountain, be warned in time, or else you may follow the fate of others, and find yourself clinging in vain to its shifting elements, digging nails and knees into the moving atoms in a hopeless attempt . º a too precipitous descent into the regions €IOW. Midway between Castleton and Chinley—the terminus of the new line—is Padley Wood station, in the midst of the most lovely scenery in Peakland. Hamlets, woods, peaks, moorland wilds, rustic bridges spanning the Derwent, babbling brooks, old-fashioned hostelries mingle here in the rarest and most delicious confusion. As memory wanders back to Padley Woods, I wonder how much havoc and devastation the construction of the new line has caused. Is this old bridge there still? Does yonder sylvan copse survive the invasion of the navvy Have pick, spade, rock-drill, shaft and trolley spared that moss-grown boulder? Will the hamlets of Eyam, Grindleford Bridge, Froggat Edge and Curbar live on the same old peaceful life? Of all the beauteous spots in this our native land I think the most beautiful is Froggatt Edge. Since those by-gone days, I have wandered over great tracts of the Continent as well as of the British Isles on foot, I have traversed the lonely South African Karroo, studded the jagged coast lines of Spain, Portugal and the French Land's End, revelled in prospects of Madeira and the Canaries, but none of these surpass in rich sweet- ness the summit of Froggatt Edge, with the peaceful Derwent gliding through the dales of Derbyshire, the smoke curling into the pure vault of heaven from nestling hamlets and clustering cottages, and in the distance the lordly pile of Chatsworth towering in the summer haze. As our own Schoolmaster put it on one of the mally occasions we visited Froggatt Edge: We saw the rugged mountains rear Their rocky crests in air, And wondered what Titanic hands Had piled such masses there; We saw the Derwent winding on Through Derby's lovely dales, *Twixt woods that flung their fragrance forth To scent the summer gales. We turned our gaze to east and west, And, spying Chatsworth Hall, exclaimed— “How nice to be a Duke I’” Do you know - That birds destroy millions of caterpillars, grubs, and harmful flies, and that without birds we could not live on the earth. ** - 86 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. #4.JRA}, {.{}}Ni}{}}]. A WALK ACROSS PARLIAMENT HILL FIELDS, HIGHGATE AND HAMPSTEAD. ARRIVING at Highgate by means of a tram, I alight at the path that runs by the shrubbery at the corner of Parliament Hill fields. On my right is a quiet little pond with lilies and water crow- foot growing in it. In the shrubbery are many interesting plants with the sweet scented wall- flower. Continuing along this path, I take the first path on the right, which runs by the ponds, and, at the last pond, turn to the right into Millfield lane, at the top of which one gets a good view of Parliament Hill and the surrounding fields, with Caen Wood to the right. Proceeding leisurely along this lane I am soon opposite Caen Wood, where I sit down on one of Nature's stools, the stump of a tree, and here in this rural lar e one seems alone with Nature. From the woods I hear a chorus of birds, no doubt gladdened by the warm sun; near by is a field of buttercups in which some cattle are grazing. All around the trees are beginning to wear a summer aspect. Leaving this pleasant spot with its many memories, I continue along till I arrive at Hampstead Lane and opposite Bishop's Wood, which is now prettily decked with wild flowers. I also hear the cuckoo's welcome call. Truly Nature is good, and the glory of its Creator indescribable. From here I continue my walk past the Spaniard's Inn and across the heath to White- stone pond near the flagstaff. From the flagstaff one gets a splendid view of the gleaming waters of Hendon Lake, with the woody heights of Harrow on Hill beyond—in fact the view from this part of the heath is one vast panorama. After having rested awhile, from here I make the best of my way down East Heath Rd. to Hampstead Green, where I take a tram and soon arrive home much refreshed with my short but enjoyable walk, and feeling that the scenery and surroundings of Hampstead and Highgate have claims upon the people which are not sufficiently appreciated. F. W. SMITH. A Day with the Essex Field Club. ON Saturday, July 14th, the Essex Field Club held their 149th Ordinary Meeting, and spent a very enjoyable day on the River Lea. The members and their friends left Liverpool St. station by the 9.30 train, and arriving at Hertford, embarked on the steam barge, “Lord Salisbury,” which was kindly lent for the occasion by the Lea Conservancy Board. The party, which numbered about sixty, was conducted by the president, Frederick Chancellor, Esq., J.P., F.R.I.B.A., and by Major Lamorock Flower, F. San, I., Mr. E. J. Symons, F.R.S., and W. Cole, Esq., F.E.S., assisted by Mr. T. V. Holmes, F.G.S., Mr. J. E. Harting, F.L.S. Mr. W. Crouch, F./.S., and Mr. C. A. Wright, F.L.S., F.7.S., as referees. After leaving Hertford, Major Flower, (Sanitary Engineer to the Lee Conservancy Board), distri- buted his little book “ The River Lea up to Date,” and then proceeded to give a short sketch of the upper part of the river, and the improvements he had been able to make, notably at Luton. He said that a modern poet had described the Lea as follows—“'Tis but a narrow unclean ditch at best, where murdered cats and dogs are left to rest,” but that at the present time there was practically no pollution above the intake of the New River Company, just below Ware Park. He had the water analysed by his chemists this year, a d they found that it was actually purer there than it was above Hertford. The barge then proceeded to Ware, a picturesque little town, chiefly remarkable for its matting trade, which is said to be the largest in the kingdom. The next place of interest was Rye House; the stonework and tracery of the large windows of this ancient castle are still standing close to the water's edge. At Fieldes Weir the club disembarked, and Major Flower explained the manner in which the volume of water flowing down the Lea could be gauged by the height of the river and the number of sluices open at the time. Thence to Broxbourne, where luncheon was served at the “Crown.” After this an ordinary meeting was held in the gardens of the inn, and a very interesting paper was read by Mr. G. E. Har- ting, the subject being : “The Association of Isaac Walton with the Lea,” illustrated by etchings after Linnell, etc., and plates of the various fishes found in the Lea. - The weather, which had hitherto been favourable, now showing signs of breaking up, the party returned to the barge, but this proved to be a false alarm, as no rain fell during the rest of the day. Passing Cheshunt, Waltham was reached, lately so unfortunately conspicuous from explosions of córdite and gunpowder, and the large buildings of the Royal Small Arms Factory could be seen lower down the bank. “Afternoon tea’’ and delicious strawberries were served in the cabin by the ladies of the party and were greatly appreciated by all. But, as time was now advancing, it was found impossible to complete the programme, and passing THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 87 Enfield and Ponder's End, it was decided to stop at Tottenham, instead of going on to Lea Bridge, as arranged. During the afternoon Mr. G. J. Symons (Sec. Royal Meteorological Society) described the peculiarities of the local rainfall, and Mr. F. Holmes read a short paper on the “Geology of the Lea Valléy,” after which Mr. C. A. Wright exhi- bited some specimens—pressed—of rare British flowers. The party dispersed at nine o'clock, the expedition having proved one of the most success- ful that the club has enjoyed since its formation. MAUD HUNTSMAN. º MARGATE, poſiogne, panis. TO those of our readers who would like a sea- trip on a small scale, we can recommend an excursion by the La Marguerite, which starts daily from Blackwall; and passengers from Fenchurch Street can join the ship at Tilbury, from which place it starts about 9.20., a.m. A day's trip to Boulogne and back costs 10s. 6d. Saturday to Monday excursions to Paris will be arranged at 21s. The scenery on the Thames is very varied. At 11.20. the Nore Light is passed, and Margate is reached about 12.50.; and about 1.10., with the band playing, the vessel leaves for Boulogne, passing the North Foreland, the Light Tower, and the Goodwin Sands, so fatal to vessels. Off here was fought, in 1666, the great sea fight between the English and Dutch. Just beyond is Broad- stairs, with Dickens' Bleak House on the cliff; then we pass Ramsgate, Pegwell Bay, famous for shrimps, and the landing-place of Hengist and Horsa, also of St. Augustine, and farther on Sand- wich, where the Danes so frequently landed and pillaged, and Deal, where Perkin Warbeck landed in the reign of Henry VII. ; then we come to Walmer Castle, where resided the late Duke of Wellington. The scenery near here is very beautiful, with the cliffs 400 feet high. We are soon midway between Calais and Dover, where, 300 years ago, the Spanish Armada received a check and dropped anchor in Calais Roads. At last Boulogne is reached, and the houses are seen clustering on the side of the hill. At 3.48. On the day of the preliminary trip, June 23, we entered the harbour to the tune of “God save the Queen,” and Colonel Fitzgeorge, Chairman of the Victoria Steamboat Association, received on board the Mayor of Boulogne, and a goodly company of - ladies and gentlemen, who drank the health of the Queen and the President. At 5.6, we left Boulogne, reaching Margate at 7.50 and Tilbury at 11, bringing to a close a most successful and interesting Outing. - “ RED CROSS.” £Y£4 E #3DE {\! SWATYER}_ANI). I SHALL never forget one of the finest cycling rides I ever had. It was from a little town called Göschenen to the top of the Rhone Glacier, the place where the rapid Rhone takes its source. We took the train from the busy town of Zürich to Göschenen, by way of Zug and Lucerne, passing the lovely lake of Lucerne in the moon- light, with the Rigi and Tödi frowning on us. At last we reached Göschenen and disembarked with our trusty steeds. As is generally known, the roads in Switzerland are very good. For the first four miles we had to wheel our machines up hill, passing on our right the world-famed Devil's Bridge, with the tempestuous River Reuss. throwing itself down in one grand waterfall. After this, mounting our machines, we rode into Andermatt. Here we breakfasted. Leaving Andermatt behind, we passed on our left an enormous gunpowder store, containing enough powder to blow out the side of the mountain. The store is hewn out of solid rock. Nearly opposite is one of the strongest forts in Europe, barring, of course, “The key to the Mediterranean” (Gibraltar). Here it was that the Swiss soldiers nearly annihilated half the Italian army in the war up hill, on to the famous Furka Pass, which is 4,460 feet above the sea level, the highest pass in Switzerland, with a road for horses and carts. The mail, drawn by five horses, passes along here for Italy, or, vice-versa, for Switzerland. Mounting again, we rode along this winding road to the Furka Pass Hotel. Here we put up, and were most hospitably treated. After dinner, leaving our machines at the hotel, we went with a guide on to the Rhone Glacier. So bright is the frozen snow that we had to put on blue glasses to screen our eyes. It is said that this huge mass slips an inch every three years. Returning to the hotel, and partaking of a nice tea provided by our kind host, we mounted our machines en route back for Göschenen, which we reached as day was closing, having had a most pleasant excursion. H. TREVOR FITCH, C. T. C. O. C. C. (Gipsyland continued on page 94.) º - - between Switzerland and Italy. Shortly after- wards we had to dismount and wheel our machines - - 88 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. --- -- - Dear Sir, 4. G|PSY -é, VARIETIES. 4. IN our last issue, we offered a prize to Gipsies under fourteen who sent in the best list of birds beginning with the letters forming the words “Gipsy Journal.” The winner of the prize is Ernest Lewis, Elmcroft, Colville Road, Leyton, Essex. Here is a part of the list of birds sub- mitted to the prize editor :— G grouse, goose, gall, grebe. ibis (a bird of Egypt). plover, pheasant, pigeon, puffin, pelican, parrot. sparrow, stork, sheldrake. yellow-bird (a small singing bird common in the United States), &c., &c. “Elmcroft,” Colville Road, Leyton, Essex. July 12th, 1894. To the Editors of the Gipsy Journal. On the other side I send names of birds, the initial letters of which correspond with the letters in the two words, “Gipsy Journal,” and I hope to receive the prize of 2/6. Yours truly, ERNEST LEWIs, Aged 12. The prize editor awards a consolation prize of one shilling each to W. R. Pryke and May Nichols, Lingfield Villa, 13, Chandos Road, Stratford. Edith R. Illenden, 58, Dover Road, Folkestone, is recommended to try again. Twelve New Prizes. THE prize editor offers two prizes of half-a- crown each, and ten of a shilling each to the boys and girls under fifteen who write him the best letters on any subject during the month of August. If Ernest Lewis, May Nichols, or any other young Gipsies have any friends may we ask them to cir- culate this news? August is a slack month, and almost any competitor who takes the trouble to enter into this competition is nearly certain to win a prize. The letters need only be short, and any- thing about the sea-side, a country walk, the place where the competitor lives, the school which a young Gipsy attends, how the holiday afternoons are spent, a favourite cat or dog, &c., &c., are sub- jects sure to interest the prize editor, who is very fond of all boys and girls, and delights to have a little correspondence with them. - Post, Card Prize Tablet. (Draw four lines on the back of a post card). To be addressed— Prize Editor, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, - London, E.C. A Prize of half-a-crown for the best three verses, of four lines each, on any subjects relating to Kindness to Animals. Example:– HE prayeth best, who lovest best, All things both great and small, For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. Could you but see the white wings torn - From birds alive and bleeding, And note their quivering agony, I had no need of pleading. OH ! ladies, dear ladies pray list to our words; Wear hats that don’t call for the killing of birds ! There are feathers and flowers of the loveliest hue ; - Why kill the poor birdies P they never hurt you. Name Address WHITE IIIEAF CROSS. To the Editors of the Gipsy Journal. In Lipscomb’s “History of Buckinghamshire,” (1847) Vol. II., page 412, it gives an account of White Leaf Cross. The name is taken from the Village of Whitleaf, or Whitlef. It is supposed to be of Saxon origin, similar to the White Horse in Berkshire. - - It states there is an old tradition that money was collected from the Oxford Colleges, but I have made enquiries and can find nothing satis- factory. - The expenses of scouring the cross now are defrayed by subscriptions raised in the village when they hold a merry-making. I had a long talk with our Bursar; he is a History tutor and says, if anything is near Oxford it must be kept up by Oxford. If you notice, it states Oxford Colleges, so you see it is only an old saying. - H. CRAPPER. High St., Oxford, July 24. TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. 89 H.G.W. T.G, GB5.E.R.U.E.S. WITHOUT DESTROYING: A SERIES OF OUT-DOOR SKETCHES BY EDITH CARRINGTON. - DAME NATURE's miniſt. “PITY it is to slay the meanest thing That, like a mote shines in the smile of mirth ! Enough there is of joy’s decrease and dearth! Enough of pleasure and delight and beauty Perished and gone and hasting to decay; Enough to sadden even those whose duty Or spite it is to havoc and to slay: Too many a lovely race razed quite away Hath left large gaps in life and human loving.” sound. It tells us that the common gnat (Culer Pipiens), flaps its wings 50,000 times in one second and thus pro- duces its shrill clarion call. - There they are dancing over the surface of the water, and now and then dimpling its surface as they dip into it, or rise from it. “The very type of idle and flippant lives!” says the careless observer, but the true naturalist knows better. There is much method in their apparent madness, Each of these minute gauze-winged creatures has contributed its tiny inch of good sound work to the world, is either finishing a career of labour, or just beginning it. That giddy maze is a nuptial festival, the gnats' wedding—after which the female drops her eggs into the water, framing them wonderfully into a little sort of canoe, where they will float safely as an ark of bulrushes. Hood. HE cool, green shade cast T by a spreading tree, the of which afford a luxurious seat, moss-covered roots offers the most tempting rest- ing place on a hot summer's day;-especially if the quiet glid- ing of a river near at hand and the whisper of reeds at its brim are as soothing to the ear as the fresh verdant shadow is to the eye. But however solitary one may be in such a spot as regards human society, no one need find himself alone. Shut your eyes for a moment and listen, -fixing the attention not on the chorus of bird-chirping and twit- terings, but on a sort of sea-like sound, filling the whole air, as a sort of background to their melody. This creatures, yet able to produce these myriad songs by is the hum of innumerable insects, voiceless the movements of their gossamer wings, which vibrate and produce a musical tone in precisely the same manner as the string of a violin does, when it thrills forth its music. The same delicate instrument (the Sirene) which has been applied to test the number of vibrations of musical strings, has also been brought to bear in order to determine the number of times which various insects move their wings backwards and forwards so as to produce a. a steady purpose in their play. The wee boat drifts on the top of the sunny waters, till the eggs are hatched. A curious quaint-looking little being drops from each, back into the water, looking not unlike a grotesque head with an arm coming out of it. With this it rows itself along, head downwards, because it is obliged to thrust the end of this trunk-like limb out into the air from time to time; it is a tube, and through it the young gnat breathes. About a fortnight it spends in this way, jerking itself merrily about in search of the small water-specks on which it preys, mostly too small to be visible without a microscope. These gnat larvae are After dwelling there for about a fortnight, and changing their skin as it becomes too tight, they finally rise to the surface of the water, where for the last time the young gnat shuffles off water-scavengers, purifying their pool. its wrapping, contriving to use its cast skin as a raft, until the newly unfolded wings and long slender legs are strong enough to bear it. Its head is now armed with graceful plumelets, and also with a trunk and six lancets by way of jaws, the use of which most people know to their cost. The lancets puncture the skin and tear it apart; with the trunk it is thought that the gnat, like the house fly, sips: its food, by first sending a fluid downwards to dilute it, and next sucking it up. The poison of the gnat is intended not for mere annoyance, but to render the blood thin enough to pass up the tube to the creature’s inside where it has a regular system of digestion and blood-circulation by no means unlike our own. But we must not be too hasty in blaming even the stinging flies which pester us on a warm afternoon, or venture to accuse Mother Nature of unthrift in creating them. The office of these creatures is to annoy, but it is not an aimless or vindictive annoyance. To the human being these, and other less agreeable parasites, act as a kind of natural blister; the slight irritation and loss of blood acting not unbeneficially on the system, and, in the 90 - TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. What were they made for P Beauty and delight you say ; and that is true, but only half the truth. They have a use as well. Watch that exquisite little blue butterfly, like a bit fallen from the sky, with its dainty snow-white fringes, its orange silver cups around the old willow tree's foot. specks on the reverse side of the winglets, its fairy limbs, each marvellously jointed, exquisitely flexible. That was It is a little gardener, though so lightly is its charming task laid made for the sake of beauty too, but for use also. upon its frail shoulders that, to the doer, it seems pastime and pleasure only ;-how, otherwise, should it skip so cheerily from flower cup to flower cup 2 If you have any luck, you will get a good glimpse of it through your pocket lens while it is perched on that flat disc of wild parsley blossom ; a butterfly will allow you to creep quite close to it, so long as you approach neither too quickly nor too roughly, and that you do not let your shadow fall on its wings. There are its two large eyes, each made of many thousand facets, so that the creature can see all ways at once without turning its eye-balls in its head. This it cannot do. Take a small hemisphere of ground glass and strain over it a piece of Brussels net, and this will give a good idea of a butterfly's compound eye—each hole in the net representing a lens with its own field of vision. The blue butterfly briskly dips the tiny trunk into the minute flowerets which form the cluster or umbel of parsley flowers. The trunk is thin as a hair, and quite as flexible, and when at rest may be curied up out of the way in the fashion of a watch-spring. Should the little thing wish to sleep–(drowsiness overtakes them as soon as the sun disappears)— it has but to fold its wings tip to tip over its back, and the silvery ground colour of them, freaked with the tiny orange spots, are, at a very little distance, a capital match for the flower on which it is opinion of profound thinkers, often ºverting fevers. A modern French writer has stated his conviction that fleas are more wholesome than leaches in certain disorders. The furious eagerness of some stinging flies which attack the lower animals, seemingly to their great torment and hurt, is in reality a sort of salvation to them –or at least was originally destined to be so in a more natural state —and had not the tribes created to prey on these flies and keep them in check been extensively slaughtered. Incessantly persecuting sick flock which have become enfeebled by dwelling too long in one set of pastures as is often the case in tropical wilds, these winged drivers actually goad the animals into a salubrious change of air and herbage ; just as you or I should be tempted to get up and resume our walk after a while by the persuasions of “ those bothering midges " In the Soudan a little insect, the Nám fly, acts as a drover, and positively directs the migrations of vast herds. It exasperates the camel, it ventures into the ear of the elephant, driving that lordly beast away from the indolent South to the fresh breezes of the North, where the pertinacious little guide leaves him to return whence it came. - In England the sheep and ox suffer greatly, it is true, as well as the horse, from the attacks of flies, but this is because the British farmer persists in destroying the creatures which would effectually thin the numbers of the foe. The sparrow, for instance, may constantly be seen examining the droppings of horses and picking from them a meal. The half-digested grain is often what he seeks, but a greater treat to the small fellow is the grub of the passed through the body of the horse, or even the fly itself, gad-fly, which has The female gad-fly sticks her eggs on to the hairs of the horse, choosing only such parts as the tongue can reach, so that the horse in licking himself is sure to take some into his mouth. They are swallowed, hatched within, and feed on what the animal eats; finally being ejected to finish their career as perfect flies. Thus even a mass of manure is turned into a nursery for living creatures, showing how truly it may be said that in Nature's house-keeping nothing is allowed to lie waste. In moderation the presence of this fly is said not to injure the horse, -if he be well kept. Some veterinary surgeons have even thought the process beneficial rather than the reverse, always supposing the horse to be thoroughly well-fed. starved drudge, the result is sickness, even death. In excess, or to a miserable half. The moral is, spare the sparrow, the wagtail, the starling, the rook, and all birds which search manure for its occupants. “Gather up the fragments that remain that nothing be lost'' is indeed the motto which regulates this beautiful world and keeps it fair and sweet. Look at the flowers for example;—such humble ones as spread their gold and perched The blooms are also silvery with gray shades, and with a small yellow centre to each. Look away from the butterfly for a moment or two, and you will find that For this reason it has chosen such a bedroom, where, not being you cannot distinguish it again for some time. conspicuous, it may repose in safety. It cannot be spared from its tiny toils, insignificant though they seem ; and the same Hand that formed it provides for it a secure lodging. While a butterfly is sipping the flower-juices, it is assisting the earth to keep in proper repair her many- coloured robe of vegetation-her “ coat of many colours.” Some flowers contain in themselves everything necessary for the formation of seed,—others send up from the same root a flower containing stamens, in which the pollen or future seed rests, and a second kind of flower containing the pistil, or portion to which the pollen must be carried, It is the office of the butterfly, the moth, bee, earwig, ant, and fly, to the implement for developing it into seed. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 91 carry pollen from the bloom which is laden with it to the bloom which lacks it ;-and were this incessant traffic to cease, many herbs, and yet more trees would become extinct. - The beautiful in Nature cannot, and never is, separated from the useful. Thrift is always hidden beneath luxury. But the carrying of pollen is only half of the service which the butterfly performs. In its caterpillar state it is a pruner, in some sort a gardener also. With an instinct almost incredible, the moth or butterfly when about to die chooses out that particular plant upon which she is sure that her future young ought to be fed—every species has a plant of its own—and there she lays her beautifully embossed eggs, carefully gluing them to the leaf lest they should be blown away, and taking due precaution to hide them from birds. What is even more curious than her choice of the correct herb is that should she not be able to find it, she does not even then lay her eggs at random, but selects a plant of an allied species as nearly like the right one as she can. This really looks like thinking There is only one British butterfly which lays her eggs “just anyhow,” the marbled white, (Malangria Galathea) whose grubs feed on grass. grass grows everywhere and that she need not worry her- self, so she merely fastens them to any convenient stem. No sooner is the baby caterpillar hatched, than, imbued with Nature's spirit of economy, it makes a meal of its egg shell,—a nourishing gelatine intended to strengthen it on its feeble entry into life. It next sets to work at devouring leaves, always beginning at the edge of the leaf, for its jaws move from right to left and not up and down. There is no weed, or hardly one, which does not possess its caterpillar, some, as the nettle, are the food of three or four larger sorts, and countless minute grubs. Over- luxuriance of the plant is kept in check by them. A most carefully balanced arrangement, however, restrains the caterpillar from working too much havoc. It has for enemies the winged hosts not only of birds, but of flies a large order of which feed exclusively on grubs. The ichneumon fly, (Microgaster Glomeratus) destroys, it has been calculated, thirty-nine out of every forty caterpillars born. This it achieves by piercing the living body of its victim with a spear-shaped weapon in the tail, and at the same time depositing an egg there. It never lays more eggs in a single caterpillar than would be needed to consume its substance ; in a large grub it lays three or four, in a small grub perhaps two. The parasitic grub feeds on the fatty substance of the creature within which it is born, avoiding the vital organs. The caterpillar does not appear to suffer, but eats as usual,—sometimes reaching its chrysalis stage, sometimes dying first, the ichneumon grubs She seems to be aware that using its body as a shell for their own little yellow chrysalids. The stages of the butterfly, its crawling childhood, its death-like sleep, emblematic of our great change, cannot be too often studied, and it may easily be done by carrying home the caterpillar or chrysalis for purposes of study. A careful drawing or wax model, or a verbal description should be made of each stage, before the perfect insect is allowed its liberty, which ought always to be given to it. The Japanese are wonderfully clever in making models of insects, using all sorts of olds and ends, and producing imitations absolutely life-like—a far more interesting and durable collection can thus be made than by wasteful, cruel and wanton destruction. - Thus the first portion of the life of these exquisite races is spent in cultivation by dexterous pruning, the second half in re-production of plants by the fertilization of flowers, and consequent seed-forming, -at least that is their mission where balance of Nature has not been upset; it is manifest that these bands of lovely creatures cannot be swept away by the modern craze for killing under pre- text of Science, without serious results. The night- butterfly which we call the moth has suffered heavily as well as the day-insects, so many species of which are daily becoming rarer, while not a few are extinct, or nearly so. The moth, lured by a trick—that of smearing trees with rum and treacle, is killed indiscriminately and wholesale. This mode of petty butchery (–less petty than it seems, for life is life, and ought to be sacred, where it is not absolutely necessary to take it away), is most mischievous not only to the character of the perpetrator, but to those trees and shrubs whose blossoms are fertilized by the night rovers. Many kinds of trees produce flowers of one sort only,–that containing the stamens, -while, at a considerable distance grows the tree with the pistil bearing blossom. Moths take a large share in bearing from tree to tree the pollen which becomes the perfect seed,—and seedling trees are by far the strongest and best, especially when left to grow where casually dropped. The old tree ought to make room for the new, if a succession of sound timber is to be kept up. Aged trees do little, from a pecuniary point of view, but cumber the soil, picturesque as their hollow trunks are. lt was while prying into a small cave at the root of an ancient willow tree, which is a fine place for hoards of interesting things, I found the other day the complete skeleton of a very little bird. It was in the most remote recess at the back of what seemed to a fanciful eye like a miniature cavern of some dwarf, or sprite. It was carpeted and hung with mosses, golden, bronze and green; festooned and curtained with crimson geranium leaves, and the - 92 THE GIpsy journal. floor furnished with whimsically shaped toadstools, “a fawn. | coloured freakish crew.” A dormouse had visited here to eat his meal. There lay the empty nut, with a round hole bitten in it which he, and only he can make ; for the squirrel splits his nut in two, and the nuthatch breaks it irregularly. Into this fanciful refuge the wee bird must have crept to die. Anything so perfect as the small framework left I never saw. It was far too fine for ivory carving, more like lacework. The round ball of a skull, no thicker than paper, I could have crushed it between my finger and thumb. The wing-bones, the leg with its thigh, shank and foot—a miracle of design The whole was blanched to a pure whiteness, it was perfectly dry and clean as an eggshell. what sort of bird it was, but I should think, a wren. thing I felt sure of, that not one atom of its body had been One lost. The flesh had gone to feed a host of creatures formed for the purpose of consuming it. There is no waste of animal substance any more than there is of vegetable, in the world of Nature. wild creatures which must daily die in every field;—how is it that they do not make an unwholesome and unsightly The hundreds upon hundreds of wilderness of it, with their remains P. How is it that dead bodies are so seldom seen P Partly because wild creatures possess an instinct which bids them hide away and die on lonely places, where their bodies are rapidly consumed by the scavengers appointed for the work, partly because of that invaluable grave-digger the Sexton Beetle (Necropho, us Ruspator), which digs a hole beneath any carcass which it happens to find and which it discovers by its power of scent, flying towards the odour. These strange beetles may be unearthed from almost any rubbish heap where animal refuse is thrown. I am not learned enough to say occasionally they may be surprised at their labours. They are black, with an orange band across the wing cases. A dead mole, small bird, or mouse, if found lying in a field is almost certain to contain some burying beetles; in the daytime they will be resting beneath the carcass, but if a spadeful or trowelful of earth containing the dead body with its surroundings be carefully placed under a bell glass at home they may be watched at their work as soon as dusk sets in, but after observing, it is but right to let them fly away. They are too valuable as the world's cleansers to be sacrificed. The male beetle does all the hard digging, pushing out the earth from beneath the corpse with his flattened fore- head, while his wife sits on the body, and gradually sinks The rapidity with which the task is done is amazing, considering the size of the under- into the ground with it. taker as compared with that of the body to be buried. The object is that a larder may be provided for the grubs where neither air, sun nor robber can molest it. As soon as the carcase is fairly under ground the female lays her eggs in it, regulating the number by the size of the corpse She and the male then make a hearty meal upon the flesh, after which both creep out and fly away to new scenes of toil. The linnet which sings its gay song upon the bough, the robin after her last brood is reared, and the useful life over, does not even die in vain. The tiny body is the swaddling band for embryo of living things, it is a treasure trove for a hundred helpless beings on their path to blissful life and service in the future existence dawning upon them, and the fragments left from their table serve to enrich the soil, so that the grave of the birdling is the cradle of the primrose. - - [Copyright strictly reserved. Do you know That every kind word you speak to a dumb animal, and every kind act you do, will not only make the animal, but yourself happier, and not only happier, but also better? TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. 93 By Mrs. Lawrence Pike. PITY. Among the many forms of worship that flourished at Athens, there was an altar which stood alone, conspicuous and honoured beyond all others. The suppli- cants thronged around it, but no image of a God, no symbol of dogma was there. It was dedi- cated to Pity, and was venerated through all the ancient world as the first great assertion among mankind of the supreme sanctity of mercy.” * * * By H. Charles. I would not rob a bird, Said little Mary Green ; I think I never heard Of anything so mean. 'Tis very cruel, too, Said little Alice Neal; I wonder if they knew How sad the bird would feel? * < * , By Miss C. Barnard. Until 1822, when, in the face of great opposition, Martin's Act was passed, animals had no legal protection in this country. What- ever cruelty was committed against them went unpunished unless the act could be shown to be actuated by malice against their owner. Martin’s Act has been several times strengthened, and the action of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has had a wholesome effect in checking the unmerciful man who is unmerci- ful to his beast, and whose tender mercies are cruel. * < * , Don’t stop the Tram to save you a few yards walk. (Collected and Selected). By Miss Suckling. A CURIOUS VfBW OF PROVIDENCE. This world is not a very fine place for a good many of the people in it. But I’ve made up my mind it shan’t be the worse for me, if I can help it. They may tell me I can’t salter the world—that there must be a cer- tain number of sneaks and rob- bers in it, and if I don't lie and filch, someone else will. Well, then, somebody shall, for I won't.” else * * * - º - - By Uncle Joseph (in “The Daisy Basket ’’). Dear Daisies. Once again we are round at the time of flowers and brightness and holidays and much pleasure-taking. . The time when “mother earth’ has on her pretty holiday dress, and is getting ready to throw out with generous hand her love gifts of fruits and corn foods for the use of her children. . - - Gather the sunbeams while you may, and in order to do this be hard at work “ scattering the seeds of kindness.” * * * , By G. T. Angell. DOCKED EIORSES IN AMERICA. In the barouche, looking straight to the front, with appar- ently no consciousness of bird or flower, or beautiful scenery, or fellow-man, or sign of happiness on his heavily-moulded face, sat the solitary proprietor of the only bob-tailed establishment in Bethle- hem. * * * Don’t engage a car with a poor-looking horse. A Fºſſinº.5: By Miss Edith Carrington. We rarely call out all the love there is in our domestic animals; for the most part none at all. It makes me many a sore hour when I drive about the country and see the lonely look of horses and cows. Dogs fare better, but cows are rarely petted and made much of as friends. They have in them a great capacity for gentleness and affection. * * * By Two Little Gipsies. John— - The beggar's dog and the widow's Cat, Feed them and thou shalt grow fat. - Maggie– A skylark wounded on the wing Doth make a cherub cease to sing. Iohn— - A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. Maggie– Kill not the moth or butterfly, For the last judgment draweth nigh. - - * < * , By The Bishop of Dover. THE PERFECT (HENTLEMAN. “Mark the perfect man.” No- bility of character—generosity– it is that which gives the perfect gentleman such influence with men. His thoughts are never low and mean. If such a man is your friend you feel sure that he will take a high-level view of life —you feel that when you are with him that you are on the mountain side, breathing purer air and seeing further over the great landscape of life. * < * , Don’t buy game (grouse, pheasant, &c.) 94 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - £APE rowN A tº D T S $4]}}}}{}{J}\|D}\GS. By W. STANLEY SHAW. I HOLD it as an axiom that no man should give an opinion of Cape Town who has not lived there for at least six months. For the first two or three months that you are there, you will probably think that it is the most wretched hole on the face of the earth, that it is the end of civilisation, and that all things are desolate. Then, by the end of the fourth month, you will discover that it is not such a bad old place after all, and you will be sorry that you wrote home and said all the nasty things you did about it, and will try and excuse yourself by saying that you were new to the place, and that everything seemed so strange at first. By the sixth month, you will begin to rave about it. You will say that there is not a town to compare with it taking it all round; in short, you will go to the other extreme. The truth is, good reader, Cape Town is neither as black as some people paint it, nor is it the “Garden of Eden” that others would have you believe. I may tell you at once, that I am very fond of Cape Town, and think that there is no place like it, but, having stayed there for eight months, I know some of its faults as well as its virtues. The scene on entering Table Bay is a very fine one. On your right are Signal Hill, The Lion's Head, Table Mountain, and The Devil's Peak, the latter being the grandest, wildest, and most inaccessible of all. Table Mountain is in the centre, with the Lion's Head on the right, and the Devil's Peak on the left. Signal Hill (or as some call it, the “Lions Rump") is not much of a climb to anyone in fair condition, but the others are pretty stiff. However, the view from the top of either more than repays the exertions of climbing. On the one side is the broad South Atlantic, and on the other Table Bay, with the “ up-country.” stretching away in the distance as far as the eye can reach, and in South Africa, on a clear day, —and clear days are the rule, and not the exception— the eye can reach quite an astonishing distance. Ah! who can describe the days in South Africa during the Summer (which lasts for over eight months), at any rate, round and about Cape Town Who can, indeed - I remember, one bright Summer's day—it was on a Sunday morning—I was taking a walk over the Kloof (the mountain pass between the Lion's Head and Table Mountain), when a couple of horsemen passed me. I was on foot, the road was rather steep just here, and they had dismounted and were leading their horses. One of them paused T and looked round, saying to the other as he stretched his hand and pointed to the lovely scenery that surrounded us : “Jack where will you get a day like this 2 " And my heart echoed the question, “where will you get a day like this?” Such days are the rule over there, not the exception. Oh! my poor, jaded fellow-Cockneys, if only you could all go to the Sunny South, and bask in the bright sunshine for a month or two, the memory of it would live with you for ever! I know that up-country, when the drought comes, and when you are away from trees, or rivers, and the sea, I know that then, the eternal sunshine becomes, after a time, rather a bore, and you sigh longingly for a Scotch mist, or a London fog, or a Waterford City wet day (ever been in Waterford on a wet day ?), but I am writing about Cape Town and its surroundings, and I say that you never get tired (or “hardly ever,” as the captain of the “ Pinafore ” said) of the sunshine there. The country all round Cape Town, and from Cape Town to Simon's Town, (which is across what they call the “Cape Peninsula'), is most beautiful. The scenery, as far as my experience in Ireland, Scotland, England, the Rhine etc. goes, is not to be surpassed in the world, and I have heard travellers in Australia and America say the same thing. Of course, Cape Town itself, especially to a Londoner, has but few attractions—that is, few attractions of a “towny " sort. Public amuse- ments are not very plentiful, though, in this respect, things have much improved of late. Domestic servants over there are not any more unmixed blessings than they are here, in fact considerably less so. - The sanitary arrangements of Cape Town are not of the first order, though they are by no means what you could justly call bad. - Occasionally the dust storms are rather trouble- some—however, where can you be free from drawbacks : Looking at Cape Town from a reasonable point of view, it can be said that there are very many worse places to live in, and very few better. - Food is good and cheap, fruit being exception- ally plentiful and very cheap. And, as for shopping, my lady readers, you can shop as well in Cape Town as you can in Rye Lane, Holloway Road, or Oxford Street ! So there ! Do you know That every cruelty inflicted on a cow poisons THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 95 FROM THE -º ! I HOPE, in the course of time, that the “Gipsy Journal” will be able to offer readers pictorial representations of the holiday hunting grounds suitable for ramblers and tourists, but as I want to say a few words just now about Brittany and have no suitable sketches at hand, the only thing is to be as graphic as possible with words only. Were you ever in Brittany, reader 2 If not, then all the greater pleasure is possibly in store for you, when you find yourself on board a St. Malo steamer in Southampton Water. I say possibly, for there are pros and cons in whatever choice you make for a summer outing, and Brittany is no exception, especially if you take your holiday in August. The cons are mostly crowded little hotels, for the French bourgeois swarm down on Brittany in that month, as do also the soldiers, and where the military are moving about in France and Germany for the autumn manoeuvres, one naturally looks for the din of mimic warfare and for crowded inns. - There is much difference of opinion, too, concern- ing a passage of some twelve hours over the water. “Fresh in the Channel” is a familiar newspaper phrase, and I always think, when more than a broadside capfull of wind is blowing, that the English Channel is just the place for a little dust-up. Screw, engine, and quarter-deck seem to frisk and gambol about in their own little way, and even the inner sanctum of the berths and private cabins is mingled up with the merry mirt of Father Neptune. - Few places are more suggestive of mortal frailty than a Channel boat. It is truly pathetic. Young buoyant Britons, clad in gorgeous checks and tweeds, gay and sportive maidens, reverend seigniors, and modest matrons, all illustrate the stern impartiality of nautical law. The “Needles,” which we have so often seen standing out sharp and clear on a summer day, afford an index, generally, of what we must expect. If the waves lap gently up to the base of the well-known light- house here, all augurs well till we shall have sighted Jersey in the early morn, and we are in view of the slopes of St. Servan; but if not, well the best thing for the un-nautically disposed is just to turn in to their berths and face the inevitable. But now for the pros. The pros in Brittany are many and various, and even now I am in doubt as to where, in that land of blue skies and pleasant orchards, I shall bid you follow. St. Malo, St. Servan and Paramé are too well-known to dilate upon. The guide-book will speak for itself in these parts. What then shall I write about Is it to be fishing villages, ancient cathedral towns, rich forests, rugged moorland hamlets, undulating hills, the fortifications round Brest, sweeping bays, towering cliffs, the jagged and peaked promontory of the wild Finisterre, the French Land's End,- the Cap de Chevre, or what? Suppose we say a few words first about Roscoff. I chose Roscoff myself, two years ago, simply because it looked the most remote part of the promontory north of Brest, and hence likely to offer scope for romance. To reach Roscoff you must make for Morlaix, quite a hundred, or even more, miles from St. Malo. Morlaix is a good town at which to break the journey. It lies in a valley, and the perilous-looking viaduct and the high church steeple, ascending from the town below, are about neck and neck in point of elevation from the lower part of Morlaix. Steep irregular steps leading down town, and houses jutting up in strange masonic unorthodoxy, give a quaintness to this out-post of Brittany moorland, which you will find hard to beat elsewhere. One can scarcely wonder that Miss Rhoda Broughton chose Brittany as a background for “Good-bye, Sweet- heart, Good-bye.” - The village of Roscoff is some dozen miles from Morlaix. The hotel opposite the station is perhaps best for our purpose at Morlaix. It is not luxurious, though very moderate, and more handy for the railway-station than the more expensive hotels down town, and, indeed, it is very much down town in Morlaix. The trains from Mor- laix to Roscoff are fairly frequent for la belle France. And now for Roscoff itself. It is a large fishing village with several, for Brittany, very fair hotels, where one can live comfortably for about six francs a day. Mary Queen of Scots figures in the history of Roscoff and one building still testifies to her former presence there. Here also is a wonderful fig-tree, whose branches extend scores of feet in length, and are trained longitudinally. A few sous will gain you admittance to the garden enclosing the fig-tree. It was at the Figtree Hotel–Le Grand Hôtel du Figuier—that we put up. The Roscoff sailors often speak broken English, and, strolling on the pier, you may see ships taking in huge cargoes of Onions and potatoes for English ports. There is also a trade in lobsters and crabs, and at some tanks you will notice some truly monstrous claws. - One feature of this fishing village is “ L'Isle de Batz,” a pleasant island a short sail’s distance. It is a pretty sight to stand on the beach in the evening and watch the opposite island sinking from view when the sun has gone down, and probably the best expedition available is to sail across, at high water, and explore the Isle de Batz. 96 TEIE GIPSY There is a magic charm about little islands—just large enough to be inhabited, and yet not big or important enough for trade or traffic. The calm of a typical August day is the time for an expedi- tion. How sweetly the gentle breeze wafts over these sea-girt spots, scarcely enough to affect the swarms of sulphur butterflies which hover over rude cornfields, wall-girt pastures, and thistle- down. The stray cows, and here and there an old horse, seem to drink in the mild intoxication of surrounding nature, and when you have had a few hours' ramble, there is every chance for a quiet dip in the ocean. Another expedition from Roscoff is to the little town of St. Pol de Lèon. Spires of a stately cathedral greet your approach. It is wonderful how such a noble pile was ever erected in such an insignificant sea-side spot, and the interior is as striking, for a country place, as the out-side. What strikes one so forcibly about Brittany generally is the churches and cathedrals. What- ever else One may find in a Brittany town, he may depend upon things gorgeous ecclesiastical. Then there is a good plage for sea-bathing at Roscoff, and sea-bathing in France is quite a social function. French visitors encamp by the side of the Sad—or sometimes glad—sea waves, and suddenly a family issues forth, clad in truly remarkable bathing attire. Papa, mamma, le petit François and la belle Louise trip down the beach together, bowing and bobbing to each other as if for a maritime waltz or polka. What laughter and gaiety as stout mamma is hid from view and suddenly emerges dishevelled and dripping ! In truth it is a comic aquatic display. But what about the hotels Many artists come to study the sea-scapes at Roscoff. Hungary, Asia Minor, Turkey in Europe, were all represented at the Figtree Hotel, and at the table d'hôte we had a merry time. The jokes flew fast and furious. Trifles light as air form the staple gaiety in French society. An elderly lady, Madame X, was always: in the thick of the fun. Madame had milk for dinner instead of wine, and one day, another guest, thinking Madame's head was turned away, ventured to mingle Madame's milk with his own compót of prunes, but the good lady was avenged, “Il y en a des messieurs qui enlèvent la crème,” said Madame, in mock solemnity, next day, and the remark was received with hilarity. Simple, harmless nonsense, but are there not many of us, Gipsy friends, who will put down a comic paper with a yawn, yet enjoy such simple trifles as these? But editorial exigencies compel me to close up my Knapsack. I had heaps more to write, but all I can say is now, that if any Gipsies want to know particulars about Brittany, that wish, on my receipt of a stamped and directed envelope, shall be gladly granted. The Newcastle Dicky Bird Society. During the month of July the Dicky-bird Society put Newcastle-on-Tyne en fete by celebrating the enrolment into its kindly ranks 250,000 little folk whose pledge is kindness to all living things and an especial care for birds. The Society, founded in 1876 by “Uncle Toby’’ in the pages of the * Weekly Chronicle’ has extended all over Great Britain and into the colonies. The “Gipsy Journal” Sends hearty congratulations to Uncle Toby. New Books, Reviews, &c. THE Summer Double Number of “The Daisy " is an ad- mirable issue containing abundance of matter interesting both to young and old. The Rev. Joseph Stratton tells us how he won the confidence of a blackbird. In conjunction with the latter incident, a photograph on page 149 shows the writer on the point of stroking the bird, and it is need- less to say that all this does not happen near a cage, but at the blackbird's nest which is in a tree. One of the “Gipsy Journal’s ” staunchest friends, Miss C. Barnard, writes to Uncle Joseph about butterflies, and the serial story, “ Francis' Rabbit,” runs pleasantly from chapters two to five. To those of us who know that famous city of the North, “ May in Manchester’ will doubtless recall much that is familiar. On the whole, Uncle Joseph, the Editor of “The Daisy,” is to be congratulated on his present issue. (“The Daisy,” 9 Peter Street, Manchester.) “LA MARGUERTE,” a little brochure, published by Phipps and Connor, Limited, Tothill Street, Westminster, price 6d., chats merrily about a pleasant trip to Boulogne and back. La Marguerite, the ship on which the voyage was made, can justly claim, says the brochure, to be the finest and largest passenger steamer on the Thames. The main features of the trip, such as the Goodwins, Bleak House, Charles Dickens' old Broadstairs home on the cliff, Ramsgate, (Ruimsgate—The Gate of Ruim, the British name for Thanet), Deal, St. Margaret's Bay, the Forelands, Gris Nez, &c., remind us that romance as well as sea-breezes meet the passenger who sails by La Marguerite from Tilbury to Boulogne. - - Publishers are in every case, when sending books for review, to state the prices. “THE SUN ?” says: - THE Gipsy Journal for July contains a good many ramblers' leaves from the book of nature. Edith Carrington supplies a clever paper on “A Falien Tree,” and the “Ramble round Bath '' is spicy and well told. “The Summer Holiday '' is particularly interesting to Londoners because it gives useful information on where and how to ramble. The magazine is edited by Edith Carrington and A. G. Munro, B.A., and published and sold at the office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London. Established 1893. 1No. 8, 4th Series, will be ready on Oct. 22. The GIPSY JOUR #Tº 2 H. & E.G. sº:3;&-º-º-º: º RAMBLERS' LEAVES" tº FIROIM TEIE Kºº Oxon. Organ of Footpath and Common Rights Associations; for Protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists’ Friend. No. VII. 4th Series.] SEPTEMBER. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1894. 60RRESPONDENBE. EDw ARD EVANs, of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, writes us a very interesting letter concerning his brother, W. R. Evans, the author of “Rural Walks in the Vicinity of London,” which book, as our correspondent says, was the first attempt to open up the field walks round: London to Londoners. Like many other lovers of Nature, W. R. Evans was a man of the highest literary culture. Among other works he wrote the greater part of a Roumanian grammar, which, unfortunately, owing to the inaccessibility of necessary works, was not completed. E. O. CATFoRD–Thanks for your kind pat on the back. As you say, the ideal of the “Gipsy Journal,” is a high one, and we shall endeavour to keep it so. REV. F. HAYDN WILLIAMs—It is not surprising that the enemy wishes you at Jericho. We wish you every success in your noble effort to put down landgrabbing. J. WHITE, JUN.—By all means send along the article on your holiday in Denmark and Sweden. It is just this kind of information which we want to afford our readers. PRIZE WINNERS. IN the August number we offered two prizes of half-a- crown each to the girls and boys under fifteen who should write the best letter on any subject. The best letter received is from Edith R. Illenden, of 58 Dover Road, Folkstone, and contains a description of the writer's favourite walk round Dover. So excellent, both in style and matter, is this letter, that we have put it in our MS. drawer, with the hope, if space permit, of printing it some day in full. The winner of the second half-crown is May Nichols, Lingfield Villa, 13 Chandos Road, Essex. Prizes of one shilling each have also been sent to Amy Adkins, 5 South View Villas, Elm Road, New Malden, and Bertha Tustain, Fern Villa, Penrith Road, New Malden. - The winner of the half-crown postcard prize for sending the best three verses on kindness to animals, is Herbert Leadbitter, of 46 Corrance Road, Brixton. INEW PEIZES. - THE Prize Editor again offers a prize of half-a-crown for the best letter on any subject, from girls or boys under fifteen sent in not later than Oct. 12th. Look at the following letters: hioshaooatgjitpfhm.epue prlksreieynrdraasly. These letters form a very simple sentence concerning the “Gipsy Journal.” The Prize Editor offers two prizes of half-a-crown each to the boy or girl under fifteen who first sends in a postcard containing the sentence. All competitions to be addressed, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, E.C. --~~~~~~~ RAMBLERS’ aerº- | RIGHTS.; CLOSING OF A FOOTP ATIH. A.T TEIOIRINTON ELIEATH. The following communication, from Mr. R. Lovejoy, has been addressed to the Editors of the Gipsy Journal – WHILST recently out on a visit to some friends of mine at West Croydon, in the course of a walk in the surrounding neighbourhood of Thornton Heath, we came across the following encroachment of public rights. In walking from West Croydon Station, down Bensham Lane, leading into the Thornton Heath Road, there is a market garden, on the right of which there is a foot-path—which takes one into the Senecar Road—a near cut to the London Road and Thornton Heath Station, and a saving of at least half a mile. This, to our surprise, we discovered to be closed to the public on the Bensham Lane side by a padlocked gate. Out of curiosity we walked round to the Senecar Road entrance. Here we found, in front of the entrance, a cess pool, in addition to a barbed wire fence. On enquiring of several residents who happened to be at hand, and, by a curious coincidence, discussing the problem of how, and by whose authority the footpath was closed, we elicited from them that it had always been a public footpath (to their remembrance for the last 35 years), but no reason was given for its being closed. We gathered from them that the ownership of the market garden had changed hands two or three times, and they believed the closing of the footpath to be a flagrant breach of public right of way, and were consequently very indignant about it. I promised to bring the matter to the notice of the “Gipsy Journal” as the organ of the public rights in such matters, and which, I informed them, would give assistance in enquiring into the matter. 98 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. Narunal, - Hºrº º!—s $ºliº S-23 R.R.M.B.L.E.5% By AUGUSTA E. MANSFORD. - DICNICS are all very well, sº ſº but for thorough-going en- \ joyment they are not to # be mentioned in the same ºf breath as Natural History %rambles. All dwellers in towns, and country folk too, as soon as the bright, sunny days set in, should either join or start a Natural History Rambling Society. There is no - pleasure like it, doctors' bills sink to a minimum, and the respective members are not likely to be troubled by that objectionable question, “Is life worth living * * Our title is rather a comprehensive one, and includes botanists, zoologists, biologists, ento- mologists, conchologists, and any other 'ists who care to join—all are welcome, and the more the merrier. Cities are good centres for starting on such excursions, the number of interesting and pretty spots within a cheap railway fare from London seems endless, and the variety of flowers to be found is suprising. Let anyone make a rule of bringing home even six new specimens every week, and he will soon be astonished at the extent and the interest of his herbarium. There will be the golden broom (Sarothamnus scoparius) and its lesser relative, the Petty Whin (Genista anglica) from Keston Common ; purple heaths (Erica) and their ally, the evergreen whortle- berry (Vaccinium Myrtillus) from Hayes; the delicate Bird's foot (Ornithopus perpusillus) with its curious seed-pod from Shirley ; the insect- eating Sun-dew (Drosera rotundifolia) and golden starred Bog Asphodel (Narthecium ossifragum) from the bogs near ºf eith Hill; Twayblade (Listera ovata) and yet rarer orchids from Caterham; the celery-leaved Crowfoot (Ranunculus sceleratus) from road-side ponds near Pinner; and a whole host of treasures—Bog Pimpernel (Anag- allis tenella), the yellow-flowered entire-margin- leaved Lesser Spearwort (Ranunculus Flammula) that poisons our cows; Butcher's Broom (Ruscus aculeatus), with its strangeleaf-like branches, Long- leaved Water-thyme (Elodea Canadensis), the North American water-weed now firmly established among us, all from that mine of wealth to the London naturalist, Epping Forest. Or, if in the Scotch Metropolis, starting from Leith, one has but to cross the Forth and arrive at Aberdour, to find close to the landing-stage many of the most beautiful varieties of our wild geraniums with their long beak-like fruit, also the strangely branched but inconspicuous Lamb's Lettuce (Valerianella olitoria). Then skirting the wood and passing the well-known Sweetbriar (Rosa rubiginosa); the fragrant Burnet Rose (Rosa spinosissima) the progenitor of the Scotch rose of our gardens; and one or two stray Gooseberry-bushes (Ribes grossularia), one reaches a clear space on the top of the cliffs with quite a different flora, the pink-flowered Thrift (Armeria. maritima), the fragrant white Sea Campion (Silene maritima), and Marsh Arrow-grass (Triglochin palustre), looking, but for its long rush-like leaves, like an overgrown plantain, The London geologist may notice the water- worn Oldhaven pebbles near Croydon; dig out fossil sea-urchins from the chalk at Charlton ; find oysters and cyprina, and examine lignite and selenite at Lewisham ; trace glacial agency at Finchley, and identify the varying strata as he is whirled through the different railway cuttings. In what ever direction the ramble may be taken, not a stagnant pool will be passed that will not contain attractions for the biologist, whilst the students of physiography are never weary of drawing attention to the forms of cloud floating above us, the effect of various strata on the contour of the land, or how each little brook repeats in miniature the history of our largest rivers. There are endless sources of enjoyment open to those who love Nature and her lessons, become more and more fas- cinating every time we listen to her teaching. Every club or society will of course make their own rules. Ours seem to have grown up of themselves without ever having been formu- lated ; we travel third class, wear the widest of boots and oldest of clothes, and thus equipped, scramble through hedges and plod across bogs with unruffled equanimity. The geologists of course are armed with hammers, biologists with old medicine bottles and pill-boxes, and botanists with air-tight tin cases or Peek Frean biscuit boxes. - Those aforesaid tin cases cause occasionally. some fun- Whilst a group of us awaited our THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 99 train at Cannon Street, we heard the following observation :-"Oh! they’re a picnic lot, they are My, just look at the size of them sandwich-boxes | * As the cases are often 12 to 18 inches in length it is not surprising our supposed enormous appetites filled everyone with wonderment. Not less amusing was a remark made on them as we trudged through a dusty village, under a blazing sun on one of the hottest days of summer; the cottagers had turned out to look at us, and one of them, who evidently took us for very cold-blooded creatures, said to his neighbour: “They are I tell yer, I tell yer they are foot- warmers . " To those who were feeling not a little tried by the heat this speech must have sounded somewhat sarcastic. Some days, how- ever, we do not have sun, but on the contrary a heavy downpour; still, we do not allow that to damp either our spirits or ourselves, but meet as usual, and then take train to the nearest museum, where we generally find enough to interest us for a month of rainy days. There we have this advantage, for if a solitary individual goes to a museum he may sigh in vain to see the contents of many carefully closed cases; but go with your fellow-ramblers, and take care to let it be known that you are Such-and-Such a Society (with plenty of capitals, and there will generally prove to be so much in a name that those in authority will vie with one another in showing their choicest of treasures and giving the fullest of explanations. One good effect of such societies is that they are great powers in levelling class distinctions. is the greatest man among us who best imparts his knowledge, she is the heroine of the day, who finds the greatest rarity; one may have written books and be an acknowledged specialist in some branch of science, but, if he keeps the result of his labours to himself, he is not welcomed by us as much as the good natured student, who is ready to share the little he or she possesses. We must confess to the not uncommon weak- ness of thinking our own little society the most delightful of its kind; we certainly are a curiously assorted group. There are men and women of all ages, not a few on the wiser side of fifty (we notice that naturalists do not lose their youth as soon as other folk), and then of course we have some boys amongst us, boys who climb trees, fall into ditches, and contribute not a little to the general hilarity ; then there is a variety of nationality represented; the Scotch with their clear headedness, the Irish with their ready courtesy, the English with their practical common- sense ; besides an occasional sprinkling of a foreign element. The harmony of the whole is ensured by our good fortune in having a secretary, who is He such an embodiment of amiability and good temper, that, under the influence of his genial smile, we could not be disagreeable if we tried. He is one of those men who not only try to please every- body, but, what is more rare, he generally succeeds. It would be a great boon to science if every town and village in the British Isles would encourage a few of its inhabitants to study the natural history of their own neighbourhood, the reliable data thus compiled would be of great assistance to the shining lights in the various sciences, who have the capacity for combining various isolated facts into a perfect whole, but who now have to spend far too much time in collecting data for themselves. Though one cannot be a Charles Darwin one can secure for him the best kind of immortality by, even in the humblest fashion, carrying forward his work. A SERIMION IN A IN UTSEIBLL. “Thou shalf not muzzle the mouth of the ox when he - treadeth out the corn.” (Deut. XXV. 4.) It is not, then, a matter of choice, to a God-fearing man, whether or not he shall properly feed the animal which he employs. A Divine Commandment, running in the most authoritative language, says, “Thou shalt not?' withhold its natural food from the patient ox, horse or ass which toils for thee. - - Another Scripture precept forbids food to that man who shirks his duty ; enacting that “if any man will not work neither shall he eat.” (2 Thess. III. 10). But something like the reverse of that rule seems to point out that man has no right to exact labour from the innocent brute, except under condition of providing for its comfortable and suitable nourishment;-if any beast be not fed, neither should it be called on to work. “Doth God take care for oxen says St. Paul, seeking to draw a secondary and allegorical meaning from the Mosaic commandment (1 Cor. I. 1), “ or saith. He it altogether for our sakes " For our sakes doubtless, in its expanded sense, but, as it stands literally, for that of the humble beasts; “for our sakes '' but not “altogether.” The Apostle indicates, by leaving out that word, in the after application of the passage to human affairs, that it refers to God’s lower handiwork as well. “For our sakes '' in a double degree this merciful pre- cept was given by Him to whom belong “ the cattle upon a thousand hills; ” for a man hurts his own heart by an act of cruelty more than he injures its mute object;-and, in stinting his helpless hireling of its well-earned meal, starves his own soul. Do you know That every kind word you speak to a dumb animal, and every kind act you do, 3 will not only make the animal, but your- sº self happier, and not only happier, but also better? - … #100 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. &H ſºlº T.[], [3]{E}{5}:R\{Eº WITHOUT DESTROYING: A SER / ES OF OUT-DOOR SKETCHES BY BDITEI CAREINGTON. -º-º-º-º-º-º- III ºf uniºn. “How but from near to far . - Should knowledge proceed, increase ? Try the clod ere test the star.” Robert Browning. - PIECE of rare good fortune once befel me during the course of some wanderings in the country, which place where some quarry works had been begun and then aban- doned, in the middle of a lonely wood. A section of the earth, several feet deep, was laid bare, and by standing below, on a sort of terrace of loose stones and rock, one's head was on a level with the grass roots of the upper portion, which rose like a wall, composed of rich black soil at the top, gradually mixing with clay subsoil, and lastly with stony substances. What a wonderful scene was laid bare! As I walked up and down beside the mass of solid ground, the flat face of which was fresh and raw from the spade,-much as if a huge cake had been cut downwards through the centre so that the component parts and ingredients might be examined, I realized for the first time what scenes of busy life the seemingly empty ground beneath one's feet in reality contains. Not only things on the earth, but “things under the earth’’ were joining in the universal jubilation which, though silent, is yet eloquent. were sunk, in a nearly straight line downwards for some hree or four feet. These were the tunnels of the eartºworm, riddling the ground in all directions. - n; closer to the surface, immediately beneath and - - - .* - - - - -- - a was to come across a Here and there regular shafts, minute yet symmetrical, Above, among the grass-roots, were passages and tiny caverns innumerable, branching to right and left away into the field, and some of them leading to hollow chambers neatly excavated in the loam, as a very little digging with a stick soon showed. What was their object?—who were the tenants P - The ever-useful pocket lens must come into requisition, for, even where the eyesight is clearest, it is better thus assisted. Let us examine some one or two of the many chambers and mazy windings which lead to them. Searching just under the roots of the clover, grasses, buttercup and daisy (the carpet of small herbs which make up the pasture of a hayfield), hardly half-an inch below the soil, one comes upon a little cell full of a collection of oval grains,—at least they look like grains, but in reality they are eggs, those of the large green grasshopper. The mother insect is armed with a kind of Spear, at her tail, with which she pierces the ground—the- weapon being in fact hollow, a tube through which she passes her eggs into the earth. As soon as the weather Unlike the butterfly and beetle, the young grasshoppers are not born as grubs, but as becomes cold she dies. tiny perfect insects, precisely resembling the old ones, but without wings. search carefully, and you may see some newly hatched, perching upon the grass tips, and so small and light that their weight does not bend the frail spire on which they sit, any more than that of a midge A merry, cheery little atom.it is, the baby Yet, its iThe changing of the skin, the meadows re-echo on a sunny day. would do. grasshopper, and perhaps no creature is happier. life is not without troubles. Ol' moulting, which takes place several times, appears to be a difficult matter. - perform this work, struggling violently for some time till It retires under the leaves to it is free of the old coat and clad in the new. The last time that this task is accomplished the grasshopper emerges in a winged state, and now it is able to extend its leap into a short flight. Before springing into the air, or after alighting, the insect rubs its long crooked jumpers against its sides, as if in glee at the performance accomplished, or joyous expectation of fresh delights. This action produces the rural pleasant sound with which When the grass- hoppers are mute, it is because they are not jumping ; this happens when cold or rain damps their spirits. The lark, the wagtail, the sparrow and many other birds search for and eat the eggs of the grasshopper as well as the insect itself. In pastures where small birds are shot or scared away the ravages of these little leapers are very severe, for they are great devourers of grass. But they have enemies beneath as well as above ground. Lift that flat stone, half-embedded in the ground, and you will - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I01 uncover an ant-colony, the runs and passages from which reach in all directions from it. Have patience, and you will soon see that these ants on their foraging expeditions, getting food for the young at home, disdain nothing edible that falls in their path. The egg store of the grasshopper is a dainty find, and there is no doubt that many fall into their clutches. - - - Two other occupants of the soil, close beneath the herbage, however, are more formidable in their assaults upon the roots. These are the wire-worm and the cockchafer-grub. Neither of these two creatures keep to any regular burrow or track, but are constantly moving onward, feeding as they go upon the suckers and rootlets which come in their way. The office of these and similar creatures in Nature’s The object of their creation is one which needs deep and not great scheme of husbandry is to be root-pruners. superficial consideration if a motive is to be found, for at first sight it offers a problem, and almost any farmer would call them the plague of his life. That their depre- dations are so severe, however, is due (as most heavy - human troubles are) to the obstinate blindness and folly of men, who pull destruction down on their own heads and then blame the Author of all Good for their misery. We must come back once more to the often repeated truth, that the reckless slaughter of insectivorous birds has destroyed the only agency which can cope with and keep in check the hosts of puny yet powerful enemies of this kind, and keep the balance right. The office of the wire-worm and cockchafer grub with others of the same habit is to get rid of old and rank vegetation and open up the ground for new, that un- doubtedly was the thought upon which their creation was based. From above, the presence of the wire-worm and cockehafer grub may be sometimes detected by bald patches in the fields which they frequent, where the . > creatures have “wormed their way,” as the saying is, among the roots, and eaten them off, so that the cropping of sheep and cattle, or even the force of the wind, is suffi. cient to carry the tufts from their moorings. Many of the best kinds of pasture grass, however, are annuals, or propagate themselves by offshoots, so that the seedlings, or young runners, quickly replace the old plants, and afford a richer covering to the field ; and in all cases the rank coarse knots of grass are better removed. Among the corn roots and other crops the thinning out of a plant or two here or there is an advantage to the rest, always supposing the work to be done moderately. Though it may be con- sidered an ideal view of the case to say that these much maligned underground borers are beneficial to cultivated land rather than not, it is essential to grant that at least hey might be so, thinned to spare numbers by the creatures - which make them their natural food;--or, at any rate, it is manifest that, in Nature’s wilds and wolds, the lives of these creatures and their subterranean husbandry would not only be useful but essential. The burrows which they make lighten and drain the soil, admitting air, and pre- venting dense, sour and heavy soil from clogging the roots, of which they are also the pruners. After its sojourn under the ground the wire-worm changes into a skip-jack beetle, in which stage of its life The under- ground cellar which contains the cockchafer grub, lying swaddled and at rest after its four years' pilgrimage through dark windings beneath the grass, groping its way and feeding fast until its transformation into a beetle is ready to be completed—the small hole which forms its abiding place till called to new life—may very easily be found in such a spot as I have described. The parent lays her eggs as deep as she can, but is not able to creep into the ground too far for the sun's rays to reach them. She has no spearlike tube as the grasshopper. As soon as the grubs are hatched, the root-gnawing process begins. A - - But a peep underground shows plainly that there is no such thing it finds a host of enemies ready to pursue it. placid life enough, and safe too, one would fancy. as calm inert existence even there. A hunting field with all its hurry and excitement lies under the turf, where the busy mole, darting through his tunnels worn smooth by constant friction, as swiftly as a horse can trot above, is always on the qui wire and in lack of a dinner. He is continually on the watch for the cockchafer grub, for his appetite is simply insatiable, both for grubs and earth- worms. When alarmed he swift y glides into his central keep, where his intricate and marvellous skill has provided a refuge for himself, and a safe abode for his wife and young. It has baffled the investigation of many wise heads;–that castle fortress of the mole, with its double set of galleries and communications linking them together, Hlong tunnels branching out, after the fashion - of a spider's threads, on all hands. The meaning of the passages is obvious, and that they should all meet in One place carries reason on the face of it;-the mole places his young family where the mate and helpless young can have their choice of escape in any one of several directions,—choosing that which leads away from the spot from which danger seems to be approaching, and after- wards easily returning along the beaten road to the home again. But the curious circular maze of chambers in the centre, what is the object of these ? Being, nearly always, close to the surface, may not they act as a sort of ventilator for the mole (for air he must have)—and also [this is purely my own idea, and I hardly venture to put it forth, but it occurred to me after much pondering as a possible motive for this device of the little gentleman - - - 102. in black velvet –may not the mole, who is a terrible fighter, have devised this whirligig arrangement so as to be able to turn round and face his foe, should any venture to pursue him The passages are never, I believe, wide - enough to admit of two moles passing one another, and so the enemy would have an immense advantage should he meet the owner of the burrow when his back was turned. Flight would be his “better part of valour,” and, on reaching the keep, he would enter at the base, take a turn in the gallery, and once more meet his pursuer face to face as a warrior ought. The mole-cricket is an insect which seems a sort of - - mockery of the true mole, so much alike are the two creatures in habits. There is even a similarity in the form, especially in the very strange digging feet of this curious cricket, at which no one could look without seeing the purpose they were intended to serve. He is, indeed, a most singular insect, his appearance is eccentric in the extreme. It is he who is responsible for that churring sound, like a continuous cricket or grasshopper-chirp, but far louder, which strikes the ear on and after sunset on mild evenings. Inside his burrow he sits to produce this drumming, and he gets it out of himself in the same mode as that used by the grasshopper-rubbing his legs against his sides. If a grass stem be pushed into the hole, he will seize it with his powerful jaws, and will prefer to be drawn out holding on to it like a bulldog to letting it go. Then he may be examined at leisure, the curious spade- like limbs, the parts so admirably adapted for his delving career. It is probable that, like the mole, this odd creature devours living grubs as a part, at any rate, of its diet, though it is a vegetable feeder too. If kept for a few hours in order to watch it, food of both kinds should be supplied, but the creature feeds only at night, and so must be observed by artificial light. I was never able to see it feed. But many and active as are the foes which attack the cockchafer and wireworm from below, those which make Whole regiments of rooks (if allowed to do so) spend their days an onslaught from above are more direful still. in seeking for these marauders, and any others that may fall in the way of the trowels, or rather pickaxes (for as such a rook's beak may fitly be described), armed at the base by a leathery piece of skin, to prevent painful triction to the feathers on the rook's forehead, should he plunge his After the rooks come a tribe of jackdaws, starlings and sparrows– - bill deep into the soil in pursuit of his game. a mixed multitude which carefully turn over the earth loosened by the stronger beaks of their comrades, in the hope of picking up a meal from their leavings—eggs and smaller grubs overlooked by the rooks. THE GIPsy journ AL. To give some idea of the wholesale destruction of grubs wrought by the rook alone, it has been calculated that a single rookery of 10,000 birds devoured 209 tons of insects, A. pound of food a day is a very moderate allowance for this Worms and grubs of various kinds, in a single season. bird, and such food consists almost entirely of the things mentioned. - In its perfect stage the cockchafer is a night-flying creature, though it may now and then be seen in broad daylight. Its enemies when on the wing are chiefly the bat, the night-jar, the kestrel-hawk, and the owl. The windhover or kestrel watches, with is keen eyes fixed on a field while it poises itself, shivering its wings and ready to dart downwards, for so incredibly piercing is its sight that it can catch the smallest motion of mouse, beetle, slug or worm upon the grass beneath, and swooping down: by the weight and stunning force of its rapid descent - usually kills its victim at a blow. - The cockchafer is an insect very easy to watch, its - beautiful fringed horns, probably the organs of some very delicate sense which acts as its guide, are among its chief ornaments. The dusky fawn-colour, tinged with pink, and the white saw-like decoration streaking its sides, render this insect a charming one. It browses on the leaves of trees, preferring the oak; and in districts where it has been allowed to over-multiply, owing to slaughter of moles and rooks, its rayages have been so fearful as to resemble a locust visitation. Pigs are great assistants in clearing the ground not only of the grubs, but of the perfect cockchafer, when it has settled there for the of egg-laying. pastures better than by turning swine into them as often purpose Farmers cannot serve their as possible, and it is for piggy's health as well. when not carried to excess, the leaf-pruning of the cockchafer does not harm the tree, but gives an impetus to new shoots by removing the old. - That lovely bird, the night-jar or “Night Swallow,” as it as been sometimes called, because it takes up at night a kindred task to that which the swallow performs by day —clearing the air of flying insects—may be often seen flitting noiselessly (save for its burring note) round and round an oak tree where the cockchafers are swarming. Sometimes they will envelope one of these monarchs of the wood in quite dense clouds, and then the useful night- jar comes to the rescue. It is of course not easy to observe this bird, because it is nocturnal in its habits; but it may be watched during the evening and morning twi- light. It uses a curious method in catching beetles, stretching out its claw (it has a peculiar serrated claw for the purpose apparently) and dexterously grasping its - - THE GIpsy Journal, I03 flying prey. Moths and smaller insects it seizes with its widely gaping, almost beakless, mouth, garnished with hairs to assist it in retaining the fluttering winged fry. The time would fail to tell the life history of one half of the miners which for a portion, and that by far the larger portion of their lives, are dwellers underground. The brilliant and radiant rose-beetle, in its golden mail- with emerald and ruby sheen, thus begins its career; many moths bury themselves in their chrysalis state, literally rising again from the grave when their hour has come. A trowel will hardly fail to unearth many specimens, especially if used under a tree or bush. Beneath the privet may be foundthe Privet Hawk Moth—in a potato field there is a fair chance of securing the weird Death’s Head Moth, for it is not nearly so rare as is supposed. The chrysalids when taken home should be buried in bran, or very light earth: —attention being paid to them from time to time, for when about to emerge, they work their way up towards thé top of the material in which they are buried. Then it is time to keep on the alert, lest one should miss that wondrous and never-to-be-forgotten spectacle—the bursting forth of the winged creature from its death-shroud. The soil which covers the earth is peopled, almost, if not quite, as fully and as admirably, as the upper regions open to our sight. The herbage which clothes the earth; the blue sky which is the destiny of the lowly crawling things, so many of which beginning a grovelling existence in the dust end it endowed with wings, are not the only populous resorts of happy life. - And if we ask to what end is this mighty chain forged— life depending upon life, the death of one creature being the price paid for the existence of another P is, first, that the best is being made during a temporary and transition state of things—of that fatal necessity DEATH. Inevitable from man's sin, God has made it the gate of life. The answer to all doubts is to be found in that eternal song which Archangels chant day and night before the Almighty's throne, whose refrain bids us believe that “for His pleasure * all living things are and were created. Their lives are full of bliss, their death-pang [Copyright strictly reserved]. BIRDS BY THE GREAT SALT LAKE. MRs. OLIVE THORNE MILLER, in her paper, “In a pasture by the Great Salt Lake,” in the February Atlantic, tells of the happily projected gulls of Utah : : Most interesting of the birds that we saw on our daily way to the pasture were the gulls—great, beautiful, snowy creatures— who looked strangely out of place so far away from the sea- shore. Stranger, too, than their change of residence is their change of manners, from the wild, unapproachable sea birds, soaring and diving, and apparently spending their lives on wings such as the poet writes of: When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as th me. * And of whose lives he further Says : What place man may, we claim it, But thine—whose thought may name it? Free birds live higher than free men, - 2 And gladder ye than we. - From this high place in our thoughts, from this realm of poetry and mystery, to come down almost to the tameness of the barn- yard fowl is a marvellous transformation, and one is tempted The answer. - brief and unexpected. Each subserves the well-being of another, awaiting a time when the system of universal carnage shall be merged in “pleasures for evermore,” because death itself will be swallowed up in victory. to believe the solemn announcement of the Salt Lake prophet, that God sent them to his chosen people. The occasion of this alleged special favor of the I attºr-Day Saints was the advent, about twenty years ago, of clouds of grasshoppers, before which the crops of the Western States and Territories were destroyed as by fire. It was then, in their hour of greatest need, when the food upon which depended a whole people was threatened, that these beautiful winged In large flocks they carne, from no one knows where, and settled, like so many sparrows, all over the messengers appeared. land, devouring almost without ceasing the hosts of the foe. The crops were saved, and all rejoiced. The shrewd man, who wielded the destinies of his people º beside the Salt Lake, secured the future usefulne s of what they considered the miraculous visitation by fixing £5 upon the head of every gull in the Territory. And now, the birds having found congenial resting places on solitary islands in the lake, their descendants are so fearless and so tame that they habitu- ally follow the plough like a flock of chickens, rising from almost under the feet of the indifferent horses and settling down at once in the furrow behind, seeking out and eating greedily all the worms, mice, and moles that the plough has disturbed in its passage. The Mormon cultivator has sense enough to appreciate such service, and no man or boy dreams of lifting a ſingel against his best friend. - Do you know That every little insect-eating bird you may kill, and every egg you take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects? 104 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. | ºf-FAIRYLAND. ++++++++++++++++++++ % By Mrs. F. H. SUCKLING. ;I/HEN I was a child, I used to roam W. In wonderful regions, though near at -(-; i. home ; For I feigned that the Queen of Fairyland Made me a Knight, by the stroke of her wand; A Knight, whose mission it was to seek And rescue the captive and the weak, Wherever I found them in her domain, Bind up their wounds and relieve their pain. # * * * * * Now the cat, that under the trumpet-vine lay, Was a tiger that crouched for a royal prey; For the humming-bird, with his ruby gem, Was heir to a fairy diadem 1 So I drove Grimalkin far away, And the bird flew back to his mother fay. # 3& # If a fly was caught in a net of gause, The spider a wicked enchanter was: So I broke the net, and the fly went free; But if ever the spider I chanced to see Adrift on the stream—a luckless rover— With a leaf for a raft, I helped him over ! 3& # k + k . ºf If a honey-bee fell by the way, overladen, I saw in her a patient maiden, One of the toilers that gather nectar For my Queen and her Court, so I must protect her, So I made a staff of a stem of grass, And helped to her feet the fairy lass If I met a tortoise clumsy and slow, I took him along where he wished to go. If a merry hopper by chance was lamed, If a grig by some careless foot was maimed, A litter of leaves I quickly made, And carried the sufferer into the shade. So I travelled abroad, the long Summer days In the wonderful realm of the Queen of the Fays. Though I never came yet to the Court of the Queen, I have heard her voice, her smile have I seen, Her voice, in the whispering leaves, I have heard, In the hum of insect and twitter of bird; And her smile with the sunny landscape blends, And all of her subjects are my true friends. - WILD HORSE. THE THE Wild Horse of the South American Pampas possesses a most acute and far-reaching sense of smell. Mr. Hudson speaks of it as a common occurrence for the horses of a district, in the seasons of drought, to migrate suddenly to some distant place, fifty miles away, perhaps, where rain had fallen. A slight breeze from that quarter is enough to set them off. A still more striking phenomenon is, he says, familiar to every frontiers- man. The gaucho horse has the greatest terror of an Indian invasion, and long before the marauders reach the settlement, often when they are still a full day's journey from it, all the horses take the alarm and come flying wildly in. The horned cattle quickly feel the contagion, and a general stampede ensues. The Gauchos declare that the horses smell the - Indians and Mr. Hudson believes that they are right. When passing an Indian camp, from which the wind blew, all the horses driven before him have taken fright and run away. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 105. sº-º-º-º-º: º Wºź § * X GIPSY LIFE W º, GPSVLANDAW {}}N &Y&H.E THROUGH POPPY- H_ANI). - By T. H. W.E.B.B. AND THIS seems a somewhat anomalous title for a contribution to the “Gipsy Journal,” but as my bicycle was only a means to attain an end quicker than by foot, I must ask you to forgive the inno- vation. On a certain fine morning in June I started shortly after breakfast, and with fair wind and roads, soon made my way to Enfield; thence through the villages of Waltham Abbey and Waltham Cross and part of the Forest to Epping. As this part of greater North London must be so well known to most of our readers, I will not dwell upon it. Through Epping, and turning to the right, I passed by Tyler's Green and High Ongar to Chelmsford. There were one or two pretty bits of scenery, but I don’t think any equalled the views in Epping Forest, looking back just before one gets to the “Wake Arms.” Writtle and its Mills are worth noticing. I dined at the “Saracen's Head,” Chelmsford, in company with about a dozen or so cyclists, and a very merry party we were. One young fellow was going my way, and so we journeyed together. He was going to the Colonial College, somewhere the other side of Ipswich, and he regaled me on the way with an account of this Colonial College, where they teach by theory and practice everything requisite for a Colonial life. Chatting freely, we pedalled on comfortably by the main road through Witham, and Kelvedon, to . Colchester, where I parted with my Colonial Collegian and wondered where his lines would be Cast. There is nothing particularly interesting to note on this part of the road except a mill and water- lilies at the bottom of a hill a few miles from Chelmsford, and the pretty little village of Lexden. We reached Colchester comfortably by tea time, having done the fifty-five miles in five hours quiet riding. I had only just had a comfortable bath and change, when down came the rain, and it rained all night. When I started in the morning I found I had quite another kind of riding to look forward to. Over this portion of my ride I am going to draw a veil, as Nature did over the landscape. I will simply say that from Diss to Norwich it was simply riding through mud and water all the way. At Norwich, it was such a steady down-pour, that I rode through the City direct to the station and took train for Cromer. When I reached there I had some three miles to ride to my destination, Felbrigg, and upon arriving there found, to my disgust, that my portmanteau had not arrived. The joy of having beaten the G.N.R. did not compensate me for my wetting, and I was thankful for such change as I had with me. I would say, in passing, that of all wood pavements I have ever ridden over, the pavements of the principal streets. in Norwich beat all hollow—for holes | For some two days riding was out of the question on account of the rain, but the portmanteau having arrived, with necessary thick boots, gaiters and mackintosh, I had plenty to do about the farm, and walking or driving to and from Cromer. Of course the daily swim was not only a luxury, but a neces- sity, and indulged in until one unlucky morning when, the tide being very low, I managed to cut my foot badly on a rock and had to desist for a week or more. This was hard lines, but only meant driving instead of walking or cycling. Very pretty are the short drives out and about Cromer. so my lot was perhaps not so hard after all. Another ride to the Beacon Beeston, known as the “Roman Encampment,” a high tumulus overlooking several small bracken and heather-covered valleys, and commanding an uninterrupted sea-view from Cromer to Sherring- ham, with the little village of East and West Runton, Beeston with its ruined and ivy-clad priory, and Sherringham, lying at the base of the various hills, makes in all one of the prettiest of the many pretty bits for which this part of Norfolk is so famous. Another view of a part of this complete picture is obtained from a place called “Pretty Corner.” which includes Upper Sherringham Church in the view. I continued this ride past Pretty Corner, through Sherringham Park, which is one of the show drives, and therefore deserves a word of mention. The entrance from the Hall Road is through a winding avenue of pine trees, banked in on either side by rhododendrons of varied colours. pink, light red, mauve, white, etc. The ground 106 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. on either side is a soft bed of pine needles and cones, undisturbed for years. I noticed in particular one bunch of rhododendrons, which must have been 15 feet high, and covered with lovely blooms. Coming down and round a sharp turn the Hall faces one, a low irregular building of white stone, nestling under a great hill crowned by trees, with the village of Weybourne far away to the left, the picture finished off by the sea in the back- ground. There is a quaint old open shallow well in the village, supplied by springs from the hills, forced by a dam which supplies the village and hall. It is surrounded by an arched stone coping with “Anno pacis MDCCCX/ V’’ cut deeply into the stone. A morning stroll up the celebrated Cromer Hills, passing the lighthouse and the fashionable golf links, across the far blue summits to the last of the little range, one gets another of these little valleys, the ivy-clad ruins of Overstrand Church being one of the principal features which strike us as we look landwards. Far away on the heights of Poppyland stands the poetical old tower of Sidestrand Church, like a grim sentinel guarding the little growing villages of Overstrand. It was pleasing to notice the different shades of green—grass, young bracken, wheat, barley, and the bronze green of the fast ripening hay, backed up by the dark firs; the * hush” and “swish " of the corn and grasses making a pleasant accompaniment to the different sounds of the sea rippling upon the beach some 200 feet below. - I walked on to Overstrand and back by the beach, at low water, the half-tide sands, now firm and smooth as a tennis court, affording a walk for miles. - As I was passing under the cliffs a girlish freak of which I saw the sequel came to my mind. A young lady had come down for the day with several friends and dared one of them to go down the cliffs, somewhere about Overstrand. Light- hearted, laughing, enjoying the fun, down she came, saw a flat dry-looking piece of sand nearly at the bottom of the cliff, jumped on to it, only to find it was a quagmire | Her friends, seeing her sad plight, signalled to some fishermen, who came ashore, and pushed the bottom boards of the crab boat under her arms, which prevented her going quite under, and then went to the lighthouse, procured a ladder, along which one of them crawled, and put a rope under the poor girl's arms; then, by letting the ladder sink perpendicularly, the rope was put over the top, and she was hoisted step by step as the ladder sank. All this had taken hours before she was dragged out, looking more like a - º lump of clay than a living person, quite unable to move a limb. All was done that was possible, but the shock to the system and exposure to the cold wet clay was too much, and she succumbed after reaching her own home. One other ride I had from Felbrigg through Northrepps, Southrepps, and country roads; to Trimmingham Beacon, and thence to Mundsley. From the top of Trimmingham Beacon one gets a most extended view of the Norfolk Weald, some such view as that from the “Devil's Dyke,” near Brighton, only with this difference, that the sea forms one third of the view. I think I was told that thirty-six churches are visible on a clear day with the aid of a glass, including Norwich Cathedral spire. The old Norfolk couplet:- Trimmingham, Gimmingham, Bacton, and Trunch, Northrepps, and Southrepps, Hang all in a bunch. - refers to the immediate parishes at the foot of Beacon Hill. - The coast road from Trimmingham Beacon to Mundsley is more or less down hill, sandy and rough. At Mundsley one gets a fine stretch of sand, as at Cromer, quite unlike the stony Sherring- ham beach. From the top of the Beacon Hill, on my return, I saw a most lovely sunset. The sun at this period of the year appears to set in the sea beyond Cromer, and about N.W., which upsets one's school teaching on points of the compass and the rising and setting of the sun. way, that at Cromer I have actually seen the sun apparently both rise from the sea and set in the sea. I think this is the only spot in England where such a sight can be seen. But to return to Beacon Hill and the sunset. A storm was coming up from the S.W. and working towards the West, and the effect was grand indeed. I returned home by the coast road, and passed through Poppyland, made famous by G. R. Sims, Clement Scott and others. ON the grass of the cliff, At the edge of the steep, God planted a garden— A garden of sleep! Neath the blue of the sky, in the green of the corn, It is there that the regal red poppies are born # * * * * * * * #: # 3% A tower in ruin stands guard o'er the deep, At whose feet are green graves of dear women asleep. On one of my visits to Poppyland I was curious about this “tower in ruin,” and so asked permission to go inside it, which was granted, with the remark “there was nothing to see but some gardening tools, I may mention here, by the THE GIpsy journ AL. 107 - been cutting the grass that day.” It was getting on towards twilight, my friends had strolled away, I went to the door, pushed it open, and found on the floor, in a semi-recumbent position, what at first sight I took to be a woman asleep, but a second glance confirmed my fears, that she was dead. She had been caught by the tide on a strip of rock and sand at the base of the cliff, and not being able to swim across the shallows, with no one at hand to help her, had not succeeded in reaching the shore. The distance could only have been a few yards at first, and the depth not great ; but every minute she waited after finding herself surrounded lengthened the distance and increased the depth. - It certainly gave me a shock, and the poet's words always have a peculiar meaning to me now. From Poppyland through Overstrand, passing Lord Battersea and Overstrand’s pretty place I turned up opposite Overstrand Church and passed by Northrepps Cottage, looking, as I approached, like a doll's house in a dell, wonderfully pretty and quiet, nestling under some beautiful copper beeches backed up by firs, and affording a glimpse of the sea down the dell. From thence I passed Northrepps Hall, glanced down its avenue of oaks, stunted by the action of the sea-breezes, but making a perfect canopy the whole length of the avenue, and so on home. - Norfolk is famous for its ferns, and I sent away very good specimens of Hart's Tongue (Scolopen- drium Polypodium), Black Spleenwort (Asplenium Adjantum-nigrum), and a common variety of small “Shield Ferns.” The male fern (Lastrea Filip-mas) is very common, and sometimes one comes across a specimen of the Lady fern (Athyrium Filiº-femina). The common Brake or Bracken (Pteris aquilina) is met with every- where where soil suits, but I have never been able to transplant a root yet. - ----------------------ee-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º: of what use are Wasps ? OF very great use! They feed their young on caterpillars and grubs of all sorts, and they always prefer a meat (that is a grub) diet. We once had three peach trees in our conservatory. Two were laden heavily with fruit, the third was fruitless, and a mass of “blight.” The wasps came to the green-house in swarms, they fastened on the “blight” and never touched the peaches till the insect pest was cleared from the infested tree. Then they discovered the peaches; so we put muslin across the windows and effectually shut them out. The gardener was much astonished. but at last saw some reason in our persistent refusal to let him kill them, or take their nests. º The wasp is not naturally spiteful, and is certainly not on the look out for human beings in order to sting them. It rarely uses its sting except in self- defence, or when it imagines some great harm is about to be done to it, and then, sharp and sure, in goes the weapon. Yes; but painful as is the sting of a wasp to us, it is more painful and dangerous to the wasp itself. The wound hurts us because the sting is usually left in it; and this means that the barbs have held it tight in our flesh, and so torn it right out of the body of the wasp, and the little creature soon dies from the terrible injury thus caused. seem as if wasps were of little use. They do not gather honey or store up food, and though they build cells as do bees, their cells are not made of wax. They therefore provide little or nothing that man can take from them. But it does not follow that they are useless; every creature has its place in Nature, and has also some good purpose to serve, though we may not have found out what that purpose is. As regards the wasp, though it neither gathers honey nor makes wax, it is both industrious and ingenious. It does what the bees cannot do: it does, and has done from the begin- ning, something that man did not learn to do until many thousands of years after the creation of the world, although, if man had watched the wasp at work, he might have made the discovery much sooner. The wasp is a paper manufacturer. We make paper by tearing old rags into shreds, working them into pulp, and running the pulp over heated rollers, until it takes such form as that of the sheet on which these words are printed. But the wasp uses a different material when she makes paper. When she has found a suitable piece of wood, she nibbles away, grinding and kneading it together, and sometimes mixing fibres of root with her pulp if she thinks it will not stick together without. Then off she goes to the hole she has chosen or dug out, and rolls and spreads out the pulp into thin layers, flake upon flake, until she has something very like a sheet of brown or gray paper ready to form into a wall and cells for her young. Wasps', nests in this country are usually made in a hole in the ground; sometimes in a disused mouse or rat hole; and contain, towards the end of the season, - an immense number of grubs, and full-grown insects which wait upon them most faithfully. The wasp is a summer creature; all but a very few die when winter comes ; the remnant find a safe retreat where they lie by in a torpid state, an found a new colony in the Spring. FLORENCE SUCKLING. Do you know That you can assist us in our work, by subscribing, and getting others to do so? At first sight it does 108 THE GIPsy JOURNAL WWE}}}}} \}{}}E_4_E. A}_{}}\}G THE By A. G. MUNRO, B.A. To the tourist, who is ever on the look out for things fresh and fair, I would say: “ Have you ever visited the Moselle f * It flows before my mind's eye, as I now write, this sparkling stream of one of the vastest and most gorgeous vine-lands in the world. Probably many of our readers are familiar enough with the well-known Bridge of Boats at Coblence, just below which the Moselle merges its waters into those of the lordly Rhine. Some folks, who are inclined to go into raptures over the Rhine, never dream of taking a trip up its less famous affluent. And, indeed, as the Moselle flows into the Rhine, there are no striking signs that it is worth while visiting its banks. This much I admit. Consequently, as the beauties of the river dawned upon us the other day, in one ever-varying succession of towering vineyards, nestling villages, smiling orchards, verdant meadows, and picturesque scenes of peaceful peasant life, we were amazed at the unending gorgeousness of the unexpected panorama, and compelled to admit that, in order to “do” the Moselle, not one day, but many were necessary. Knowing that this article will meet the eyes of people who have really travelled, and studied artistically the beauties of the various continental resorts, I must guard against exaggerated language. Nevertheless, at the risk of contradiction, I must propagate my firm belief that the Moselle is ten times finer than the world-famed Rhine. From beginning to end of our trip, that is, from Trier to Coblence, a trip of some thirteen hours' duration, there is not one minute's cessation in the beauty of the ever unfolding scene. Bearing in mind, too, that this direction is with the current, the reader will recognize that the Moselle tourist-steamboats cover quite as great a length as those which the Rhine boats do between Bingen and Bonn. The great feature of the Moselle, apart from the riparian beauties, is the multitude and extent of its windings. For instance, the pleasant little walk, up one vine- yard slope and down another, between Traubach and Berncastle, takes the brisk little steamer, even sailing with the stream, quite an hour, if not more, to accoomplish. This we tested for ourselves, as we were compelled to spend an extra day at Bern- castle, in order to wait for a boat, the visits of the Moselle steamers at the various villages along the stream being only few and far between. The wonder, indeed, seemed that with all its attractions, the passenger traffic in the tourist season is so small. The lack of depth, however, accounts J for the absence of shipping in the summer. In fact it is no unusual thing for the steamer to join con- clusions with the river bed below. Periodical bumpings and joltings forced this fact upon us, only the other day, and possibly accounted for the sudden and sundry shakings of our wine cups when at dinner. At most parts of the trip, the bottom of the water was distinctly, almost ridiculously, visible from the quarter deck, and, in dry summers, the boats cease running. Last year. for example, such was the case. Speaking of zig-zag windings reminds me of that between Cochem and Eller. Let me illustrate this. One morning, I climbed up the hills above Cochem Castle, and, after gathering profusely of black- berries, wandering along the moorland summit and pine and oak-clad ridges, and enjoying a vast panorama of mountain, vale and winding river, such as I have seen in Perthshire. I scrambled down a rude path into the village below. Great was my astonishment to learn that the journey back to Cochem was timed by the villagers to take five hours, such are the tortuous vagaries of the merry Moselle. In winter and autumn, when the river bed is full, the traffic increases. But we were thankful that our visit was in due season, and that not one single puff of steamship Smoke, except that of our own craft, was seen during the whole of the tour. It is this nuisance of smoke which dims the beauties and beclouds the more renowned land and river-scapes of the Rhine. Who is not familiar with that foul ejection from the unbeauteous Rhine steam-tugs, as they smoke their grimy way along, sparing neither sloping vineyard nor ancient castle, and befouling even the glories of the Lorelei and St. Goar. But, apart from the smoke, I main- tain the superiority of the Moselle over the Rhine. The latter river is so variable. At times it is simply grand, idyllic, romantic, or, as the Germans say, colossal, in all its majestic glory. But, on the other hand, its surroundings are sometimes as flat as a pancake, as unlovely as Ordinary house tops. No lover of scenery cares twopence for the stretch between Coblence and Neuwied, or, still less, for that between Bonn and Cologne. But the Moselle never fades in the succession of its attractions. Where vineyards cease to raise their sunny slopes on one side, they resume them on the other, and the pastoral scenes are a dreamland for a poet. On the left bank, a number of peasant women have suspended their labours to watch us as we pass. The snow-white folds of linen spread out on the deep green of the meadow indicate their business for the day. Gathering on a jetty formed by projecting stones and rocks, they greet us merrily as we glide by. Suddenly a peal of laughter pro- claims that a too adventuresome member of the party has met with disaster, and is wringing her blue-cotton skirt free from the inroads of a cruel - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 109 river. Scarcely have the shouts of the washing party died away than a ferry boat appears, lazily bearing its freight over the stream, and foremost among the transport is a cartload of fodder. The oxen yoked to the rude cart are doubtless thankful for the ferry, as the usual, and to them doubtless unsatisfactory—for oxen when pulling, always seem to me unnatural—order of things is inverted. But the rumbling of the wheels and the clatter of the hoofs along the ferry proclaim that the little treat is over, and the hay cart half tilts over as the poor beasts drag it from the ferry on to the other side the water. The arrival of the little steamer is evidently a matter of leading importance at all the villages we pass, and, in the shades of a glorious August evening, just when the golden sunset is tinting the tops of the vineyard with mellow hues, one village turns out, in apparent full strength, to greet us. As we travelled between Trier and Berncastle, many of our fellow passengers were returning from Trier market, and, on one occasion, the boat which landed its contingent from the steamer was full to overflowing. In fact, it seemed so in more cases than one, since the stream eddied suspiciously round the departing transport Many people will be suprised to learn that the Moselle is almost richer in castles than the Rhine. One after the other, below Cochem, they appeared in view. Cochem is considered by some to be the finest castle along the Moselle and many tourists never go further than this point. Some of these castles are renovated and inhabited, but, to my mind, the weather-beaten, crumbling ruins are the most romantic. A modern Berlin or Frankfort merchant dwelling in the towers of “Ritterdom '' is discordant anachronism. It is more matural to hear in imagination the clanking of armed mail along the courtyard than the rattle of a modern carriage and pair. All kinds of fantastic imagery rise up from a legendary past, as we people the tattered battlements and impreg- nable terraces with forms and figures of our own. What romance can we not call up from yon colossal pile, through the clinks of whose ancient turrets the setting sun is now gleaming These ruined castles, however, are a sore point in the German mind, and account for much of that bitter animosity which still exists towards France. It was the Gaul who first hurled them from their high estate. “You know who is responsible for all this ruin,” said a German fellow-passenger to us as the Moselle castles were vanishing one after the other. Of course the allusion was to the French. “But they do it again, never,” added our friend with clenched teeth, and it is evident that many other Germans are of the same mind. Let us hope that the advance of civilization will cause a more healthy feeling between the two nations. - - - Tº º ºf . º Tº) G.H ſºlºiſ - * PS º r - \! S. ſºlº) Nº. § { º I SUPPOSE by this time most “ Gipsy Journal” readers will have got into harness once again after the Summer holiday. Although we are now busy preparing our Winter programme, it must not be forgotten that one great object of the paper is to cater liberally for all holiday-makers and tourists, so that in the October number we hope to receive and print much that our readers care to send us anent their recent outings. Meanwhile, I propose to give an account of the wanderings I have myself recently gone through, either for criticism on the part of those Gipsies who think they have got more enjoyment else- where, or for imitation by others who are not quite satisfied with the net result of the great event. I take it that an ideal holiday should combine things fresh and new with an outlay suitable to our respective purses. Let me then proceed to give an account of some new ground which I have been opening up in the interest of the “Gipsy Journal.” Continental Europe near London worth visiting is over-run with English tourists. Another absurd notion is that Continental travel is very costly, many people asserting that £1 a day is a reason- able outlay for the purpose. Let me try to dispel these ideas by our recent experience. Have any Gipsies ever heard of the Ruhrthal? I ask the question, because, although the Ruhrthal is, in many places, very charming and altogether novel, during the twelve days we were in the Ruhrthal, we did not come across a single English- man, And yet the Ruhrthal scenery is much nearer home than that of the world-famed Rhine, in fact it was at Duren, a station just on this side of Cologne, that we alighted, and, after a few miles by train, followed by a short ahd interesting drive on the top of an old mail coach (for which we pay something under a shilling), arrived at Nideggen whose lordly castle ruins tower hundreds of feet above the sweetly-flowing Ruhr. Nideggen Castle, let me say, ranks second only to Heidelberg- and the ruins are replete with rich romance and historical interest. There is an excellent hotel in the quaint upland village, where tourists can live like lords for fonr and sixpence a day, and a copy of the “Gipsy Journal” will secure a cordial welcome from the genial host, Herr Heiliger, whose ancestors, to many generations gong by, have lived and died in Nideggen. Nideggen Castle rises about 1200 feet above the sea, ºthe - - A prevalent notion prevails that all 110 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. summer-house in the hotel gardens is on a pro- jecting rock, at the front of the old Schloss walls. Here, on an August day, we sit and watch the little Ruhr winding its silvery way, hundreds of feet below, past the villages of Abenden, Blens, Hausen and Heimbach. In the afternoon we saunter among the castle ruins and look down that monster well which, in ages long ago, a warrior bold, of the Julich family, bored right down to the river Ruhr, so that, in times of war and siege, the garrison should not give in for want of water. Rumours of mysterious passages from the castle to other spots are rife. Hence we read that, once, when the invading foe, confident of victory, sent, in their pride of anticipated conquest, a dead cat as an insult to the Nideggen Knight, the latter sent promptly back a living hare, which sign of mysterious source of food induced the invaders to abandon the siege as hopeless. There is a glorious view from the castle walls. Eastward are seen those two colossal spires, graceful through the surrounding mist and smoke, which no one could fail to recognize as part of Cologne Cathedral. Southward, we count seven hills, which we know to be the Siebengebirge, and the one, on which our telescope shows us stands an old castle ruin, is the celebrated Drachenfels, on the other side Father Rhine. Still further west, across a sweep of waving cornfields and sloping uplands, are the *highest points in the Eiffel district. Having spent eleven days in Nideggen itself, we shotildered our little knapsacks, sent on our luggage to Coblenz, bade adieu to German friends, and set out to explore the Ruhrthal, with a view to crossing part of the Eiffel country, entering the Ahrthal at Altenahr, and thence by Rhine steamer to Coblenz. This walking-tour occupied five days, and, for the sake of those who would like to follow on, it may be said that the four places we slept in were Gemund, Munster-Eifel (two nights). Altenahr, and Ahrweiler. Of the charming scenes we passed on this route, I must first speak of Heim- bach. What are the English tourists about that they often travel thousands of miles in the summer and leave out in the cold Heimbach’s peaceful convent, peeping out from the profusion of pine woods, whose deep foliage flourishes on the lofty slopes of the rippling Ruhr " If any of our readers go to Heimbach, they must be sure and ask for Frau Krishcher, who has a special leaning for English folks, the family of Lord Mountmorris having spent a long period under her roof. In fact, Fraulein Krischer was so overjoyed at seeing us, that we had to remind her, on leaving, that it is customary, on such occasions, to pay the bill. The Heimbach Convent lies in the Mariawald, about two miles above the village, and, as the evenirg, was approaching, we rang the bell and were received by a brother, who, in an ante-room, - - --- - - - ... " ' " . * - brought us a bottle of convent beer, which was pronounced excellent. Life-long silence is the lot of those who enter the brotherhood here, varied only by religious exercises and manual toil, such as cheese-making, brewing and agriculture. No women are ever allowed to step beyond the vestibule. The brother, who answered the bell, transferred our application to go round the interior to the Superior, and, after a while, a monk appeared as a sign that our request was granted. Strange, indeed, was the effect of that stroll round the solemn building, just when the vesper hymn was rising in the parting day. The brothers, who met us in the quadrangle spoke no word, simply raised their cowls, made a respectful obeisance and passed on to vespers. In the refectory two monks were finishing the evening repast of bread and beer. Brothers and fathers alike slept in the same huge dormitory, each in a tiny compartment, whose furnishing and bed-clothing was of the most ascetic. Plain bread and home-brewed beer | Beds of the coarsest and humblest Perpetual silence What was the past history of all those melancholy fellow mortals who had so abjured intercourse with the world Such were our thoughts as, half-an-hour later, we heard the vesper strains dying away across the pine woods. At any rate. it is only right that we, who enjoyed a kindly wayside hospitality, should speak reverentially and pass on. Sleeping at Gemund, we proceeded to Munster- Eiffel, one of the most romantic, old-world, spots I ever saw, buried at the foot of the Michelsberg. The Hotel zur Post was, in the coaching days, a house of call between Trier and Cologne, and just the spot in which to conjure up fancies of a bygone age. The vast stone corridors of this now excellent inn seemed ringing with echoes of a visionary past. After Munster-Eifel came Michelsberg and the Ahr Valley. As the Ahr Valley is possibly known to some of our readers, we will not dwell on its beauties, which broke on us at every turn. From Remagen we took the Rhine steamer to Coblenz, stayed at Frau Muller's splendid pension on the Rhein-Anlagen for eight days, visited Ehren on the Rhine, the Lorelei and all the Rhine lions, took train by easy stages up the Moselle to Trier, spent two days sailing down the Moselle back to Coblenz, passed three pleasant nights in Bonn, scampered up Cologne Cathedral, and, after an absence of more than five weeks, got back to Liverpool Street. At Bonn, a travelling friend, Captain Queripel of a Channel Island regiment, took us to the new Hotel Dissmann, and I am bound to say that for charming apartments facing the Rhine, excellent cuisine, and reasonable charges, Hotel Dissmann is unsurpassed. Mr. Dissmann. let me add, will cordially welcome all subscribers to the “ Gipsy Journal.” Of Trier I hope to write another time. The great charm of our this year's THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 111 Summer-outing has been a day in Trier. In Oberammergau, I once fancied, during the passion play, I was in Jerusalem, so vivid was the effect of the grand spectacle. In Trier, I thought we had got to Rome. The shouts of the amphitheatre, the death cry of the Christian martyrs, the roaring of the wild beasts, all came back on that sunny morning we spent among the Roman relics of Trier. The great Nigra Porta, the Basilica, the Roman Baths, the Palace of the Caesars, rose again just as they were in the days of Roman predomi- nace. The dear old Rothes Haus Hotel, the old Stadthaus, where we slept, is simply a unique sample of the fascinating and the quaint. No pen of mine can depict the charms of Trier. When the Holy Coat was last taken from its hiding place and revealed to the public gaze, in 1891, ten million visitors, in six weeks, streamed into Trier. In conclusion, let me say that, if any readers desire any detailed information, of a pecuniary or other nature, on the above trip, I will send it with pleasure, on application to Temple Avenue Chambers. The hotels we stayed at were patterns of excellence, and the charges, en pension, would probably average about five shillings a day. **C. G. E. L. E. C. T. H. N. Gº!. By I. F. WAKEFIELD. - You can take life, but you cannot give it. Life is a mystery, which neither the man of science nor. the metaphysician can explain. Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt, and we are so hedged about with the traditional and commonplace in ordinary life that we are actually hindered from thinking for ourselves, and we are content to call things common, and pass them by as unworthy of regard, when they are really objects of the most trans- cendent beauty. The daisy and the buttercup are common in the sense of being plentiful, but in no - other sense, for they are flowers of exquisite grace, both of form and colour. In Nature nothing is common. We must open our minds and eyes, and we shall then recognise, as Carlyle says, “How every object has a divine beauty in it how every object verily is a window through which we may look into infinitude itself. He that can discern the loveliness of things we call him poet, painter. man of genius, gifted, lovable.” This capacity for discernment is latent in most of us, and can be developed. Let it be our work to develop it, especially in the young. And when we remember that all things whatsoever that we look upon are emblems to us of their great Creator, this work will become not only a pleasure but almost a religious duty. To make a collection of wild flowers, to form an herbarium, is an education in itself; it calls forth the powers of perception and observation, it disciplines the eye to distinguish varieties of form and gradations of shade and colour, it trains the mind to have a dºe regard for order and arrangement, and, above all, provides a never-failing source of amusement and instruction, and. I may say, a life-long occupation. But here I would add a word of warning. The Selborne Society has no sympathy with mere collectors, whose object seems to be to catch or pluck up everything that comes in their way and transfer it to their collections. I am not sure, but I speak with trembling lips, that it is at one with the scientific botanist, who does not care about pretti- ness and neatness in his specimens, but digs up the root of the plant and transfers all of it bodily to his herbarium. Man may be the lord of the cre- ation, but I deny his right to destroy anything unnecessarily ; he is only the last link in the chain of existence, and it is quite certain that it is not for him alone the birds sing and the flowers bloom, for many of them he has never seen ; they have the same inherent right to live and enjoy their brief span of existence that he has; the purpose of his life is to increase the amount of happiness and lessen the amount of misery in the world; his God- like reason is given him to control and subdue Nature, to work with her, to study her, and wrest from her her secrets, and to keep under that pro- clivity for destruction which shows in him the instinct of the primaeval savage cave—man or ape, from which, on the physical plane, he is said by the disciples of Darwin to be descended. Man has a nobler origin, mentally and spiritually, and we vindicate that belief by the sentinents which animate us as good members of the Selborne Society. We plead for the life of things; we say, let them live, let them grow; there is a soul in Nature which will speak to your soul if yºu only have ears to hear.” TO RAMIBILER.S. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE: CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, - LONDON, E.C. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. By Mrs. Suckling. “HAS it ever struck you as a will in ethics, that you have no right to put upon another human being a duty that you are not prepared to discharge yourself ''' * < * , By Miss C. Barnard. “So far from vivisection having aided in the advancement of the healing art, many testimonies confirm the saying of Sir Charles Bell, that it has done more to perpetuate error than to add to sound knowledge. That know- ledge is dear which is purchased at the expense of humanity. These experiments involve much suffering and wrong, afford very meagre and doubtful results for practical use, and withdraw atten- tion from sounder methods of research. They are neither scientifically valuable nor morally justifiable.” . - * < * , By Little Bertie Lovejoy. “Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove, the linnet, the thrush, say “I love, and i love,” In the winter, they’re silent, the wind is so strong, - What it says I don’t know, but it sings a loud song. With green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, Dancing and skipping, they all come back together. The lark is so brimful of gladness - and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, But he sings, and he sings, and - for ever sings he, I love my love, and my love loves me.” 2. Do you know (Collected and Selected). By Mrs. Lawrence Pike. “SUCH beautiful things in the heart of the woods, Flowers, and ferns, and the soft green moss, Such love of the birds, in the solitudes, Where the swift wings glance, and the tree-tops toss. Spaces of silence, swept with SOng, Which nobody hears but the God above ; - Spaces where myriad creatures throng, Sunning themselves in His guarding love.” * * * By H. Charles. “ NEVER take the advice of those persons who are always finding fault with everybody and everything. w their mettle, these universal fault-finders generally represent the genus “ duffer” in every 22 possible way. * < * , By — “THESE sufferings are really felt. The beasts of the field are not so many automata without sensation, so constructed as to assume all the natural expres- sions of it. Nature hath not practised this universal decep- tion upon her species. These poor animals just look, and tremble, and give forth the very indications of suffering that we do. Theirs is the same distinct cry of pain. They put on the same aspect of terror on the When put upon blow. They exhibit the same distortions of agony after the infliction of it. The bruise, or the burn, or the fracture, or the deep incision affects them similarly to ourselves. Their blood circulates as ours. They have pulsations in various parts of the body as we have. They sicken and they grow feeble with age, and finally they die, just as we do.” * < * , “ALL that inhabit ocean, air, or earth, From one Eternal sire derive their birth. The hand that built the palace of the sky Formed the light wings that decorate a fly; Power that wheels the circling planets round - Rears every infant floweret on the ground ; That Bounty which the mightiest beings share Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air. Thus all the wild inhabitants of the woods, Children of air, and tenants of the floods, All, all, are equal, independent, free.” - The * < * , “IT is no use finding fault with a trade while you are obliged to stick to it to get your living. While you are at it make the best of it. Leave it as Soon as you can get a better, but never give it a bad name while demonstrations of a menanced you are connected with it.” Knowledge and power have rights, but ignorance and weakness have rights ...sº IEstablished 1893. INo. 9, 5th Series, will be ready on January 8th, 1895. 2: ſº FIROIM *\\ ºrºžº' -g- - *: ºše—e—r-e-e–s. º, o 2XSº º **ºners tº K. TELE ºf and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists' Friend. No. VIII. 4th Series.] October & ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- November, [1894. NELL, THE BLIND MAN’S DOG. By Mrs. F. H. Sucklirg. Most people love dog stories, especially when they are “really and really ” true. But, the sad part of it is that so many of these stories end badly,–I suppose it is that numbers of pets meet with a disastrous end ; yet when there comes upon the scene a true dog story, leaving its hero to live “happy ever after "-why then, it is something like a story indeed. Well,—here goes. For many years an old blind man was a familiar figure in the paved way on the north side of St. Martin's in the Fields, (London). His name was Welch, and he eked out his scanty dole of alms by knitting and making nets. “Some nine years ago,” says a daily paper, “his old and faithful canine friend had died, and he was almost disconsolate.” But one of his private sympathisers, Mr. George Bennet, bade him be of good cheer, and joined with one or two friends to defray the cost of advertisements, asking for a new dog, or money to enable him to buy a new one. The advertisement bore fruit; and money enough soon came to buy “Blind Harry’’ a good dog, and leave him cash enough for some clothing besides. The new dog was a Dandie Dinmont, purchased by Mr. Bennet. It was named “Nell,” and proved to be wonderfully sagacious, and an ardent collector of pennies for her master. Passers-by, who noted the resigned and cheerful expressiºn on the blind man’s face, and the alert affection on that of his four-footed protector, felt that the . owner of so bright and loving a dog must be a good man. At last Blind Harry was missed from his accustomed place during the cold days of winter; and kindly enquirers: learned from his friend, the shoe-black, that the old man was gone to his long rest. But Nell failed to understand the situation Day after day she was to be seen at her accustomed haunts, eagerly watching the arrival of every bus that set down passengers at the Church corner. Everyone was sorry for poor Nell, and even the daily papers had a word of sympathy for the forlorn little doggie. And so—was that the end of the blind man and his dog Nell? Ah, no! There is an Institution for the rescue of sorrowful and homeless dogs, at Battersea. Years ago it was founded by a lady who pitied the con- dition of the lost dogs in the London streets, and although this good woman had long ago “fallen asleep,” nevermore to wake to the griefs and pains of this world, kind and entle ladies carry on still the work she began. One of - these, a well-known friend of animals (but I dare not give her name,) went down to St. Martin’s Church and carried. off poor little Nell in her own comfortable carriage, but not to the Dog's Home at Battersea.—to her own country dwelling—such a home as Nell never could have dreamed of. would have been awed at its new surroundings, especially when she found herself in a sort of miniature home for stray dogs—for every kind of sorrowful-hearted dog had been rescued and brought there by those tender pitiful hands, Not a bit of it, however. even as Nell herself had been. Nell had been first in the affections of her old blind master, and she had no notion of “ playing second fiddle” in her new quarters. Never was such a coaxing, playful, quick-silver doggie as she soon became—and now is ; sleek of coat, comely of person, and altogether a “ drawing-room. dog,” until you offer her a penny, and then her old life Now you would think that a little common street dog rushes back with a host of memories, and her excitement and distress are so very palpable that her kind mistress is obliged to forbid anything that reminds the plaintive-eyed little thing—or the company—that Nell was once, THE BLIND MAN's Dog. MEMORY, CONSCIENCE AND HOPE. How quickly Fancy drops its wings, *How soon brave Wit recoils, - - When Memory lights her torch and brings Conscience in with her spoils . . Sweet Hope to both of them thus sings, “From the first to the last, - Let facts be facts and things be things, Your all is of the Past !” - Her whisper comes to me as thee, “Thy world is to begin An infinite futurity, I’m lost, when thou'rt let in. In God’s one world, all will then be, In unity complete In God’s one world–Eternity, At His Son's, His Christ's feet.” For Memory and Conscience then, Hope harmonizes both, With nothing less for mortal man, Than God, the Father's oath. ... R. F. 114 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. ãº-º-º-º-º-º-º-º: : Wºź. GIPSY LIFE YLAND.º. sº GIPs §§§ KiwiłłERLEY, S01/TH AFRICA. By W. STANLEY SHAW. I shALL not forget my experience of Kimberley in a hurry. Arriving there one hot afternoon in January, 1890, (January, of course, is mid-summer in South Africa), I was met at the station by an old schoolfellow, who conducted me and my belongings to his rooms, or rather, room, for his house only boasted one room. He lived in what are known as Gowie's Chambers, a small row of one-roomed houses, situated behind some more important buildings, and approached by a short passage from the street. The men occupying these rooms all boarded at hotels close by. My friend and I boarded at the Transvaal Hotel, which is well known to all South Africans. It is a peculiarly constructed building-or, to be more correct, buildings, for there are more than one. The bed-rooms are all on the ground floor, and as the walls and roofs are corrugated iron, they are not any too cool in Summer time, while in Winter, I should say they must be perishing. However, whatever the bedrooms may have been, the food at the Transvaal was first-class, and so were the wines, though the latter were expensive. The Transvaal boasted of its accommodation for horses, at one time they could put up more horses there than at any other hotel in the colony, but that may be changed now, with so many new hotels, at Johannesburg and elsewhere. There was one custom at the Transvaal that I rather liked, it was so thoroughly Colonial. Every evening after dinner, the barmen used to place chairs outside on the verandah, (or “stoep"), which was on a level with the street, for the use of anyone who liked to sit there and enjoy his smoke, in the comparative cool of the evening. This evening smoke was quite an institution with the visitors and some of the Kimberleyites. Kimberley is a dreadful place for dust. You can- not think of Kimberley without thinking of dust, and plenty of it. It is awful when it rains there —and when it rains at Kimberley, it really does rain—you cannot make any mistake about it! The dust quickly turns into mud, real good mud that gets all over you in no time. You cannot go out of doors without your jack boots, or, at least, some leggings. When the rain stops, a quick trans- formation takes place. An hour ago, you were wading through mud, nearly up to your knees, and And now, dust is blowing, clouds of it! The change is wonderful, in a very short space of time. Kimberley is very bare and uninviting. There is no grass to be seen anywhere around. It stands prac- tically in a desert, the only sign of life about being a sort of scrub, or bush. All else is dust, dust, dust. A bit of grass is a possession that makes the owner swell with pride, even though it be but six feet square. The owner's friends all call round to look at that grass. They shed tears of mingled pride, envy, and joy over it ; it is so rare, so priceless. Anyone injuring that grass would be lynched on the spot. Not on the spot of grass, but somewhere out on the dust. Of course Kimberley is principally famous for its diamonds, and many are the stirring tales told of the early days of “the fields”, in connection with the I.D.B. Not to know what I.D.B. means at once stamps you as a total stranger to South Africa. Illicit diamond buying is the great crime at the Cape, it is far more serious even than killing a fox is in England, or stealing a horse in Texas. There are special laws dealing with it in a very severe, nay, Savage manner. They say, that in the early days, the number of diamonds stolen represented half the output of the mines. But, mous avons change tout cela, and now the number stolen is, comparatively speaking, small. Still, illicit diamond buying is by no means extinct, as, from time to time, a batch of prisoners are sent to their ten or fifteen years on the Cape Town Breakwater, and I suppose if they were to hang people for it, there would always be a certain number to be hanged. The temptation is So great. No one, who can afford to leave it, stays in Kimberley on Sunday, or hardly anyone. There is a general exodus to one of the river or country resorts within 30 miles round, the Bend, and Barkley West, both on the Waal river, being among the favourites. Barkley West is quite a pretty little town, with plenty of trees, (there are no trees to speak of in Kimberley), you might almost fancy you were in England, when you first get a view of it. The great drawback to Kimberley is the lack of female society. The men, for the most part, are a jolly good sort, with a superabundance of animal spirits, but, without the ladies, what is the use of being jolly * Such jollity only leads to other spirits, which are very expensive, especially Scotch. You must have the ladies, and plenty of them, if you want things to go well, otherwise life becomes flat and monotonous. And, oh my sisters, think of the “chances” there being literally wasted, thrown away ! Nice fellows too, all of them. I will undertake to land 100 girls in Kimberley, and have them all married within a fortnight. Of course I shall want expenses paid, and commission' (Gipsy Land continued on page 122.) THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 115. aw, T.G. G.B.E.E.R.U.E.g. WITHOUT DESTROYING: A SERIES OF OUT-DOOR SKETCHES *A-LV. - BY IEDITEI CARIFINGTON. THORNS AND THISTLES. “So METIMEs goldfinches one by one will drop, From low-hung branches; little space they stop But sip snd twitter and their feathers sleek Then off at once as in a wanton freak Or perhaps to show their black and golden wings, Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.” - s Keats. EATED on a mossy stone which lay half embedded in the \l ground, and was fancifully adorned with coloured leaves, I was struck on looking across the piece of common which stretched around me to see what an enormous number of thistles covered the carpet of fine turf and wild thyme. I do not believe it would have been possible to spread out an ordinary pockethandkerchief flat on the ground in any portion of this plot of waste land without touching one of the prickly plants, either tufted with its plume of soft pink or lilac blossoms, or else with a downy mass of seeds. A peep over the hedge close by showed me that the neighbouring cornfield was in the same condition, the thistles had invaded the ranks of waving wheat, and in many spots had quite overpowered it, taking up the soil for their own occupation. I had often read that the seeds of one species of thistle alone, if left unmolested would be enough to choke up the whole world and entirely destroy agriculture ; but I had never before seen the process going on before my eyes, and I sat down again to reflect. By one of those strange coincidences which sometimes happen, and appear to be the result of some premeditated chain of circumstances rather than the result of accident, I happened to have lined my basket that morning with a sheet of newspaper, wishing to keep the moss I was in search of from soiling its sides. My attention was caught by the following advertise- ment printed on it:- “Goldfinchest Goldfinches Goldfinches 1 Extraordinary large birds, in full and most brilliant colour. They are perfect pictures, with rich red faces and jet black show ders, the right sort for showing, singing or muling, and will be certain to please. Two shillings, two and sixpence, three and siapence, twelve shillings and simpence, sent safe packed.” It was at the top of a whole string of similar notices, - prices varying, and as a rule being much less than those quoted. - - Here was a case of cause and effect. Poor little beauties Sent “safe packed,” as if they were bottles of physic or cream cheeses | Their good looks had indeed wrought their ruin. The hideous cruelty of it—the suicidal folly, the selfish madness More than once in my life I have been so happy to witness that lovely sight—a flock of goldfinches in the act of feeding upon thistle seed. It is a vision never to be forgotten, and alas ! now becoming so rare, that the next generation will hardly have the good fortune to witness it at all, unless some restriction be placed upon the ravages of the birdcatcher—and th at quickly. What can be the result but extermination of these exquisite creatures when four hundred dozen to six hundred dozen per week, during a whole month of the year, is the average supply to the London market alone, not to mention destruction which goes on all the year round, and in every part of England, while the wholesale price per dozen for cock birds is half-a-crown, and hens are sold at ninepence for twelve P - Goldfinches are particularly easy to watch (especially through a good field-glass which no lover of Nature should - be without) when engaged in their useful task of destroying thistle seeds. They seem to know that they are acting as benefactors to the human race, and entitled to its protection, and will hardly interrupt their meal for fear of a passing footstep. The wholeſłłock feed sociably together, with sweet conversational twitterings, sometimes two, or even three birdlings perched on s single thistle head, their light weight hardly bearing it down. Regardless of the prickles, they cling to the stem, balancing themselves as it sways by fluttering their golden-barred wings as a - butterly does, and plunging their sharp bills deep into the woolly mass, they cleverly snip the seed from its fibrous crown and swallow it, shaking their heads to set themselves free from the drifting wool, or wiping their beaks clear of it. -- The entire food of the goldfinch consists of seeds, almost invariably of those kinds which being tufted, like the dandelion, hawkweed, groundsel, thistle and coitsfoot. would otherwise be carried far and wide by the wind, bringing mischief to the field or cultivated plot on which they alighted. The nest of the goldfinch is one of the THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - - - might find the use of its wings again. most beautiful fabrics imaginable. Outside, it is made of lichens and mosses interwoven with fine roots and wool so securely as to form a sort of felt The lining is made of the down plucked from flying seeds,-not the thistle, for that cannot be procured in Spring, but that of the coltsfoot, an even more harmful weed, the cotton-like globes of whose seed-heads are found in April and May. The eggs are bluish white speckled with gray and brown. The young birds are fed by the parents with seeds first softened in their own crops. In Autumn, when the housekeeping cares are over, gold- finches congregate in large flocks, a habit which lends fatal ease to the cruel bird-cátcher, in making them his prey. But, after all, it is not the birdcatcher whom we must blame so much as the public who keep up the market which he stocks. What he does, he does for money. It is a question of demand and supply. If people would in the barbarous custom of imprisoning these free and gay creatures, the trade of the bird-catcher would languish, -he would seek some other cease to take pleasure livelihood. The other day I had a good quarter of an hour. It was spent in seeing and hearing an imprisoned goldfinch set free from its jail (a tiny wire-fronted box, about five inches square which, during the course of a prowling expedition in search of similar miseries to expose, I lighted upon in the very heart of Bristol, a dirty horrible slum. prison was hung outside a foul and evil den,_an old rag and bone shop—and I stopped to remonstrate with the lts wire man who kept it, a most miserable object, nursing and dandling an almost naked baby. He said he had bought the bird, and was going to “tame it a bit ’’ and sell it for a higher price. Evidently it had not been long caged, for it dashed wildly to and fro, so far as the cramped space would permit it to move, it could not turn round without brushing against some part of the cage,_far less spread out its wings. The little thing, I verily believe, recognised a friend in me, for it actually seemed to speak, -giving vent to a low rippling murmur, as if to invoke my pity. Knowing the dreadful means too often brought to bear in “taming a bit ’’ these gentle docile little birdies I longed to rescue it, and the man, seeing my desire, instantly demanded six shillings. I turned away, partly to refuse the extortion, but more on principle, because to purchase a caged bird is to increase the sale of others. But the note of that bird haunted me ! I was fain to make a second plunge into the depths of the city that evening and buy it. Though I believed that it had not long ago been free—the close season having but just elapsed—I took the precaution of letting it loose in an empty room for a week, that it The goldfinch utterly refused any overtures from me—and spent its whole day in hopping up and down the window sash, gazing up at the sky, and uttering a brief plaintive note whenever it saw a bird outside. At the end of that time I chartered a cab, and driving far out of the smoke and din, away from the brick and mortar ocean, into the far flelds, till we came to a place said to be frequented by his tribe, and where indeed I imagined that he had been ensnared, I set the cage on the ground in the middle of a bed of thistles and opened the door. At first the prisoner thought it too good to be true. He would not venture out. I placed a fir-branch on the ground in front of the door—and he raised his crest and chirped to it, as if greying a dear friend,-then, with a dart, he sprang out and settled on it. After one look round he then launched himself into the air, and with that dipping flight, so expressive of delight, H a short note of joy uttered at every leap, he sped to the nearest tree, and I could distinguish him no longer from his fellows, the music of whose fluty tones resounded on all sides from the trees and bushes. If only every un- fortunate captive might have been emancipated at the same time ! But, sad to say, when next I passed that rag and bone shop, again a small wired box hung at the door with its melancholy prisoner within, and another goldfinch was inside amid the filthy rubbish covering the walls. I had done small good, and much harm. No It is only when folk will give up buying and caging birds altogether that any real good will be accomplished. The purchaser of the caged bird, the keeper of winged creatures in captivity is the real culprit—not the bird-catcher, he does but earn a living, -others act cruelly from mere caprice, for their amusement only. The songs of caged birds, which are supposed by the callous or unthinking to be signs of merriment, proceed in reality from unsatisfied longings or from rage. A learned Frenchman who spent much time and study in investigating the cause of song in caged birds came to the conclusion that either jealousy or passion inspired them in nine cases out of ten, and fury or excitement drew forth the remainder. The full glare of the sun's rays is yery irritating to birds. They always retire to thickets or shades of green leaves during the heat of noon. If the cage of a canary be placed in the broad sunshine the creature begins to pour forth a torrent of piercing sounds,-a perfect shriek. “ Ecstasy l’’ says the casual observer, “see how he is enjoying himself l’’ Ecstasy!—yes—but there is a paroxysm of irritation and annoyance as well as a paroxysm of delight, the over. strained, harsh, unmusical scream of a caged bird is the ecstasy of despair. Its shrill cry proceeds from longing and desire, not from satisfaction. The great naturalist Pennant gives the following beautiful account of the THE GIPSY JOURNAL 117 motive in a wild bird’s soug. “It may be worthy of observation, that the female of no species of birds ever sings; with birds it is the reverse of what occurs in human kind; among the feathered tribe all the cares of life fall to the lot of the tender sex; theirs is the fatigue of incu- bation, and the principal share in nursing the helpless brood. To alleviate these fatigues and to support her under them, Nature hath given to the male the song, with These he fondly exerts (even after courtship), on some spray conti- all the little blandishments and soothing arts. guous to the nest, during the time his mate is performing her parental duties.” * In a cage, the bird yearns for the object of his love ditty,+and, lacking her, it changes into a wail of intense grief, though outwardly it appears to an untrained ear to be a jubilation. But the bird-cager and the bird-catcher are not the only enemies of bird life : (consequently of our own race, for the higher depends on the lower.) The egg-stealer has also much to answer for. I do not speak of the loafing plough boy, who, impelled by brutal impulses, tears down and tramples on the beauteous structure which is the home of the bird-destroying for the simple pleasure of destroying, —I mean the collector, who screens his practice behind Some mask or pretext of necessity, such as the desire to learn ; and who salves his conscience by regulating the mischief, to a certain extent, which he does in the pursuit of natural science. But we cannot, in view of the dwindling numbers of our wild birds, spare a single egg for any It must not be lost sight of that while the number of birds is rapidly decreasing, the human That of England has doubled itself in the last fifty years, and is on its way purpose whatever. population, as rapidly increases. towards re-doubling. Therefore it is plain that, given twice as many collectors and half as many eggs, the same methods in vogue fifty years ago will not do now. It may be necessary to the student to be familiar with the size, form, colour of eggs but why should it be incum- bent on him to possess them,--and by consequence to destroy the future bird P. One egg taken from a nest means not only one bird the less for the world, but also the loss of its offspring in the ensuing season. A far more real and scientific knowledge of zoology can be acquired by preparing models of eggs, the moulding of which impresses the peculiarities of the egg firmly on the mind, while no harm whatever is done to any living thing. The naturalist, whether man or boy, may still indulge in his bird’s nesting expeditions, the destructive element alone being purged from them, and a far more interesting and engrossing ingredient substituted. Nests should be sought for, a regular map or plan kept of their whereabouts (they should never be betrayed to strangers, however). The little households should be regularly visited and their economy observed, changes noted, times and seasons of hatching, progress of broods—any and every fact worthy of attention tabulated, and careful models taken from the cggs. Precaution in visiting nests must of course be observed, such as never to make a track leading towards the spot, nor to go too often, or stay too long, nor to draw roughly near, or in the presence of others allude to the secret domicile. A permanence belongs to the artificial egg; and egg- making is easy and pleasant work. A rough sketch as a guide as to size and form, together with notes of colour and markings, may be jotted down at the nest-side, and the first model prepared from them, and then compared with the original, on the spot, without robbing the nest. Ordinary modelling-wax should be used, it may be bought at any shop where artists' materials are kept. It only needs to be softened in warm water, and then readily may be moulded by the hand. A little powdered chalk worked into the surface of the artificial egg after it has been shaped will give a good surface for colouring, which can be done in oil or water colour, according to taste. The ground colour should be laid on first, and afterwards the specks or spots painted on with a fine brush. In order to steady the waxen egg while the surface colour is being laid on, the point of a large headed pin may be stuck into it, the head being secured in a hole bored into a block of wood. The pinhole can be erased afterwards. In painting the spots or streaks a large thimble embedded in plaster of Paris or wood, or otherwise secured, will form a good holder for the model egg. Imitations so accurate as to deceive the eye may be made after a little practice—some thin varnish It is to be hoped that schools, and naturalists generally, may soon be induced to adopt must be added as a glaze. some such plan, or that a trade supply of model eggs may be obtainable, for the time has come when the urgency for protective measures becomes pressing. To say nothing of the development of patience and rational skill, as well as of real field observation, which would lead to the most valuable results, surely such a substitute for indirect bird- destruction would prove more worthy of cultivated persons and more in keeping with a highly-civilized age than mere hedge-plundering. When the broods have been reared the nests may be taken, and the artificial eggs placed therein for the “home museum.” “Thorns and thistles were the curse denounced on Adam? race at the Fall. with difficulties, hardships, even as are his descendants, to combat interruptions to his labour, and hindrances to But he was He was doomed thenceforth to contend the growth toiled for in the sweat of his brow. - 118 THE GIPsy journal, not left without assistants—“Fowl which may fly above the earth in the open firmament of Heaven,” as their Creator said ; thereby, one would think, silencing for ever the self-love of those who would condemn them to confinement. The “open firmament of Heaven’’ for God Almighty's birds !—not the close air of a murky town, not the few inches of iron bound space which man has invented as a torture place. Birds were created to minister to man's welfare, as well as for their Maker's glory and their own bliss, yet to what usages do men put the winged tribes P Their inspired architecture and dainty egg-cradles are toys for man, which he is at liberty to crush and fling away, or hoard according to his whim. They are the targets for his gun, the mark for any chance stone which it may be-his wanton will to fling, -last, and worst of all, they are the victims of his amusement, while they languish into death-like silence behind the cage-bars And so it comes to pass that the modern Adam pulls down upon himself a repetition of the malison which assigned thorns and thistles as the product of his husbandry and doubles and trebles the enemies of his agriculture. The prickly plant and stubborn sturdy weed flourish un- checked in his fields, unless he pays human labour to do that which he could get done for nothing by the birds,- and even then a vast amount must be left undone which no human hands can do. The thistle down floats beautiful yet subtly harmful, and settles according to the wind’s will; while far away in the dark and gloomy city, amid the clank of machinery and the roar of endless traffic the creatures created to avert the misfortune of sterile land and scanty storehouse, beat out in misery their tiny heart-pulse, cooped up within a cage. “CAGES of agony rows on rows * Torture that only a wild thing knows! Is it nothing to you to see That head thrust through the hopeless wire, And the tiny life and the mad desire To be free, to be free, to be free P Oh the sky, the sky, the deep blue sky - For the beat of a song bird’s wings, And why, why, why, why, Is the only song it sings.” [Copyright strictly reserved]. Do you know That every little insect-eating bird take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects? you may kill, and every egg you THE SLÄNDERED SPIDER ++++++++++++++++++++)- IF some of the so called inferior animals could appeal to our Courts of Law they might make out cases for heavy damages. The Toad and the Newt have been slandered for ages, and amongst their companions in misfortune is the spider. It would be difficult to find a creature which labours under a thicker cloud of calumny. All sorts and conditions of men are arrayed against it. Its appearance is greeted with the exclamation from fair lips of “Ugh ! You horrid thing !” And is is pitilessly swept away by a literal “besom of destruction.” Its detractors are not only to be found amongst the ignorant ; men of learning, and even those who have written about ratural history, have aspersed the fair fame of the spider. A curious instance of this is to be found in a rare book called “Parisebeia, or a View of all Religions in the World,” which was published in 1673. It might perhaps be difficult to say why the learned author of this work should go out of his way to slander the spider. Spiders not having a very obvious º's ſº Do you know . . . By C. E. Prº. -- Knowledge and power have rights, but ignorance and weakness have rights too. #: ---------- * -- º, connexion with “All the Religions in the World ; ” but he does it in this way. He is violently wrathful with a then recent sect called “Quakers,” and after retailing their heresies—“ these,” says he-“ are the effects of reading scripture, by ignorant and malicious spirits; who, like SPIDERS, suck poyson out of the sweetest and wholesomest flowers.” Now whatever truth there may be in the likeness between Quakers and spiders, the latter are quite guiltless of sucking “Poyson’ out of “the sweetest and wholesomest flowers.” It is difficult to open a book, dealing directly, or, like the last instance, most indirectly, with spiders, which is quite free from calumny. Text books of Zoology for the use of schools are anything but free from it. - The idea might be to inspire the youthful mind with a proper contempt for this object of creative wisdom. Two glaring instances of this lately came under my observation; but they are hardly worth repeating. Foreign as they are Øx k; ~~~~ -Y- THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 119 to the true scientific spirit, such slander may be regarded as survivals from the pre-scientific ages, when educated men looked upon the toad as a creature filled with deadly poison, and when a simple newt was thought an emissary of the arch-fiend himself. - Before defending a person it is desirable to be quite clear about his identity, and the spider labours under the disadvantage of being mixed up in the popular mind with some more or less distant relations. A member of an allied but distinct order, the order Phalanjidea, commonly called a “Harvest Man,” or sometimes a “Harvest Spider,” is frequently taken for a real spider; but this creature has no more title to his second name than to his first : he is no more a spider than he is a man. Beside this long-legged individual, whose operations are confined to the land, several water-mites, such as the Hydrachna-globulus (or as it is sometimes called from its blood-red hue, the Hydrachna Cruenta), are confused with those who belong by right to the great order Araneida, or tree spiders. Even a slight examination will reveal important structu- ral differences between these members of allied species and the true spider; but Sir John Lubbock in his book on “Ants, Bees, and Wasps,” quotes from Belt a curious instance of the resemblance which some spiders bear to ants. So close was the likeness in form, colour, and move- ment that the naturalist quoted was himself for some time deceived. This was in America. Mr. Cambridge relates a similar case communicated to him by a cérrespon- dent in South Africa. A spider there, it is said, so closely resembles an ant as to be able to prey upon many deceived and unsuspecting insects. Mr. Cambridge also tells us of a British species found in the Isle of Portland that—“So nearly resembled a large ant, which abounds in the same locality, that it requires a second look of even a practical eye to be sure whether it is really the spider or the ant.” Deceptions of this kind will only be very temporary if it is borne in mind that a spider invariably has eight legs, while the ant only has siv, also that all British species yet discovered have at least sia and generally eight eyes; but the main distinguishing characteristic of the spider is that it spins. Its name spider is said to be derived from the Swedish name for it, which is Spindler or “the Spinner.” It spins by certain organs at the hinder extent of the abdomen, called spinners. It may safely be said that a creature which does not spin in this way is no spider, and the spider must no longer be held responsible for its enormities. Limiting our defence then to the true spider we may safely say, and it will not be difficult to prove, that it has been slandered from ignorance. Even a slight acquaintance with its habits will reveal the fact that it has been grossly misjudged. It is harmless instead of harmful, tender rather than cruel, beautiful and not ugly. In saying that the spider is harmless, it is not meant that the fly would be likely to regard it in this light any more than the sheep which is shortly to become mutton would look upon the butcher as its best friend. It is not a tender regard for the fly however, so much as a suspicion that his own flesh is not invulnerable to the creature's bite, which predjudices mankind against the spider. This suspicion is entirely unfounded so far as any British species yet discovered is concerned. The bite of a few foreign species is injurious to man; but the British spider is harmless. Terrible as are the weapons of the spider, the trunk-like poisoned fangs are sorely needed in the struggle for existence. It has many enemies, bees, wasps, hornets, harvest men, ants, birds and reptiles, besides that more vicious foe the parasite. - In considering the deadly weapons of the spider it should not be forgotten that the venom which it pours into a wound by causing insensibility, is a merciful contrivance for abating the pain of its victim. In parental tenderness few creatures can surpass the spider. The female watches over her offspring with a devotion and self-sacrifice worthy of all praise. Numberless instances of this parental constancy to the egg cocoon, and in some cases to the young brood after its emergence from the eggs, might be mentioned by those who have given any time to a study of the spider's habits. I have observed a spider watch patiently for days by its egg cocoon, in a position exposed to many perils, and from which escape would have been possible and immediate, except for the fact that it is impossible to remove the cocoon. Mr. Cambridge, in his valuable work on “The Spiders of Dorset ’’ observes—“Many (probably all) of the Lycosides show great affection for their egg cocoons, which they bear attached to the spinners, and if deprived of them, search anxiously about, eagerly seizing the cocoon when found, and again and again doing so if it be repeatedly taken from them.” This devotion in some species is continued to the brood when hatched. The Lycosides may be seen bearing their young on their backs, and some other species look after their young for some time after they are hatched. Others again allow them to shift for themselves as soon as they are born, and the celerity with which a brood of baby spiders will disperse in all directions —their one object seeming to be to get rid of each other as soon as possible—is wonderful. Though tender to her offspring, the female spider of some species makes a yery terrible partner. In most families the female is larger and more powerful than the male, and she abuses her strength. The common idea that the spider is repulsive looking and ugly is due to prejudice, and a hasty examina ion of some of the common household species. A more patient inspection would reveal, not only marvels of construction which make man's most ingenious appliances seem clumsy, but beauties of form and colour. The eyes of the dingiest spiders are wonderfully brilliant and beautiful. An old writer well describes them as “all diaphanous and transparent like a locket of diamonds.” It would be difficult to find more beautiful objects than some of the varieties of so common a spider as the Epeira Diadema. The colouring is often simply magnificent in its fine gradations of harmonious tints, and in the patterns we have some of Nature's most delicate work. Enough perhaps has been said to show how unwarrantably the spider has been slandered, and if these observations (commonplace though they may be) should help to remove a foolish prejudice, they will not have been made 1Il Val11. The “Newcastle Weekly Chronicle’” says: THE “Gipsy Journal” for July is an interesting number. The articles on “A Summer Holiday,” “Wayside Interviews,” and the “Ramble round Bath,” are pleasant and instructive reading. Kindness to animals and every living thing, and protection to flowers, trees, and all that is beautiful in Nature, are inculcated throughout its cheerful pages in the happiest style. A series of out-door sketches, entitled, “How to Observe without Destroying,” by Miss Edith Carrington, is com- menced in the present number. The first is called “A Fallen Tree,” and quite an object-lesson in natural history is taught by her musings whilst sitting upon the trunk of a tree that had fallen by the wayside. 120 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. ou? Yoºlg Gipsy PAGES HE prayeth best, who lovest best, . All things, both great and small, KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. 'Tis only kind and noble hearts Who will the dumb ones guard; Their lives are often wretched If met with treatment hard. The little bird upon the tree Its feeble voice will raise In notes of sweetest melody Its Maker thus to praise. To pen a wild bird in a cage As some folks do, is wrong; They wonder why it pines awayº And does not raise a song ; - Should they but give it freedom, (It has not long to live) - - - Amid its home of verdure, - Its thanks in song 'twould give. The little brook that ripples past, * In fishes does abound, What cruelty to let them die Upon the hard dry ground ! They miss the pleasant-streamlet Where they may plunge and splash, Amid its silvery ripples * Where bubbles break and dash. The nobles, with their hunting train, Ride forth in grand display; - - The horn blast, sounds both loud and clea While all the stag-hounds bay. See how the poor stag starts away And darts 'mid bracken high, Till chased and worried by the dogs It falls at last 50 die. The horse and dog, so very true, And faithful unto death, . . . Both will their master guarding stand Till they draw their last breath. How often will a soft caress And cheering word soon tell, . That Kindness is by far the best Should you want work done well. Yet dogs are used for cruel sports To track a fox or hare, But hunters do not think of this When in the sports they share. Remember, then, when next you meet Ill treatment face to face, And the poor creatures cannot speak, That, do you, in their place. Phoebe Lark, aged 14. enclosures. publication – For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. - HERE is an answer to a question concerning Ket's rebellion :- -- - - - The rich landowners turned out the pheasants from the fields and kept sheep in them. This was called the The pheasants were led by Ket, the tanner; they were put down by the German standing army, who were astonished at the steadiness of the pheasants. The pheasants were put down and defeated. The following effusion was rescued from the waste paper basket, the other day, by a class-master in a public school. It is, as the reader will see, an ode to a departing school-fellow, and evidently not written with a view to To WILLIAM R. FOX. , Oh! Willie, we have missed you * From the peaceful little flock, . Which you used to keep up lively As a vessel on a rock. . - Yes, we've missed your well-known visage, And we’ve lost sight of the frown . That you often used to give us When we misbehaved in town. Now disorder universal Rages like a fever-germ ; - But we say “it doesn’t matter, We are leaving this next term.” Why did you leave us, Willie, In the middle of the term P Why MUST you drudge away your life For a MUSTY shipping firm P Why go and leave a place that holds | Unmixed beatitude 2 Now, don't you think that such abrupt Departures are most rude. You didn’t give us even time To say, “Oh, where's my hat? - I’ll see you safely, my dear friend, From off the front door mat.” However, it was said of yore, “All's well that endeth well,” So now I’ll wish that your good luck All other lucks excel. - V. Fabini. We are requested to state that the poem “Little Friends in Fairyland,” printed in our Sept. number, was not, as we believed, from the pen of our esteemed contributor, Mrs. F. H. Suckling, but an extract from that most useful contemporary, “Our Animals' Friend.” - - - - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I21 Publiſ Shū0lbſys in their Lightër MOmēnts, “NEVER,” said my aunt, ‘‘ be mean in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you.”—CHARLEs DICKENs. IN answer to a question on the locust, a young hopeful writes: “They come in an immense crowd, they work their jaws when eating, which can be heard for a long way off.” The boy's master naturally wondered whether the writer of this answer ever worked his jaws when he ate. - ANs ELM was dismissed and flew to Normandy THOMAs CROMWELL was turned out of office because he got the photo of a woman and showed it to Henry VIII. and when Henry said he didn’t think so much of her as he did in her photo. HERTFORDSEIIRE BICYCLE RIDIE. WE started one fine morning on a tandem tricycle from a small farm house near Ware. We got on the road about nine o'clock, and after passing Hoddesden, a long stagg- ling place almost joining Broxbourne, we went over the New River to Wormley, and on to Turnford, a pretty little place. From Turnford we sped on to Cheshunt, which we thought we should never get out of again, the main street is so long. At last out of Cheshunt, we kept straight on till nearly at the Great Eastern Railway Bridge, when we left the main road and cut down Theobald's Grove into Theobald’s Park, and rested at Temple Bar. Before con- tinuing, I think I ought to say something about this old structure. Temple Bar used to be in the Strand, at the top of Fleet Street, and was removed from there because it was so narrow, and hindered the traffic. It was then given by the Corporation of London to Sir Henry Meux, upon his offering to pay for its removal and re-erection. Sir Henry Meux had it removed to his park, where it forms one of the entrances. The building is about forty feet high, and rather imposing to look at. On one side of it there is an image of Charles I., and on the other of his wife. The room above the arch was rented by Child's, the bankers, to keep their ledgers in, but now is furnished. Across the arch some fine doors have been fixed, which, with the ivy covered Porter's lodge on the left side, make a stately entrance to the Park. From here we made for Hatfield, through Love Grove, across Cheshunt and Berkamp- stead. We next came to Essendon, a small village, and, after passing through it, soon arrived at Hatfield. We passed through Hatfield, and stopped at the Bull Inn, which is just outside the town, where we had dinner. After leaving the Bull there is a straight road, and a gentle rise for about a mile. The road here was good, and we saw several rabbits in the fields and a few in the bye-roads as we passed. Just before getting to Welwyn it came on to rain, so we wheeled the machine under a tree, and, partly sheltered by the tree and the hedge, did not get very wet. After going down the hill into the little town of Welwyn we came to Codicot, a small village lying on the main road to Hitchin. On nearing Hitchin we watched a cricket match for a short time, and then turned off on a wish, through the Editors, to offer some prizes. the brow of the hill, on the road to Stevenage. We had tea at Stevenage, which seemed a busy place. It is very pretty along here and we enjoyed this part best of all. We branched off before coming to Knebworth proper, and kept on past the blacksmith's shop and made for Watton. When very near Watton we passed on our left a rookery. There were a good many rooks. We kept straight on past Watton to Hertford, turned by Gallows Hill on the right, where (so some farmers say) criminals used to be hanged, This is a long and tedious hill and bad road, but when we got at last to the top, it was down-hill all the way back to the farm-house where we were staying. G. A. W. Watts, (City of London School). PIRIZE WIN.INIERS. The Prize for the best letter is awarded to Herbert Leadbitter, 43, Corrance Road, Brixton. No other competitors observed the conditions laid down in our offer. New Prizes. A LADY, well-known to readers of the G. J., expresses Before the Editors consent to accept this kind offer, the Prize- Editor desires to know from boys and girls what form they would like a competition to take. Accordingly, the Prize Editor, meanwhile, offers a copy of the “Boy’s Own Annual" for the best suggestion for a Winter Competi- tion. If a girl sends in the best hint she will receive the “Girl’s Own Annual.” Then, when we have got a good suggestion, we can accept our kind lady friend’s offer and have a Winter Competition. Address, Prize Editor, Temple Avenue Chambers, Temple Avenue, E.C. hioshao oatgjit pfhm.epue prlksreieynrdraasly This competition repeated. For particulars see the Sept. No. WE want to devote two or more pages, each issue, to Contributions from Schoolboys. So now then, young Britons, come along. Life would be a poor thing without a bit of nonsense, so send on to the Editors that precious poem or sketch, which had their birth that morning when your form-master was interviewing Jones' pater in the corridor. Who knows but what you are a Shakespeare, or, at the very least, a Dickens? It would be very provoking, you know, after vege ating all your life in a bank or musty office, to find that, had you listened to the Gipsy Journal, you might have been editor of “The Times” or of “Punch.” Con- sider this carefully, and try your hand as a contributor. 122 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. T}}.}}\}\}}{ }\}\}I) $WEDEN. By FREDERICK WHITE. LEAVING Wandsworth about 8 a.m. on Monday August 6th, I reached the City in time for the train leaving Liverpool Street Railway Station at 9 o'clock, for Parkeston Quay. To-day being the National holiday, a large number of people were visiting the country, for the pure air and rest, so needful to all, and especially to the toiler and the over-worked. Changing trains at Manningtree, Parkeston Quay was reached about 12.10 p.m. Then by the United Steamship Company of Denmark's, “ S.S. Expres,” we started about 12. 30 p.m. en route for Esbjerg, the first, and last station on Danish ground. The vessels are supposed to do the journey from Parkeston Quay to Esbjerg in 30 hours. However 36 hours were required, and we arrived at Esbjerg 12.30 a.m. on Wednesday—the night train we ought to have caught having started without us. We remained on board till day had further advanced. After a frugal breakfast we took passage by a small steamer leaving Esbjerg 6 a.m. for the little island of Fans, about half an hour's journey; here several of the female peasantry still wear the the national attire. After a pleasant Sojourn of four hours, we returned at 10.15 a.m. to Esbjerg. Then at 12 noon we started by train for Copen- hagen, changing carriages at Lunderskov at 1:45. Fredericia, was reached at 2.35, where we partook of dinner at the station restaurant, there being seventy-five minutes before the steam ferry took us across the “Little Belt”—a journey of about twenty minutes, and we reached Strib, where we joined another train leaving about 3.35, reach- ing Odense at 4.30, and Nyborg at 5 o'clock. Here passengers alight, and a large steam ferry then conveys them across the “Great Belt,” arriving at Korsor at 6.35 p.m., where the train is again entered, and Copenhagen is reached at 8.20 pm. We at once take a carriage to the hotel. After some refreshment, we make our first visit to the Tivoli ; these gardens opened in 1843 are very fine and extensive, and are open all day but the amusements do not commence till the evening. In the grounds are a theatre platform, and a concert hall, erected in 1863. On the lake is a model of an old Danish man of war added in 1887. the top, dining rooms, merry- go-rounds, and a bowling green. The orchestral music here is a centre of attraction; and the people congregate in large numbers. The entrance is 50 ore except on special occasions. There is also rock work, with a model of a house on There are several lines of tramways in Copen- hagen, by which all parts of the town and suburbs can be reached. There are fine squares and well laid out parks and gardens—several large public buildings—a good theatre, and a circus, which usually occupies a large building during the summer months. The Marmor Kirken (Marble Church), is a hand- some rotunda, or dome shaped church, at present not quite completed. The Runde Taarn (Round Tower) of 110 feet is selected for affording an extensixe view of the city. The ascent is a gradual one over a well preserved brick path about 14 feet broad. The Borsen (or Exchange) is a fine red brick building, and bears the date 1624 on the exterior. It is sur- mounted by a tower, round which are twisted the tails of four bronze dragons meeting at the top. The Ostergade is the liveliest street in the town. I walk through this and the fine Amalien- borg quarter (the Belgravia of the city) where are to be seen the royal residences in the Frederik's Plads, and the gardens at the end of the Amalie-Gade. A visit to Rosenborg Palace was instructive and much appreciated. It is built with red brick and sandstone-- the builder was Inigo Jones. The build- ing is reserved for the Chronological collection of the Danish Kings, and kept up at the expense of the State. The Regalia and the Silver and Narwhale Coronation chairs, with the three silver lions fronting them (Denmark's escutcheon) are preserved here. In this building is a mirror room, a monarch's freak, the ceiling, walls, and floor all reflecting one person. The day being very stormy and wet I had a droske (carriage). The walk, however, would have been a short, and pleasant one, had the weather permitted. Tickets must be obtained beforehand—for each person a kroner. Bicycling appears a favourite pastime in Copen- hagen, in fact I saw several females riding, some in ordinary dress and others in knicker costume. This evening, Aug. 10th, was spent by a second visit to the Tivoli, in the company of two Danes, Langton Brothers, (the bicycle makers of London) and another Englishman. Denmark is not over-run with English tourists. I saw and conversed with only two in a fortnight's visit. The cultured Dane has sweeter manners than we have in London, perhaps the struggle for existence has crushed out much of our kindness and politeness. I spent several hours most pleasantly at Klampenborg, about half an hour's ride by train from Copenhagen; the steamers also call i.ere, and the tramway extension is close by ; the woods are very picturesque and extensive, and the paths well kept up. The seashore is lined with pretty villa residences, hotels, and small boat piers. Taking the road to reach Klampenborg, we pass THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 123 through Hellerup ; here at the Tuborg Ol Pavilion is a curiosity from the late exhibition of 1888, a huge beer bottle, constructed of wood, with a staircase in it. Visitors are allowed to enter, the view from the top being very fine and extensive. Another day is devoted to a visit to Frederiks- borg Palace. This is one of the sights that the traveller must not miss seeing—it is now used as the National Historical Museum ; if a carriage be taken it is a pleasant drive from Copenhagen to the Palace, or it can be reached by train to IIillerod, in about one hour, and with a short walk you are at the building. It is situated midway between the capital and Helsingor (Elsinore); of rooms and corridors about 62 or 63 are to be seen, the ceilings in some of the rooms are magnificent, in the private chapel are raised and outstanding figures of angels on the ceiling. In another room the ceiling was inlaid with silver, and had several large silver ornaments pendant from it. In the State Chapel, white and gold throughout, the silver gilt, and ebony altar and pulpit are indeed beautiful; three Kings were crowned in it. There were a quantity of very finely carved Oak chests, etc., dating from 1543 to 1612 and one had this beautiful motto on it : “Si Deus pro nobis, qui scoutranos finis.” The first railway opened in Denmark in 1847 was between Copenhagen and Roskilde, the ancient capital, which is about 20 English miles from Copenhagen. The attraction is the cathedral, founded 1047. Here we see the Royal Mausoleums —altogether thirty-one Kings and Queens and forty-six princes and princesses are entombed— “ Until the day break, and the shadows flee away.” The organ bears the date 1654, and is very handsome. The monuments were very beautiful, some being covered with black velvet palls worked in with silver bullion, and others similarly covered had gold bullion with crowns and tassels of the Sall]6. I shonld like to have heard played Handel's “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” while contemplating the monuments of the Kings and Queens, to whom death shows no more respect than to the veriest beggar in the street. There was a singular open ironwork gate, the centre of which consisted of a figure representing his satanic majesty. hoofs and horns complete, and holding his own tail. Monday, Aug. 13th, was given up to a visit to Helsingor (Elsinore), 8 Danish or 32 English miles from Copenhagen. Leaving Copenhagen (Havne- gade) at 9 a.m. by the S.S. Hveen, a pleasant passage of two and three-quarter hours took us to Elsinore. The coast scenery is very picturesque. The harbour and railway station are close together, and the station is one of the finest and most conspicuous buildings in Helsingor. I walked on to Kronborg Castle, built between 1574 and 1585, which stands like a watch tower commanding the entrance to the Sound ; the dues were formerly levied here, dating from the earliest historic times. Denmark was compelled to relinquish these in 1857 On receiving compensation. A visit was made to the Dungeons, many of which were wet and damp —the guide proceeding with lighted torch as it was perfect darkness. The picture gallery was next visited, amongst the paintings being one of Ruben’s daughters, by the great master himself, one of Hamlet. the immortal Dane, by Abildgaard, another by Abild- gaard representing King Christian IV. On board the “Trinity.” In the chapel is a small gallery on one side of the building only, in which is located the Royal pew, the exterior having the Royal arms, and supporters richly gilded and coloured. The pews on the ground floor are richly ornamented on the exterior top with various coats of arms. An ascent of 145 steps to the top of one of the towers was amply repaid by the extensive view therefrom, all over Helsingor (Elsinore) and across the Sound. The military are located at this Castle. After refreshments at an hotel, and a pleasant walk of fifteen to twenty minutes, Marienlyst (Mary's pleasure) was reached, a suburb of Elsinore, the woods being very pleasant, and the paths well kept. The Palace, in Italian style, is a small one, once a Carmelite Nunnery, next a royal residence, then a restaurant. It is now uninhabited, the interior and exterior being very plain. Hamlet’s grave is on the summit behind the Palace (the Danes say it is so) and for 25 ore the cairn may be viewed. Ophelia's well (Kilde) is in an Open space in the wood close by the Palace, and tradition says it was the scene of her pitiful death. Leaving Helsing or by the night boat, a short sea passage of about 20 minutes takes one to Helsinborg, a mile and a half distant, and the evening being far advanced, I seek an hotel and pass my first night in Sweden. There is not much to be seen at Helsingborg, it is an old town, and contains remains of the fortress of Kärnan, from the tower of which an extensive view of the town is obtained, admission 25 ore. The ground around is neatly laid out with shrubs and flowers, and seats are provided. There is an old red brick church, the pulpit of which is very fine with its carved and gilded panels, several old monu- ments (some were painted), stones from which the brasses had been taken, a small model of a ship fully rigged, and a few old oil paintings. - Leaving Helsinborg by the 11.35 p.m. train for Göteborg (Gothenburg), I reached my destin- ation on Tuesday morning, after about seven and a half hour's journey. This is the largest town but 124 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. one in Sweden, with a population of about 100,000 inhabitants, its situation is picturesque and there is a close network of canals in all directions through the town. Gothenburg does the greatest trade, and has the largest fleet of trading vessels in the country. There are several lines of tramways in the town, which is well-built and contains Several handsome public structures, and many bridges connecting the various parts. The Gustav Adolph's Forg (or Square) is one of the finest in Gothenburg, near it is a well planted shrubbery with seats for the public. The tram cars start from here. In the centre of the square is a fine statue of Gustavus Adolphus (the founder of the city). I purchased some articles whilst here : one, a round box representing a small model of the “ old bread baskets,” with motto, and flowers on it, hand painted—curious wash leather purses etc. An evening was passed at the Tradgards Foreningens Gardens—these are spacious, and contain conserva- tories well stocked with exotics, a large restaurant, and concert hall. I took refreshment in the grounds, close to the Pavilion, where the band was playing and a fountain doing the same. After this came the principal sight of my trip. I left Goteborg by the 8a.m. train for Trollhettan, reaching there by 10 o'clock. The small town consists of one main street, two or three good hotels and a few shops. It is not so much the size of the falls, but the great mass of water rush- ing down with a loud roar and great force. The largest falls are formed by the river Gota, just out- side the little town of Trollhattan and the factories utilize the water. The Falls, six itſ number, extend not less than 1,500 yards up the river, and are interspersed by rocks, large enough to be called islets, that intercept the stream in its course, causing whirlpools. Thus the Gielofald is intercepted by the woody islet Geillo, and proceeds thence into the interesting Toppofall. The scenery is very picturesque about here and I gathered several very pretty flowers growing on the banks. The church on the hill lent a charm to the surroundings. A narrow fragile bridge extends from the bank on one side to a large rock in mid stream, which commands a finer view of the Fall, a small charge being made to cross. There is another larger bridge of iron work, but somewhat narrow, used by conveyances as well as pedestrians. On the rocks by one of the smaller falls there is cut out a “crown,” and the name of the royal visitor, as well as many other names and dates, one being 1774, with others of later and of an earlier date. As it was raining, the guide and myself got rather wet. I left Trollhattan by a train which travelled very slowly, taking 3 hours 50 minutes to return to Goteborg. Here, partaking of refreshment at the hotel, I travelled by the night train, 10.15 to Helsingborg, arriving about 5.30 in the morning (August 16th). I left this town by the 6.30 a.m. train next morning for Lund, having to change at Teckomat, and Kjeflinge, reaching Lund 9.20. Here I enjoyed a capital dinner, with coffee and cognac at the Hotel Goethe. The principal places of attraction are the cathedral, the university, and a museum, Open at stated hours, this being one of the oldest towns in South Sweden. In the cathedral are some curious and massive candle supports, very lofty, made of brass. On the outer portion of the choir stalls there is good carving. A few hours were very pleasantly passed, and I left by the 12.45 train for Malmo, which was reached in about 20 minutes. An active commerce is carried on in cloth, carpets, corn, soap, stockings, hats, gloves and a tramway runs through the town--the most important building being the Town Hall a memorial edifice in the market-place. In the Adelgatan is a beer tunnel of six or seven vaulted recesses. A steamer was leaving Malmo at 3 p.m. from the Ostra Kajgattan, for Kjobenhavn(Copenhagen), the journey taking 1 hour 40 minutes; this is a trip visitors usually take. On Saturday I left Copenhagen by the 9 a.m. train for Esbjerg en route for London, reaching Esbjerg 5.50 p.m. I was disappointed to see that the steamer to convey us was none other than the “ Expres.” The vessel was supposed to leave Esbjerg abou 6 p.m., but did not do so till 12, midnight—again exceeding her time by three and three-quarter hours—making a delay of about nine and three-quarter hours. Parkeston Quay was reached at 9.45 a.m. Danish, or 8.45 English time. We had a considerable wait before a train started for London which was reached at 12.30 p.m. A sore point with several on Joard was having to pay for meals we never had. It appears to be the custom on these vessels to charge for what might, could, or would be consumed at every meal. My best thanks are due to Mr. Arthur Reade, the courteous editor of “ Business" for information given. If any subscriber, or person interested in this Journal, requires further information, I shall have pleasure to accord the same. TO RAMBLER.S. Contributions describing a three or four hours' walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TGTIPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 125 H () , ; D AY W. Ji) i) { . E. S. IBy A. G. MUNEO, B.A. THE Gipsy Journal is not issued for grumblers. If one feature of the paper more prominent than another has been emphasized by those who have criticized the Gipsy Journal that feature is the brightness of its pages. Nevertheless it is an Englishman's privilege to grumble, patient and long-suffering as he is, and surely there is much in our present method of holiday-making which would require a Mark Tapley to view with serenity. First let me make a few remarks about steamboats. Judging by what I read in the newspapers, and the alluring pictures of gaily-trimmed vessels plying their way over the sparkling waters of the Channel, which I see on our street hoardings, I should imagine that the modern steamboat system was the most perfect one on earth—in fact that the transit from England to the continent was only comparable to a flight across the Elysian Fields. Having, however, had much experience of sea- travelling, I do not hesitate to say that some of Our much praised steamship routes are a scandal to civilization. How the great crowds who flock annually to the continent tolerate the total inadequateness of the berth accomodation is to my mind a blank mystery. I suppose, however, that the advertisements and newspaper notices have led us to believe that to cross the Sea at summertime is so inevitably fraught with blissfulness and romance, that two or three hundred passengers more or less, in cabins cºnstructed to hold about fifty, is a mere trifle. What does it matter if every available nook in the saloons,—-tables, chairs, settees, and floor--is packed with a dense mass of humanity, so as to vividly recall the Black Hole of Calcutta ? Is it not a mere nothing to pay the extra fare for a first-class berth on board ship—for everybody that is anybody is supposed to travel first-class at sea, you know.— and to find, on reaching the saloon, that the stairs, gangways, and corridors are so stuffed up with passengers that a bare entrance, let alone a berth, is almost an impossibility ? the moon is shining, you may manage, after a scramble, to secure a camp stool—all the ordinary seats on deck are sure to be occupied, especially if You defer coming on board until the time of starting—and find a sheltered nook somewhere near the chimney and the smell of the engine. About five o'clock in the morning, you think, as yºu have paid a first-class fare, you may as well If it is night time and wash, but, on reaching the entrance, the stifling atmosphere is so overpowering that you beat a hasty retreat, I do not mean to say that modern Channel steamers are inferior vessels. On the contrary, they are, in many ways, simply splendid. The punctuality, too, of the companies is admirable. It is the gross inadequateness of the supply to the demand, especially during August, which makes crossing the Channel such an ordeal. If the weather is warm and fine, and the water smooth, things are not quite so bad, but if the reverse conditions prevail, I know no more horrible spot on earth than the cabins and berths of an over- crowded Channel steamer. Of ocean going steamers I could say a great deal. Things are so different, when on board, from what the handbooks repre- sented them. A menu in an artistic handbook is one thing, the coffee, Irish stew, tinned milk, so- called butter, when on board ship, quite another. I don’t believe folks at home have the slightest notion of what transpires on board some Ocean liners. I have in my possession a note-book, dealing in detail with a four weeks voyage on an Ocean liner, and the contents would be surprising reading for a landsman. The passengers, on one occasion, had to take the law into their own hands and publicly thrash a Portuguese for insulting an English lady, the food was a source of constant complaint, the ship was crammed with passengers; to make things more crowded, a company of marines were quartered below the third class cabin, the whooping cough broke out, the passengers were discontented, and the captain showed supreme indifference to the unhappiness around. Speaking of the crowded state of things in August, I should like to ask—is it necessary that every schoolmaster, bank clerk, merchant, governess, hospital nurse, and shop assistant in the land, should take his or her annual holiday in August 2 For more than ten months in the year, our own and continental holiday resorts are comparatively unvisited, and then, with the beginning of August, comes the universal host of sisters, mothers, uncles, cousins, aunts. The state of crush in August is simply growing unbearable, and sensible people will soon begin asking them- selves whether they would not spend just as happy a holiday in a London suburb, with prospects of a few pleasant walks in Hertfordshire, Essex, Surrey, or Middlesex, as in an overcrowded watering place. And, truly, these home counties are Supremely charming in August. With Lord Bacon I believe in the uses of travel. Travelling is a noble educator. But, after all, there is a winsome charm about the orchards, meadows, lanes, cottages, village churches, woods, and old-fashioned country houses in August, which will, I prophesy, before many more years are over, make some of us pause just venture into the first-class saloon and have a before we hurry off again with the gigantic 126 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. holiday stream which invades the popular holiday resorts during that month. No sooner do crowds gather than the principal charms of a holiday vanish. Surely there are thousands of holiday- makers who could take their holidays in June and July as well as in August; the long days of the two former months are of themselves a great attraction. The drawback to an August holiday is the shortening daylight and the substitution of gas for sunshine. The long midsummer evenings by the sad sea waves are a joy never to be for- gotten, but, now that everyone takes his or her holiday in August, not so much enjoyed as might be. The one ambition of my life is to have just one holiday in the month of June or July. But if things are crowded at home during August, what shall I say of things abroad In France and Germany not only have they the same ordinary August crowds as we have at home, but the Autumn manoeuvres over the water intensify the inconvenience four-fold. Never do the horrors and absurdities of war strike me more forcibly than during the French and German manoeuvres. All the pleasant holiday nooks of Brittany, Rhine- land, and other parts are turned into military barracks. The autumn manoeuvres are becoming an annual pest and nuisance against which I enter a lively protest. They make life in many places, formerly so full of charm and peacefulness, simply unbearable. Who on earth wants this annual parade of military pomp, I cannot for the life of me conceive. Do the peasants want it? Are they not too burdened, as it is, with all the prevailing drawbacks of agriculture, to welcome the heavy and grinding taxation which military display necessitates? Is it a pleasure to all these hard- Working thrifty races to be liable to all the inconveniences which inevitably arise when hosts of armed men are quartered in and around their dwellings? Do the soldiers themselves benefit by it I rather think they would be just as happy in the company of their wives and sweethearts, or in the beneficial employment of peaceful industry. Do the tourists who roam over the mountains and by the rivers of the continent enjoy the Autumn manoeuvres If so, it is certainly a novel kind of enjoyment to be woke up in the small hours of the morning with the thumping of drums and the blowing of bugles just when sleep is the sweetest. Nothing is really more criminal and absurd than war—in fact, nine people out of ten would theoretically admit the folly of nations devoting the first fruits of their labour to battering out one another's brains. But the thing is to get men really to appreciate the folly and iniquity of war with more vivid intensity, and to anyone who is in doubt as to the desirability of joining the National Peace Party I would say: Spend a month amongst the German Autumn manoeuvres, and you will hate the bare idea of war with a ten-fold hatred. From a tourist's point of view these manoeuvres are another reason for extending the present holiday season over June and July. It doesn't follow that, because schools have holidays in August, everybody should choose that month for an outing. There are tens of thousands to whom June and July would do just as well, and, for the sake of others as well as their own, it is to be hoped that next year this class of tourists will do their utmost to diminish the present holiday crowding. --~~~~7-7 RAMBLER8 - # RiGHTS. F IN our August number we called the attention of our Gipsy readers to the gallant and thrilling assault of the Rev. Haydn Williams on the enclosed spaces at Whitby. From Scotland there comes news of a stubborn and determined resistance to sporting landlordism, which promises to culminate in scenes no less sensational than those recently enacted in one of the most picturesque spots on the rugged Yorkshire coast. The agitation in Scotland is none the less calculated to cause apprehension to landlords whose only creed is the formula that “might is right,” on account of its being blended with a strong tinge of constitutionalism. No less than three members of Parliament, whose names we are only too proud to honour in the eyes of all who believe that the earth was created for the many, namely, Sir Donald McFarlane, Mr. Weir and Mr. A. C. Morton, were present at a recent meeting at Fort William, a resolution pledging the meeting to assist the crofters to defend their hearths and homes being passed. The refusal of the crofters to contract themselves out of the Crofters’ Act was the head and front of their offending, and the sporting landlord had given notice that all the young men could clear out, for he would give them no more work on the estate. But to abandon their holdings was what these young Scots took objection to, and, in support of their resistance, a member of Parliament had offered fifty rifles and and as many hundred cartridges, to clear the deer off the estate. So said Mr. McRae. But this was not all. Another supporter guaranteed £250 to defend any crofters who made a raid on the land- lord's domains, and, if any were caught, to provide for the wives of the fighters for their hearths and TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. I27 homes. What the upshot is we have yet to learn. Our only regret is that the poor harmless deer should be drawn into the question, but the blame for this cannot justly be laid on the crofters. We all have our ideals amongst the names of those who have fought for British liberties and made our country famous, but it is perhaps for John Ball and Jack Cade that we, as lovers of the country side and readers of the “Gipsy Journal,” reserve our intensest admiration, History repeats itself, and whilst in the Rev. Haydn Williams we recog- nize the sturdiness of the fourteenth century preacher, we hail the successors of John Cade in the members of Parliament who stand loyally by the Highland crofters. IN a picturesque part of Hertfordshire, doubtless known to many of the readers of this paper, is a beautiful wood, the property by use and inheri- tance of all Londoners and others, whose delight it is to wander at liberty in the fair and sylvan spots of merry England. During the summer and autumn months many are the ramblers who love to roam in the secluded groves of this most idyllic retreat. But the one thing which the wood lacks is water. A lakelet, or even a pleasant babbling brook would, in the opinion of those of us who know the locality, render this place a perfect paradise. Curiously enough, just over a hoarding which girts the wood on the north side, is a sheet of water of which, by craning his neck over the wood-work, a rambler can catch a tantilizing glimpse shimmering in the sunshine. To get a good view of the water is impossible, since the owner of the adjoining estate has erected the hoardings with regard to the minutest details. True, by ascending an adjoining slope for half a mile the rambler will get another view of this lake, a beautiful view too, but then a view from half a mile is only a distant one. The expanse of water from here, moreover, seems to lie peacefully in the bosom of the forementioned estate, rigidly cut off from the approach of passing strangers. The report runs that the trustees of the wood were responsible for an arrangement by which the adjoining landlord has enclosed a portion of what is believed to be a public sheet of water, and the Gipsy Journal is now making a searching enquiry into the matter. Do you know . That many of our small birds, which do us so much good in summer by destroyſng insects, require to be kept on some- thing else during the severe weather ? Berries are food for the Birds in winter. ºf MERRY SAND}}}}}Eß. “SANDPIPERs—both species, the common fiddler, and the far rarer green species— are fond of hill country, so we shall, Saunter up this moor stream, which is of no width, but yet is full of red speckled trout, to see if we can find one. Slowly moving up one of the fairest moorland hollows that, to my thinking, human eyes ever rested on, we find that even here content does not reign, for a woman who has not passed her prime, judging from her looks, tells us in answer to a few simple questions, that “ some folks think it grand here, but, added she, I wish I was out of it all. I am not well and my poor children are but weakly ailing little souls. There is little to see from one year to another, nor yet to hear, but the moaning of the firs.” One feels there was much truth in this; indeed, moorland mists and exhalations from the bogs are in any case to be avoided. The spot is very beautiful and very lonely, and that is the reason we visit it, but one would not wish to stay there. Dull thoughts, how- ever, must be left behind, for we are in search of a creature that is the feathered personification of active joyous life—the sandpiper, or fiddler, as the bird is called. The trout shoot like arrows up the stream in front of us, as we march along. We shall come to a pool presently, and then must very cautiously examine it. Here it is ; only there is nothing but trout to be seen. They are merrily rising in all directions: in fact, the pool is alive with them ; but as we have not come to fish, we move on. Green ferns, waxen-leaved whortle shrubs, and heather are all around, and the moor, is plentifully sprinkled with stunted firs. It is no use to look here, so on we go, following up the stream. The sound of falling water reaches us; it is the natural overflow from the pool above; the largest pool on the moor, one side of which is bordered by the whitest glistening sand that has been washed down from above by the feeding stream. It is just a moorland mirror– fringed on one side with low alders. On a spur of peat and gravel, a fine birch has managed to plant itself, throwing faint lines of shadows on the bright sand. All this we can see from behind the screen of alders; and we can see something else, for from the edge of the turf something runs on to the sand, to the edge of the pure water, and some small grey dots with it; it is a hen sandpiper. As the birds run, they look like grey stones moving about when they are reflected in the water. So closely did they fall in with their surroundings, that even with a glass, at a very short range, we were barely able to follow them. 128 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. As we watch, the grey dots vanish like a flash, and the mother shoots over the pool, wheels round rapidly, and joins her chicks somewhere. The cause of their alarm soon shows itself, for the broad wings and light breast of a heron are reflected in the still water of the pool over which he floats. The green sandpiper is the most erratic in his movements of the whole family of waders; he comes and goes like a flash, seeming literally to fall from you know not where. There he is before you ; the next moment the beautiful bird with his whistling note is gone.” Sent by Mrs. F. H. Suckling. Miss BARNARD very kindly sends us the “Report of the Association for the protection of Plants,” an association founded in 1883 at Geneva, and all Gipsy Journal readers interested in the preservation of many rapidly disappear- ing botanical treasures, are asked to communicate with M. Correvon, 2, Chemin Dancet, Plain palais. Genève, the President of the Association. The ravages wrought by collectors, and especially by tourists, stand out in this report in all their most disastrous aspects. No botanist will read without alarm of the fast disappearing botanical treasures under the hands of the destroyer. The ill effects wrought unwittingly by guide books, which indicate the habitation of plants is pointed out by one writer, and the report is packed with accounts of the manner in which Alpine and other clubs are trying to cope with the evil. Milan, Grenoble, Bex, the Alpine Clubs of Berne and Geneva, are well to the fore in the work of preservation. The clubistes at Florence, following the example of “ Notre gracieuse Reine, Marguerite,” have undertaken the protection of the flora of the Apennines. The Prince of Montenegro has issued a command to every officer and every soldier in his army to plant, every year, a number of plants. “We have long enough followed the arts of war,” runs the royal decree, “le moment est venu de fertiliser le pays et de le rouer aur arts de la pain.” We are happy to see the name of Mr. Gilbert Baker, of Kew, on the foreign committee, amongst the representatives from the leading countries of Europe. Nevertheless, English papers, excepting the Gardener's Chronicle, seem lamentably conspicuous in their indifference to deforesta- tion and destruction of plants. We recognise the Tournal des Débats, the République Française, the Temps, the Pełłł Tournal, amongst those who have “glevé la coir en more faveur,” but beyond the Garden and Forest of New York, and the Gardener's Chronicle, no English-speaking voice is raised on behalf of the Society. The report which we recommend our readers to get, not only teems with choice poems and articles by M. H. Correvon, and others, on matters concerning the plant world, but, in the regions of animal life, notably concerning the destruction of the alligator, scores some clever points which Miss Carrington has insisted on again and again in the Gipsy Journal and other papers. Do you know - That every kind word you speak to a dumb animal, and every kind act you do, 3's will not only make the animal, but your- self happier, and not only happier but, also better THE article of T. H. Webb, which was so cordially received by readers of the September number has produced a curious sequel. A reader of the article had picked up a bottle on the shores of Poppyland containing the report of the wreck of the S.S. Victoria which sank seven years ago. The paper has every appearance of being genuine, and was found only two miles from the spot where the Victoria went down. Two miles how- ever, in seven years, is very slow travel, even for a bottle, and we think, with our correspondent, that the affair must be a joke. LE & Nox : Story received. If we are, at any time, able to find room for a few stories, we shall be pleased to have your familiar name represented in the Gipsy Journal. We were pleased to find that you knew of our paper. * ALL creatures,” says Denis the Carthusian, “partake of the divine wisdom '' which Albertus Magnus tells us, in his book on animals, is to be recognised in their instinct. Dr. Newman says: “Men of narrow reasoning may smile at the supposition that the woods and the wild animals can fall into the scheme of theology and preach to the heart the all pervading principles of religion; but they forget that God's works have a unity of design throughout, and that the Author of Nature and of divine revelation are one.” “Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.”—Shakespeare. The Gipsy Journal and British Tourist, Organ of Footpath Preservation and Common Rights Associations; for protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals ; for the Preservation of all Natural Beauties; the Rambler’s, Cyclist’s, and Holiday-maker’s Friend. ADVERTISEMENTS (of the best class only) are received at the rate of 3s. per in. or £5 5s. per page Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0. may be made payable to II. CRAPPER, G.P.O., Stratford, Essex. All other communications should be addressed to Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. TO CORRESPONDENTS. All correspondence should reach us not later than the 15th of Dec. for the next issue. Several articles are held over for want of space. Please pass this Copy on to a Friend. - Established 1893. No. 10, 5th Series, will be ready on April 10th, 1895. s PSY JOURN Nº-Fºx/RXXXº **** º * º gº §§ cº- §§ *A RAMBLERS’ LEAVES Kº: & K. >; FIROM THE *BOOK OF NATURE. H. & E.G. Oxon. Organ of Footpath and Common Rights Associations; for Protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists' Friend. an <)*, No. IX. 5th Series.] January to March. All Rights Reserved. [1895. : ſº &E want more birds, millions of W.M., them, that shall sing in every tree sº top, and flutter out of every grove. We are baring the orchards, the gardens and the harvest fields to an exposure that is awful beyond calcula- tion. So the ornithologist tells us; - Labrador has 900 species of flowering p ants, 59 ferns, and over 250 species of mosses and lichens. \ - * * * - - - The mole is an excellent civil engineer. He always secures his own safety by having several entrances to his dwelling. - 5 Nature Mixed.—New Rule of Three. so the Agricultural Department at - Washington tells us; so our common Vaccination is vexation Sense tells us. Vivisection is as bad (or worse The laws on this subject are in- While No. 3 (Anti-Toxin doth puzzle me sufficient; those we have already are not And Koch will drive me mad. executed. Do not kill the musicians. = - - Do not shoot the orchestra. Do not Living Pictures—How to Make them. - - • - Assassinate these prima donnas of the sky. WHEN the frost is severe, and the ground is hard, and The world has enough groans, but not the snow is deep, you must have a space of two or three l - - - - yards square swept clear. With a few slices of bread (as enough roundelay 5. enough sighs, but not many as you can spare) well soaked, gather up all the scraps enough carol ; enough dirges, but not from all the plates—sometimes a blessed bone, for the dogs - - cº- don't want all the bones; sometimes a slice of bacon, enough anthem. F. S. which, if you left it in the dish, would only go to the swill – tub and tempt the pigs to cannibalism : sometimes a bit of gristle or fat, or a most exquisite morsel of butter which GIPSY JOTTINGS. has been left. Place with it a shallow pan of water, - birds must have water ; then you may cautiously look out - - - of the window and watch. Before many hours you J apan has developed a variety of maze will see a hundred birds all down at once, and with leaves beautifully striped with white. their queer ways you will find infinitely diverting. * * * The insolence of those starlings, and their voracity, will A. - - - - - - . amuse you ; the slyness of the blackbirds, the tender Russian physician has b en making modesty and timidity of the thrushes, the joy of the hedge- some curious experiments to find out how far animals sparrows; and the tricks they all play one another each can count: . He declares that the crow can count up bird having a way of its own—and the fighting and the tº 10, and is thereby superior in arithemtic to certain secretiveness and the jealousy and the spite, baffle all Polynesian tribes of men, who cannot get beyond 5 or 6 description. After a day or two you will find it advisable * < * , to have two feeding-grounds at least, lest the starlings get R h - - - - - - all and the rest get nothing. Sometimes there will be a taphael lived principally on dried fruits, ...","...a...". Aft'...'...". such as figs and raisins, eating them with bread. He know where you are, and fly away with the bone or the held that a meat diet was not good for a painter. bacon. 130 JOURNAL. THE GIPSY EURRESPONDENBE, WE extract the following from a letter to one of our subscribers: “I am much obliged to you for sending on ‘The Gipsy Journal, No. VIII., which is a delightful number. I have read it with a good deal of interest and no small amount of benefit. The paper by Miss Suckling, “Nell, the Blind Man's Dog,” is very touching, and appealed the more especially to my sympathetic nature from the fact that I knew poor old blind Harry and his faithful dog very well. I was on duty at Charing Cross Station once for some months, and during my rambles out for meals during the day, I saw poor old Harry and his dog almost daily. He was invariably sitting on the pave- ment making nets to hold onions, &c., in. Mrs. Suckling's paper is quite a picture, and more touching than any romance because it is true - I wish the Gipsy Journal’ every success. I see Miss Carrington quotes from Pennant, the great maturalist. Pennant was not only a great naturalist, but a great antiquary and historian as well. He was a great lover of Nature and Art - - - - I am very proud to think that Pennant belonged to my native place, because he was a very extra- ordinary man for his time. Science in his day was not the perfect thing that it is now, but men like Pennant and Gilbert White (they were correspondents—see White's “Natural History of Selborne’)—spoke and wrote from observation - Pennant's British Zoology' was published as far back as 1766, and yet his observations are quoted now, and by such a keen observer as Miss Carrington , - - I am now sending the ‘Gipsy Journal’ to my son in the Niger Territory.” G. C. writes from the Lead Works, Sheffield : “Most people think that because Sheffield has a name for being dirty, black and smoky, that therefore pretty walks are entirely unknown to its inhabitants. This, I wish to emphatically state, is a most erroneous supposition, for I don’t believe there is another city in England which has in its immediate neighbourhood grander scenery or more delightful walks. Anyone who is not afraid of a 10 or 15 miles walk may, during a Saturday afternoon, explore some of the wildest and most romantic scenery in Derby- shire, and if he be a geologist or naturalist, besides a mere rambler, he will light upon innumerable points of interest. A favourite walk of mine is to leave Sheffield by way of Ringinglow, and proceeding across the moors, which in Autumn are sumptuously clothed in purple heather, make my way to Hathersage. This is a quaint old-fashioned village clustering round its picturesque church. It is famous for being both the birth and burial place of ‘Little John and two small upright stones in the church-yard distinguish the grave of Robin Hood's lieutenant. “The return journey may be made by way of Fox House This latter is an old coaching house, situated near Longshawe Lodge, the shooting box of the Duke of Rutland, the public being allowed access to the grounds. This moorland retreat is placed amid wild scenery and the surrounding views are grand in the extreme. Huge rocks, scattered about in chaotic confusion, cover the rugged slopes ºf the adjacent hills, and in the distance, the peaks and eminences, overshadowing one another, loom forth majestic until they fade away in the far off have. “From Fox House to Sheffield is 7 miles, and such is the charming nature of the surrounding country that, until actually within the bounds of the town, there is not the slightest indication to remind us that we are in the vici- nity of the sixth largest city in England and the town of chimneys and smoke.” To W. B. GER Is H –Change of address received, with thanks. We shall be glad to publish another of your articles, at any time. A. JAcobs :-Our cordial thanks for the cutting about the Coggeshall blacksmith. You will see we have devoted a short article to Harry's honour. Miss HENRIETTE KRisch ER, writing from Heimbach-am- Ruhr, in reference to our September number, says: “The Natural History Rambles are most interesting to read. Miss Mansford, who writes the article, has had more opportu- nity than I of finding the Bog Asphodel (Narthecium ossi- fraſum), for I have looked for it in vain in England and Scotland. I also thought the Bog Pimpernal was not to be found any more now except in Devonshire.” Concerning our reference to the Heimbach Convent Miss Krischer adds: “Even the monks were glad to hear that something had been written about their convent in an English paper.” F. W. SMITH :—Thanks for Christmas wishes. The Highgate article was revised for press, and we will have a look for it. The “Nature Notes” should be interesting to our readers. We have received an article from a friend of yours. CONTRIBUTORS to the “ GIPSY JOURNAL.” Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. William Lisle B. Coulson. Miss Blanche Cuthbertson. W. Finckh, (of Stuttgart). w. Blyth-Gerish (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Thomas Wright Haddon, M.A., Oxon. Miss Maud Huntsman. Owen G. Jones, B.Sc. (Alpine Club). Miss Augusta Mansford. Rev. T. Mitcheson, B.A. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. C. E. Pike. R. Ritherdon, B.A. Miss S. J. Robinson. W. Stanley Shaw. Nugent C. Simner, B.A., L.L.B., Camb. W. H. Spragge, M.A., Camb. Mrs. F. H. Suckling. W. C. Sutherland, M.A. (“Boy's Own Paper"). Rev. J. H. Swinstead, M.A., Camb. Miss Grace Toplis (Co-Editress of “Our Magazine’’). I. F. Wakefield. - T. H. Webb. F. White. T. Wren, (Essex District). &c., &c. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 131 AND GAF.R.E.0%-i}{2}}\-ijSK. By T. WREN. THE perusal of the late Poet Laureate’s “ Idylls of the King' awakened in my mind an interest in Caerleon. Tennyson alludes to it as “Caerleon- y upon-Usk "-that is rythmical, and sounds well in made remarks about him derogatory to his character, his poetry. Whether another Caerleon exists, not upon Usk, I do not know, not having heard of one. The town of Newport stands on the mouth of the river Usk, and Caerleon is situated about two and a half miles up the river. Its name signifies “the castle of the legion.” Originally it was called Isca Silurum, and it was formerly the capital town of Britannia Secunda. For centuries it was a place of considerable importance, culminating in regal splendour in Arthur's reign, when, we are informed, he invited kings and dukes and barons to Caerleon that he might treat them royally, and reconcile them one to another and to his will; and it was a city fit and pleasant for such gatherings—one side of it being washed by the noble river Usk, so wide here that the royal visitors from beyond seas might safely and conveniently sail up to it; and on the other side was displayed the beauty of the groves and meadows, and the stateliness and magnificence of the royal palaces with their lofty gilded roofs, rivalling, in the estimation of the historian, the grandeur of Rome. It was famous also, as history tells us, for two great and noble churches, whereof one was erected in honour of the martyr Julius, and adorned with a choir of virgins dedicated wholly to the service of God : the other church was founded in memory of St. Aaron, his companion, and maintained a convent of canons, and was the third metropolitan church of Britain. There was also in Caerleon at this time a college of two hundred philosophers learned in astronomy and all other sciences and arts. Such was the place. with surroundings so pleasant, in which King Arthur held his court. Subsequently, however, owing to repeated wars between the Welsh and Anglo-Normans, it gradually lost its reputation, and became eventually irretrievably ruined and comparatively deserted. Much of the = \\ſ, exploit. occupied by the Romans; and it was in the sixth century that it flourished as the seat of Government of the British King Arthur. Many histories have been written—authentic and otherwise—perhaps, mostly otherwise—of Arthur ; and it is on account of him alone that Caerleon is a place of interest to me. Tennyson depicts him to our view as the ideal of a noble knight—a man who, like his counterpart. “Albert the Good,” exhibited as it were upon his breast, conspicuous to all observers, “ the white flower of a blameless life,” and who could endure “the fierce light that beats upon a throne” without a wink, as an eagle contemplates the glory of the sun. Although I have been informed that Arthur was not altogether so perfect and spotless a man as the poet delights to present him to our view, and that Belisent and Vivienne and calculated to bring him into disrepute, I dis- regard such statinents, looking upon them as mere inventions and idle words—the outcome of jealousy and spleen, and prefer to hold him in my estimation, as Tennyson held him—a true gentleman, with a record unsullied by a stain, a follower of his good captain Christ, a champion in every beneficent enterprise, surrounded by brave knights sworn to battle for the right and who gloried in the noble chief, because in every act of chivalry and every deed where peril faced them, regardless of danger, he adventured his own life as did the poorest knight amongst them all. If such was his character England may well be proud of his memory still. Here, in the royal city, his palace built upon the rising ground, with meadows sloping downward to the Usk, he celebrated his Whitsuntide festivities surrounded by his gallant comrades, the flower of British chivalry, who in Caerleon held their resi- dence and sat as princes. The Knights of the Round Table they were called, fearless of danger when honour called them forth to any perilous Here too, when a tournament was pro- claimed—probably before cricket was in vogue— they assembled, and hurtled, jostled, and knocked one another about in the most unceremonious way, to test their skill in arms, and gain approving smiles and applause from Guinevere and her galaxy of ladies, who watched their rough games. and whose favours they wore. Although the court paid Occasional visits to Tintagel and Camelot, Caerleon was Arthur's favourite seat, where Merlin counselled him, and from which Galahad, Lancelot's son, started in his search for the Holy Grail—the Sacramental cup used at the Last Supper, and said to have been brought by Joseph of Arimathaea present town stands within the precincts of the ancient camp, some parts of which are still in existence. In its earliest known history it was to Britain. After reading Tennyson's poetry it is not to be wondered at, that I felt impelled to stroll over to Caerleon. Leaving Newport, therefore, I went partly through the meadows and partly by the road, the Usk being in view the whole way 132 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I could not repress a little enthusiasm and spirit of adventure as I approached the scene made familiar to my imagination by the poet, where brave men emulated one another in their exploits. I was not long in reaching the stone bridge leading into the town. While crossing the bridge, I observed an antique female, bent with age, struggling towards her cottage with a pail of water. Here, thought I, an opportunity is suggested of reviving the long- departed chivalry of Caerleon; and approaching her with what affability I could assume—gallantry not being my forte – I removed my hat, and bowed. “ Fair damsel,” I said, “I pray you suffer me of your courtesy to co-operate with you in your arduous emprise.” I imagined she would have replied, “Sir Knight, I thank you for your civility.” However, she placed the bucket on the ground, told me she was rather hard of hearing and that she was getting on for ninety years of age. I took up the pail, and accompanied her to her cottage, bareheaded, according to the custom of knights, and asked her what she knew of Arthur and his Round Table. She said there was a Mr. Arthur, a shoemaker, living round the corner, but she knew nothing about the table. Failing to draw from her any historical information, there- fore. I took my leave, impressed with the idea that my achievement was more of a Quixotic nature than resembling the adventures that characterised the knights of olden time, who jousted with Lancelot and Sagramour. I passed through some long straggling streets, the houses of which are nearly all of venerable age and humble in appearance—no evidence, certainly, of kingly mansions now. There is a very extensive and ancient Priory, enclosed with high moss- grown walls,and an ivy-clad church, all the graves around it covered with flowers; and the friends of the departed were still thronging into the churchyard, bearing in their hands roses and lilies to ornament the tombs of the dearly-beloved who had gone before. I also passed several dissenting chapels, and came to an inn. As I sometimes feel, when pursuing my rambles, that a short repast at a country inn forms a banquet fit for a prince, I patronised the bar parlour of the inn, and made some enquiries. I ascertained that a museum existed up the street, and that the schoolmaster had the key : the schoolmaster would show me round if I called at the school. When I reached the school, however, the scholars were busy at their lessons; I therefore waited till they were dismissed, when the schoolmaster very kindly took me over the museum. There are many objects of interest in it—principally Roman antiquities that have been discovered in the vicinity, but not many mementoes relating to the time of King Arthur. However, the museum is well worthy of a visit from all who chance to pass through this interesting place. After looking through the museum I was directed to the Round Table Field, which contains a large concave area. popularly supposed to be the site of Arthur's Palace and the scene of his holiday sports, where the knights met each other in their dangerous feats of skill –a practice fortunately not much in vogue at the present time. Some archoeologists have contended that this is not Arthur's Round Table, but the site of a Roman amphitheatre. I, however hold the popular theory. Here, no doubt, Arthur's palace stood, and there is the river into which the jealous Guinevere, in a tiff about the maid of Astolat, threw Lancelot's hard-won diamonds—not a very clear stream when I beheld it, being rather muddy, and swollen with the recent rains. I pictured in my mind the revelry of the tournament, the spears broken in the encounter, and the hard knocks given and received by the doughty and valorous knights. But the age of chivalry passed away when Arthur laid his lance to rest, and sank Excalibur in the lake for ever. The gilded turrets of the castle have dis- appeared—the palace vanished, and like Shake- speare’s “ solemn temples,” as an “insubstantial pageant faded,” left scarce a trace behind. We admire the noble heroes of the past and would like to have such worthies with us now ; still, to my imagination, these Victorian days are more agree- able—more suited to my taste these solitudes serene—these quiet fields, where daisies deck the green earth's breast, where every breeze is the herald of tranquility, and every sound the harbinger of peace. After rambling an hour or so amongst these enchanting scenes, I entered a large nursery adjoining the Round Table Field, and took back with me to London, not only a lively recollection of Caerleon, but, what is very much prized in town. a bunch of country flowers Do you know That you can assist us in our work, by subscribing, and getting others to do so? Every boy and Girl in the World to learn How Not to Shoot. 10,000 School Teachers, to read this paper. Wälltºd THE Gipsy Journal for July contains a good many ramblers’ leaves from the book of nature. Edith Carrington supplies a clever paper on “A Fallen Tree,” and the “ Ramble round Bath '' is spicy and well told. “The Summer iſoliday " is particularly interesting to Londoners because it gives useful information on where and how to ramble. The magazine is edited by Edith Carrington and A. G. Munro, B.A., and published and sold at the office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 1 : 3 3 WORTHING DOWNS. By OSWALID H. EVANS. QN the south coast of England, from Hampshire to Beachy Head, for a distance of about eighty miles, runs the line of hills known as the South Downs. Geologists tell us that they are of chalk formation, and, indeed, at a short distance, a fresh turned field looks almost white under a brilliant sun. Nearly all these downs have the same chief characteristics—gentle, swelling hills covered with short, sweet, herbage, the food of the famous Southdown sheep. But it is with the downs that encircle the town of Worthing that I now deal. These grand hills, beautiful to me at all times—and I have roamed |Over them in well high all seasons and weathers— ie at a distance of about three miles from the town. Pleasant it is in the early Summer morning, having left the flat three miles behind, to take the ascending. winding road, noted in Winter for the peculiar tenaciousness of its mud, leading past an old chalk quarry of the whitest hue, on to the Open hills. Then, the last paling and farm passed, We glance from one rolling summit to another, to our destination, a point high above all others, sur- mounted by a flag-staff. This is Cissbury Hill, or king. We still keep to the road, which continues to wind its long, white length over the country like some huge snake. We now pass sheepfolds, and, in the distance, we see the flock, followed, in true pastoral style, by the shepherd, equipped with Crook and pipe. the latter, however, not the musical instrument usually represented in old pictures. Nothing can be more pleasing than to listen to the distant sounds from a flock of these sheep. The faint barking of a dog combines with the melodious tinkle of the variously toned bells, worn by certain sheep called the “bell-wethers,” to form sounds which, if not harmonious, are certainly musical. Meanwhile, as we pass on. the surrounding country begins to change ; we find ourselves in a deep ravine, enclosed by the green-clad hills, and the road, after getting “beautifully less,” at last stops abruptly, and we set foot on the greensward. We now pass the butts, where the local volunteers are wont to prove their skill, or lack of skill, as the case may be, with the rifle. targets there are usually one or more youths delving for bullets. We have now to climb a fairly steep hill, but by patience and perseverance we reach the top. This is Cissbury Ring, one of the best examples of an ancient barrow and Round about the fortification to be found on the South Downs, where almost every hill top is crowned with one of these erections. The name is derived from “ Cissa.” who was the son of Ælla, a king of the South Saxons. From remains discovered in excavating here, it appears that it has been held by Briton, Roman, and Saxon in turn. The outside earthen wall is said to enclose sixty acres. From the flag- staff, a magnificent view unfolds itself. Glancing one way, the sea takes up nearly the whole horizon. Even the most energetic might pass a pleasant half hour. watching through a telescope the passing • ships. Inland stretch more downs, far as the eye can reach, in some places richly wooded, and dotted here and there with picturesque houses and cottages. The fugitive Charles II. passed here on his way to embark for France, at Shoreham, which lies on our left as we face the sea. On our right, if the day be clear, the Isle of Wight may easily be seen. About this time one begins to feel that it is time for lunch—and where can you get a better appetite than on a breezy hill-side : | The study of this earthwork would well repay the antiquary, who would. I fancy, find plenty of room for speculation, for round about are thrown up three smaller forts of a square shape. After exploring these, we find it time to retrace our steps. On our homeward way we pass the sheep which are being driven into the oblong folds placed here and there over the country, and as, on the top of the last hill, we turn for a last look over the way we have pleasantly followed, and see the setting sun tipping the rolling Sunimits with ruddy | light, and leaving the hollows in dusky shadow. we think that, after all, the Downs look better so than in the full glow of the noonday sun. TO RAMBLERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours’ walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. | Address to EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. Do you know That many of our small birds, which do us so much good in summer by destroyſng insects, require to be kept on some- thing else during the severe weather Berries are food for the Birds in winter. Do you know That every kind word you speak to a dumb animal, and every kind act you do, will not only make the animal, but your- self happier, and not only happier, but also better 134 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. On the Romantic Side of Cycling. By A. G. M.U.NEO, B.A. A FEW weeks ago I read, in an evening paper, a short review of some cycling verses by an ardent wheelman. The reviewer would not have those verses at any price. There was no such thing as poetry to be got out of pneumatics and mudguards. And, doubtless, the reviewer in question repre- sented the general feeling of those who worship at Mother Nature's shrine, to whom the meanest thing that blooms in woodland copse or hawthorn glade awakens a poetic thrill, but who shrink with intuitive abhorrence from the wheelman and his ways. And, of course, where Poetry refuses to tread, Romance cannot enter. The question then arises whether cycling is essentially antagonistic to the spirit of romance. Why is it that nine out of ten non-cyclist lovers' of the country-side, who see things beautiful in other out-door sports, and who would stand for an hour on a summer afternoon watching with a touch of poetic sympathy the cricketers on the village green, or, seated beneath the arbour of some wayside inn, would see scope for idyllic romance in the cheery game of bowls, shrink aside with loathing from a passing cyclist : The matter, as in other affairs of taste, resolves itself preliminarily into the inherent repugnance which the lover of Nature feels to all things vulgar. The statement seems a strong one, but it is amply justified by the facts. There is no doubt but that the vast companies of cyclists, who are visible, on any Summer Sunday, round London, contain a very average share of the element called vulgar. The vulgarity, moreover, of this sprinkling is of the active, even obtrusive order. It is an open question whether the dress or address of this individual is most repellent, since both are immoderately loud, and both the eyes and ears of a romantic pedes- trian, on his approach, are apt to shrink timidly into a shell of stony reserve. And so the vast majority of wheelmen suffer. They bear the shame, the obloquy, of the cyclist cad with a tolerance, which would be wonderful, did they not to their own sorrow themselves feel the full sting of his existence. Then again, cycling in cities and crowded thoroughfares is antagonistic to our own sense of the poetic and romantic. The cyclist, who cannot see the total incongruity of cycling at mid-day, near the Bank of England or the Mansion House, ought to be given the option of a lunatic asylum if he knocks down a deaf old apple-woman. Anything, too, more un-romantic, than a City clerk wriggling at 9 a.m. in trousers and a bowler, it is impossible to conceive, unless it were the sight of an old acquaintance who once rode out to Hatfield in a tail coat and a top hat. Riding over the slippery tram-lines and greasy stones in the Uxbridge Road, where cyclists can be seen, on Sunday mornings, toppling over like nine-pins, is enongh to knock the poetry out of a modern Milton, although the fallen ones, if not mute, are certainly inglorious. But, examined apart from all prejudices, there is really no reason to exclude cycling from the world of romance any more than—at any rate—horsemanship, and what would Hawley Smart's readers say to eliminating the horse from the romantic : Suppose it is on a Summer night, and the departed moon has left the meadows and cornfields in darkness. On a rustic stile you take your seat, just where the pathway leads across the newly-cut hayfields to the ivy-clad village church. Save the jarring note of the corncrake, or the whirr of a bat, not a sound falls on the landscape around. In such circumstances, the lights of a dozen wheelmen gleam brightly in the bend of yonder road, and, in sinuous silence, the company glide by. Is there no scope for romance here : On a dark, wild night, when the wind is raging, the black cloud banks gathering up the increasing fury of the storm and the lightening vividly playing, there is poetry and romance as the engine lights dash madly along the cutting into the jaws of the tunnel, and the cyclist, who is out on a dark country road after nightfall may, if of poetic turn of mind. catch up though in a remote degree, a weird reflection of some such romantic situation Who is not familiar with the rythmical vibration of the reaping machine as it rattles its way over the fresh dewy hay in the brightness of a June morning : The whirr of a passing wheelman's cycle re-echoes also a sympathetic response from the lane between yon distant hedgrows, just where the fragrance of the honeysuckle is the sweetest. Beauty, we all know, is in the eye of the beholder. Does not the remark apply equally to our sense of the romantic : As the horsemen loves his steed. dotes fondly on its many graces and mute affection. so the loyal wheelman grows to regard his machine. Poets have sung odes to their pipes and poured out their souls over the fragrance of tobacco, and shall not the cyclist see romance in the machine which has brought him so much consolation for this world’s woes Pedestrians claim that the more sequestered and untrodden paths of the country side are inac- THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I35 cessible to cyclists. The breezy downs, the wood- land brook, the meadow path, the mountain's slope. the rugged glen, the rocky defile they claim as their own. The poetry and romance of Nature in her wildest and most solitary moods they deny to the wheelman. But is there any reason for all this boasting : If the wheelman loses in minuteness of detail, he, at any rate, gains in his wider access to Nature's beauties. Many ardent pedestrians cannot conceive a cyclist's leaving his machine at an upland inn, scouring the moorland heather, scaling the mountain peak, or exploring the recesses of the forest. But it is the superiority of his speed which lays all these advantages at the cyclist's feet. When on a few day's tour, he always makes a visit round the village before bidding good bye to mine host at The Cross Keys or The Golden Dragon, And what cyclist who has ever spent a night in the ingle nook of of a typical English inn, will ever again shut his soul to that idyllic joy which gives charm to the poetry of Oliver Goldsmith ? All the better if the inn in question is an old Buckinghamshire hostelry—The Crown at Amer- sham, The Cross Keys at Risboro’, for example. How cheerily the sparks fly up the chimney as, after a feast on the fat and the freshness of the fertile soil, we coil up our limbs snugly in the ingle nook, take out the homely briars and draw on the plenteous store of our landlord's local lore. The local doctor, perhaps, or some other celebrity hears through the landlord that we are gathering inform- ation for the Gipsy Journal, and adds his stock to that of our host. The romantic cyclist will get his desire in full at many an inn in Bucks and Herts. Then comes an expedition up quaint stair- cases across crooked passages, devious windings, unexpected recesses, mysterious chambers, in one of which, assured of an early call and a breakfast on Buckinghamshire ham and eggs, we enter the land of dreams. Then, in the morning, the cyclist, fresh as the lark, is up again, winding slowly through villages or hedgerows, flying merrily over the hard, high road, or pausing to study the changing landscape. Here are three fat urchins of Bucks swinging on a gate—this sight is common in Bucks—in yonder field a team of horses, a white, an iron-grey, and a chestnut, stand conten- tedly before the idle plough. At the village sweet shop a crowd of school children are in imagination clearing mother Sampson's window of its treacle sticks, and if a cyclist and a pedestrian cannot here meet on mutually romantic grounds, we abandon them both as hopeless. | | “IMIGNONETTE.” UNASSUMING—unpretending, Flower of soften’d hue, Born of sun and dew : Yet the sweetest odour lending To the scents the flowers are sending Out upon the air; Mignonette—blooms fair With the weight of bees are bending. In the genial sunshine sleeping, Nestling in the leaves, There the plant receives, Life and strength and beauty keeping, Blossoms 'tween the leaflets peeping : In mixed colours dight Gath'ring sun and light. And anon rich odours heaping. Who tells the stars in order due, Hath not o'erlook'd thee, Growing wild and free Under Heaven's deep azure blue, Haſh made thee sweetest scents imbue: Toil not, spin not there. He will have thy care, Mignonette of modest hue. JUST on going to press a friend puts into our hands a copy of “Midsummer Verses and other Poems,” by the Rev. G. Bampfield, B. A. We regret not to have had time to review the book, but can confidently assert that all who read the Gipsy Journal with interest will be charmed with these verses. The culture of style and diction is only equalled by the simple, quaint and fascinating nature of the subjects dealt with. The “Old School” is truly what the author claims it to be—an English Idyll—and the “cricket song " is more charming than anything we have yet seen on the subject. Equally delightful is the portion on nicknames, where Bertram, an old boy, speaking in defence of nicknames, says that they are : Suggestive of some bird or fish or beast, Which for a time dethrones the rightful name, Or golden colour of the clustering hair Finds likeness in the vegetable world. “Golden colour of the clustering hair" is a noble substitute for carrots!'” º 136 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. “Sw EET mercy is nobility's true badge.”—Shakespeare. Gol, GUULSON ON TIGER SH00TING. WE wish the parents of all boys who read this paper—no less than the boys themselves—could have been present at Miss Barnard's Band of Mercy meeting in the Shaftesbury Hall, Sawbridgeworth, on the 15th November last. They would have been enabled to hear a plain, outspoken, denunciation of the needless ill-usage of animals, and of mean and unmanly sports, by Colonel Coulson, of the Northumberland Fusiliers. It is not our intention to repeat now a speech which has appeared at full length in the public press. One point, however, we should like to drive home to our readers, namely, that an experienced traveller, who, like Colonel Coulson, knows as well as any writer of boys' literature what a close acquaintanceship with tigers, leopards and other wild beasts implies, is not likely to say things of a namby-pamby order. This denunciation of cruel sport is doubly telling, coming from the lips of one who himself has never shrunk from danger either at the hand of man or savage beast. Colonel Coulson declared he had never taken a life—even a tiger's —without necessity and without regret. We commend these words to all editors of boys’ papers and other boys' writers. They are in a very different key to what our lads of the present day have become, in many books and periodicals, accustomed. What boy is not familiar with the regular, sensational “tiger-story’ in the very foremost boys’ publications : What public school boy does not remember how some of these tales— ten to one utter fabrications—have, at one time or another, sent his blood curdling to the very tips of his fingers ? We wish Colonel Coulson could have a chat with the lads of our great public schools on this subject, since his manly periods would, coming from an old soldier like himself, find a responsive echo in many a boyish breast. Both boys and boys' authors need sadly educating in the matter of cruelty in sport. Editors, who ought to know better, poison our lads' minds by telling them it is manly to seek out the beasts of the forest, merely to ram the barrel of a rifle down their throats or dash out their brains at close quarters and by teaching them to gloat, in imagination, over eye-balls fiercely rolling in the quivering agony of the death struggle. We ask all our boys and their parents also to remember who it is that denounces all this kind of sensational trash—for we are sure Colonel Coulson is with us in our inferences from his speech at Miss Barnard's great meeting—and to politely request their editor friends to drop the familiar tiger story and to supply some more ennobling fare in its place. May the day come, too, when boys who read the “Gipsy Journal " shall have a chance of hearing the Colonel for themselves. THE RIVER (WINTER). CUTTING and keen, And bitter I ween, Is the wind as it sweeps far and wide : Silent and grey Is the winter's day, As we walk by the bleak river-side. On and on, Whither gone * The river is hastening home ; - Swift and fast, It rushes past, Swirls and eddies its foam . All is dank By the snow-covered bank, Leave it there where it lies; Hurry with me Right out to sea, Leaving what dazzles your eyes. Like the whirl of the tide, And with little to guide. So do the lives of the masses go : Bounding along, In sorrow or song, Until the river shall cease to flow. W. F. The Teachers' Cipsy Journal. Masters and Mistresses of Schools will be supplied with Three Copies each, of this issue, on sending post card f “G. J.” Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London. THE BIRDS AS LABOURERS. # / It is no use a man saying he would % rather do without the birds, and des- troy the insects and weeds himself. ==- He could not do it ! After all, the birds wages are very small. The work must be done ; only the birds can do it. They will never strike : but do not let us " dock ’’ their well-earned wages, or starve them out in hard times. Leaflet 17, by O. V. Aplin, issued by the Society for the Protection of Birds. (For address see under Clubs and Associations). º : al TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. 137 &H{E:\W. T.E. []:B;5.E.R.A.I.E.;; WITHOUT DESTROYING: A SERIES OF OUT-I) () OR SKETCHES BY IEDITEI CARIFINGTON. A beat leap. “ Lo in the middle of the wood The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and takes no care, Sun-steep’d a noon and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow Falls and floats adown the air.” - §> - : • * > --> ººl Tennyson. • wº * : : i 40 • 4: - - * 3|HAT causes dead leaves to fall in -> • $ Autumn P. This is a question - º - : : which has aroused much atten- • º - - #| tion among botanists, and the • -> :l subject is well worth it, for © • - ºf nothing in Nature is trifling. ~ «» - The various learned theories put forth result in this ; the leaf is a temporary organ, it is constructed on purpose to last for a short time wind, or even from its own weight, the leaf is borne to - the ground—its fan-like, frame which has all the Summer flaunted so gaily, after changing to yellow, red or brown, flutters away as rubbish. But it is not to lie useless ; merely by perishing it is to support life again in new forms. The process by which a dead leaf changes into that rich black mould fit for the tender roots of germinating seeds, only, or rather to perform one set of duties to the parent tree, and then begin a new sphere of usefulness. After acting as a sort of lung to the plant, it crumbles into earth in order to provide sustenance for the seedling beneath. Without entering at length on the structure of the leaf stem and the exact process by which it casts itself, or is cast, loose from the tree when its office there is done, it may roughly be said that the action of alternate rain and sun, of frost and drought, causes the fall of the leaf. The set of cells at the base or joint of the leaf stem cease to correspond with those of the twig with which they once acted in unison, and can no longer draw their nourishment While the vessels in the woody part remain the same, those of the leaf contract, dry up ; and, either from the pushing of the new bud underneath, always formed at the junction of a leaf, or from a gust of from the main branch. its body. is said to take three years if left entirely to atmospheric influences. But, in reality, there is a mighty unseen unfelt power which greatly hastems the needful crumbling of the leaf into dust. That is chiefly the office of the earthworm, and the vastness of its influence is almost incredible, were not the matter put beyond a doubt by the investigations of naturalists, which have proved as absolute truths what otherwise the mind would refuse to think of but as wild fables. The very existence of the world as a place of abode for animals is due to this lowly creature, and without the earthworm man must cease to be, because without its ministrations vegetable life and all that depends on it must cease. The earthworm performs its task by swallowing dead leaves, as well as decaying vegetable matter of all kinds, and even earth itself, and passing the substance through After keeping back sufficient nutriment for itself, it the heaps of mould known as worm-casts, which consist of the casts remainder up in those small most perfect soil. The body of the creature is admirably fitted for the task. It is pliable, yet muscular, having an elastic pointed tip (the head) calculated for boring its way through the ground, and a flattened tail, which is - useful to it as a sort of anchor when it lies at the month of its burrow. It moves by means of rings, from one to two hundred in number, placed at intervals along its body, and connected by strong muscles. These it pushes out, one after another, closing each ring up to the one in front of it, while some tough bristles with which each joint is furnished give the animal a firm grip of the ground. Although the earthworm can crawl with equal ease either backwards or forwards, it is not a matter of indifference to it which side of its body is kept uppermost. The chief nerve which runs through its body is placed not in the centre, but nearer the skin on one side, and on this portion the creature creeps; thus it is able to perceive danger such as lime, broken glass, dry dust, &c., which would injure it, and draw back hastily. The earthworm has two masses of nerve in its head which are the brain, but it has neither eyes nor ears—it has no traces of either, not even a mouth, correctly speaking, merely a slit just beneath the sharp point at its head, by which it crops its food, pressing the edges of it together. It is therefore not able to hear or to see— it perceives sound, however, by the shaking of 138 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. the earth, just as a fish perceives sound by the shaking or vibration of water round it, but it cannot hear any sound conveyed to it by air alone, and will take no notice what- ever of the shrillest whistle blown close to it, though it will dart into its hole in an instant should the ground near be touched ever so lightly. Birds are aware of this, and approach the holes of worms most delicately. It is also able to distinguish the difference between light and dark- ness by means of its brain. When in a healthy state the earthworm usually dives deep down into the ground during the sunny hours, and also in very dry weather. Should its skin become dry it cannot live, as it breathes through the pores, and they depend for their welfare on being kept moist—the worm cannot obtain air should they shrivel and become parched. The atmosphere of an ordinary dwelling house would kill an earthworm in a few hours: if therefore they should be kept for observation, (which is very easily done, and they form a most instructive study), the tub or pot in which they live must be kept under a bell glass, and the surface constantly sprinkled with water. A sufficient depth of earth should be given them, so that the earthworm may have an opportunity of constructing a proper burrow, for the creature makes a A pot nine or ten inches deep will do, though in a garden or real home for itself, helpless as it may appear. field where open exposure to winter cold must be thought of, their burrows are sometimes six feet deep. The passage is lined with a sort of slime from the body of the worm which hardens into a glaze, and prevents the loose earth from falling ; its master takes care to leave here and there a projection sticking out, which will act as a ladder step With his flat tail the earthworm sticks to the side, and offers great and assist him in climbing up or going down. opposition should any attempt be made to draw him out. If a part of his tail should be lost by any accident, he possesses the power of growing another, but he cannot reproduce his head. At the bottom of his hole the worm makes a small cavern (he swallows the superfluous earth), and this he carefully lines with tiny stones or seeds, so *s to keep it snug, and prevent contact between his body and the damp ground, which he does not like when lying coiled up for the winter in his parlour. Here he awaits the return of warm weather, when he takes up a summer residence at the mouth of his hole, which he also lines with leaves, and lies with his head or sometimes his whole body outside, according to the condition of the air; taking the precaution of always keeping the useful flat tail-tip inside the hole, to act as a clue to the opening, that he may dash down at a minute's notice on the approach of danger. Should any sound be conveyed to his brain—such as the light tread of a bird, from the surface of the ground, he disappears like lightning into his burrow, but, on the other hand, if the soil is disturbed beneath where he is łying, the earthworm rushes out and away from his hole. In the latter case he imagines that his great enemy, the mole, is coming, and “makes tracks” accordingly. He would then be at the trouble of constructing a new habitation, for he would be unable to find his way back, and most probably would end his wanderings in the beak of some keen-eyed robin redbreast. The worm's favourite dainty is a leaf which is beginning to decompose. Having no jaws or teeth he is unable comfortably to eat anything unless it is soft ; but should he feel inclined, he can eject a fluid from his mouth which will produce the necessary degree of decay, very rapidly, in a fresh leaf or root. In fact, if he cannot find the right article, he is able to prepare it, and to digest his food partially before eating it;-he is the only animal possessing this power. Great intelligence is shown by earthworms in their mode of dragging towards them a dead leaf and When the shape of the leaf is such as to make it easiest to manage by taking hold of the pulling it into their holes. tip, they seize it thus, but should the form and texture appear to be more manageable in another way, they use judgment in altering the plan, and will draw it towards their holes by the middle, by taking the base of the leaf into the mouth, grasping the centre and using the mouth as a sucker. Not only do they feed on the leaves, but use them for plugging up the openings of their holes, a protection against rain and cold, also against the attacks of intruders. Seeds are often carried into the ground by worms, which would otherwise be eaten by mice, insects or birds, and which, being thus rescued by the worm, germinate and grow up. Many a stately ash, sycamore or elm, owes its being to an earthworm. Mr. Darwin observed that the worms which he kept, in order to watch them, worked at plugging their burrows “in a careless and slovenly manner,” but he believed they did so on account of the warmth of the room, which made them indifferent to cold. Internally the worm possesses an aesophagus, a crop, a gizzard (into which it conveys small stones as a bird does, in order to assist the grinding up of the food and to act as The circulatory teeth), and also elaborate intestines. system is well developed. In many parts of England a weight of more thau ten tons of clay yearly passes through the bodies of worms, and is brought to the surface, in every ten acres of land, so that the entire bed of vegetable mould on the surface of the earth may be calculated to pass through their bodies in the course of few years—the is every process THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 139 incessantly being repeated. The deserted burrows drain the soil, and by falling together keep it in constant but slow movement, thus airing and lightening it. Before the plough was dreamt of, myriads of Nature's born plough- men were at this work, and so they will be till the end of time, or woe betide the world ! When we see a wide turf-covered expanse we must recollect that its smooth sweep and green mantle is due to the work of worms, which have gradually levelled the inequalities of the ground, turned the drifting leaves into soil for the herbage, A field near Mr. Darwin's house was turned from a stony and kept the mould perforated, light and wholesome. wilderness, thickly covered with large flints, some of them as big as a child’s head, into a pasture of compact turf across which a horse could gallop without striking its shoe against a single stone. This went on under the personal observation of the great scientist, and was done in thirty years. Earthworms are not the only leaf destroyers—the snail, slug and all leaf-pruners do a little in that direction, and there is another very small but very interesting nibbler who assists. Search any heap of fallen leaves, and you will find many, the tissues of which have been partly or altogether destroyed by a living thing. The bramble leaf, as well as many others (often while on the tree), is subject to the attacks of a dangerous though minute race of foes, —the leaf-mining insects as they are called. If you pick up a handful of dry leaves you cannot fail to find that on some of them a pale meanidering line is traced from side to side something like the way in which a river is drawn on a map. Some of these tracks are made by tiny beetles, but generally by the larvae of small moths, known as the Micro-Lepidoptera, among which the Golden Pigmy moth is perhaps one of the most beautiful. The glories exhibited by these almost invisible insects when placed under the microscope no language can describe Although too small to be noticed when on the wing, being usually mistaken for little flies or midges, a strong magnifying lens will display them in all the lustre of their gorgeous and glittering loveliness. Silvery, golden, be-jewelled, they fill the mind with wonder and delight. The perfect insect lays its egg upon a leaf, and the maggot-like grub (it needs no legs to push for itself a passage through the leaf a d therefore possesses none) burrows into it, between the layers of the leaf, carefully turning back when it comes so near the surface as to endanger the breaking through, and feeding on the substance. Its tunnel widens with its growth, and finally it approaches the edge of the leaf and changes into a chrysalis, sometimes falling to the ground with its home and lying there. Lastly, if not descried by some hungry bird, it emerges plumed and winged, a complete moth. All the Micro-Lepidoptera may easily be procured by keeping the leaves thus marked (not in too dry a place), and the magnificence of colour and sheen hidden beneath insignifi- cance of size duly noted. It is upon the chrysalids of these tribes that the wild birds mainly depend for sustenance during hard winters. They are to be found sticking to every tree-trunk, gate-post, wall, quarry face, -even scattered on the ground. All these places are eagerly examined, and without this staff of life innumerable birds must perish. A hard winter is thus indirectly unfavourable to insect life, not because the cold kills them—far from it—a chrysalis or egg may be It is the frost and snow set the birds more eagerly to work, frozen into a solid mass of ice and yet come to life. and the following Spring good crops are the result. But there is another overseer appointed to keep in check the huge swarms of these infinitesimal moths while they are flying, besides the swallow which feasts on them by the million,-filling his mouth with them and also with the winged aphis or smother-fly, with which at a casual glance they might be confounded. A very slight examin. ation of the hedgerows and even of the surface of the fields will show who is this necessary personage. It is the spider. Almost beyond enumeration are the various kinds of this most interesting creature, and they are spread oyer the whole world, varying in size from that of a grain of sand to that of a small mouse, and inhabiting land and water alike. The silken snares of spiders may be found literally covered with the bodies and wings of blights, flies and these tiny moths, so as to resemble a piece of fine net covered with a spotted pattern. The size of the victim is proportioned to that of the hunter, there is a spider adapted for every class of fly, from the diadem or garden spider which can tackle a bluebottle, down to the little money- spinner, which would find a gnat as much as he could manage. A spider engaged in spinning its web is one of the most fascinating sights which I know. To see the cirious being examine his ground, every movement expressive of thought, shrewdness and caution I strongly advise all who have not witnessed this piece of weaving while in progress to lose no time in rectifying the error. The garden spider generally begins his wheel-like web by dropping himself after the fashion of a plummet at the end of his line, and fastening the cord to the spot on which he alights. Making a living shuttle of himself, he next constructs the other spoke-like lines which diverge from the centre to right and left, sometimes running along while the thread draws itself out of the four spinnerets at his tail, sometimes climbing like a monkey to the tip of a twig, and, having ascertained which way the wind is blowing, casting forth 14() THE GIPSY JOURNAL. his line and allowing the breeze to carry it. Each strand of the spider's finished thread is four-fold, while the plies composing every thread thus used are composed of many thousands. When the spider allows his thread to drift in this way he will not adventure his weight on it till he has tested its strength by a sharp pull, to ascertain whether the sticky end has properly adhered to any substance, and whether he may trust the airy bridge. When this portion of the web is finished, the rope-dancer goes to the middle and begins the spiral lines, working from the centre outwards, and completing one spiral first. When this is done to his satisfaction he adds another spiral, this latter covered with drops of gummy fluid (which is often renewed), in order to entrap the legs and wings of his prey and retard its escape. The whole task is executed with great haste and a sort of anxiety,+it seldom takes more than two hours, and often less. The poor little architect has to depend on his structure for a living, and that edifice is built with materials from his own inside. He must be fed in order to maintain the supply of silk, he must have silk in order to obtain food. If he is so unfortunate as to get a wasp or bee into his met he runs instantly and snips the cords which hold it, why P. He knows that so large a creature is not useful for a meal, and that its struggles will damage the net, and cost him not only effort, but absolute flesh and If he is not economical with his silk on one day, or if he fails blood, so to speak, before he can repair the injury. to obtain a dinner, he will be all the less likely the next day to succeed, because he will be weaker, and his supply It ought to make one pause before wilfully destroying the And in stables their offices are The female spider weaves a beautiful sort of of net-weaving substance will not have been renewed. web of the out-door spider. invaluable. nest for her eggs. She is valiant as a lioness in defence of her egg-bag or young, protecting the little spiders (which emerge as perfect creatures, like the parents, but small), until they are able to fend for themselves. These creatures are endowed with a stupefying poison which runs from their claws into the body of the fly, and causes its instant death ; strange to say, though fatal to the prey, it hurts not the spider which devours the carcase. The fall of the leaf opens an occasion for a whole vista of labour--upon it depends an almost endless scheme of reproduction, engaged in which are entire companies of busy workers. No unit can be spared from the sum total. Crush the busy little creature who, by inspired skill, has woven his lace-whorled web, and you deprive the world of a set of living tools hitherto employed for its welfare. Clap but your hands together upon that crew of flying specks, a mist of moths made up of individuals each so small that the eye cannot perceive its graces, and next year there will be a pinch of leaf mould the less perhaps, in which a violet seed might fructify. Let us learn never to destroy that which we cannot create, nor idly mar what the Supreme Wisdom itself has made. [Copyright strictly reserved]. An Appeal to Teachers. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ By H. S. SALT. THE present appeal is addressed to teachers of every class and denomination, in the hope of in- ducing them to recognise the humane treatment of animals as a necessary part of any moral “ educa- tion ” worthy of the name. Some attention, however insufficient it may be, is now paid in English schools and lecture-rooms to the great social questions where the well-being of our human fellow-workers is concerned ; but the rights of animals, and the duty of justice and humanity to animals, remain practically untaught, with the result that, as far as the authorised teachers are concerned, a horde of young savages is yearly turned loose into society, devoid alike of knowledge and sympathy, and of humaneness, in regard to whole races of sensitive and highly- organised beings who are placed in large measure in their power. Were it not for three private agencies, the “ Bands of Mercy” which have been authorised in many places to provide the instruc- tion that should have been provided elsewhere, the essay-competitions encouraged among London middle-class schools by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and, thirdly, the “Children's Column " which is now being adopted by a good many newspapers, it would be no 185, Fleet Street, London, E.C. Note.—LITERAE HUMANIORES: An Appeal to Teachers; The Humanitarian League's Publications, No. 14. Published by Wm. Reeves, (For the Society's Address see under List of Clubs and Associations). THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 141 exaggeration to say that English children are left entireſy without instruction in this most vital ethical question, which can hardly fail to have a lifelong influence on their habits and character. That there are great and serious obstacles in the way of this human reform, and that progress can only be slow, cautious, and indirect, will be admitted by all who know anything of the con- servatism of school methods. A school is in many ways a microcosm—a miniature reflection of the greater world that is around and before it—and it is difficult or impossible for the most liberal-minded teacher to counteract successfully the example (in many cases an evil example) which is set by society. The tone of society, even of cultured and aesthetic society, towards the lower animals is deplorable, as shown in the general indifference or hostility to the most elementary animal rights; and this tone spreads inevitably and imperceptibly from parent to child, from home-circle to school-circle, beyond the power of repression by any individual re- monstrance. No wonder, then, that even humane teachers, themselves sensible of the mischief, have despaired of the possibility of improvement, and have shrunk from undertaking what would often have proved to be a thankless and unprofitable task. There is, moreover, another consideration which makes us pause at the outset. It is most unde- sirable, as all true humanitarians will be ready to admit, that the details of horrible and revolting subjects should be forced on the minds of the young, whose humanity, in a proper state of Society, would be instinctive and unconscious, the result of pure and beautiful surroundings, rather than an acquired ethical creed. If any class have a right to be exempt from the debasing aspects of the seamy side of civilization, it is those of tender years, who, whether their birth be high or lowly, should be brought up in kindness and gentleness, and protected from all contact with what is mean and repellent and foul. We humanitarians do not wish, as is sometimes wrongly supposed, to take undue advantage of the natural sentiment of the young. - Yet, while the reality of these difficulties is fully acknowledged, it is equally certain that something can and must be . by the respon- sible authorities to remedy the present state of affairs. It is not a question of introducing children's minds to horrors with which they are happily unfamiliar, for these barbarities already throw a shadow on their daily lives. When cruelty is everywhere, and when children are themselves tainted by it, it is surely the merest hypocrisy to affect to be unaware of its existence; it is wiser to recognise the mischief, and do what can be done to lessen it, than to let it work its work unreproved. obtruding humanitarian doctrines in a formal manner, or exercising any undue pressure on their pupils' consciences, teachers may indirectly avail themselves of numberless opportunities for sug- gesting thoughts which will be of priceless value to the mind which assimilates them. Shall the rising generation of Englishmen and English women grow up as callous and indifferent to the enormous sum of unnecessary animal suffering, as are (with a few exceptions) the Englishmen and English- Women of to-day ? Or shall the spread of educa- tion bring with it not only a more brotherly regard for the interests of human fellow- creatures, but also, and by a precisely similar process of enlightenment, a more humane con- sideration for the “lower animals” who hold their lives by the same tenure as mankind? That is the question which is put to all teachers who may happen to read this appeal; and the result will depend very largely on the spirit in which an answer is given. Colour and Speed of Horses. In an ancient Arabian manuscript recently discovered is, according to “L’Echo de Paris.” a passage proving that the belief in the relations between horse's color, power, and speed has long existed in Arabia. A great sheik of the Sahara, Ben Dyab by name, so runs the tale, was one day pursued by Saadel Zenatis, his most deadly enemy. In the flight Ben Dyab turned suddenly to his son. “Tell me,” he commanded, “What horses are at the head of our enemies 2 ° “The whites, father,” replied the son. “That is well,” came Ben Dyab's answer. “We shall allow the sun to do its work. The power of the white horses will disappear before its rays, as butter melts when they fall upon it.” After a time the sheik spoke again : “My son, what horses are now nearest our heels 2 ° - “The blacks, father,” came the boy's answer. “Excellent,” cried the old man. “ The stony ground will overcome the powers of the black animals. Even the negro of the Soudan becomes tired at the ankles when he walks over stony ground.” On went the flight. turned to his companion. “ Which ones are now ahead 2 '' “The browns and chestnut browns, father,” came the boy's answer. “Then,” cried the sheik, “we must fly faster, or we are lost. There is no time to lose. These horses can overtake us.” A third time Ben Dyab And it is obvious, that, without - 142 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. -z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-7-7--~~ ºn RAMBLE's “And the muscles of his brawny arms, Are strong as iron bands.” THERE is a quaint charm about the hero of Longfellow's popular poem. The village Smithy, no less than the brawny descendant of Vulcan him- self and the spreading chustnut tree, beneath which he rains his blows on the ever tinkling anvil, is just one of those features of national life with which readers of this paper could ill dispense. What would be the use of the Gipsy Journal without village scenes and where would any typical British village be without a village Smithy As well take away the old ivy-clad church, or the ancient inn, whose sign swings merrily to all the four winds of heaven. The ding dong on the anvil is a rival to the shouts of the cricketers on the village green, the laughter of the urchins fresh let loose from school, and the glad Song of harvest home. What are our poets about that they have turned aside from those homely themes which lend such rythmic beauty to the verses of Mrs. Hemans and Goldsmith ? Amid the multiplicity of themes selected by would-be laureates surely there are types of rural life still existing to adorn the pen of the poet and the music of the bard. To those young poets of our acquaintance who desire to sing but lack a theme we would suggest the name of Henry Nunn, blacksmith, Coggeshall. Nunn has gained renown and earned the thanks of all ramblers by his championship of public rights. Firm faith in the righteousness of his cause, aided by a demonstration on the part of his followers who had equal faith in the aforesaid muscles, and the demolition of a high hedge were but the prelude to the capture of a disputed footpath. It was at this stage that the tug of war came in, and Nunn's skill as a black- Smith, since, in order to acquire possession of the footpath, an iron bridge over a water-course had to be erected. Of course after the capture of the footpath, Nunn was summoned for damages, which | the plaintiff put mildly at £10, but Judge Paterson and a Braintree jury gave judgment in favour of the champion of public rights. to ride over to Coggeshall and present the worthy Smith with a few words of thanks. Shall we find the children coming home from school watching the sparks that fly and listening to the roaring Someday we hope bellows, as Henry Nunn beats out a shoe for the / farmer's bay cob? Surely, in every swinging blow will be heard the imaginary death-knell of the land-grabber, the destruction of the oppressor. Let us hope that by then other acts of footpath obstruction in that part of the world will have been detected and checkmated. Sorry as we should be to deprive a smithy of a rare good muscular smith, we cannot help suggesting to other assailants of land-grabbing, and especially to those whose faith in their cause is stronger than their muscles, the advisability of securing before- hand the presence—and hammer—of the Cogges- hall Vulcan. What a grand ally the man would make, say, to the Rev. Haydn Williams | The next set of railings the Rev. gentleman has to demolish would come down in no time with such an ally. At any rate, here's more power to the muscles of both of them. O Winter, ruler of the inverted year, I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening know. ST. INICEIOLAS CLUIE. WE have great pleasure in bringing to the notice of our readers, the following scheme, designed to secure a per- manent institution, for the benefit, socially and intellectu- ally, of the young men and woman workers in the City of London. A few years ago an experiment was made by the Rev. H. C. Shuttleworth, rector of St. Nicholas, Cole-Abbey, and Professor of Pastoral Theology at King's College, who rented two floors of a warehouse in Queen Victoria-street, providing drawing-room, billiard - room, dining - room, library, and dressing-rooms to accomodate 400 members of both sexes. Owing to the large rent demanded for City premises, the club has never been self-supporting, as, in order to benefit the class for whom the institute was intended it has been necessary to make the subscription a low one, and the deficiency amounting on an average to £350 yearly, has had to be met by the founder. An opportunity has lately occurred whereby Mr. Shuttleworth has been able to acquire on very advantageous terms sufficient ground near the present club to build new premises, and the work is now in progress. The cost of the building and fittings of this club will be at least £3,000, and an earnest appeal is made to those interested in the welfare of the young people of the city for funds to assist in carrying out this work. Two donations of 500 pounds have been promised, on condition that a further sum of £2,000 is forthcoming from other sources before the end of the year, and efforts are being made by the club members themselves to raise £500 of this amount. The Lord Mayor has kindly consented to open the new club premises which, it is hoped, will be ready for oceupation in March next. Donations, which will be gratefully acknowledged, should be sent to either of the treasurers, the Rev. Edward Davis, or J. H. Water, Esq. and cheques should be crossed “City Bank.” The address of the Secretary is S1, Queen Victoria-street, E.C., Dec. 15. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I43 Cropping Dogs' Ears. N where are a few facts about the cropping of bull terriers' ears which, let the Bull Terrier Club and all other bodies and persons whom this matter may concern dely if they can. The writer will set down a plain tale of what he has seen done to a bull terrier of eight months old—what occurs to almost every terrier which is brought under the scissors. “The Fancy” would probably deem the thing much too commonplace to notice; while to cry out against such deeds will doubtless appear to the professional dog man mere sentimentalism. The terrier is eight months old, and practically full-grown. Not by accident, but by design have its ears been left uncut so long. Your real expert among bull terrier professionalists takes care never to clip his dog until the ears are properly formed and fully grown. the agony, but what of that P That is not the fault of the cropper or of the owner or breeder, is it P Blame Nature, if any one. Teething should also be well over before the scissors are applied, for it has a tendency to draw the ear out of shape. IN THE CROPPING Rooyſ. Usually there are half a dozen croppers and assistants in the croppers’ room, who have come to enjoy the spectacle, but though between them they could, no doubt, hold down a couple of mastiffs, the victim will none the less have to be nicely bound. Observe how handy these fellows are in the work of seizing the terrier and binding him head and foot. They do it as easy as the young men at the stores tie up a parcel. First the muzzle is bound round and round with tape, then the front legs are pulled back against the sides and as much over the back as they will go, and bound; finally the hind legs are stretched out and also tied together. Every possible precaution is taken against the animal writhing over-much under the shears which are immediately applied because movement militates against a perfectly successful operation. The great object is to get the ears cut perfectly level, and to a fashionable shape. The jags and irregularities which may often be seen on the rims of terriers’ ears show that the cropper has begun his work too soon, or that the victim has writhed considerably under the shears. The dog is laid on his back, held by one or two of the men, and out come the shears. These are very sharp. and from their shape evidently made for the express purpose of ear cropping. Clip, clip, clip ! They first cut down from the tip of the ears, and then upwards in order that no ragged bits of flesh may be left. As the work proceeds—it will take the best part of an hour—the victim often quivers incessantly, but— being so securely bound and held down— not sufficiently to interfere with the meat cropping of the ear; even more pathetic than these slight movements is the low moan whlch is all the sound it can utter. - One ear finished, the second is attacked. The cropper being hideously proficient in his work, fits the cut off portion of the ear to the second as a guide for the shears. In this way does he ensure both being cut exactly in the same shape. While the shears open and close the chief cropper and his assistants and admirers chat sociably about things canine, and are apparently quite unconscious of the awful agony which the victim is going through ; nor are they in the least inconvenienced by the flow of blood. They are no more affected by trifles of this character than those who lay low the ox at the shambles. Utterly degraded by the work which “ihe Fancy,” in its imperious demand for terriers with cropped ears, sets them to accomplish, how can one expect any glimmering of humanity from these men who have sunk so much lower than the brutes on which they operate * Cropping is of eourse illegal, but the malefactors who are | Of course the longer they are left the greater paid by the bull terrier “fancy " to do it, in probably nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, are quite secure from all punishment. They take of course, certain pre- cautions : do not ply their horrid trade in the light of day, and as a rule see to it that no outsider shall witness the operation. It is rather a lucrative business, as much as a couple of guineas being sometimes paid for a really well-performed job. The cropper as a rule generally belongs to the lowest class among dog ſanciers. He is a kind of hanger-on at dog-breeding establishments, ready to do any dirty work required to be done for a consideration. But we once saw a judge at one of the shows put his hand in his breast coat-pocket in quest of some papers, and as he drew them ont there was the tell-tale gleam of. a pair of dog-cropping scissors. Yes, even judges are not averse to doing a little cropping now and again. In fact, your thoroughgoing professional fancier will as likely as not regard a doggy man, who cannot or will not use the shears as quite deficient in education—more as a muff and greenhorn.-Pall Mall Gazette. The Gipsy Journal and British Tourist, Organ of Footpath Preservation and Common Rights Associations; for protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals ; for the Preservation of all Natural Beauties; the Rambler’s, Cyclist’s, and Holiday-maker’s Friend. Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. P.0.0. may be made payable to - H. CRAPPER, G.P.O., Stratford, Essex. List of Leading Hotels, Advertisements under this head, 24 words and under, 2s. and 1d for each aditional word ; 6 insertions, 10s. 12 insertions, 18s. Cover or Page Advertisements from £3. Special Quotations on application. Kolnischer Hof, Coblenz-am-Rhein: Cyclists in the Rhine District will find good accommodation. Bedrooms from 1s. 6d. a night. Oxford. Black Horse Inn, High-st., Saint Clement’s. Noted House for Visitors to this City. rate charges. Cyclists' Rest. Mode- Epping. White Swan Inn, High-st. Good accommodation for cyclists. Estimates given for Beanfeasts, Dinners, &c. Beds, &c. Royal Forest Hotel, Chingford. In the vicinity of one of the prettiest parts of Epping Forest. Accomodation for cyclist and pedestrian. Estimates given for School Treats. Gasthof Von Heliger, Nideggen, Germany. On the banks of the Ruhr, Beautiful Scenery. High class cuisine, accommodation for cyclists. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. COMMONS PRESERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom) Great George Street, Westminster. — Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science J. Mills, Hon. Sec. Essex Field Club Address, The President, Loughton, Essex. Forest Ramblers’ Club 97, Tabernacle Street, London Hampshire Field Club Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Lambeth Field Club & Scientific Society C. H. Dedman, 1, Cavour Street, Kennington Park Road, S.E., Hon. Sec. IMaidenhead Naturalists’ Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. INATIONAL FOOTPATH PRIESERVATION SOCIETY (130 Branches) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. Northern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. A PARISH minister was examining a class of small boys on their reading exercises. The lesson was on the life of a pious man. The minister, as a test of their knowledge, offered a penny to the first who should tell him what a pious man was. For a moment silence reigned supreme, and then an urchin at the bottom of the class, whose joyful visage proclaimed that he was in possession of the grand secret, joyfully snapped his fingers in great glee, and cried out, “I can–I can, Mr Minister 2 " . “Well, my boy, will you kindly fell us what it means?” “It’s a man that bakes pies, sir!” The “Bristol Times and Mirror ’’ says: WE have just received a copy of a monthly magazine which is quite apropos to the time of year, and will doubtless attract the attention of all lovers of nature and rural beauty. It is well styled “The Gipsy Journal,” and has struck out quite a new line of interest for the reader, which is saying a good deal in this age of magazine literature. Phonetic Shorth and Writers’ Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President : E. A. Cope, Esq. People’s Palace Rambling Club Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. SELBORNE SOCIETY (51 Branches, 3000 Members) Selborne Society, Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, Hon. Sec. South Place Ramblers 30, Benthall Rd., Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. St. Mark’s, Battersea Rise, Rambling Club Mr. L. Beaumont, 33, Harbut Rd., St. John’s Hill, S.W. St. Nicholas Club - 8.1, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. HIUIMAINITAIRIAN LEAGUE For Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, N.W. Anti-Vivisection Society - 20, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.E. Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society - (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. F. W. Hildyard, Sec. tº Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name aud address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. OUR friends should remember we place great. reliance upon their kind efforts to extend the cir- culation of this paper. They will undoubtedly realize, as we do, that there is nothing so potent in obtaining subscribers as personal influence. The “Newcastle Weekly Chronicle?” says: THE “ Gipsy Journal' for July is an interesting number. The articles on “A Summer Holiday.” “Wayside Interviews,” and the “Ramble round Bath,” are pleasant and instructive reading. Kindness to animals and every living thing, and protection to flowers, trees, and all that is beautiful in Nature, are inculcated throughout its cheerful pages in the happiest style. A series of out-door sketches, entitled, “How to Observe without Destroying.” by Miss Edith Carrington, is com- menced in the present number. The first is called “A Fallen Tree,” and quite an object-lesson in natural history is taught by her musings whilst sitting upon the trunk of a tree that had fallen by the wayside. Please pass this Copy on to a Friend. Established 1893. INo. 11, 6th Series, will be ready on May 15th, 1895. ºw- tº-ºr -- º sº Sºº-º-º: º §*RAMBLERs' LEAVES ºr FIROM THE - §: Book OF NATURE. Organ of Footpath and Common Rights Associations; for Protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists’ Friend. OXON. No. X. 5th Series.] April. ALL RIGHTs ResERVED- [1895. The Gipsy's Break of Day. mock, whilst the daylight creeps along the ** horizon, with steady and stealthy steps, and by its gentle touch glorifies the sky, bidding the gentle flowers arise and adorn themselves and pricks the hearts of birds into song. Oh! thou sweet and gentle warblings of the dawn Is there a gipsy in us all in mansion or tent, that has not felt the inspiration of those waking notes as recalled from the fairy land of dreams, once more we find our- selves ravished by a fairer and more real fairy- land on earth. How few of us but what can wander back to some sweet dawn such as this, and feel that here we received our first lessons of life, with its trials and its aspirations and recognised in these first notes, and the throbbing morn, some- thing so intensely human, that for the time we ourselves were melted into Nature's heart and soul, lost in identity, but happy in the whole. Rising, speed to the window or tent door, and see what chance for a walk; the morning star feebly glimmers a farewell, whilst Sol is spurring on his steeds up the mountain side, suffused with hazy garments, and the valleys strewn with mist. “Oh Dawn . * is the gipsy's prayer, “What hopes of purity steal through me from thy majesty' " How daintily the dew drops glimmer in the light ! The mist rises, but in rising the valley is trans- figured; a thousand times that valley has laid before me, but now I know I have never seen it so. The lazy kine have risen, and the sun lights up the hawthorn hedge; the shepherd's dog barks on the other slope, and the new born lambs re- mind us of the past. Again old Nature's choristers find their voices, and sing their resurrection hymns, the blackbird's contralto, the sweet thrushe's tenor, 2||5 HE Bohemian lies on his couch, or his ham- º and the lazy rook’s deep bass, whilst the doves love tale forms a sweet obligato to the robin's and the wren's sweet treble. - Arise, and be the Lord of all creation, rise from the depths of darkness and despair Old Sol has risen, and his presence well declares new life and plenty, glorious and full. And work, the hand- maid of all temperance, declares a full Amen. So the gipsy heralds in the dawn, and feels the deep and noblest chords of humanity tremble in response. ARTHUR BEALE, M.B. 60RRESPONDENGE. MR. BLYTH GERISH writes: The Committee of the Selborne Society are preparing a Bibliography of Gilbert White and his “Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne,” which for many years has been the popular work on Natural History, and has been reprinted very many times. They hope also to gather together, on loan, a representative collection of these many editions, to exhibit at their next conversazione, and any correspondents having editions, ancient or modern, rare or common, will greatly assist us, if they will forward Bibliographical details of their copies, at the same time stating whether they would lend them to us for an evening.”—Address to Magazine & Leaflet Committee, 20, Hanover Sq., London. EDwD. A. MARTIN, 21, Carew Rd., Thornton Heath, writes: “Dear Sir, I am much obliged by your “Gipsy Journal” to hand. It is a most interesting publication. If you ever want a short article I shall be glad to send you one. Perhaps my branch of the Selborne Society would appear on the last page, viz., the Croydon and Norwood Branch.” *MRs. MARGARETTE. L. LEMON : Thanks for report. We decided to reprint article, on account of its great merits, though original matter not communicated to other journals is our general rule. RALPH WELDoN : We shall be glad to receive remainder of article, which, as you see, begins in present issue. H. C., Oxford: Glad you are taking to the bicycle. Why not send us a short article P 146 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 3: Pºº-º-º:sº* * > * ::::::::::::: º º Gipsy LIFE WW º, GPSVLAND.º. --- AND $6MME}{SET AND G}_{}}J&ESTER. By WILLIAM H. BASKERVILLE. ON Oct. 6th, 1894, I left Paddington for Bristol by the 3 o'clock Plymouth express, reaching Bristol at 5.37 p.m. - Bristol, 1183 miles from London, is a seaport town, and is on the river Avon, which flows into the Bristol Channel, and lies to the south of Glouces- ter and north of Somerset. From a railway point of view it is most important. At Temple Meads or Joint Station the Great Western and Midland railways meet. All the Plymouth and Penzance trains stop there, and it is the Midland terminus from Birmingham. The old town, which now forms the heart of the city, stands upon a narrow hill about 40ft. high. The highest hills in Bristol are St. Michael's and Kingsdown, which are 200ft. above the lower part of the town. - In the old town the streets are narrow, and the houses lofty, but in the more improved parts the houses are wider, and the buildings elegant and spacious. Some of the most famous buildings are the Cathedral, with its Norman arch, St. Mary Red- cliffe Church, St. Mark’s, Colston Hall, the Assize Courts in Small Street, Guildhall in Broad Street, Council House in Corn Street, Museum and Library in Park Street, and the Fine Arts Academy. Few cities have advanced in structural work during the last 30 or 40 years as much as Bristol. Its shipping is of vast importance, having a good harbour; it trades principally with the West Indies, Mauritius, Havana, Venezuela, China, Canada, and the United States. On Oct. 8th. I took train from Bristol to Stone- house, then to Nailsworth. Near Nailsworth is Minchinhampton Common, where it is supposed John Halifax roamed. Then I took the train back to Stonehouse and walked to Stroud, a distance of about two miles. Stroud is a market town, and is noted for its woollen manufactures, and has numerous mills, mostly by the banks of the Stroud, the waters of which are said to be suited for dye- ing scarlet. From Stroud I took train to Glou- cester. - Gloucester, 37 miles from Bristol, on the river Severn, has a magnificent cathedral, and among its other buildings are the Guildhall, Customs House, Infirmary, Blue Coat Hospital, and Colleg School of Henry VIII. Pins are its chief manufacture. Some 16 miles across the hills is the Vale of Berkley. The next day I had a ramble over Clifton and Durdham Downs, on which are situated the Clifton Observa- tory, and on Durdham Downs the Zoological Gar- dens. From Clifton Downs you have a fine view of the Suspension Bridge and Nightingale Valley. The bridge used to be a foot-bridge where Char- ing Cross Station now stands, and known as old Hungerford Bridge. It is 630ft. long and 230ft. above the water. Returning across Ashley Downs we passed Muller's Orphanage House. On the 11th I left Bristol for Tintern, having to pass through the noted Severn Tunnel (which is the longest in England, taking 7 min. to go through it), and changing at Severn Tunnel Junction Sta- tion. Tintern is a small village, but is noted for the ruins of Tintern Abbey, which was founded A.D. 1131, and the last time divine service was held was A.D. 1287. The ruins consist of sacristy, refectory and pulpit, kitchen, almonry, chapter-house, and en- trance from the river; also of a few Greek tablets, the chief emblem of which is a fish, which was an early emblem of christianity. The abbey is still a magnificent ruin, extending 228ft. by 150ft., some of the centre arches being 70ft. high, and the framework of the windows being still in a perfect condition. It also contains a staircase leading to the roof. From thence you obtain a fine view of the surrounding country. Sixpence is charged to look over it, which helps to keep it in good condition. Having spent an hour among the ruins we strolled back through the village to the station where we took the train to Symond's Yat, which is one of the most pic- turesque spots in Monmouth. Standing on the Yat you have a splendid view of the river Wye on either side, the hilly banks being one mass of trees, shrubs, &c., which at this time are brilliant with autumn tints and well worthy of a visit. The next morning, at 10 a.m., we set out for a day’s visit to Bath, which is about 12 miles from Bristol, and stands on the Avon. Bath was founded by the Romans, and called by them Aquae Solis (baths). Some baths were discovered which surpass any of the present day, and the remains of one still exist. The houses are mostly built of bath-stone. Amongst the principal buildings are the Assembly Rooms, the Guildhall, the Pump Room, the King's and Queen's baths. Two of the most handsome churches are the Abbey and St. Michael's. The famous thermal springs, for which Bath is chiefly noted, are three in number, yielding 128. 120, and 112, gallons per minute, their temperature ranging from 120° to 1160 Fahr. The King's THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I47 bath is 60 feet long, 41 feet wide, and filled to the height of four feet. The Queen's bath is 25 feet square. The outside public spring or fountain has with its steaming water an inky taste. The Victoria Park is one of Bath's chief features, it is splendidly laid out and forms a fine promenade. It is ornamented with sundry vases and several pieces of sculpture. - The original Bath bun shop still remains, so we were obliged to try one, but found it just the same as an ordinary one. Thus ended a day's excursion to Bath. Having heard from several people of the wonderful caves at Cheddar, I thought they would be worth a visit, so on the 15th, left Bristol for Cheddar. Cheddar is fifteen miles from Bristol and is situ- ated at the entrance of a deep gorge in the Mendip Hills, presenting one of the most romantic and picturesque scenes in England, the walls of living rock on either side extending from two to three miles, and rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundred feet. The Stalactite Caverns have none superior in the country; they were accidentally discovered some seventy years ago. The entrance is opposite the Cliff Hotel, and the charge of admission one shilling. - After having spent the first part of my holiday visiting the country, I thought I should like a taste of the sea, so went to Clevedon which stands on the Bristol Channel. It has a pier and esplanade, and it is here people, having had enough of every- day town life, go for perfect rest and quietness. It has a fine beach, good bathing accommodation and is altogether a snug little place. Yatton is an important village at the foot of the Mendips, and containing a very fine church with a handsome tower. We were fortunate enough to get permission to go up the latter, and from the top had a fine view of the hills all round. In these hills lead and iron ore are obtained. - The following day we took the train to Weston- Super-Mare, which is a notable seaside town on the Bristol Channel and really stands on Uphill Bay. The place is of modern growth, and is the Brighton of the West. It has a fine sea-front and is more bracing than Clevedon, there being most beautiful walks in the neighbourhood. A favourite one is through Woolebury Woods to Woolebury Hill, from which we can see the Flat and Steep Holmes and the coast of Wales. The next two days I devoted to walks in the neighbourhood of Bishopston and Horfield, suburbs of Bristol. ~~~~ S3 cºrº, A Rii)P TO 34}}{N}{A}\} BEE&HE3 By R.A.L.P.H WELDON. AT the time I am writing this, it is difficult to believe that, in a few short weeks, we shall again see the signs of the returning Spring, and members of the cycling fraternity, who are rather contemptuously spoken of by their hardier brethren as “butterflies,” will again bring out their machines hoping to enjoy a more favourable sea- son than was the summer of 1894. Let me pass over a few months of rather un- certain weather and imagine some lovely Saturday in June or July. All through the hot and dusty six days it has required the continuous power of will to keep the mind firmly applied to the work in which I am engaged all the week. But at last Saturday comes, bringing with it the long looked for hour of escape from the close stifling city. I joyfully start for a ride to Uxbridge, and over part of the historic Bath Road to Burnham Beeches. I must pass over the uninteresting and weary ride for eight miles between Holborn and Acton as there is nothing to describe, and nothing particu- larly exciting except when a foot-passenger makes a wild rush through the traffic, and almost under my front wheel, causing some wild plunges to avoid a serious accident. - When Acton is at last reached, there is more time to look about, and an interest awakens which has always hitherto given pleasure to the journey I have undertaken to describe. - Mr. Walford supposes the name Acton to have come down from Oak Town owing to the groves of oak trees, which at one time abounded at this place. It was doubtless one of the places where Druid rites were carried on, and being near the great town of Londinium, it would afford a con- venient resort for worshippers. Even now many oaks are to be found, and a proof that Acton was, at one time, more thickly covered with them is found in the existence of Old Oak Common, in the immediate neighbourhood. Until a year ago, there stood at the entrance of the town from London, the historic building known as Berrymead Priory. It was an interesting looking old place of the Gothic type, and was surrounded by several acres of ground, shaded by many fine trees. But now the Priory has dis- appeared, also most of the trees, and in their places stand several short streets of ugly houses, while desolate looking heaps of rubbish are scattered over the ground, where crisp grass, and thick, shady elms once made a picture of coolness for the dusty traveller on the Uxbridge Road. 148 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. Richard Baxter lived at Acton for some time, and seems to have become intimate with Sir Mathew Hale, whose neighbour he was. It happened that Baxter's landlord was desirous of selling the house in which he (Baxter) lived, and Sir Mathew, taking a fancy to the place, asked Baxter if he was willing to leave. Upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, Sir Mathew bought it. But they continued neighbours till Baxter was obliged, through persecution, to move into another county. To those who know the surrounding lanes, many quiet spots of beauty are within easy reach of the High Street, and before I became a cyclist, my time and pocket money being limited, I spent many pleasant Saturday afternoons, sketching in the neighbourhood, and all within a twenty minutes walk of the railway station. Sometimes in the farther lanes, where the standing corn whispered, as the sweet warm wind came over the fields, while the butterflies fluttered along the ditch sides, or again in the meadows beneath the oaks, listening to the merry voices of some ragged children, who, having walked out from London in the early part of the day, gather round my easel, and with unsparing, pointed criticism, watch me while I work. These memories are so pleasant to recall, and the remembrance of them is so encouraging, that you must allow me to break the journey for a little, while I speak of a few happy hours spent among these familiar old haunts. - One disappointment to me was to find no wild flowers in the neighbourhood; such a complete absence of them seems somewhat odd, for one rarely finds even a common daisy, and, as for more pretentious specimens, I have never seen one growing there in all my walks. The only exception is around the cornfields, and even there so very few are to be seen that they are scarcely worth mention. Bird-catchers come to the lanes and quiet corners in the season, and, with a miserable fluttering little captive fastened near the net, lazily await their prey. There is nothing I can compare with them, as I picture them, with a dirty clay pipe and filthy looking garments, lounging about in the sunlight and following their cruel occupation. There is surely something inconsistent in forbidding a schoolboy to take a few eggs on a holiday afternoon, and yet allowing these hulking vagabonds to deprive so many innocent creatures of life in order to eke out their own slovenly, useless lives. - But it is now time to go on with the journey, and although so many spots of beauty and interest for a lover of these things can still be found about here, I must say with regret that the growth of London is fast sweeping them away, and in a few short years all of them must go. Lanes and footpaths are pleasant places to linger in, and one feels reluctant to go back to the dusty high road, especially in this case, where there are miles of suburban villas and cottages to go through before we get into the country proper. The road has now improved considerably, and a feeling of renewed life and buoyant spirits rises as the air gets purer and the scenes through which we are passing become more rural, as each receding village is left behind. There is little to interest the ordinary cyclist in the towns of Ealing and Hanwell, so we will hurry on to the green country lying beyond. Shortly after leaving the last named place, we come to a bridge which crosses the roadway, and is known as the Iron Bridge. When this spot is passed the rural beauty of the road becomes more pronounced ; quaint cottages and inns, with now and again a distant farm, keep up an unflagging interest in the ride. - (To be continued.) §§§ {}\WI) ()N }}\ }ANIJARY. By W. C. SUTHERLAND, M.A. Author of “Across the Snow,” “A Highland Hero,” &c. - Boy's Own Paper. Jan. 13, 1894.—A cold dull morning, with the wind blustering in from the Irish Sea. Owen (a Welsh medical student) and I, attired in the regu- lation tourist knickerbockers with checks loud enough to be heard two streets off, took our places in the 9.15 a.m. train from Bangor to Car- narvon with the intention of scaling Snowdon. The compartment in which we were was con- structed to hold five persons a side. So, at least I presumed, for there were three Scotsmen and a couple of Englishmen, in addition to the regulation number of Taffies. Our object was much com- mented upon. The Welshmen gave us good advice, and a lot of it, in their native language, which, as honest Casea says, was Greek to me, and one Scot told me, confidentially, he preferred “ to bide at hame *—Anglice, on the level—which preference I appreciated clearly, for the speaker must have turned the scale at 16 stones. - Carnarvon was reached in due time, and, as Ol former occasions, I had some trouble with a ticket collector. Commend me to Bangor and Carnarvon for suspicious railway officials. Here we got into the train for Llanberis, and after much hurrying THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 149 to and fro and shouting and gesticulating on the part of officials and passengers, we started leisurely on our upward journey. The country was bleak enough in all conscience, and the swol- len streams and dripping countryside gave me slight twinges of neuralgia, while my companion endeavoured to divert my thoughts by pointing out to me, far in the rear, the Anglesey hamlet of Llanfairprollgwyngyllgogerych wyrm. When I recovered consciousness a Welsh farmer proferred me some “Irish,” but it looked so fiery and smelt so sulphurous that it was declined with thanks. We arrived at Llanberis some time in the course of the morning, but as both of us had come away without our watches, and “so thick a haze o'er- spread the sky, you could not see the sun on high.” we could not tell the exact time, and in fact did not think much about it, so glad were we to get out and stretch our cold, clammy limbs. After we had suffered from a severe attack of Welsh guides and had recovered, but with the loss of our temper and a considerable portion of the English vocabulary, we set our faces to the mountains. Just before leaving the straggling little town we entered an outlying shop with the intention of taking in a supply of provisions. Biscuits 2 Yes, biscuits were just the thing, we decided. Mariners always lay in a stock of bis- cuits before setting out on a long voyage. Our hearts were gladdened by an array of at least three dozen biscuit tims, but to the pretended astonishment of the worthy merchant they were all empty, with one solitary exception, which con- tained exactly three-quarters of a pound of Aber- methies. Of course we took them, and of course I carried them. It wants a steady man, not a medical student, to run a commissariat depart- ment. Owen had brought an animal with him, which he called a “ collie.' I thought I knew some- thing about that breed of dogs, but I must have was called Gelert. 22 been mistaken. This “ collie or Llewellyn, or Rhosllanerchrbugog, or some such typical Welsh name, and yet it was supposed to be a Scotch collie. However, it varied the monotony of tramping up to the ankles in mire or water, for the usual rough road for the first mile or two was a running stream, and the ground on either side was a bog. The dog relieved our pent-up feelings when he returned every quarter of an hour from a distant mountain expedition. It was a study in tactics to watch us trying to call that dog to order. But the animal must have been Scotch after all; there was “no get- ting round” him, so he worked his sweet will on everything that he came across. A Rugby foot- ball match wasn’t in it. After a time a shepherd came up to us, and treated us to some remarkably his fluency, but when he demanded our names I explained with a few gestures that I had just come from a gymnasium and knew the “upper cut, ” better than I did the Welsh hills. He then changed the subject and took himself away, and we saw him no more. - - All this time we had been steadily rising, although we stopped ever and anon to look back on the country sloping away to the Menai Straits, with hazy Anglesey beyond, and the angry Irish Sea to the south of it. Hardly a tree or other sign of vegetation was to be seen ; white-roofed cottages dotted the countryside ; rivulets mur- mured down the mountain slopes, and overhead the thick mists in quick succession noiselessly chased each other. By-and-by we came to a dilapidated hut, the summer scene of joyous ginger beer and musty tarts, the resting place of shaggy, tousled, much beridden donkeys, the pro- perty of some patriarchal pentateuchal Welshman, for we could dimly discern “Moses” something or other scrawled above the doorway. Here we rested for a short time and smuggled under its lee from the biting blast. - Qn restarting we found the road degenerated into a mere track which led up an exceedingly steep slope, and tested our respiratory organs con- siderably. Down on the right, in a deep hollow, lay a black sullen mountain tarn, over which frowned a huge precipice, and this pool was the only thing that varied the dull weather-beaten grey that lay around us. Up, and ever up, till we came at last to the land of mist and snow, and here, perforce, we must “gang warily,” for the ground to our left spelt destruction. The snow lay here and there in odd patches, but a thick sticky mud rolled everywhere, and particularly on the narrow track. The clouds were so dense around us that we could only feel the track. So long as the mud was half way up our spats we were safe; when it reached but to our ankles we were in jeopardy. After infinite struggling onwards and upwards, and after many halts and false alarms, and councils of war as to whether we were going up Snowdon or Mount Blanc, the mist thinned somewhat, the ground grew firmer under us, we stood at last on hard snow, and tall boulders loomed up dimly in front. The ground rose suddenly and steeply; a weather-beaten shanty came hazily in sight, and a bare pole with dangling wires topped all. We had reached the top of Snowdon | For the moment we were the highest in the land. I ventured to ask Owen how high the mount was supposed to be. He suggested about 3,575 feet. I thought it was four miles, but did not say so. A medical student appreciates another person's ignorance. We tried hard to find a snug corner, rapid extempore speaking. I was charmed with but there was not room for much exploration. We 150 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. could not sit down, as everything was too damp, and we were too tired to stand, so we leaned up against the hut and started on the biscuits. Owen helped himself freely; he said he had made a very poor breakfast that morning. I felt as if I had not had breakfast for a month. And then the dog turned up; the biscuits had fetched him some- where from the recesses of Snowdon. We gave him a snack or two, for we had little to spare. We had a good view from the summit for about thirty yards all round, and when we had feasted on it for about half-a-minute we began the descent. Instead of returning by the way we had come (and Owen said he would rather die than do it, although medicals are rather careful of their own lives) we hunted for a narrow path on the north eastern slope. This we found with consider- able difficulty, and experienced the sensation of going down the side of a house. We crept down very gingerly, and peered about in a parlous forlorn fashion, and wondered what was going to happen next. - After what seemed a week, but might have been half-an-hour, we suddenly emerged from cloud- land, and a glorious panorama unfolded itself to our admiring eyes. A dark green lake lay beneath us, and lower down in the valley another; brown hills and long glens ran away eastward and north- ward till they met the blue of the sky; while the winter sun that had not greeted us all day shone over hill and valley. Owen said it reminded him of Jerusalem ; I don’t think he had ever been out of Wales, but I quite agreed with him. I do not see why it should not remind us of anything if we have a sufficiently powerful imagination. Our difficulties and trials were now over; there remained only a tramp of three miles to Pen-Pass, and five miles more to Llanberis, and this, coupled with very bad beer on the way, completed our physical prostration. But, in spite, of our fatigue we enjoyed ourselves, for we came down Llanberis Pass singing till the rocks re-echoed and the road menders begged us to stop it, and as for the dog he was in excellent spirits, and finished up an eventful day by a dispute with a bull-terrier at Llanberis. - TO RAMBLERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours” walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. Wren. THEOPEIILUS E-OLE WEEIN. THE “Gipsy Journal * has sustained a deep loss by the decease of Mr. T. P. Wren, who passed peacefully away at Forest Gate on Jan. 7th, 1895. From the very first Mr. Wren took a keen interest in this paper, which he materially assisted both by his influence and his pen, and those of our subscribers who have read his articles on “Wanstead Flats,” “The Somersetshire Coast,” and “Caerleon upon Usk.” will best appreciate the serious gap which Mr. Wren's death has caused in the list of “Gipsy Journal” contributors. The charm of Mr. Wren's style lay in its simplicity and a quaint happiness of expression—the two main characteristics desirable for an author whose theme is nature and the country side—combined with that peculiar sense of humour which makes a reader smile almost unconsciously. “The Somerset- shire Coast” gained special notice in a short review in the “Sun.” It seems so very easy to describe a ramble down a country lane, a stroll by the sea- shore, or a mountain climb. So indeed it is, but yet, how few writers there really are who can cast the glamour of their own personal feelings around us as they treat of these simple themes This latter gift was eminently possessed by Mr. To his gentle mind and affectionate pen all Nature seemed one vast book from which he loved to pick out the romantic and the beautiful. Whether in a London suburb, or far away in the country, Nature presented always a pleasant picture if viewed aright, and we are deeply grate- ful for ever having known our departed friend. The pity is that, just as we were learning to appreciate him, he was called away, leaving a gap which it is almost impossible to fill. The name of T. P. Wren will be honoured by a circle of Gipsies as long as this paper continues to exist. Advertisements received ONLY at the GIPSY JOURNAL OFFICE, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. Cover or Page Advertisements from £3. Special Quotations on application. Kolnischer Hof, Coblenz-am-Rhein' Cyclists in the Rhine District will find good accommodation. Bedrooms from 1s. 6d. a night. Oxford. Black Horse Inn, High-st., Saint Clement’s. Noted House for Visitors to this City. Mode- rate charges. Cyclists' Rest. - Epping. White Swan Inn, High-st. Good accommodation for cyclists. Estimates given for Beanfeasts, Dinners, &c. Beds, &c. Royal Forest Hotel, Chingford. In the vicinity of one of the prettiest parts of Epping Forest. Accomodation for cyclist and pedestrian. Estimates given for School Treats. THE GIpsy journal. 151 - --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ RAMBLERS' itriº †† º -----------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE voices of the cuckoo and the nightingale, will, let us hope, in another few weeks, be heard Once more in the pleasant parks and rural lanes of merry England. Before our Gipsy readers wander forth anew on their rambles along fields and || hedgerows, we would remind them of the great work undertaken, on their behalf, by Mr. Henry Allnutt, of Essex Staeet. Strand, the veteran champion of the Footpath Preservation Association. Gipsy friends, rally round this useful Association, and, if possible, back up your support of Mr. Allnutt by a subscription to his useful organization . The “Gipsy Journal’ has been busily looking round during the past winter, and made several observations not altogether satisfactory to London Rambling Clubs. Every rambler ought to bring to light any of those subtle and insidious attempts to check and hamper a lawful enjoyment of Nature's beauties. We desire to call attention to one or two of our recent experiences. Take, for instance, the noble stretch of landscape between Hampstead and St. Albans. It is really within the rambler's lawful rights to walk nearly the whole distance between these spots withoutputting foot on the hard, high road. But how sadly this privilege is jeopardised only those know who have recently made the trial. A hoarding now appears at the first entrance to those fields which lead from the bottom of Hampstead Heath to Hendon. Supposing also, the rambler has traversed the further fields between Mill Hill and Totteridge, he is almost sure to pass by the finger-post on the other side of Totteridge Heath which points to Barnet, so insidiously is the indicator hidden away in some trees which overhang the narrow entrance to the field-path. And to talk of that field-path leading to Barnet is simply a parody, so jealously is the ingress to and egress from the fields guarded. Lucky is the rambler who, at last, emerges on the right track without a vivid sense that he is committing a trespass. he lights on the finger-post pointing over the fields to the Shenley road, and, furthermore, on the two delightful field-tracks which lead to Shenley village itself. There are one or two almost insurmountable stiles, where the fields and meadows are the loveliest. In fact, it is only thoroughly seasoned tramps who have heart to persevere in the face of such bare-faced and impu- RighTs. Hi He is still further lucky if dent obstructions. Will our rambling clubs, during the coming season, give particular attention to this district We desire also to call attention to a charming field walk between Shenley and the lower St. Albans road, leading round by a farm— called, we think, Greenlands-- and then to Boreham Wood. The lane from Shenley is all right at first, but presently leads into a most awkward obscure field-track, which no one would imagine to be a right of way, especially as, at one point, an ominous hoarding gives out that “stray dogs will be shot.” A finger-post ought certainly to be placed near Greenlands (?) Farm. And now for a word or two about those noble parks which a genuine Gipsy would almost barter his birthright to enter. Some of our finest parks from time immemorial have afforded rights of way This is, of course common sense, as a park path, in the majority of cases, cuts off several miles of a straggling high road. We will take, for instance. Trent Park, a veritable dreamland for a poet or a naturalist. The natural way between the Trent side of Hadley Wood and Enfield lies right across Trent Park, with its noble avenues and enchanting lakes. Various rumours exist as to the right of way here. One old inhabitant assures us that there is a right of way, but, the other morning, the writer of “Nature Notes '' in an important con- temporary informed us, that, after a written application to the owner—a gentleman most highly respected in North London and elsewhere—he was refused entrance. Lovers of the country-side will invariably notice that a right of way is the general law over farmlands and meadows, wherever long journeys by, the main road are thus diminished. And, surely, it is natural to conclude that the same rule prevails in parks. Moor Park, Rickmans- worth ; Chatsworth, in Derbyshire; Hughenden, in Bucks; Wentworth House, in Yorkshire; Wrotham Park, in Herts, and numerous other domains are instances in point. It is high time to ascertain definitely, once and for all, whether Trent Park, perhaps the finest park near London. is an exception. Constant friction has arisen by quiet ramblers being forbidden entrance at the Lodge gates, and Mr. Allnutt will earn our most grateful thanks if he can help us. We look confidently, also, to our readers to back up our efforts in this respect. IT may interest Londoners to know, that, under the Metropolitan Commons Acts they have now secured to them, under permanent sehemes of preservation and maintainence no fewer than 3,840, 152 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. acres of open commons, distributed as follows: Banstead, 1,300 acres; Mitcham, 570; Staines, 353; Blackheath, 267; Hayes, 200; Clapham,200; Chislehurst and St. Paul's Cray, 182; Hackney. 166; Tooting Bec, 144; Barnes, 120; Streatham, 66; Bostall Heath, 50: Tottenham, 48; Farn- borough, 45; Brook Green, 27; Chiswick and Turnham Green, 21; ; Acton, 12% ; Shepherd's Bush, 8; and Orpington, 5}. The work of securing these commons commenced in 1869, so that a good deal has been done in the 25 years that have since elapsed. THE Editors will be pleased to receive solutions to the following :- “I with borrowed silver shine. What you see is none of mine, First I show you but a quarter, Like the bow that guards the Tartar; Then the half and then the whole, Ever dancing round the pole; And true it is I chiefly owe My beauty to the shades below.” Jonathan Swift. “Formed long ago, yet made to-day, And most employed when others sleep; What few would care to give away, And none would wish to keep.” - C. J. Foº, “I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, And the parent of numbers that cannot be told: I am lawful, unlawful—a duty, a fault— I am often sold dear, good-for-nothing when bought. An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, And yielded with pleasure when taken by force.” - - Cowper. “A noun there is of plural number, Foe to peace and tranquil slumber; Now any other noun you take, By adding s you plural make, But if you add an 8 to this Strange is the metamorphosis; Plural is plural now no more, And sweet what bitter was before.” Canning. The attempt to solve the following is said to have killed Homer:— “What we caught we threw away, what we could not catch we kept.” The same idea is also formulated thus: “He loves her; she has a repugnance to him, and yet she tries to catch him; and, if she succeds, she will be the death of him.” º Instruction and Amusement combined Holiday Courses in The Modern Languages. THERE will be both an Elementary and an Advanced Course at Caen between April 15th and 27th. Each class in the Elementary Course will be limited to fifteen members and conducted by an experienced teacher from the Lycée Melherbe, who will speak slowly and clearly, but who will only employ the foreign language itself as the medium of instruction. All members of the class will take part in Question and Answer. The subject of the lessons will be the chief objects of interest both in and around the ancient town of Caen. Afternoon excursions will be made under direction of the lecturer, to these places. In the arrangements for these courses the committee recognize the need for both rest and recreation, indispensable during the holidays. Monthly return tickets from Waterloo to Havre—1st class, 40s, 2nd class 30s. Local steamers run from Havre to Caen. * º There will also be Summer Courses at Caen, from August 8th, to 28th, and at Jena (German language), from August 5th to 25th. - --- A list of families in Caen willing to receive boarders from 35 francs to 55 francs has been drawn up. Visitors to Caen during the April course will have a chance of seeing the celebrated “ Foire Franche.” This annual fair begins on the second Sunday after Easter. Trouville, Falaise and other watering places are easily reached from Caen. - -- - The following ladies and gentlemen form the committee of the “ Holiday Courses”— Mr. G. F. Bridge, M.A., Ipswich Grammar School. Miss Cooper, Head Mistress, High School, Edgbaston. Miss C. A. Dodd, Owens College, Manchester. Professor Fiedler, Mason College, Birmingham. Mr. J. J. Findlay, M.A., 23, Connaught Road, N. W. Mr. R. W. Harvey, Head Master, Syston Road Board School, Leicester. - Miss M. Hughes, University College, Cardiff. Mr. R. A. Jones, B.A. Queen's College, Oxford. Mr. R. Lancelot, The New School, Abbotsholme, Staffs. Miss M. F. Peace, University College, Bristol. Miss. H. M. Richards, Principal, Stamford Hill High Schl. Mr. J. W. Richards, B.A., Head Master, Stoke Newington Grammar School, N. - Professor Spemeer, Univ. College of North Wales, Bangor. Professor Strong, University College, Liverpool. Miss Tooke, The Girls' High School, Sheffield. HOW TO OBSERVE WITHOUT DESTROYING Gº-Dº Gºts EDITH CARRINCTON, Author of “Seven Stars in One Pool.” “A Narrow World,” etc., etc. VI. (See next page). 153 - º * º: º al -- º Fº º \ º º H | # º º ºu º º “The earth was green, the sky was blue, I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn. “And as I paused to hear his song, While swift the sunny moments slid, * Perhaps his mate sat listening too, And listened longer than I did.”—C. Rosetti. BROAD blue sky above, a rolling green hillside be- § neath, and the skylark singing its very heart out for joy between the Heaven and the earth, that is a common sight for anyone who will walk through a hayfield in June. One bright summer morning, as I was resting on a heap. of new-mown grass, watching the busy mowing machine as it travelled backwards and forwards sweeping down the swathes of fragrant growth before it, I noticed one of the ardent warblers which had just dropped down with closed Instead of dis- appearing among the stalks, it fluttered in an agitated wings, after a long and thrilling cantata. manner above the spot where the mowers were engaged, and instantly it flashed across my mind that the nest was in danger. Some score of larks were singing above the field, and as these faithful spouses never fly far from the place where the little brown mate sits (it is said that they never go beyond range of her sight or hearing), of course their nests must all be near orin that field. What would become of them P−were they all doomed to destruction, to be cut to pieces by the scythes of the ruthless hay-makers I rose hastily and went to that part of the field over which the machine had just passed, and near which the bird I observed was still flitting in a troubled and anxious way. It was not long before I found the nest; the scythe-blades had gone clean over it, even shaving off the ragged sides smooth and even, but the four dusky eggs lay safe and warm—the delicate shells uninjured, which were each the birthplace of a song. Neither of the men engaged with the machine had molested it, and owing to the habit of building her nest in a slight hollow, the mother lark had saved her family so far. In selecting her ground the lark is most careful, avoiding clayey places, unless she can find two clods so placed that no part of a nest between them would be below the surface—she balances her home, so to speak, in such a way as to ensure drainage. In lighter soils ancient writers say that she scrapes a little hole, or deepens one already found. Over this cavity she - places the first layers of the nest very loosely, so that if any rain should get in at the top, it quickly runs into the earth at the bottom. The edges of the nest are also raised a little above the surface, have a slope outwards, and are, º as it were, thatched. In sitting, the mother always turns her head towards the storm, if one should arise ; this is a further protection to her nestlings. The feathers of the breast and throat completely prevent the rain from entering the nest at that side, while the wings and tail shield the other part. She will avail herself, if possible, of a large clod or stone, as a screen from the east and north, and should she be fortunate enough to find a pent-house of this kind, builds always on the sunny side of it. I was curious to see whether the mother lark would come back to her shorn nest, and how she would receive the calamity which had thus torn the veil from her cautiously hidden household. Withdrawing to my heap of hay, I took out a small pocket telescope, which I always carry when on the tramp for purposes of acquiring bird- lore. Every observer of Nature will find it invaluable to possess one, as the shyest birds and beasts may be watched from a distance, their shapes, colours and habits noticed as accurately as if they were at arm’s length, and it is perfectly enchanting to spy into their actions while they are so perfectly unembarrassed by your scrutiny and un- conscious of your presence. Sometimes the telescope may be conveniently steadied on the top of a wall; at other times the crook of a bough will serve as a stand ; but a forked stick, such as may be cut from any hedge, pointed with a knife and driven into the ground at the proper height for the eye, is perhaps the pleasantest and easiest mode of supporting the glass, as the stick can be set up anywhere. It was the latter plan to which I had recourse, and I sat patiently watching till I noticed a pair of brown birds flying towards the place, evidently taking earnest counsel together, and, as the saying is, “all of a tremble.” Finally one of them withdrew to a short distance, while the I54 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. other remained on the ground. Now was the moment for telescoping. I arranged my glass, focussed it, and began to examine. I was soon rewarded by a plain view of the pretty mother, sitting contentedly on her eggs, as if nothing had happened, while her husband twittered above, prepara- tory to a climbing burst of melody. I could see her bright eye and quiet up-pointed listening beak, if the expression So clearly and well could I mark her, that it seemed as if by may be used, but it spoke of attention by its attitude. stretching out my hand I could have touched her soft feathery back. Had the hay been standing, of course this charming sight, like so many of the bird’s secrets, would have been completely hidden. - The farmer who owned this meadow was known to me, and also some of his men, and I was able to make inter- cession for the tiny sitter and those of her kind who had - nests amid the hay of the same field. The bird reared her family in peace, and before the babies were bigenough to follow her in a small troop through the grass, in search of food, - it had sprouted again sufficiently to hide them. And here let me say, that I believe such kindly feeling to lie dormant in the breasts of very rough men, and that it may be called out by a very little judicious and friendly representation or an appeal to it. Plough men and farmers are often destructive from mereignorance and lack of thinking power— the rustic is far behind the townsman in sense as a rule. The skylark is, undoubtedly, a great friend to the farmer, The food which it eats is, roughly speaking, like that of all passerine birds, equal could he be brought to realise it. to about one-sixth of its own weight per day, which, supposing a human being to devour on the same scale, would mean that he ate twenty-five pounds of food in a like time. This food of the lark consists chiefly of insects and the seeds of weeds, its depredations on corn being very slight. Shepherd's purse, chickweed, plantain grass-seeds, &c., are its favourites. It is true that, after the long winter, during which it has been unable to find anything but dry sustenance, the succulent shoots of the young corn offer a temptation which the lark finds irresistible; but it has been observed by a reliable botanist and naturalist, the late Rev. C. A. Johns, that the only portion of the young wheat which this bird ever touches is the white stalk between the grain and the blade. In its efforts to obtain this dainty, it often destroys the whole plant, if the grain has been lodged below the surface, but, if it has been sown at a depth of an inch or mole, the lark contents itself with as much of the young shoot as it can reach without digging, leaving the grain itself in the ground, and capable of shooting again. This accurate and truthful observer adds, “Farmers would effect a great saving if they sowed their wheat deeper than is the usual practice.” The services of larks during Autumn and Winter when they follow the plough seeking for grubs or insect-eggs turned up by it, or otherwise searching the arable land o ploughed field for the foes to its crops, fully compensate for any slight damage they do at other periods of the year. In what does the physique of the skylark differ from that of other birds to enable it to maintain habits so peculiar: While the most celestial in its propensities, it is also the most terrestrial; and for both modes of life it is furnished with the necessary organs, having wings of unusual length and power in proportion to its size, as well as a double envelope or film which it can draw across the eye to screen it from the glare of light during its aerial excursions, also well adapted lungs, and a strong muscular claw or heel, which enables it to roost upon the ground by the side of its nest without fatigue, during the few brief hours (about four or five in summer time) for which it sleeps. It must be remembered, that to a tree-perching bird it is an effort to keep the foot flat, the claws, by an automatic arrange- ment, closing of their own accord to grasp the twig, and thus The nature of the spring in a bird’s foot may easily be noticed by watching a fowl as it steps; as soon as the claws are raised from the ground they shut. rendering the repose of the creature on a twig safe. The size and develop- ment of the lark's lungs account for the extraordinary power and volume of the sound which it sometimes pours forth for upwards of an hour at a time, without the break of one single second, and yet flying as well. Should a man or boy try to run uphill, singing at the same time, he would soon find that his lungs were not constructed like those of a bird. In all birds, the whole frame, and garni- ture of that frame, feathers, as well as bones and internal organs, are entirely formed for a life in free fresh air. The bones of birds are hollow, and by means of them the creature supplies itself with air, which it is able to pump into them, as well as by using the lungs, the bones being storehouses for air. As Michelet eloquently and finely writes, “Nature endows the bird with a power of rendering itself light or heavy at will, of admitting more or less of air into its specially constructed reservoirs. Would it grow light, it inflates its dimensions while diminishing its relative weight, and by that means it ascends in a medium heavier than itself. To descend or drop, it contracts itself, grows thin and small, cutting through the air which supported and raised it in its former heavy condition.” This faculty, he goes on to say, proceeds from a unique, unheard-of power of res: iration. The man who should inhale a similar quantity of air at one breath would be suffocated—the bird's elastic and powerful lung quaffs it, grows full of it, becomes intoxicated with vigour and delight, and pours it abundantly into the aerial cells. The lark does THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 155 not need to seek air that he may be reinvigorated by touching it, the air seeks, and flows into him, incessantly kindling within him the burning fires of life. The clothing of birds hampers them but little, and the feathers are arranged so as to be also the means of flight. The entire plumage of an owl weighs only one ounce and a half, and the feathers of an ordinary fowl about three ounces. As some of the feathers are destined for warmth, while others are intended for fanning the air as a means of progression, and consequently must be stronger than the former, we shall find a great difference in their structure. A microscope, or even a strong lens, will show the formation. * Look first at one of the downy feathers which clothes the breast. It will be found to consist of loose fibres, But if the blades or quill feathers were made in the same way, they would ally w the air to There- fore those feathers which are set in rows on the wing, and hardly interlacing. pass through, and would offer no resistance to it. intended for beating the air and forcing the body of the bird along, as a boat is impelled by its oars, are of an entirely different nature. The main branch of one of these broad, s iff, flat pen-feathers has side-shoots running out to right and left, and these side-shoots are furnished with little hooklets which grapple with each other, causing the whole blade to present a firm, smooth surface to the It will be found that &nsiderable pressure of the finger will be required to separate the branches, especially if the feather has newly fallen from the bird. Should they become crumpled or disarranged, the birds pºt them right air. with their beaks, and they possess oil-glands to supply oil when needed, to keep the plumage in good order (some naturalists, notably Waterton, have disputed this). Attention has been drawn to the utility of this bird. Of its enchanting song, words fail to give any description. we all have the chant of the skylark in our hearts, -a touching memento of childhood, a token of love and joy, which has followed us with its cheerful influence through- out our lives, and which grows dearer every year that we live. - But there is a dark shadow in this bright picture—I almost shrink from my task as I approach that tragic subject, the inhuman custom which has grown up among us, of placing this young and innocent being in a cage. It is one of those cases where the fatal force of familiarity with a habit robs it of its intrinsic horror, were the thing now to be seen for the first time in all its naked barbarity, | men and women would shrink from it and abhor the - inventor of such a wickedness. A skylark in a cage! What The creature whose home is the blue vault of Heaven cooped up within a few inches of space, forbidden to stretch its wings, doomed never more to fly upwards in its ecstacy, or drop earthwards again, drawn by a rapture hardly less intense, to that little dwelling place where mate and nestlings wait and watch for its coming It is horrible enough to think that greedy epicures should swallow larks by the dozen, that our London shop-fronts should be festooned with strings of them, and Leadenhall market be glutted with these exquisite fluty-throated songsters by the sackful, in order that gormandisers may fatten on them at twopence a mouthful; but the larks which men eat are at least soon dead; they are not condemned to the protracted miseries of those which men Caſſé. The trade in larks for caging is stupendous, and is a shame to the land. Should the public continue to abet it by buying and keeping larks for caging, there can be no doubt whatever that another fifty years or so will find our English meadows bereſt of their best music, for the sky- Hark will be as extinct as the Dodo. That this is no exaggeration the following advertisement will show ; it is one of dozens—may, of hundreds—which appear weekly and daily in the papers:– “ Hulloa Hulloa Hulloa The old firm again. Any quantity of those noted cock larks, of which we sold last season thirty thousand. Three shillings a dozen. Dealers supplied.” No species of animal life can stand against such work of utter waste and ruin as this—and its worst feature is that all this cruelty is done for sheer caprice, not for necessity, but for mere amusement. The present ridiculous farce which pretends protection of birds by a “close time” is perfectly useless. It is during the brief period that it exists that such birds as larks can most easily protect themselves; but in Autumn when the so-called legal restriction Ceases, and when larks congregate together in flocks, the danger- ous time has arrived. They roost on the ground, they huddle into a small space for company and possibly warmth, down swoops the net of the bird-catcher in the twilight; their concentrated ranks become his ready prey, they fall into the snare by hundreds. It is of no use whatever to protect birds during one portion of the year only, nothing will be done of any real use until the English people can be brought to look on their wild birds like other national property, and as such to prevent their total destruction. It is to be hoped that this state of affairs will come to pass before it is too late. It is no sentimental cry which urges the pressing necessity of stringent 156 THE GIPsy journal. measures. It is a stern fact that we cannot live without “What wilt thou do, O man How wilt thou protect birds. They are the means appointed by the Creator for thyself? Hast thou wings to pursue them P Hast thou even keeping air, water, soil, in a usable condition, holding at bay the numerous hordes of minute enemies too small and too many for man to cope with. In exterminating birds man sows the wind, and he will reap the whirlwind,-un- conquerable hosts of insect foes will attack, and inevitably conquer, a birdless world. eyes to see them P Thou mayest kill them at thy pleasure; their security is complete ; kill, annihilate millions, they live by thousands of millions ! Where thou triumphest by sword and fire, burning up the plant itself, thou hearest all around the light whirring of the great army of atoms which gives no heed to thy victory and destroys unseen.” [Copyright strictly reserved ..] A Neighbourhood cleared of Bird Snarers. It is thought desirable to publish (with the consent of the writer) the following extract from a private letter addressed in October, 1894, to Mrs. E. Phillips, one of the Vice-Presidents of the Society for the Protection of Birds:– “You kindly said you should be interested to know how I had managed to rid our immediate neighbourhood of lark snarers. As the season for the cruel practice is now beginning I have pleasure in telling you of the very simple method I used, in the hope that some course may be effectually tried by others whose love for Shelley's blithe spirit” I share. It was coming home from church early one Sunday morning, a few years ago, that I first saw the nets of the snarer outspread in a field by the roadside, their owner being seated on the grass some yards away from them. Larks were –and I am thankful to say still are—plentiful in the neighbourhood, and large numbers of them were hovering and twittering in the air over the treacherous nets, being lured to their destruction by the innocent little decoy bird which fluttered between them. I could not bear the sight, so I instantly instituted myself an amateur scare-crow. The country lane was quiet and empty, so I clapped my hands at intervals, and frightened my little pets away to my heart's content—to my heart's content, because I found I was quite successful in keeping them out of danger. Naturally the snarer did not maintain an un- broken silence during my performance, though I took no pains to catch his remarks; but at length his stock of patience was exhausted, he gave up in despair, and gathered up his nets to depart. So one way open, to any person sufficiently in earnest about the matter to have a little possible unpleasant- ness, is just to act as scare-crow. The next time the man came he remembered me and had brought a contingent of friends to support him—sufficiently rough looking fellows they were—but as I quietly took my seat on the step of a stile beside the nets and not near the men, I found no inconvenience from their presence, and I kept the birds off more easily than before, because I was nearer to the Snare S. - - - The curious thing about the occurrence was the sympathy which I found I had unconsciously elicited from the cottagers, who are our neighbours, and the only really unpleasant moment I had to face was when one of the snarers rose and came close to me, snatching up the decoy bird in his hand. I confess then I shuddered, for I feared he was going to win the day by torturing the little creature in order to get rid of me. I tried to steel myself by the reflection that for one bird so sacrificed, many would be spared if I could manage to brave it out, so I did not move an inch ; but I had to turn my head away and shut my eyes. It was with the greatest relief that I saw, when I was forced to take a look to see if the little victim was dead and out of its misery, that it was merely being packed away comfortably, and the nets being gathered up. After that, I and my father went or wrote to all the land owners round, pleading our case, till, by degrees, we were armed with written authority to order all bird snarers off as trespassers, and by this time we have only very occasionally to exercise our right of dismissing them, and the larks soar and sing to our great joy, and are more plentiful than ever.” (Signed) DANIEL DORMER. KATE MARION CORDEUX. Do you know That you can assist us in our work, by subscribing, and getting others to do so? Do you know & That every kind word you speak to a S. dumb animal, and every kind act you do. 3 will not only make the animal, but your- sº self happier, and not only happier, but º; also better THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 157 “Should We Abolish the Zoo 7" By A. G. MUNRO, B.A. Author of “The Mystery of St. Vespers,” “The Farnese Hercules,” “A. Curious Accomplice,” and many other short stories in the “B.O. P.,” and “Chums.” IT seems almost the verge of sacrilege to assail the dear old Zoo. The memory of that first peep at the lion's cage or the monkey house calls up to this day quite a thrill of romantic delight. To visit the famous Zoo is the dream of the country-bred child, who would rather miss seeing Madame Tussaud's, St. Paul's, or even the grim, grey, weather-beaten Towers of Julius, than the gardens at Regent's Park. There is a dim hazy connection in the child mind between that old Noah's ark and the Zoo, and what reader of the “Gipsy Journal” ever yet emerged honourably from the nursery without many pathetic memories of the family life of the Ark? Therefore it is with a pang of regret that the humanitarian, after these many years, wakes to the fact that the Zoological Gardens are merely a gaol, and the beasts and birds who in- habit them are practically in penal servitude for life. On a bitterly cold morning during the last Christmas holidays I took a contemplative walk round the Zoo, and came to the conclusion that the institution calls for severe criticism on the part of humanitarians. Let us study the polar bear, whose home, when in his native state, may be called immensity. Cramped up in the space of an ordinary drawing room, he is taking his constitutional. The poor fellow, alas, can go neither backwards nor forwards, but, like a modern athlete, Bruin knows that if he is to keep fit, he must take plenty of exercise, so, rather than abandon the business, he keeps pegging away bravely and describing a circle round his own body as an axis. The “lord of the forest" also, in his narrow cage, was on a similar tack. Every now and then in his gyrations he paused, raised his noble head, darted a quick glance at a bird in a distant tree, looked as if, with a bound, he would fain burst the bars of his prison house, then resumed his constitutional. Then came the graceful antelope, in whose prison were a few rocks, just to remind the captive of the rugged crags and frowning fells in his native mountains. Some of the antelope's neighbours were wistfully sniffing the hard, frost-bound earth, whilst one of the elephants was tugging with his trunk at the wooden barrier separating himself from fancied liberty. Probably the most deplorably wretched members of the Gardens were the vultures and eagles, crouching on their mimic rocky perches, the very pictures of frost-nipped misery and despair. But the most revolting sensations at the Zoo are caused by a morning visit to the serpent house. Thoughts of the pigeons, ducks and guinea pigs, night before, still permeate the atmosphere, accom. panied by a sickly sense of cannibalism, which, however natural when animals are in a wild state, is quite another thing, when both the victim and its destroyer are put into immediate contact by the hand of civilized man. Humanitarians naturally want to know by what authority the fellows of the Zoo transplant the inhabitants of the forest and the jungle from their native homes and keep them in this unnatural state. They enquire why it is right to imprison the brute creation any more than to put human beings into penal servitude for life. “Oh, but,” say our opponents, “ you cannot argue the matter from your own feelings, that is altogether beside the question. Animals have not the same feelings as men and are never so happy as when in a captive state.” Readers of the “Gipsy Journal” will, however, remember that all this applies to caged birds also ; and are we not all becoming daily more educated to the iniquity of caging the feathered tribes 2 Moreover, on the very face of it, is it not monstrous to suppose that animals endowed with the gigantic muscular powers of lions, tigers, bears and elephants, are adapted to the cribbed, cabin'd, and confined, limits of a cage To say, that animals are happiest in captivity is begging the whole question. Very possibly time deadens or assuages that keen sense of discomfort first felt at the prison bars, and a lion or even an antelope assumes an air of com- parative content. But what then * Would not any philosophic human temperament dictate the same course * We intend in the “Gipsy Journal” to maintain through thick and thin the inviolable right of the animal creation to live its own free un- fettered existence, unless the well-beingor positive necessities of man dictate otherwise, and, as the Zoo is primarily a place of amusement, or, at best, a centre for scientific research, its raison d'être from a humanitarian stand-point no longer exists. I am pleased to have been the means of recently bringing the question of Zoological Gardens before the public in the columns of the “Pall Mall Gazette,” to the editor of which powerful journal I now offer the thanks of “Gipsy Journal” readers. The “Spectator’ followed a few weeks later with a long and very interesting article based on my own communication to the “Pall Mall,” and the editors of the “ Gipsy Journal” would be very pleased if any of their readers, who have seen the “Spectator’’ article, were to send on to Temple Avenue Chambers their views on the subject fo publication. - The fact that two such preponderatingly influential organs as the “Pall Mall ” and the “Spectator * have decided that the case of our animal friends at the Zoo is worthy of consideration convinces me that the time is now ripe for humani- which were put by the keeper into the cages the tarians to press the matter forward. 158 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. COrlér. %2. - º -- “Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.”—Shakespeare. The Coster and his Donkey. - - * DOES kindness pay?” you ask me, Well try it first and see : I'm sure you'll ne'er regret it And happier you’ll be. I tried it once, some years ago, With Ned, my donkey here; I'm sure he loves me for it, Of work he has no fear. That winter, too, was very hard, So slippery was the way, When Ned and I together, Set out on market day. The road was like a sheet of glass, And Ned began to slip; I must have lost my temper, And hit him with the whip. Poor Neddy, trembling, watched the fall Of my uplifted arm; With eyes of piteous tenderness, And gaze so fixed and calm. Just then I felt a gentle touch ; My striking arm was stayed— ` A silvery voice imploring said, In accents half afraid, “ Please do not whip the donkey so,” I turned me round, to see A little maid, with hair of gold, Who much reminded me Of those bright angels that we see In pictures good and rare. “Remember, he is dumb ; ” she said, While I could only stare. “Oh promise not to hit him, With fear he scarce can stand : I'll give you this, if you'll be kind,” She slipped into my hand A silver coin; and then the tears Sprang in her bright blue eyes; Then, patting Neddy, she was gone, As if back to the skies. I’ve always kept that shilling, sir, In memory of that day, When cruelty to Neddy Was cast by me away; Although he's old, I’ll keep him While I’ve a crust to spare : And if it be the last one. Old Ned shall have his share. PHOEBE LARK. Essay on Cruelty to Animals. CRUELTY means the giving of unnecessary pain. The worst kind of cruelty is to have pleasure in giving it. If we torture for our sport, a cat or a hedgehog, a frog or a bird, or any other animal, we are as detestable for our cruelty as a bird-catcher or a vivisectionist. Even animals know the difference between pain given in kindness, and pain given in cruelty. A dog will lick the hand and look grate- fully up into our face while we are dressing his wound, and giving him almost more pain than he can bear. In the old story of Androcles and the Lion, when the Lion came limping up to Androcles with a thorn in his foot, and Androcles took the great paw tenderly up and pulled the thorn out, he most likely gave the lion quite as much pain as if he had thrust a thorn into the foot. But the lion knew the difference; he knew that his pain was given in kindness. If Androcles had dared to give the lion the same amount of pain for the pleasure of seeing him suffer, there would have been a very different ending to the story, and a very speedy end to Androcles. Many people are cruel from want of thought. Some people are taught by their ignorant parents that animals have no feeling. This is quite wrong for animals have as much feeling as human beings. Because many of these animals are dumb, that is no sign they do not feel MAUD NICHOLS. Every boy and Girl in the World to learn Wällſº How Not to Shoot. 10,000 School Teachers, to read this paper. THE BIRDS AS LAB0URERS. ſº, A.It is no use a man saying he would §4% rather do without the birds, and des- tº troy the insects and weeds himself. He could not do it ! #New Books and Reviews; LITERARY ASSOCIATIONS of the ENGLISH LAKES. By the Rev. H. D. Rawnsley Honorary Canon of Carlisle. MISs BARNARD very kindly sends us Canon Rawnsley’s “Literary Associations of the English Lakes,” with the suggestion that we should review the boºk. This we gladly do, in the conviction that the work will be found eminently adapted to all who love associations of the country side. It is, perhaps, inevitable that an attempt to fit persons into places rather than the more common method followed by the biographer, should result in a dis- cursiveness irritating to the ordinary mind, and, for this reason we are inclined to recommend our readers to peruse the book amid the charming spots which Canon Rawnsley's pen pictures so lovingly. Had the author's business, more- over, been of a strictly biographical nature, we should scarcely approve of the strong imaginative vein which runs through the greater portion of the two volumes; but, on account of the nature of the spots sacred to the memory of our illustrious Lakeland School no lover of true poetry will object to a slight halo of romance with which Canon Rawnsley surrounds that noble galaxy of cultured souls revolving throughout the book, around Wordsworth, Southey and Coleridge. Volume 1 deals with Cumber- land, Keswick, and Southey’s country, and here we find Coleridge a chronic invalid at Greta Hall. Coleridge is not now the wayward victim to the opium fiend and the hypochondria that drove him from England in search of new health and new will in 1804. “He has the fire of a soldier, the fervour of a preacher, and a singleness of heart that holds that name, wealth and fame seem cheap to him beside the interests of what he believes to be the truth and will of his Maker.” “I expect,” he said, “neither profit nor general fame by my writings - Poetry has been to me its one exceeding great reward . . it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.” Amongst the visitors to Coleridge at Greta Hall was Charles Lamb, and Canon Rawnsley dwells on this visit of the cynical cockney, inasmuch as “it proved the power of our mighty Skiddaw to break down the determination of the city-bred and town-loving Lamb, to refuse to the solitudes of our Cumberland hills and dales their sovereign authority over the heart of man, their rightful power to chasten and subdue.” We are not so sure, however, that a veiled irony does not lurk in the supposed final allegiance of Lamb to the charms of Lakeland over which the author is so happy. * Besides, after all,” writes Lamb, “Fleet Street and the Strand are better places to live in for good and all than amidst Skiddaw. After all, I could not live in Skiddaw, I could spend a year, two, three years among them, but I must have a prospect of seeing Fleet Street at the end of that time, or I should mope and pine away, I know. Still, Skiddaw is a fine creature.” Very different from Lamb, Southey–though by no means in love at first sight with the Lake district—dwelt amid the lakes and mountains for forty years, finding in the beauties solace for the loss of his little Sara. “Nothing in England,” he says, “can be more beautiful than the site of this house. Had this country but the sky of Portugal, it would leave me nothing to wish for . 159 and Coleridge is company enough. I have been round the Lake, and up Skiddaw, and along the river Greta to Lodore.” What a curious household that was at Greta Hall ! No wonder that Southey called it the Ant Hill. The Coleridges, the Southeys, Aunt Lovell, Nurse Wilsey, Betty Thompson, Billy, the man-servant, a host of dogs and cats, and what Southey called a “noble jackass.” When old Nurse Wilsey was carried to her last resting-place, one cat “went down in pitiable grief with the funeral procession, refused to leave the grave, and died of a broken heart.” The children of the household, too, were of no mean order, and a few of their sayings are recorded. Said Coleridge to his child, Derwent, “Who made you ?” “James Lawson, the carpenter, father,” was the reply. “And what did he make you of P’’ asked Coleridge, to which little Derwent answered, “The stuff he makes wood of, he sawed me off, and I did not like it.” But the most wonder- ful child-sayings of all came from the little David Hartley. “The pity is that I'se always thinking of my thoughts.” What speculative philosophy can fathom deeper depths than this? Of little David Hartley Wordsworth tells us that “every night he makes an extempore prayer aloud; but it is always in bed, and not till he is comfortable there and got in the mood for it. He once made a pun upon occasion of the belly-ache, though I will not say that he designed it. “Oh, Mrs. Wilson, I’se got the colic read me the Epistle and Gospel for the day !” Perhaps the brightest spot in Southey’s noble life is the solicitude for poor Coleridge, and in the baptism of Hartley, Derwent, and Sara, Canon Rawnsley professes to see Southey’s foster-fatherly hand. Amid a host of other immortal memories Shelley flits across the stage. “Here is a man at Keswick,” writes Southey, “who acts upon me as my own ghost would do. He is just what I was in 1794. His name is Shelley, son to the member for Shoreham, with £600 a year entailed upon him, and as much more in his father's power to cut up > off. Beginning with romances of ghosts and murder, and with poetry at Eton, he passed at Oxford into metaphysics, printed half-a-dozen pages which he entitled “The Necessity of Atheism’ married a girl of seven- teen, after being turned out of doors by his father, and here they both are, in lodgings, living upon £200 a year which her father allows them.” Kind and fatherly was Southey to the wayward youngster. At first Southey charmed young Shelley, but “Ireland ’’ seems to have intervened; and, later on, Shelley is not ashamed to denounce Southey as the paid champion of every abuse and absurdity. To Canon Rawnsley we are indebted for a timely re- minder of the nation’s indebtedness to Wedgwood, Calvert, and Wynn. might have happened had not Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey received timely benefactions from their admirers Would the immortal trio have been condemned to an usher's seat or a clerk's desk? It was young Raisley Calvert’s legacy of £900, without which, says Wordsworth, “I should have been forced by necessity into one of the professions.” “Calvert it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name, that I to thee Owed many years of early liberty.” We should have liked a few lines from Canon Rawnsley on Wordsworth's memorable letter to Mr. Calvert, as, on the first blush, there seems a slight indelicacy in the cool, matter-of-fact way in which the Poet Laureate alludes to the will which the dying Raisley makes in Wordsworth’s favour, the more so, as the Laureate speaks of young It is simply horrible to contemplate what 160 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. Calvert, as “ a young man with whom, though I call him friend, I had but ittle connection.” We are inclined to think that, perhaps, Wordsworth’s consciousness of his own responsibility for his poetic powers, as a nation’s trust, furnishes the explanation. Ruskin, Rogers, Keats, Turner, Gray, Tickell, John Dalton, Tennyson, Carlyle, are all mingled in the peaceful charms of Lakeland Society, each with his own fåvoured haunts. One woman, it is true, varies the monotony— Mrs. Lynn Linton. The following paragraph concerning the famous lady author's early life in old Crosthwaite Vicarage will afford source for speculation to those who study Mrs. Linton's views on the New Woman. “That she, the youngest of the children, motherless at the age of five months, should have been left to the mercy of a set of passionate boys, who, as she grew up, teased her, and bullied her, till she became as furious as a little wild beast ; and to the tender care of a father, who believed in Solomon and the rod was bad enough ; but, when one realises that, in her high temper and bravery, she was generally selected to do the necessary apple stealing, and any bit of family work that would end in disgrace and was always, failing the detection of the culprit, pitched upon to be made a public example of, one wonders the child grew up with any heart at all.” “I do not suppose a week passed,” she writes, “without one of those memorable outbreaks, with the rod and dark closet under the stairs to follow.” “In the name of heaven, Mr. Lynn,” said the bishop “what do you mean to do for your children P” “Sit in the study, my lord, and smoke my pipe, and commit them to the care of Providence.” - Gray, Ruskin, Keats, and Carlyle are introduced to us in pleasant, homely fashion, though readers of the “Bard ” may well hope that the first-mentioned had looked with more delight on “Conway’s foaming flood” than on the Lodore Falls, so timorous is he amid the frowning rocks of Cumberland. The youthful Ruskin, however, is quite jocose in his desire to see the poet Southey “Now hurried we home, and, while taking our tea, We thought Mr. Southey at church we might see : Next morning, the church how we wished to be reaching! I'm afraid 'twas as much for the poet as preaching” We get only one glimpse of Doctor Arnold in Vol. i. —a matter of regret to those of us who love the haunts of Fox Howe as much as the memory of Rydal Mount. But, perhaps, the picture of dear old Jonathan Otley, Professor Sidgwick’s friend, notching the level of the lake with a piece of slate stick and an inch rule, as his life draws to a close, fascinates us most of all. This learned old man, communing with “cloud and torrent, birds and flowers, lichen, mossy rocks, and shining waterfloods,” is a perfect study to all lovers of Gipsyland. But the end grew near apace. “The eyes that had once, on a clear day, seen the Welsh mountains from Coniston Fell, and thrice from Skiddaw had looked upon the Irish hills, were - looking out beyond other seas to other hills, even the heights of Heaven. Professor Sidgwick stands by the sick bed. There is a silence ; their eyes meet, and the tender- hearted professor bursts into tears and cries, as he falls on his knees, and says “Jonathan, I’ll pray for you.” (To be continued.) Do you know There can be no pleasure in riding or driving a horse that is suffering at every step he takes. - - * “THE SUN ?” says: THE Gipsy Journal for July contains a good many ramblers' leaves from the book of Nature. Edith Carrington supplies a clever paper on “A Fallen Tree,” and the “Ramble round Bath” is spicy and well told. “The Summer Holiday " is particularly interesting to Londoners because it gives useful information on where and how to ramble. The magazine is edited by Edith Carrington and A. G. Munro, B.A., and published and sold at the office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London. COINTERIBUTORS to the “ G-IIPSY JOUIRINAL.” Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. William Lisle B. Coulson. Miss Blanche Cuthbertson. Miss Edith Carrington. W. Finckh, (of Stuttgart). W. Blyth-Gerish (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Thomas Wright Haddon, M.A., Oxon. Miss Maud Huntsman. Owen G. Jones, B.Sc. (Alpine Club). Miss Augusta Mansford (“Hospital Days & Hospital Ways,” “Strand Magazine’’). Rev. T. Mitcheson, B.A. - A. G. Munro, B.A. (“Boy’s Own Paper’), City of London School. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. C. E. Pike. R. Ritherdon, B.A. Miss S. J. Robinson. W. Stanley Shaw. Nugent C. Simner, B.A., L.L.B., Camb. W. H. Spragge, M.A., Camb. Mrs. F. H. Suckling. W. C. Sutherland, M.A. (“Boy's Own Paper”). Rev. J. H. Swinstead, M.A., Camb. (The “Gipsy" Clergyman.) - - Miss Grace Toplis (Co-Editress of “Our Magazine”). I. F. Wakefield. T. H. Webb. F. Smith. T. Wren, (Essex District). &c., &e. “The Horticultural Review " says: The ever-welcome, interesting, and humanitarian “Gipsy Journal and British Tourist” (too seldom published, we think) is before us. Its list of clever contributors, its noble purposes, its sympa- thetic interest in the highest and most ennobling pleasures, is always grateful. It is worthy a place of honour in every household, and should be made a text-book for our schools. Please pass this Copy on to a Friend. IEstablished 1893. No. 12, 6th Series, will be ready on June 15th, 1895. * The GIP Q -- §3rºż.º: - - ~ - §§§º: , » º-º-º-º-º-º: jº :S XZ.º.º.º. Ø 3.5 **RAMBLERS' LEAVEs º FIROIMI THE $ºsook of nature.* H. & E.G. OXON. Organ of Footpath and Common Rights Associations; for Protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists’ Friend. No. XI. 6th Series.] May. all ments arserves | [1895. failing that, some means should be taken to draw the attention of passengers to the suffering which their thought- lessness involves. The Treatment of Horses. —---- There is one further point on which a word remains to be spoken. It is earnestly to be hoped that all public THE Committee of the Humanitarian League wish to bodies ºnly Co uncils, Vestries, &c., will prohi bit call public attention to the brutal treatment to which the use of the bearing rein in the case tº heir OWIl horses, horses are frequently subjected, through thoughtlessness and so set an example which private individuals may follow. or cruelty, in London and all parts of the kingdom. It is H. S. SALT, Hon. Sec. a common occurrence, in town and country alike, to see For address see under Clubs. horses (often heavily overloaded) savagely struck by their - drivers for no fault whatever—except, as is usually the case, the fault of the drivers themselves. The officers of the Royal 50 ESPſ) | E Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals cannot *ſū) ſº tº § J º be everywhere ; and it is obvious that the large number - of convictions yearly obtained by their efforts can repre- - sent but a small percentage of the instances where L. BEAUMONT : We are heartily Sorry to hear that your cruelty occurs. club has ceased to exist. Are you sure that an attempt to - resuscitate the club during the coming summer might not The most natural and effective remedy for this public be attended with success P The wet weather of last sum- scandal would be for the Police to act promptly, and on mer played havoc with many outings, and alas, with our their own initiative, when such cases are witnessed by own circulation also. “Try, try again,” is an admirable them. At present, the duty of preventing cruelty to motto. The Gipsy Journal prophesies a good season for animals is practically left to the agents of a private tramps this year, even though the wish is father to the society (the R.S.P.C.A.), and to any humane individual prophecy. who may remonstrate or intervene—the Police on duty F. SMITH : will, in nine cases out of ten, see nothing and hear nothing, in our June issue, and, we hope, in many succeeding ones. unless forced to do so by the bystanders. There is no | The fact is, we have been so busy “breaking up” new holiday valid reason why, in this particular form of offence, the ground, that several M.SS have been neglected. - enforcement of the law of the land should be left to RALPH WELDoN : Thanks. We will wait for the remain- private enterprise. It would be quite possible for the der of your M.S., as we want to finish your article in one Police, by resolute action, to repress the common ill- number. By all means, send the other copy on. The usage of horses which is now a subject of daily observa- “Sun * was very complimentary to both your own and tion and complaint. Mr. Baskerville’s articles in our last issue. - - - - A LANGTON SIMPson : The little articles will, we think, Again, much unnecessary suffering is caused to Bus and be suitable for the first page in the June issue. It is plea- Tram horses by the frequent stoppages, and the conse- sant to hear you praising our healthy country ring. quent repeated strain of re-starting. During the past Miss C. B. : We are reluctantly compelled to hold year the Humanitarian league has issued an Appeal to over the review of Canon Rawnsley's second volume till Passengers, requesting them not to stop the cars, un- the June issue. necessarily. This Appeal has been adopted by a consider- able number of Companies; though, on the other hand, some managers (especially in London) have refused to - - - exhibit it in their cars. It would be well if public opinion, 33 Eſtill fi), ujiti, Qſì) ūmikš. and the voice of the Press, would exert itself on this - D. ſ.1 - t Lº > - subject. What is most needed is the establishment of Articles.-P. º: Echlin, R. C. Wren, J. O Sullivan. fixed stopping places on our Bus and Tram routes; but, E. Thornton Todd, Brooklyn, Ontario. R. Taylor and Sons : We will notice the book in ment issue. Some of your M.S. shall, without fail, appear 162 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. SPECIAL TOURIST QUARTERS. A GIPSY JOURNAL representative, recently on tour in the West of England, desires to recommend to readers of this paper the following hotels and other houses at which he received the greatest hospitality at moderate terms. Bath.-Mrs. Braddick’s Temperance Hotel, Terrace Walk. Camelford.—Mrs. Hooper’s Temperance Hotel. Exeter. The City Temperance Hotel. Falmouth.--Temperance Hotel, overlooking the harbour. Fowey.— Mrs. Brokenshaw’s Boarding House, Esplanade. Okehampton.—Meecham’s Temperance Hotel. * Mrs. Solomon Rowe, overlooking Mount’s ay. St. Columb.-The Red Lion. Taunton.-The King Alfred Temperance Hotel. N.B. Visitors to Nor Tawnton are advised to enquire the various prices on arrival, as our representative found the prices at a leading hotel here out of proportion to the accomodation. EPPING FOREST IN 1900. -º- The “New Budget" gives the following dialogue which is supposed to take place between a traveller and Epping Forest park-keeper in the year 1900 – TRAVELLER (to PARK-KEEPER): Can you tell me the way to Epping Forest ? - P. K. This is the Forest. TRAV. I don’t see any trees — P. K. Trees? Bless yer, they was all done away with long ago. TRAv. Dome away with ? P. K. Yes. Conserved, we calls it. If you go into that there museum, you’ll find some chips labelled. Them's the trees. - - TRAV. Indeed And those rectangular paths, these iron railings, this grass–– - P. K. Ah, talk of grass—beautiful, ain’t it. Not a blade of it more than’alf an inch 'igh. All clipped and levelled by Reg’lation. - - TRAV. H'm. And where P. K. Stop a minute. Blamed if there haint a hearwig a-crollin' up the Reg’lation board—the very Reg’lation board itself. Clean agin the bye-laws—no wild animals allowed. (He arrests the earwig.) TRAV. Pray what is allowed P P. K. Hem. I sir, I am allowed. But stay, Why ain’t you a-wearing a tall 'at? TRAV. What's that to do with you ? P. K. Low 'ats is agin the bye-laws. TRAV. What Isn’t this common land P Out you go P. K. Common, indeed Nothing common is allowed 'ere. Outside the gates, please. (He ejects the TRAVELLER.) This 'ere bloomin' Forest as got to be well conserved, T can tell yer. Scene closes. fitted with all necessary apparatus. Wedding of a Gipsy Journalist. MR. WILLIAM ARTHUR You Ng, whose article on “Stud- land” will doubtless be remembered by our readers, became a Benedick on April 9th, 1895, at the parish church of Newborough, Northhants, the bride being Frances Mary, third daughter of the late Mr. William Belliars, of Norwood House, Newborough. Mr. Young, who is the son of Mr. Edward C. Young, J.P., Gwyn House, Cambridge, was, some years ago, a pupil of one of the editors of this paper, and we wish him every possible happiness in the llT11011. - - King's Cºllègº, Wimbled). Preparation for Public Examinations and the Universities. Principal, W. C. SUTHERLAND, M.A. Army Examinations. RECENT STUCCESSES. Militia Military Competitive, September, 1893. 7th (Infantry), 8th on list. - - Bromotion, November, 1893. One Candidate successful. Militia Military Competitive, March, 1894. 42nd (Infantry) 48th on list. - Promotion, May, 1894. One Candidate successful. Tactics (Senior), May, 1894. One Militia Officer successful. - Promotion, November, 1894. One Candidate Successful. Military Law (Senior), November, 1894, One Militia Officer successful. Every Candidate prepared has been successful. CAPTAIN S. PRICE MUNIRO, - Lower Compton Villa, PLYMOUTH. N.B.-University Graduates in High Honours for Literary Subjects of Milātia Literary and Staff College Entrance Eajaminations. Wimbledon Park. Sandhurst, Woolwich, Universities, &c. Mr. ALEXANDER WATT, M.A., and MR. C. THOMSON, M.A., Prepare Successfully on the INDIVIDUAL SYSTEM. There is a large staff of experienced tutors, and the number of pupils being limited, each obtains an unusually large amount of individual attention and personal super- WIS1011. - CHEMICAL and PHYSICAL Laboratories properly Geological collections H. for practical work. Since June, 1891, of TWENTY - NINE CANDI- DATES SENT UP, Twin TY-THREE HAVE PASSED, including: FIRST place, WOOLWICH (Limited Competition). - Amongst the places gained in 1894 were: FIRST PLACE IN FRENCEI, WOOLWICH. FIRST IN OBLIGATORY SUBJECTS, MILITIA LITERARY. - SIXTH PLACE, MILITIA LITERARY. For particulars, write to— MEssRs. WATT AND THOMSON, ECCLEFECHAN, - WIMBLEDON PARK. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 163 [THIRD SEASON.] HOW TO OBSERVE WITHOUT DESTROYING A SERIES OF [Jºſſ- EDITH CARRINCTON, Author of “Five Stars in a Little Pool.” “A Narrow World,” etc., etc. AM in the snow. “ON the wind of January Down flies the snow, Travelling from the frozen North As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs.” Christian Rosetti. URING the bitter cold of winter, and especially when snow is on the ground, it becomes a matter of interest to those who are bird-lovers, how these creatures subsist. Having neither storehouse nor barn, and the earth being hard as a stone, the seeds or living things on which they usually feed either dead, buried, or hidden carefully away, it is ſ indeed one of Nature's miracles that any of them survive a long frost or protracted Snow. And yet it is not nearly so common a thing as one would suppose to pick up a dead bird; they are not found in any large proportion to those which are kept alive. Those which perish most easily, too, seem to be the very sorts which would appear the hardiest. The tiny golden-crested wren for instance—that morsel of a bird, the frailest of its kind, no larger than a humming-bird, and whose little frame might weigh perhaps one sixth of an ounce, contrives to keep its wee body and soul - §§§ 5 º'BS together through the hardest weather. So seldom | is it seen after falling a victim to cold or starvation, that Richard Jeffreys, usually so accurate in his statements in matters of the sort, ventures on the sweeping assertion that it has never been so dis- covered. That this is not the case I have proved. for during the famous winter of 1881, the coldest of the century, a gold-crest killed by the cold was sent to me through the post. Sad, indeed, were the contents of many packages forwarded to me during that season . Everybody seemed to consider that I should be interested in the poor little corpses of starved birds, and sent them off to me accordingly. Though it made me feel very depressed to see so many of them, they afforded me, too, valuable opportunities for study and for making careful drawings to be declined. Beautiful glossy black- birds, their orange bills drooping helplessly, the pink-breasted bullfinch, the speckled thrush, robins, larks, all were represented among these martyrs to the severity of the times;–it is snow, however, rather than frost, which works so much havoc among the feathered races. As most of us may remember, the number of birds in the Spring following that winter was greatly thinned by these effectual means ought to be taken for preventing such a calamity as their wholesale destruction. THE GOLD-CREST. No better plan can be suggested to anyone wishing to make valuable observations during skater. It has been while wending my solitary of a desolate and remote country, that I have been enabled to pry into many precious secrets of natural history; often lured to quit the easy motion of the skates gliding over ice and to substitute the un- satisfactory waddle known to those who try to walk on the same, in order that I might pursue, on the banks, some investigation. Among other “lucky finds” I have been so fortunate as to come upon flocks of the charming little gold-crest, in their own private haunts, and to see for myself how they live. A plantation of spruce fir, or a thicket of straggling gorse bushes, will be the most likely place in which to find these pretty little birds at home. In summer time I have found the nest hanging in a furze-bush, a large ball of moss and lichens filled with feathers, and containing ten of the smallest eggs produced by any British bird. It was while skating through the same locality that I came across the pretty “ marigold finches,” as a pretty title dubs them, sporting as gaily in January as in June. In the winter they manage to keep themselves warm by incessantly moving - about ; a gold-crest is not still for one instant, losses, and, should another such season occur, some winter than that he or she should become a good way along a frozen canal, through the very heart F 164 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. darting, leaping, creeping, flitting, jerking its wings all the while, hopping from twig to twig and inquisitively peering and prying into every hole and cranny in search of insects' eggs and minute chrysalids, too small for human eyes to notice. It keeps up a brisk conversation always with its comrades, in tones so shrill and piercing, that they are not unlike the sound which a quill pen makes as it travels over paper, or that which may be produced by rubbing a moist finger against a window pane. At night these fairy-like birdlings huddle together into a great ball, within the most sheltered nook they can find, packed into a dense mass to ensure warmth. A good deal of pushing and struggling takes place among the little crew for possession of the snuggest roosting places, which are, of course, in the middle. Those wrens left on the outside continually fly up and perch on the centre of their knot of companions, trying to work their way into the most comfortable corner. They go on striving to be all inside, and none out- side, until sleep overtakes them. To the fir-plant- ation these swarms of gold-crests are an immense boon. They destroy those terrible enemies of the trees, which, in the shape of grubs, weevils or minute beetles, creep between the bark and the timber, either to feed or deposit eggs, and thus separate the one from the other and make openings by which the rain enters to rot the wood. Whole fir-wood plantations have been laid low by the attacks of these small but fatal foes. A piece of fir-wood from Bewdley Forest was exhibited to the Entomological Society, twenty feet of its length being so perforated by the grub of a certain species of fly (Sirea: Juvenicus) that it was completely honeycombed, and fit for nothing but the fire. The whole forest was in danger of similar ruin. There is no tree which has not its special form of destroyer, if not several, either in the shape of beetle, moth, or other treacherous guest: which, if it does not do immediate damage itself, lays eggs out of which future devourers crawl. The Oak is specially liable to this sad fate, its branches and trunk, as well as leaves, being assailed by various small and very exquisite moths, which, however, are not beautiful in the eyes of the timber-grower, on the principle of “ handsome is, that handsome does.” Were it not for the untiring efforts of The small birds hardly an oak tree in Britain would be now standing. It is evident that these insiduous depredators must pass through the winter either in the form of eggs or chrysalids. It is while they are in one of these two helpless conditions, concealed from human sight in cracks of the bark, fastened to palings, walls, posts, and even scattered over the ground, that the hungry winter birds find out and eat them. The harder the winter the hungrier are the birds, and the more eagerly do they hunt for these tit-bits. Thus it is that a long frost is them should be sent away empty. said to be unfavourable to insects; it is so truly, but indirectly. By giving a keener appetite to the birds and causing them to redouble their efforts to find the torpid insects, a hard winter decreases their number ; but it is the birds, not the cold, which kills them. The eggs and chrysalids of the insects may be frozen into brittle bits of ice, yet suffer no harm, and come to life in due time. THE USEIES AND BILACKBIRDS. It will be seen that wrens, tits, and those small birds, which are able to procure food by diligently Seeking all day long for such morsels as they can find in the shape of insect-eggs and chrysalids, fare better than larger birds, like the blackbird and thrush, which are not adapted for such keen researches, are not good climbers, and whose bodies are larger, needing a more substantial support. It is not until snow has covered the ground for many weeks that the supply of chrysa- lids and insect-eggs run short; whereas the black- bird, thrush, and similar feeders, fail to obtain their proper amount of the right food—slugs, snails, worms and larger grubs—directly cold weather sets in. All creeping things are carefully concealed, either deep below the surface, hidden under the snow, or tucked into some hiding place, where they are very difficult to find. It is a piteous sight to see the timid thrush and shy blackbird trying to make up their minds when under the pres- sure of starvation, to draw near human dwellings, in order to beg that meal which they can no longer secure for themselves. We ought to take pity on them, it is only just and fair to do so, since they earn their wages well in clearing our gardens, as also the fields, whence man gets his bread, from those voracious creatures which would take it out of his mouth. After the thrush and blackbird have dragged out of concealment and swallowed the few snails and slugs they can find, and picked up the larger chrysalids, there is absolutely nothing left for them : if, as is most likely, no berries are left. They then quit the open country, and venture close to villages, towns, and farms; and not one of When out skating I have offen been persistently followed by crowds of starving birds, and have been forced tº part with the last fragment that I could possibly spare from the necessary food which I carried with me in favour of these innocent paupers, reduced to want from no fault of their own. It is melancholy to watch how any berry-laden tree is overcrowded by hosts of birds, coming from the four corners of heaven—twice as many as can have any chance of obtaining enough. Its boughs are soon stripped, and the disconsolate visitors chatter mournfully over the bare branches. THE Gipsy journ AL 165 Thrushes and blackbirds will eat barley meal when “hard up,” but they do not like it much. Nearly all birds enjoy bread given dry. What is called “rough fat,” scraps cut off in trimming joints, may be bought in large quanti- ties at the butcher's for a trifle. Humane tradesmen will often be pleased to help the birds gratis. This fat, or suet, forms a famous meal for nearly every kind of bird. The robin especially admires it, and in fact I do not think that any bird whatever will refuse it. No bird deserves our care better than the hedge-sparrow; its services are as invaluable as those of the robin as to insectivorous habits, and it never touches fruit. Indeed, it is doubtful whether any bird cares greatly for a fruit diet, save inasmuch as it is a succulent one, and quenches the thirst which it feels. Green - meat is essential to the health of birds, and most of them seek it in the form of weeds like groundsel. All the winged races | suffer much from thirst both during drought and frost. vessels full If their friends would provide of clean water, these pangs Though all the birds which feed on these berries abound in the place, no one being allowed to meddle with their nests, the berries were never touched by them to any appreciable extent until one severe snow-fall occured in March, when a grand attack on the crimson fruits began. THE SECYLAIREC. In order to form a sound opinion of the use- fulness of any bird, its actions must be criticized not only during a few weeks, when corn, fruit or other crops are ripe and tempting, but its behaviour must be observed during the whole year. In the case of skylarks, this rule is especially needful, if we would do the delightful creature justice. Its habit at the end of summer is to associate with its kind no longer in couples, but in large flocks, the hens by themselves and the cocks also banding together. In vast companies they then visit the open fields and carry on for would be assuaged at a time when their supply is frozen, and in hot weather they would depend less on fruit as a means of slaking thirst. BIEDGE E'EUITS. With regard to the supply of wild berries or fruits which are the natural property of birds and other creatures—their heritage bequeathed by a kind and merciful Maker—we ought to hesitate before plucking a single spray. The custom of sweeping away wholesale the birds’. winter supply, a holdfast for tribes of living things, merely in order to supply a useless decoration for churches or houses, is nearly as bad as slaughtering the birds themselves for the so-called decorative purposes. It is, in fact, killing birds by inches if we take away their food, and reduce them to starvation. Although the birds, by a sort of mutual agreelinent, seem to leave many sorts of berries untouched on the trees —it must not be supposed that the fruits are rejected by them—they are merely allowed to remain as a last resource till everything else has failed. not a berry, hip, haw, or other hedge fruit will be found remaining, which is evidence enough that, sooner or later, the provision is utilized. Ivy berries are, in particular, a very favourite and nourishing food; thrushes, blackbirds, star- lings, even jackdaws and rooks, appreciate them highly ; they are the first to disappear, while holly berries are perhaps the last to linger. I have watched large holly trees growing in a great cemetery near here for several winters. When seasons of dire distress arise. . fly, in its egg or chrysalis stage, cut off. some months a never ceasing warfare against the farmer's enemies. The turnip fields are ransacked by them, and the much-dreaded turnip- The clods in ploughed land are diligently examined. and every insect found is destroyed. The stupid and ignorant farmer shuts his eyes to all this ; but he is keen enough to notice that the sky- lark maybe eats a few grains of corn in summer, and that after a long fast from green food he is fond of nipping here and there the dainty white morsel of stem where the young blade of seedling wheat joins the root. The lark touches no other portion of the sprouting corn but this; and did the farmers sow their wheat a trifle deeper, the little bird's presence in the field could be productive of nothing but good, since it eats seeds of harmful weeds, ants' eggs, mischievous grubs and insects through all the year. It is strange that the agriculturist will not see that these services compensate a thousand-fold for his petty thefts. He is the careful guardian of that happy cornfield to whose bosom he confides his nest. WAGTAILS. Another invaluable helper to the soil is the water. wagtail : and his kindred are not less useful. Not many weeks ago, being in the country, I noticed a ploughed field left to lie fallow. My attention was caught by one of these rivalry birds which was running about among the little valleys and over the rough lumps of earth, dipping its tail with a merry air. Now and then it perched on the top of a cloſi, or took a short flight from one to another, looking like a big black and white butterfly. It was - - º -- I66 busily overhauling the ground for insects, and at each instant I could see that it found something. My surprise was great after a while to notice that the whole wide expanse of land (a portion of Salis- bury plain) was covered with these slender, grace- ful little birds; several hundreds must have been at work in a single field. What unfold service must they not have been doing ' Yet, grievous to relate, one sees them advertised in lists of goods on sale issued by those who support the horrid trade of the bird-catcher. In stress of weather these little creatures seek marshy spots. and water-meadows, where they can find springs which never dry up. Here they catch water- grubs, fresh-water shrimps, various aquatic insects, and even small fish. Rooks repair to the sea- coast, and subsist on shell-fish, getting a living along shore somehow till better times: and king- fishers, guided by a sense which teaches them that though brooks and streamlet freeze, salt water will not, follow the example of their sable brethren. HIBERINATION. The water-rat, beneath the universal mantle of snow, lies comfortably rolled up in his winter nest, situated high and dry at the end of his burrow. Near this he has laid up a store of provisions in case of waking too soon, before he is able to pro- cure a supply. White, of Selbourne, tells of a water-rat, whose winter nap was accidentally broken into by digging down his chamber, close to which this sage little individual had hoarded up about a bushel of potatoes for a rainy day. animal represents the beaver family rather than the rat tribe. It is a most useful water scavenger, and is easily tamed without taking it from its own surroundings, learning to come when called, to feed from the hand, and liking to be caressed. Sleeping squirrels abound in snow-laden trees, but they care little for the cold covering, since they take care to make their retreat very thick and warmly padded. It is usually placed in the fork between two stout branches, and is woven from the same kind of material as that used by birds. On the other hand, the squirrel's summer castle is light, thin and airy, and swings high from slender twigs near the tree-top. knows that her family cannot easily be reached in this position, and she will look down confidently, scolding and chattering contemptuously at intru- ders from below. But should affairs become serious, she will take her little ones in her mouth as a cat does her kittens, and carry them one by one to a safer place. The squirrel's small cousin, the dormouse, is as much like him in habits as in appearance. Both creatures, from their habit of storing up nuts, acorns and seeds, which they after- - This so they furnish him with a dinner. The mother squirrel THE GIPSY JOURNAL. wards forget, or do not require to use, are great tree-planters. Many a fine oak, beech or chestnut has had for its cradle the deserted store of a squirrel or dormouse, whence it has sprouted. FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. Most interesting discoveries have been made now and then of the presence near dwellings of creatures which were unsuspected of frequenting the neigh- bourhood. Footsteps of the pole-cat, the fox and badger, and also of many rare birds, are often seen imprinted on snow—four-footed or winged travel- lers who left these tokens behind them of having quitted their places of concealment or passed during some voyage to a distance. Some of these tracks are left by birds of passage, such as swans, wild-geese, and others, which alight for rest or. food; others, especially those of the fox and wild- cat, are produced by these creatures when, under the influence of keen hunger, they are driven from the solitudes to seek supplies in more populous dis- tricts. One of the most fascinating descriptions in the English language is that of the journey of a fox across snow, written by Thoreau, who spent his life almost exclusively in close and tender com- munion with Nature, and who, in return for one loving-kindness which forbade him to take the life of any creature, was amply rewarded by the affectionate fellowship of all created beings which he approached. In this lovely word-painting he draws attention to the elegance and beauty of this greatly-abused animal, and he makes one long for a sight of it under similar circumstances. But, in this country, the fox is not likely to allow himself to be seen by day upon a background of snow. He knows full well that as a dark speck crossing a field of unbroken and dazzling white, he would be too conspicuous to his many enemies; he steals forth by night instead. In Arctic regions, where he is clad in a pure white vesture, he need not be so cautious. Many birds fall an easy prey to the fox in winter time. The effect of cold is to benumb and daze their senses, they cannot fly quickly, and It is a com- fort to know that when birds are obliged to encounter the miseries of cold and privation, a lulling effect is exercised upon them which blunts their sense of suffering. The bird holds life by a very slight tenure at the best of times, and a very little will end its woes. It is said that a smart tap of the bough on which a gold-crest sits will bring the little thing to the ground, dead from the shock; and those who are familiar with the dreadful de- tails surrounding the process of bird-caging, know that for every little songster that survives the first anguish of imprisonment, at least eight perish. However this may be, the duty of all humane people with regard to birds in winter is clear. Do THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 167 not let their little clustering footprints in the snow tell of hungry-winged beggars which have sought charity at your doors and turned away in despair Real care should be taken, and, if needful, some slight expense not grudged, in order to keep alive those, which, to put it on the lowest ground, are our best assistants. It is economy, not extrava- gance, to save their lives. All the hard-billed birds—bullfinches, chaffinches,linnets, &c. —delight in hemp-seed and other grains which, properly crushed, can be had for a mere nothing. Stale bread may be bought from the baker for less than half price. A bone or lump of Suet hung up is a first-rate thing for the tits. As for that jolly little fellow, the house-sparrow, who is always with us and ought to be always welcome, for he saves us from evils the greatness of which we could only guess if we had to do without him (is he not better than an army of sanitary inspectors, dustmen, [Copyright strictly reserved.] doctors, and road-scrapers?) nothing comes amiss to this omnivorous little chap. He is blessed with a contented mind, which is in itself a continual feast; nevertheless, he is not averse to a never- ending meal of more solid proportions. Fling him the scrapings of your plates . A dishful of potato peelings (after the root has been cooked in its jacket, as it always ought to be), or a potful of damaged ones, will cause the mob of small ragga- muffins to chuckle for joy, as they collect around, and squabble over, the spread. Don't let us despise the sparrows - Must it not be worth while for us poor mortals to remember that which Our Heavenly Father bears in mind 2 GOD.” “ Not one of them is forgotten by So says the Book that cannot lie. - Feeding a Moth. FOUR days ago I noticed a large beautiful moth high up on my kitchen wall. It had probably been brought in from the garden with some plants and flowers which I wished to preserve from the frost, and as the evening was very cold, I had not the heart to put the pretty creature out, although I had to watch that it did not come near the flame of the lamp. That danger it escaped, and next day, as I did not see it, I concluded that it had found its way out when the door was open, but to my surprise, on going to the window yesterday, I saw it resting on the window curtain. Wishing to look at it through a glass before carrying it into the garden I put my hand gently in front of it, and it feebly crawled on, and at once began feeling my hand with its trunk, a sure sign that it was hungry. Poor little beauty : I scarcely knew what to give it, but having some elder-berry syrup on the table, I put a large drop on my hand quite near it. My little guest cautiously touched it with the tip of its trunk, and, finding the syrup to its taste, came nearer, laid about one-third of the length of its trunk in the drop, and, through numerous minute, delicately-formed suckers, drew in the sweet juice and had a rare feast. It took no notice whatever of the magnifying glass through which I watched it, but eagerly feasted, now and then turning its trunk on one side to eject the coloured, solid particles, through what appeared to be a vent, whereas only the transparent liquid ascended the long truuk. While watching it, I thought what care and wisdom had been bestowed on the formation of a small creature which not one person in a million ever thinks of looking at. All its movements were graceful, beautiful and attractive. artificial about it. It was one of the perfect things or thoughts of God. It had passed its transforma- tion state and was clothed in inimitable and glorious robes. During the operation of feeding, the lovely creature stiffened its antennae, now and then quivered its exquisitly coloured, down-covered wings, and seemed thoroughly happy. Indeed, I almost imagined that its eyes beamed forth grafi- tude, as it gradually became stronger, for it must have been nearly dead for want of food. - Before moving a step, it sucked up every particle of the syrup. I offered it more, but it carefully cleaned its trunk on my hand before drawing it up, and then danced and capered about all over my hand, fluttering its wings and moving its head from side to side, as if to say, “See how well and happy you have made me !” Then came over the little beauty a longing for freedom, and it flew to the window, and ran up and down the glass vainly trying to get out. - Who dare say that a moth cannot reason It suddenly flew back to me as if to say, “You helped me before ; help me again; let me out. Your house is not large enough for me. I want the wide expanse of Heaven.” I should have liked to have had the pleasure of seeing it take another meal through that ex- quisitly formed trunk, but I would not deprive even a moth of one moment's happiness, and, as the day was fine, I carried it on my finger out into the garden, and away it flew on to the under side of the leaf of a lilac tree. AN NIE M. L. JARWIS. There was nothing 168 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. º EPITAPHS. --->º-444-4--- ONE of the Editors of the Gipsy Journal, strolling in the churchyard of Shaugh, on Dartmoor, the other day, came across the following epitaphs: When I am dead and in my grave, And all my bones are rotton, When this you see remember me That I am not forgotten. + 3 + 3: My beloved wife, I am come at last To join thy cold bed of clay. I hope we both in Heaven shall meet At the great judgment day. # # 3 # Reader, stop, as you pass by, As you are now, so once was I, As I am now, so must you be, Prepare for death, and follow me. # * * * In Forden churchyard, Montgomeryshire, is the following : - - Beneath this tree, lie singers three, One tenor and two “basses,” Now they are gone, 'tis ten to one, If three such take their places. - :: * * * The next is from Fulwood Churchyard, near Sheffield. Here lie the remains of Martha Gwinne, So clean without, and so pure within. She cracked the shell of her earthly skin, And hatched herself a cherubim. * * * * If any Gipsy Journal readers have ever wandered through the churchyard at Princetown, Dartmoor, a great part of which is covered with convicts' graves—they cannot fail to have been struck with the utter absence of any grave stone or other erection to mark the last resting place of the “unowned ’’ dead. It is a pathetic sight to watch was the exception to the above rule. row after row of “mouldering heaps,” without any token- that these Dartmoor prisoners are remembered by a single living soul. Outside the churchyard, on farm, moor, and in the quarry, the gangs of convicts complete their rigorous tasks. If the bright sun is shining across the varying wildness of the landscape and the lark’s gay warble thrills in the blue vault above, the thought that these prisoners, who once were as innocent as the breath of surrounding Nature herself, are, many of them, only waiting for burial in an unknown grave is more pathetic still. A short time ago, however, one tombstone alone The inscription is very simple: L. D. C. Died Feb. 22nd, 1877, Aged 44 years. My Jesu Mercy. The only other sign amid the area of graves we are speaking of that a convict is not forgotten by the whole world is a simple “ plaster’’ wreath of flowers, and on a piece of porcelain are the words: In memory of my dear husband. “Visitors' Books.” OF all abuses at seaside hotel or boarding house, we know of no more misused and painful institution than the familiar visitors’ book. There it stands, on the side table, with the periodicals three months old, a fitting companion to the faded red table cloth, and the pen that almost refuses, from growing debility, to do more than scratch. Is it the bad pen, we wonder, which accounts for all the inane rub- bish which finds its way into the lodging house archives * Or, does the present fever for rushing into print suggest to some of our holiday-making friends the advisability of rendering themselves famous, even though the records of their adventures only appear in MS form. To think of one’s words being pondered over, on subsequent wet August afternoons, by visitors yet to come is possibly an induce- ment for these contributions to the address book. The young lady who opines that Mrs. Jones' lodging-house is a “home from home,” no doubt thinks the epithet most highly complimentary, though this form of expressing approval is scarcely original. The other day we read in a visitors’ book some comments by a bishop who rhapsodized on the startling flight of both sabbaths and week-days in the holiday season. A few pages distant a rollicking tourist burst into eloquence thus: “Good old Mrs. Winter- bottom ' ' Mrs. W. was the landlady, and the difference between the bishop's style and the other almost provoked a smile. We are sure that, if tourists could only return a month later, and peruse their own handiwork, their fingers would itch for the ink eraser. Here, for example, is a specimen of Queen's English picked up the other day in a Cornish address book: “Captain has been stopping at here for the last six months off and on, and nothing could be nicer. I am only sorry I am leaving. All very fine and large.” - * An undergraduate of Pembroke College, Cambridge, was responsible for the following in the same book : “Mrs. Jonesis—words fail to express what. Oh what must a good hostess be ; she is that.” A visitor signing himself Joe, the Rambler, writes : “My visit is short I am sorry to say, I should enjoy a much longer stay, Everything good, the attendance the best, An excellent place for quiet and rest.” It seems to us that Joe, the Rambler, gives the Cam- bridge man points. In the same book we read : “Two angels from Heaven stopped here, and do not wish to return to their Heavenly abode.” “Two comedians of the city landed here—they are known as the cream shifters.” “And also, came two comediennes, whose names were Emily and Minnie.” Another varsity man, an Oxford B.A., informs his friend that “ the next best thing to being at home, is to be made to ‘feel at home,’” &c. &c. But we have said enough, we trust, to convince our readers that the visitors' book is a thing which it is desirable, if not altogether to avoid, at any rate to deal with mercifully. . THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 169 --- | Among the most important matters referred to is the change of law respecting the stoppage and deviation of footpaths. No footpath can, under the operation of the recent Act be stopped by order of justices enrolled in Quarter Sessions, except with the consent of both the Parish Council and the District Council. This is certainly a change for the better, as paths were frequently diverted “for the benefit of the public' (as the notices stated), the only legal formalities necessary being the visit of a friendly J.P., who would give his certificate as to his conviction of the benefits which would accrue to the parish by the stoppage or diversion of such and such a path, after which the matter would obtain the consent of the justices at Quarter - Sessions, unless opposed, an event which rarely THOSE interested in the preservation of open happened. spaces and paths have just been supplied with a | large amount of useful information in a sixpenny pamphlet written by Sir Robert Hunter, the solicitor to the General Post Office. This gentle- man formerly acted as the solicitor to the Commons Preservation Society, and, owing to his amount of legal knowledge in connection with the preservation of popular rights, he has been able to give in a condensed and readable form much information as to what can be preserved and how to preserve it. This is really the only concise handbook of its kind and should save much trouble and expense - To deprive others of their right to the use of the earth is to commit a crime only inferior in wickedness to the crime of taking away their lives or personal liberties.—HERBERT SPENCER. RAMBLERs – RIGHTS. * The only ground upon which a footpath can be stopped without the substitution of another is that it is unnecessary, and the question whether it is unnecessary will be the point for consideration by the Parish and the District Council. It may, however, be proposed to divert a footpath, and the question for consideration will them be, whether the proposed footpath is nearer or more commodious for the public than the existing path. by obviating the necessity of consulting the - OBSTRUCTION OF FOOTPATHS. various volumes containing the intricate law on º - - the subject Footpaths in the country, however, are more often lost through their obstruction than through - ~... " their legal stoppage or diversion. In an introductory note Sir Robert truly says: g ppag “Recent years have seen few changes so re- I. a. º º j". have been markable as that in relation to commons; ” ** to use i. O *..." the obstruction but what he states in the same page as to a desira- º, º lega ". º footpath i." be bility of a change in the law for public benefit is ". to I ". Ol' º er to *. º: * º right still more true. “But a satisfactory condition of the . Wºy. ...?'" º ... º law is not sufficient for the protection of public . wº S a nigh "... . mere ºuse. º ..". rights; there must also be the power of putting ...”. 111 . * ions, can extinguish a the law in motion and in this respect both open highway Once created. spaces and footpaths have hitherto suffered.” The putting the law in motion frequently means that a ROAT)SIDE WASTES. single individual or a small local society has to fight the lord of the manor and his friends (a con- The general rule of law respecting the strips of siderable undertaking, as most of the world's greensward which lie between the high road and capital and a large amount of gentle persuasiveness hedges of the adjoining property is that the public is on the side of the lord and his friends). is entitled to a right of way over them, and that therefore such wayside wastes cannot legally be Fortunately the Local Government Act of 1894 enclosed. In future it will be the duty of the confides the defence of our commons and footpaths District Council to protect these wastes. It appears to public bodies, but it remains to be seen whether also that as a highway always remains a highway, the public, more particularly in rural districts, has however long obstructed, the duty of the District grasped the situation and has been alive to the Council is to recover these wayside wastes which necessity of electing straightforward, unbiassed were appropriated before the existing Act came into and intelligent persons to represent them on the Operation. district or parish council. R. RITHERDON 170 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. The Newton Right of Way Case. “ONCE a highway, always a highway” is so obviously an axiom with champions of ramblers' rights, that we regret to learn from the report of the Newton Right of Way Case, in the Western Morning News, that Judge Edge is inclined to regard this, our favourite maxim, as subject to some limitation. “No one could doubt,” said his Honour, in giving judgment, “ that, by an Act of Parliament, a highway, however ancient, might be closed or diverted. Other means provided by statute might also be taken to effect the same object, and, therefore, he thought that, after the lapse of a great many years, it might be presumed that what had been done had been lawfully done, though the steps taken might not be known. # * >k >k # 3% We, of the Gipsy Journal, are not inclined to presume any thing of the sort. We are furthermore inclined to presume the exact opposite, namely, that wherever rights of way once existing are now obstructed, such obstruction has been wrought covertly and in the dark. Nay, supposing that in any isolated cases our ancestors have been so misguided as to barter away the great Palladium of Ramblers' Rights, we are so convinced of the abominable iniquity of such traffic in matters vital to the commonweal, that we question the moral validity of the bargain, and wash our hands clear of the unclean thing * * * *k # 3: - With this reservation, we regard the Newton case as a splendid triumph, and congratulate the defendant, Mr. Dobson, on the result of an enquiry which occupied more than four whole days, and that, too, against such skilful counsel as Sir Walter Phillimore. The gate at Buckland Barton, which Mr. Dobson was accused of wrongfully removing, lay on the estate of a Combe farmer, Mr. Bond– the plaintiff. The investigation was of a more than usually far-reached nature, dealing with the ancient Totnes-Exeter British Road. Did the main road between Penn Inn and Buckland Gate—the vital point in the whole business—form part of the British road? Nothing - but the testimony of expert antiquarians would suffice. True the road was generally narrow and sunken, but then the width between the fences was—we quote from the Western Morning News —very wide. Roots of very aged trees were adduced as testimony, and the antiquarian witnesses were successful in convincing Judge Edge of the directness and continuity of the road. Traces of an ancient road. too, from near one of the outbuildings of the farm to Buckland Gate itself, were very apparent. - The estate map of 1778 was pronounced in- admissible; but in the Ordnance Survey of 1809 this ancient road was marked, though the map was on a reduced scale. On the whole, his Honour could come to no other conclusion than that the “ main road" was part of the King's highway between Totnes and Exeter, and the “double road.” —we presume it was here the alleged frespass occured—was a highway probably as ancient. + xk >k & # # - Finally came the question of possession, a mass of evidence showing that the roads in dispute had been continually used by the public for horses, carts and carriages, as well as for a footway, as long as the living memory of man could go. The curious part about the business is that “even the witnesses for the plaintiff admitted that the frequent presence of strangers on the high roads proved that there was nothing to indicate that they were private.” It seems that, in the year 1847, one, Walter Rendle, became tenant, and it was to him that the idea originally occurred of establishing the privacy of these roads. - # :: * * * * “If it had been proved clearly ’’-says the Western Morning News report of Judge Edge's concluding remarks—“ that the word ' private had been on the gate for more than fifty years, he should not have felt justified in drawing the infer- ence that the roads had been stopped by legal means.” The Gipsy Journal only hopes this sentence represents his Honour's exact words, though it seems decidedly antagonistic to what Judge Edge said at an earlier stage of the case. - THE GIPsy journai, 17I Now from the town - - Bury'd in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, Where freshness breathes.—THoMson. * Gipsy liff A º, GIPSYLANDS ! N T H E L A N i) {) F PR}}N&E ARTHUR. By our Gipsy Journal Commissioner. Tº WERE you ever in Newquay ? If not, your education, as a traveller, has not yet passed the alphabet stage. Last night I descended from the steep cliffs on which Newquay is built, the way down is through an ingeniously constructed tunnel —took a ramble on the beach and returned to my hotel in the conviction that Newquay is the grandest little seaside resort conceivable. Though the sands are gloriously firm and, judging from the bathing machines, eminently adapted for a sea dip, there is none of that dreary monotony which we associate so often with our musings by the sad sea waves. Huge cliffs, rudely strewn rocks, gaping caverns, the adjoining promontory of Towan Head, the snug little harbour, literally hewn out of a rock, where in the wildest weather all kinds of fishing craft can rest in Safety, the pleasant Cornish villas towering above the waves. all combine to makes up an ideal variety for a sea- side holiday. And northward, in the mists of evening, the light of Trevose Head shot out its warning rays into the ocean growing murky in the approaching darkness. A few months ago I read a charming novel in the “Cornhill,” a regular Cornish romance, whose pages were breezy with the winds and waves beating in all their freshness against this particular portion of our coast. Last Friday I paused by a way-side signpost on the road from Wadebridge to Padstow, whereon was printed, “To St. Merryn and Trevose Head Light.” I had meant to ride to Padstow, but could not, to save even my bicycle, resist the temptation to risk the more stony track to Trevose Head. The “Cornhill” novel dealt with a rugged Cornish farmer, Hender Gaverock, a man whose word was law, and I could almost pick out in imagination the very farmhouse where the bucolic old tyrant ruled with a rod of iron the men and women of his own and also of another household. Some of us are so easily fascinated by “story tales.” I don't suppose for one single instant, that such a man as old Hender Gaverock ever existed, or his fickle ward, Rose, either. But what of that? Had I not read something of Trevose Head in the romance, as well as of the moorland farm * Did not Trevose Head, more- over, look, some five miles away, just the spot for a dreamer of romantic dreams on a balmy April day? So, steering for the upland village of St. Merryn, I risked the bad roads, made for the Light House, and pulled up on approaching St. Merryn Church. St. Merryn Church is typical of many an other familiar landmark in County Cornwall, but there is one “resting place " in the peaceful churchyard which I feel constrained to mention. It is that of a former vicar who, for fifty-three years, had ministered, as a friend, to his parishioners. How often must the good man have passed by the spot, where all that was mortal of him now lies, as he entered the churchyard gate from the village lane. Fifty-three years The very atmosphere around seemed steeped with memories of the revered departed as I paused and read the inscriptions over the neat and faithfully-tended tomb. Possibly this faithful pastor had himself, too, often paused as he stood by the tomb he had chosen as a resting place, and looked forward to the day when his ministry should be no more. Leaving St. Merryn's Church, I thought of another parish clergyman, the Rev. J. Aldred, of Dore, Derbyshire, who, after an even longer ministry than my Cornish parish priest, at last entered into his own well-earned rest, and continued my way to Trevose Head. “ Distance lends enchantment to the view,” is true of many places, though by no means applicable to Trevose Head. Both from far off and near, Trevose Head is a thing of beauty and romance. Last night, from the beach at Newquay, I saw the lights gleaming far out into the dark waters, and the sight was romantic. Last Friday, when the sad sea waves were lapping, with wonderful calm and peacefulness, against the rocks jutting out below the grassy cliff whereon I lay, the view was enchanting also. There was but little sun, and what sun there was seemed to steal out on to the silvery waters in the offing from beneath masses of curiously-shaped cloud. It was, perhaps, owing to this that the long view of the coast line, from the Land's End to the exact spot where I lay, was as distinct as in one of those maps of England with which schoolboys are so familiar. It is not every traveller who is enabled to see this section of the coast as plainly as I did, and the sight reminded me of a view I had some years ago in Brittany— the Point de Ras, or the French Land's End. There was a mariner-looking kind of man dabbing away at a signal mast close by, who 172 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. thought the clear view meant coming foul weather. Several other men were trimming up the top of the lighthouse, which, owing to the height of the cliff, was just about on my own level, and their voices, as they idly pottered away at their job, mingled musically with the plashing of the gulls swooping from rock to sea and again soaring aloft to the iron girt cliffs. A little rosy-cheeked lass, with a skipping rope, was bidding for a few words of kindly notice. My playful companion had only arrived a fortnight ago from Liverpool, and I suppose the change from a crowded sea-port to peaceful Trevose accounted for the roses on her cheeks and the gay use to which she put the rope. My mariner-looking friend who prophesied foul weather, was, however, right The next day, it began to rain, and it has been at it, more or less, ever since. The day before yesterday I left Camelford for Newquay, but had to put into port, drenched through vith the ride over the moors above Wadebridge, at St. Columb. How the gusts of wind raged, and lashed the driving, pelting drops against me and my machine as I toiled over those few miles of wild moorland ' I was fain to ask to be allowed to take refuge in a rude smithy, thinking the Smith, who sat at his door, would ask me to sit by the cottage fire instead. But, strange to say, the usual Cornish hospitality, in this rare case, was not forthcoming, and I tarried awhile in the smithy before passing on to St. Columb. I am glad that stress of weather drove me to seek refuge at St. Columb. It is a typical town- village hidden away in the hills, and the houses are patterns of picturesqueness. So also is the church, And I must not forget the Red Lion, where my most worthy host, J. S. Hellyar, lent me his own coat to replace my drenched one, and treated me right royally. Here I made the acquaintance, too, of a genial fellow traveller, Mr. II. S. Bennett, of Bilbrook, Wolverhampton, and had, though weatherbound, a right good time of it. For a charming Cornish inn, commend me to the Red Lion, St. Columb. The staircase forms a kind of gallery something like the one at the Rothes Haus, Trier, though, of course, in miniature. Be thankful, Gipsy friends, that even in this corrupt age, there is many a good old sample of the English inn remaining—pure, picturesque, homely, cosy and hospita—bleand of this class is the Red Lion, St. Columb. * * * * * * In conclusion, a few words about rights of way and common lands in this part of the world. In the present issue, readers of the Gipsy Journal will read that we have won the Newton case. Next month I shall say a few words about common rights at Newquay, for, if what I hear be correct, the Rev. Haydn Williams, or our Essex blacksmith, or, perhaps, both, are strangely wanted in New- quay. Mr. Hammer Smith, the secretary of the Life Boat here, assures me that certain recent encroachments on what is believed to be common lands demand investigation, and I shall be glad if either Mr. Smith, or Mr. Harper Geach, another resident interested in these matters, will send on their views for publication. 3ARNET Tô ĐôS&ASTLE,- A CYCLING CARNIVAL. By A. G. MUNIRO, B.A. Author of “The Mystery of St. Vesper's,” “The Farmese Hercules,” “A Curious Accomplice,” and many other short stories in the “B. O. P.,” and Chums.” - - - - I AM not quite at Boscombe yet, but, as the glorious weather of the past few days has given way to a cloudy morning and nipping east wind, let me pause at this outlying Cornish village to give members of the “Gipsy Journal” a brief out- line of my adventures by the way. Boscastle and Tintagel are, at last, only five or six miles distant, and, as the sun shows signs of speedily dispersing the overcast canopy ahead, in an hour or two I hope to be standing on yonder romantic cliffs and revelling spell-bound in fantastic,though legendary. memories of King Arthur. It has been one of the dreams of my life to ramble over North Cornwall. The cliffs, they tell me, are so rugged and so wild— the roaring waves of the fierce Atlantic dash with such tremendous fury on to the precipitous, iron-girt rocks—the moorland heights above look down with such stern sublimity on the frowning headlands and seething currents—that the soul of a solitary rambler is stirred thereby, even with thoughts too deep for tears, let alone feeble words. But of my impressions of Boscastle and Tintagel I shall speak anon. Suffice it, for the present, to say that, after pedalling along for four days, in pleasant sunshine. and wafted by a grateful back wind, I can now scent the fresh ozone and anticipate, with immediate prospect of its fulfilment, the sound of the gulls screaſui g themselves hoarse and the sight of the fisherman's sails far out at sea. To narrate all the details of a long cycle run would be wearying. After all, a long journey, whether by rail, ocean. cycle, or on foot, is a miniature of life. Certain impressions, only at intervals, survive, which an observant traveller will, if he be wise, idealize. Let THE GIPSY JOURNAL. me then gather up a few of the “crystallized " memories of the road, both as regards persons and places. Do we not all pass by ten thousand people daily without as much as a thought that one of them could possibly have an affinity for us * This is eminently so in wandering about on our travels, and, yet, strange to say, no sooner does the right compagnon de voyage turn up, than we recognize him at once, and, in two minutes, are as “thick,” may even “thicker,” than had we known him all our lives. Here's a health, Gipsy comrade, to every good brother tramp and traveller you or I have ever picked up by the way side. It was at the “Ship Hotel,” at Reading, that I came across my first new acquaintance, Mr. Penford, who inhabits one of those three unique specimens of brick-work architecture—now, alas, disappearing, except in country towns—just outside Newbury. Mr. Penford was travelling by train, whereas I was mounted on a cycle; and as the train from Reading to Newbury, a distance of sixteen miles, did not leave for some time, we speculated as to whether bike or train would reach Newbury first. The train won, and, sure enough, on entering Newbury. I found my companion of the “Ship” at Reading Sunning himself serenely in the glad morn- ing sunshine, in front of his residence, and calmly on the look out. Mr. Penford's house and two other residences — one occupied by the doctor —were formerly a gigantic wayside inn, and to- day constitute, from an architectural point of view, one of the “lions of Newbury, the gardens be- hind the houses being a veritable dreamland of delight. The next impression of my recent ride was Savernake Forest, with the graceful deer peeping out from behind the sun-smitten brush- wood. The gradient up to and through Savernake is steep, and, as the mid-day sun shone in a cloudless sky, pedalling was stiff. But, at last, the top was reached, and, on emerging from the forest, the town of Marlborough appeared in the fertile vale below. The hill downwards is tremendously steep. so, leading my machine, I drank in all the beauty of the scene, surveyed the handsome buildings of Marlborough College, dwelt kindly on its former headmaster, Dean Farrar, and his inimitable “ St. Winifred's ’’ and “Julian Home,” and thought how grand if is to be an English public school boy. An old schoolfellow of mine in the north told me, some time since, that, in his travels, he had come across Marlborough College, and had fallen so in love with the school that he meant to send his lads there. A similar charm must have struck me, too. as I thought of the famous cricketer, A. G. Steel, and other Marlburians, and pictured the playing grounds echoing with the shouts of urchins fresh let loose from school. Do any of these “bold adventurers,” I wonder, ever disdain the limits of their “little reign,” and scour those noble downs city on a hill. and barrows, over the Wiltshire Hills, towards Chippenham Along the way to the latter place, I thought what a noble scope these uplands offered for cross-country runs, and half expected to see some passing trail in the way of torn-up “school paper.” For an ideal public school situa- tion, I consider Marlborough ahead of Eton, Harrow and Rugby, though I was grieved to hear that illness and even death have entered its walls this last term. At Chippenham two young ladies mis-directed me on to the Trowbridge Road, so that it was dark when I rode into Bath, and put up at Mrs. Braddick's excellent little Temperance Hotel in Terrace Walk. The next day I rode over the hills to Wells, and then to Taunton, the first portion of the road being very steep, and that from Wells to Taunton very stony. I led my machine down the long hill leading into Wells, as I am a careful rider, so it was past one o'clock when I sat down to the appetising shilling ordinary at the “ White Hart.” But why, oh, cheerful, healthy - looking | Ostler of the “White Hart.” Wells, did you tell me the road to Taunton was good for cyclists It was unknown to you, I suppose, with what profuse liberality the powers that be have sprinkled these marshy regions of Somerset, sacred, it is to be pre- sumed, to King Alfred and the Danes, with stones from pit and quarry. In the very heart of King Alfred's country I game across a sturdy yeoman driving his flocks homeward in the evening, and asked if a tower on a hill, some nine miles from Taunton, was not a memorial to King Alfred, but was told it was only an abandoned church. King Alfred had doubtless his share of troubles, but I have not yet heard that he ever rode a new pneu- matic by a stony track across “Zumersetshire * marshes. At the King Alfred Temperance Hotel, Taunton, I had the good luck to come across Mr. E. E. Speight, B.A., who is assisting Doctor Murray with his coming “immortal” dictionary, at Oxford, and we were treated with princely hospitality by “mine excellent host, W. A. Jones.” Here let me say a word of praise on behalf of the Temperance Hotels of the West. Mrs. Braddick, at Bath, the “ King Alfred,” at Taunton, the “City,” at Exeter, are samples of what good Temperance houses can do at moderate charges, and I am now writing in a comfortable Temperance Hotel at Camelford. I have put into the “Gipsy Journal’s ” bad books, however, the inn where I stopped the other night, at Nor Tawnton, whose charges were only equalled in height by the flavour of the bacon at breakfast. Yesterday, I pedalled through Okehampton, had a pleasant smoke at Meecham's—another desirable Temperance Hotel—and rode at about half-past four into Launceston. Launceston is, indeed, a Lisbon, Quimperlé, Edinburgh, 174 JOURNAL. THE GIPSY Morlaix, and other similar towns cannot compare, in the way of towering, projecting dwellings, with Launceston. Going down into the town suggests Jacob's ladder, at St. Helena, or the cliff lift, at Saltburn-by-the-Sea. But the situation is magnifi- cent. Behind me were Yes Tor and the hills of Dartmoor, over whose breezy surface my machine had skimmed so lightly before the exhilarating winds. Before me, towards Camelford, lay the moors of Cornwall, Brown Willy rising proudly above his compeers in the golden sunset, and, standing with my hand on the saddle of my machine, I drank in the intense beauty of the vast panorama and fancied that, over in the direction of Boscastle I saw the reflection of the Atlantic waves. Of course, on the road between places so far dis- tant as Barnet and Boscastle, I came across many wayside pictures, which, in detail, would weary the reader, so I will merely name one or two, such as Cilbury Hill between Marlborough and Chippen- ham, to the top of which remarkable eminence several cyclists and other travellers—leaving their conveyances on the highway — were making a pilgrimage, the early morning view of Taunton and the surrounding hills, Exeter Cathedral, as the shadows of the declining sun fell across the figures at the front entrance, a towering column on a hill near Sampford Peverel, a Dartmoor farmhouse, a christening party wending their way to the church at Broad Clyst, and so on. The three villages which pleased me most were Willand, Newton St. Cyres, and Box. There is, just outside Willand, the most fascinating, old-world, farmhouse conceivable, and close by I lingered, chatting with the genial owner of a pretty house a bit further on–Mr. A. Chick. Newton St. Cyres, with that fantastic old bridge spanning the rocky road just by the church, must have walked straight out of a picture book, and Box, some distance beyond Crediton, reminded me of a village in the Scottish Highlands. And, as the sun is now shining brightly once more in a clear blue sky, let me continue my route to Bos- castle, concerning which I hope to write in the June number. - Do you know There can be no pleasure in riding or driving a horse that is suffering at every step he takes. Do you know - That you can assist us in our work, by subscribing, and getting others to do so? Oxford. Black Horse Inn, High-st., Saint Clement’s. Mode- Noted House for Visitors to this City. rate charges. Cyclists' Rest. IN THE CHILTERNS. By REGINALD TAYLER. Author of “The Dynamitards,” &c. SINCE the opening of the new Metropolitan line to Aylesbury, the Chiltern Hills have be- come better known than of yore to the average Londoner. On Bank Holidays, quite a crowd of people come down to such a place as Wendover in Bucks, and spread themselves over the hills, which rise near there, in places, to the height of 850 ft. and upwards above sea-level. On Easter Monday last, there could not have been less than 1,000 happy holiday folk on Coombe and Bacombe hills, which are quite close to Wendover. Wendover, by-the-bye, is a quaint ancient town, once represented in Parliament by Oliver Cromwell, but now long since disfranchised on account of its flagrant corrupt practices at election times. To a faded city worker, sighing for a day in the country, nothing could be offered better than a journey to this old-world town and its neighbour- ing hills. Coombe and Bacombe hills are of con- siderable extent, and (a great desideratum) are open to the public. A climb to the top brings its reward, the breeze there is fresh and pure, the ground is a soft, grassy, mossy, carpet, and the prospect one of the finest any where near London. Stretched beneath one on the north, like a pano- rama, is the extensive Vale of Aylesbury with its fringe of hills lost in the misty distance. Far into the county of Oxford on the west and of Herts on the east the range of view extends; on a very clear day the city of Oxford itself is said to be visible. Some two miles in a westerly direction rises “Cymbeline's Mount,” a conical eminence, on which the warlike King Cymbeline established a camp so long ago as the First Century; the villages of Great and Little Kimble near being named after that Monarch. Hard by, too, is Chequers' Court, where the Protector Oliver Crom- well lived, while two or three miles to the south is the ancestral home of the Hampdens, who were in old times lords of vast domains in this neigh- bourhood. Born of ancient tradition is the rhyme Tring, Wing, and Ivinghoe, From Hampden of Hampden did goe, For striking of ye prince a blow. This has reference to some quarrel between a Hampden and Edward the Black Prince while playing tennis, when the former, in a fit of exas- peration, struck the Prince with his racquet, and THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 175 the penalty inflicted by the King was, it is said, the forfeiture of the three large estates indicated in the doggerel. The story is supported, however, by nothing more substantial than tradition. A charming circular route may be accomplished by going by the Great Western line as far as Princes Risborough, walking to Wendover (about seven miles), and returning thence to London by the “Metropolitan.” One may thus get amongst the best of the hills and have a pleasant day's excur- sion. Princes Risborough, by-the-by, is so named from the fact that the Black Prince lived for a time in a Palace which he built there. All that remains of this building now, however, are the grass-grown mounds in the rear of the Vicarage. - Naphill, on the Chiltern range, near High Wycombe, is a favourite resort of families in the summer months. The village and adjacent com- mon stand about six hundred feet above sea-level, and the beauties of the immediate vicinity are really entrancing; as, for instance, the leafy glades leading down to Bradenham. Here, for those who like quiet, freedom from restraint, pure air, and lovely landscapes, a rich holiday may well be spent. But for a holiday the Spring has many claims to be called the best time. The wonderful wealth of nature is more evident then than at any other time of the year. With the lifting of the pall of winter one's senses are quickened; each year the attributes of spring are new to us. From March to June great changes are wrought on the face of Nature, and every day new interest is imparted to one's surroundings. Get out in the early morning on the common, and let the fresh breeze fan your cheeks, while you watch the sun rising over the distant hills. There is much to see and hear around one. In the arable fields in early Spring you will see the farmers busily ploughing and harrowing for their Lent corn sowings, and from across the valleys occasion- ally you will hear the dull hum of thrashing machines at work on last season's crops. Here: in a field of young wheat, you may see a very black son of the soil sowing soot broadcast over the land to kill the wire-worms and strengthen the roots. White and blue violets are plentiful in the hedge- rows, while, in the beech-woods, the delicate Woodruff, the short-lived anemone, and the hyacinth may be seen on all sides; skylarks sing lustily high over the common, while greenfinches and wagtails flit about in the sunshine. Corn is grown largely on the Chiltern Hills, and, in spring time, where the plants are still short, the fields look fresh and lovely in the pale green - - | covering. Here and there the troublesome char- lock makes a whole enclosure one mass of bright yellow. Wonderful effects are produced by the sun and clouds on an April day on these hills. All around one may be in shadow, but miles away the sun is Shining on some upland and throwing into bright relief objects which are almost invisible at other times even on the clearest days. - Day by day, as the season advances, one may notice how the youthful freshness of Spring matures into the ripe fulness of Summer. The wheat grows apace as the sun gets stronger, the beech woods become green and full of life, while singing birds, such as the redbreast, thrush, linnet, and black- bird, fill the air with sweet sounds; and the curious may observe amusedly some ambitious hedge- Sparrow feebly trying to imitate the notes of a skylark. In the distance—always in the distance— the sleepy notes of the cuckoo may be heard in April, if the days are warm. If people would take their holidays occasionally in the Spring and spend them on the Chiltern Hills they would be well recompensed. One must be amongst them in order to know and appreciate all the delights of the season. TO RAMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours? walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AVENUE, LONDON, E.C. Cºrºš Vºgtſäriäil RéStällrämt, Warwick Lane, E.C. Three Courses after 2 p.m. Thê Gärdèll Węg, RESIAllſånt, Water Lane. Three Courses for sixpence. of the highest quality. for sixpence. Smoking - All articles Kolnischer Hof, Coblenz-am-Rhein. Cyclists in the Rhine District will find good accommodation. Bedrooms from 1s. 6d. a night. 176 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. Bravo Board School. THE Board School is again well to the fore. Only the other day-a deputation advocating sound teaching with regard to animals, and headed by Archdeacon Farrar and Mr. Ernest Bell, had a friendly reception from Mr. Acland. Meanwhile internal dissensions seem to occupy the attention of teachers in our great public middle- class schools, the head-masters of these schools maintaining their right to dismiss assistants at pleasure, while the assistants naturally stand out for the reverse. And so, whilst Nero fiddles—we mean whilst doctors disagree, the middle and upper class boys of England are still allowed to grow up in the belief that birds' nests are made to be plundered, horses to be overdriven and overladen, bullocks and sheep to be harried and tortured, and kettles to be tied to dogs' tails. We have the fullest sympathy with the assistant masters in many of our middle class public schools, believing them to be the victims of an overbearing autocracy un- known amongst other European schoolmasters, and we wish them well in their efforts to rid themselves of the yoke of the oppressor. We are convinced, however, that they would both ennoble their own righteous struggle and enlist a mass of popular sympathy on their side by making the cause of animals an item in their programme. The head- masters have been as dumb on this question as the “pulpit,” and left humanitarian education to the Editors of “The Echo,” “The Pall Mall,” “The Westminster Gazette,” “The Daily News,” “The Newcastle Chronicle,” and other papers, as well as to our Board School teachers. Let the Assistant Masters' Association pass, at its next meeting, a resolution in favour of saying a few words to boys, when the occasion offers, on the rights of animals. They would thus, to a great extent, take the wind out of the head-masters’ sails. The surest way to secure moral support in any great social or educational movement is for those who suffer to throw themselves into the struggle on behalf of the suffering and helpless. “The Horticultural Review " says: The ever-welcome, interesting, and humanitarian * Gipsy Journal and British Tourist” (too seldom published, we think) is before us. Its list of clever contributors, its noble purposes, its sympa- thetic interest in the highest and most ennobling pleasures, is always grateful. It is worthy a place of honour in every household, and should be made a text-book for our schools. How Not to Shoot. | 10,000 School Teachers, to read this paper. Wànfēd Every boy and Girl in the World to learn CONTRIBUTORS to the “GIPSY JOURNAL.” Rev. J. Bacon-Phillips, M.A. W. H. Baskerville. William Lisle B. Coulson, Lieut.-Col. Miss Blanche Cuthbertson. Miss Edith Carrington. Rev. J. Alfred Davies, B.D. W. Finckh, (of Stuttgart). W. Blyth-Gerish (Arch. Soc., Norfolk & Suffolk). Thomas Wright Haddon, M.A., Oxon. Miss Maud Huntsman. Owen G. Jones, B.Sc. (Alpine Club). Miss Augusta Mansford (“Hospital Days & Hospital Ways,” “Strand Magazine’’). Rev. T. Mitcheson, B.A. A. G. Munro, B.A. (“Boy’s Own Paper’), London School. Captain S. P. Munro. Fred. W. Payne, B.A. C. E. Bike. R. Ritherdon, B.A. Miss S. J. Robinson. W. Stanley Shaw. E. E. Speight, B.A., The Scriptorium, Oxford. INugent C. Simner, B.A., L.L.B., Camb. F. Smith. W. H. Spragge, M.A., Camb. Mrs. F. H. Suckling. W. C. Sutherland, M.A. (“Boy’s Own Paper”). Rev. J. H. Swinstead, M.A., Camb. (The “Gipsy" Clergyman.) - E. Thornton Todd, Brooklyn, Ontario. - Miss Grace Toplis (Co-Editress of “Our Magazine”). I. F. Wakefield. - - - tº City of - T. H. Webb. Ralph Weldon. F. White. W. A. Young, &c., &c. The “Bristol Times and Mirror” says: WE have just received a copy of a monthly magazine which is quite apropos to the time of year. and will doubtless attract the attention of all lovers of nature and rural beauty. It is well styled “The Gipsy Journal,” and has struck out quite a new line of interest for the reader, which is saying a good deal in this age of magazine literature. The Cipsy Journal Circulating among Humanitarians, Naturalists, Ramblers, Tourists, Clubs, Reading Rooms, Hotels, &c., and Health Resorts at Home and Abroad. Please pass this Copy on to a Friend. B}stablished 1893. No. 13, 7th Series, will be ready the end of July. * The Gipsy journal.” *º 㺠º E’ROIM THE *BOOK OF NATURE.” oxon. Organ of Footpath and Common Rights Associations; for Protection from Cruelty to and Wanton Destruction of Birds and Animals; the British Tourists' Friend. No. XII. 6th Series.] Sunset. ---->>)-4444- THE sun sinking behind a deep bank of purple shed his refulgent beams across the sea of clouds, which transmitted to one another the blood- red glow. It is a sea of flame, sublime in its intensity, now dashing into spray as it drifts towards the west, and ever and anon foaming around a dark rock- shaped cloud. The colours deepen and darken, and a calm seems upon the clouds, whose borrowed colours fade, and are merged into one indefinable greyness, save where, at the horizon, one lurid, sanguinary streak outlines in dark relief the spire of the distant village church standing clear and distinct, amidst the wooded heights. Darker still, a thin red line now appears; then, below the horizon, we look for it in vain; its place being occupied by one gloomy shadow that seems to sorrow for the glorious scene so lately departed. It is a work of art by the hand of the Oldest of the Old masters, presenting us with a unique masterpiece—now gorgeous, now sombre—every day of our existence. He is an artist whose works are free to everyone, an artist who draws nothing that cannot be appreciated, even by those who possess the least artistic feeling. The contemplation of such effects as these fills the soul with that calm, ineffable peace that can only be purchased by secret com- munion with all the beautiful and good in Nature. A. LANGSTON SIMPSON. June. The back numbers of the Gipsy Journal, 200 pages, are the best miscellaneous collection of Holiday Reading ever yet published. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED- [1895. South Western Ramblers. The members of the above club had a most enjoyable picnic at Keston and Hayes on June 8th. Everything passed off in a most satisfactory manner, and by the courtesy of the S. E. Railway, the party travelled together in a saloon, both going and returning. After the tea, of which forty people partook, rambles were organized to Holwood Park, to visit the Wilberforce Seat, and the fine old trees, and the rest of the time was filled up with wandering round the lake, and joining in various kinds of games. The total expense amounted to 2s 3d. per person. On Saturday, June 22nd, the club will visit Sevenoaks. Full particulars of Hon. Sec., Woodcote, Earlsfield Road, S. W. South Place Ramblers. ON Thursday, May 18, the South Place Ramblers hold their first Soiree of the season. These gatherings which have now been held for many years always attract a large number to hear some music, short papers, and generally to discuss among themselves matters of public and private import. The meeting on the 16th opened with a pianoforte solo by Mrs. Bunn, followed by the first paper which was read by Mr. Hallam, on a “Visit to Toledo and Madrid.” Mr. Hallam, who had paid several visits to Spain, dwelt at some length on the Moorish architecture, and, in speaking of Spanish Ecclesiastical vicissitudes, mentioned one particular church that had formerly been a Synagogue, then a Mosque, and, finally a Christian church. Mrs. Bradlaugh Bonner read the second paper on a “Visit to the Channel Islands,” and gave an account of a trip to Alderney, when she and her sister, Miss Alice Bradlaugh, with the crew of the sailing boat, nearly came to grief on the rocks through being enveloped in a dense sea fog; in conclusion she thought all her hearers should visit Jersey and Guernsey, and even Sark, but to those going to Alderney she recommended “Punch’s ” advice to the erring Benedick. Mr. Champion read the last paper on “A Spanish Bull Fight,” at which he had been present, and the sanguinary and brutal character of the spectacle did not evoke in his hearers a desire to travel so far to see such an exhibition. The singing of Miss Nettie Sajon and Mr. Arthur Bonner was much enjoyed, and a little dancing brought to a close, at about 11 o’clock, a very pleasant evening. WHAT about Hadley Woods this year * The glades are an alluring bait for ramblers who are fond of a Summer picnic. - 178 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. - SPECIAL TOURIST QUARTERS. - A. GIPSY JOURNAL representative, recently on tour in the West of England, desires to recommend to readers of this paper the following hotels and other houses at which he received the greatest hospitality at moderate terms. ºn Mrs. Braddick’s Temperance Hotel, Terrace Walk. Camelford.— Mrs. Hooper’s Temperance Hotel. Exeter.—The City Temperance Hotel. Falmouth.--Temperance Hotel, overlooking the harbour. | Fowey.—Mrs. Brokenshaw's Boarding House, Esplanade. Okehampton.—Meecham’s Temperance Hotel. Porthleven.—Mrs. Solomon Rowe, overlooking Mount’s Bay. St. Columb.-The Red Lion. - Taunton. The King Alfred Temperance Hotel. N.B. prices on arrival, as our representative found the prices at a leading hotel here out of proportion to the accomodation. Wimbledon Park. Sandhurst, Woolwich, Universities, &c. MIR. ALEXANDER WATT, M.A., and MR. C. H. THOMSON, M.A., Prepare Successfully on the INDIVIDUAL SYSTEM. There is a large staff of experienced tutors, and the number of pupils being limited, each obtains an unusually large amount of individual attention and personal super- vision. - - Číº MICAL and PHYSICAL Laboratories properly - preservation. fitted with all necessary apparatus. Geological collections for practical work. Since June, 1891, of TWENTY - NINE CANDI- DATES SENT UP, TWENTY-THREE HAVE PASSED, including WOOLWICH (Limited Competition). Amongst the places gained in 1894 were: - FIRST PLACE IN FRENCH, WOOLWICH. FIRST IN OBLIGATORY SUBJECTS, MILITIA LITERARY. - - SIXTH PLACE, MILITIA LITERARY. For particulars, write to— WATT AND THOMSON, ECCLEFECHAN, WIMBLEDON PARK. King's Cºlºgº, Wimbledon. reparation for Public Examinations and the Universities. FIRST place, MEssrs. Principal, W. C. SUTHERLAND, M.A churches can be counted. Returning to Cromer Visitors to Nor Tawnton are advised to enquire the various º - grandeur of its scenery, but nevertheless, the T- Do you know There can be no pleasure in riding or driving a horse that is suffering at every step he takes : - Now from the town. Bury’d in smoke, and sleep, and moisome damps, Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, Where freshness breathes.—THOMson. Žºº-º-º: as Gipsy liff \,\! º, GIPSVLANDA chomes AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. By W. F. SHARPE. CROMER is not famous for its beauty, or for the neighbourhood is, in some places, extremely picturesque and not lacking in interest. One of the prettiest walks is along the cliffs from Cromer to Trimmingham, a distance of about six miles to the south-east, and looking down from the top you get a very fine view indeed. Overstrand is the first place of any importance,—although only a small village, it is a source of interest to visitors, on account of the old ruined church. This was built in the reign of Richard II., and all that now remains of it is the square tower and portions of the walls, which are overgrown with ivy. A part of the nave, however, still remains in almost perfect It is possible to climb up to what originally was the belfry, by a narrow winding staircase, but unless you are very careful, you stand a great risk of injuring yourself, as, in some places, two or three steps are missing altogether, and in others they are quite rotten and crumbling to pieces. Leaving Overstrand, about two miles farther on is Sidestrand, another small parish. On the very edge of the cliff stands the tower of the old church, which was demolished in 1881 in conse- quence of the frequent encroachments of the water which was wearing away the cliff beneath it. A few minutes' walk brings us to Trimmingham, where the scenery may almost be called grand. Standing on the highest point of the cliffs (an eminence 350 feet high), you can, on a very fine day, just discern Yarmouth, while Norwich Cathe- dral spire can easily be distinguished. From this point, also, the spires of no less than twenty-six by the road you would be astonished at the beauty of the wild flowers, which grow in abundance, and, in a few minutes, you might gather a bouquet which would compare favourably with many a one THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 179 selected from a cultivated garden. Even thistles attain an extraordinary magnificence. Much more might be said about the beauties of this side of Cromer, but space will not permit it, so we must turn our attention to the other (the west) side. A short walk of about a mile and a half brings us to Runton, a small hamlet not worthy of the name of a village, comprising only about forty or fifty houses. There is here a curious gap running up a considerable distance from the beach ; it is called Runton Gap. A few miles inland are the remains of a Roman encampment. The hill on which it is situated commands a fine view of the sea. We may here mention, as showing the great encroach- ments of the tide, that, in the latter part of the 14th century, a town of considerable importance, called Shipden, stood where now the fisherman sinks his crab and lobster pots, and, on days when the water is clear you can see the ruins of the church tower far beneath the surface. The want of space compels me reluctantly to leave this charming spot and I hope sincerely that my readers will go and see for themselves the beauties which I have here endeavoured to describe. ŞājSH ||FE 1N WEST AJSTRAL.A. By a City of London School Boy. I HAVE been asked to write something for the Gipsy Journal about life in Western Australia. The town life is very much like English town life, except that the people are much more free and easy-going, and are not quite so much given to dress as the English people are. But life in the bush is quite different. - Some of the houses are built of stone, but the greater number are made of wood, and most of those in the plains are raised on piles, as a pro- tection against floods. They are nearly all one storey, and have a verandah mostly in the front, but in some cases nearly all round them. The life is very free in the bush. Amongst other animals found in the bush are opossums, parrots, squeakers, crows, and kangaroos, for domestic use. Parrots are excellent eating ; the general way to cook them is to roll them up, feathers and all, in a ball of clay to keep the gravy in, and bury the clay in hot ashes. When cooked, you break the clay, and the feathers come away with it. Opossums are very good as they are cooked in the bush; you make a fire, then throw the opossum in to singe off his fur, then pull him out, take his inside, which comes away in a ball, and close up the hole by means of a wooden spin (skewer) to keep in the gravy, then put him into the hot ashes to cook quietly, as putting him in the flame would burn and quite spoil him, and, when he is cooked he is first rate eating. And then there is the sleeping out, when you are out after cattle; that consists in finding a nice tree, and making a good fire beside it, and getting some branches off a young gum tree, spreading your rug (generally made of 'possum skins) on the branches, which then form a sort of mattress, and with the fire you are comfortable. On a wet night I have had to go without a fire many a time; but you get quite accustomed to it, and regard it as a matter of course. When you are by yourself it is inclined to be rather lonely, but if there are others with you, I think it is more jolly and comfortable than sleeping in a house. You are hardly ever troubled by snakes as the fire keeps them off. Then in some parts, the country has very bad bogs; I have seen our own horses and animals in, and have helped to get them out. If it is a verythick bog, with surface water, an animal will sometimes live for a week or so in it, but when they are got out, they have such bad cramp that they often cannot stand for days after. To get them out—that is if you see them go in—you often have to put branches right under them to prevent them from sinking further, until you can get a rope and pull them; they will try to help themselves a little sometimes, and you generally get them out that way. In some cases you have to get horses on to pull to help get them out. But if they have been in a little time, it is a fairly difficult task to get ropes and such like under them. If they are far in you have to get out to them on boards to stop you sinking, and the poor brutes have such bad cramp they cannot help themselves; then you have to do it all, and it is generally a bad job altogether. One of the great annual amusements of the people in Albany is to make long day picnics into the bush for a flower called Beronia, there being three varieties, of which the black Beronia is very sweet scented. This is found in a swampy part, about seven miles out of the town by road— but pleasure-seekers generally prefer to take the lovely drive round by Middleton Beach to Emu Point, which makes the distance about eleven miles. The pink and red varieties, which have very little or no scent, grow by the side of or in water, at a much farther distance from Albany. About thirteen miles up the Perth Road (sometimes called Swan Road) you leave the beaten track, and strike into the bush, and there is to be found a large variety of the red Beronia, which grows to such a height that you can hardly see over it when you are riding on horseback. 180 - THE GIPSY JOURNAL. I have mentioned some of the pleasures of Australian bush life, but you must not think it is all so easy, as you have to take the rough with the smooth. Getting animals out of bogs, when it becomes, as it often does, a daily or weekly occur- ence, loses a great deal of its excitement. Some of the difficulties you have to guard against are bush fires, which will burn for weeks and do an enormous lot of damage, such as burning down fences, barns, stock-yards &c. You often have to watch the houses (which usually have thatched and shingled roofs, and so become very dry with the heat of the sun) all day and all night, for fear lest they should be set on fire by bits of lighted paper-bark, which float about in the air for some distance. Another great inconvenience is want of water, which is a terrible drawback to any place. We get very bad tropical thunderstorms, which do a lot of damage, and large hailstones often come through even the corrugated iron roofs of the town houses. - The Australian natives are a poor degraded set of people, and are fast dying out wherever English- men settle. They are very lazy, and are very fond of drink, and when they get it, it turns them nearly mad. The law, however, forbids anyone to sell them drink under heavy penalties. Their 'anguage is peculiar to themselves; the names of a great many of the places in the South of West Australia are derived from the natives; a large number end in “up,” such as Kojonup, Kendenup, Ettakup, Ewlyamartup &c. - Now, I think I have tried to tell you a good many incidents concerning life in the bush, which I hope may be of interest to you. LANCE. naas. By MISS GRACE TOPLIS. Editor of “The Educational Review.” IT is to be hoped that this paper will not have the effect of making everyone want to go to Nāās; and yet a longing feeling of compassion makes me fell about it, in order that they may not let the chance slip if it ever presents itself. Where is Nääs? In Sweden, within easy distance of Gothen- burg, whither any tourist, who will condescend to discard his bicycle and use other means of loco- motion, may be transported by either Swedish or English steamers—only, my friends, be careful that the North Sea is, like yourself, in a holiday mood before you venture on it ; otherwise you will have the chance of learning what the North Sea can do when it is seriously disposed. I know, and I pass on the warning. - Well, it is the teacher-tourist whom I have in my mind just now—for who deserves, who appre- ciates, who enjoys a holiday as a teacher does . Don't talk to me about school-boys and school-girls counting the days till the vacation comes. “He best enjoys a holiday, Who has no other time to play.” No | Neither Shakespeare nor Hudibras is responsible for that wise saw, but it is absolutely true, even if you can’t find it in “ Familiar Quotations.” Now for a story. There was a certain rich and generous Jewish merchant, who, for the sake of one whose memory was all that he had, resolved to devote time and money to helping his less fortunate countrymen. Education, of course, was the best means, and, by that, book-lore only is not meant. He thought of a nephew, enthusiastic, original, and devoted to the same object, and to him he communicated the carrying out of his scheme. The first endeavours were for those in the immediate neighbourhood, the peasants on the estate &c., who were taught a new system of manual education based on very scientific principles. Then the benefits were extended to local teachers, so that they could impart the same knowledge to their pupils; and, gradually, the scheme became extended more and more, until not Swedes only, but teachers from every country under the sun were admitted and welcomed. I am not going to write learnedly of Sloyd in a paper devoted to leisure rather than work—only, if you had seen the people who were there when I went, you would have been impressed with the fact that there must be something in the system if they went—very big-wigs in our scholastic world, I assure you. No, I am only going to tell you of the place in which these studies are pursued, and in which, after working hours are ended you find that “every prospect pleases,” and no man deserves to be called “vile ” in that genial, hospitable country. Of course, we English claim kinship with the Swedes, so modesty compels silence as to their national character; but for down-right, simple, unaffected, unselfish kindness, commend me to the Swedes in general, and to some of those who devoted to me hours of their valuable time, in particular. Imagine a charming lake, bordering a park, in which are dotted about picturesque chalets, here and there, for the accomodation of foreign visitors who swarm over in the summer. Boating and swimming are not unknown pleasures in that region I assure you, and to the ordinary Londoner this is bliss enough. Picnics, now and then, make a * - - ºf TEIE GIPSY JOURNA. 181 welcome break in the daily routine of lectures and manual exercises; and the students enjoy the holiday-making all the more because they are working desperately hard at other times. But the point to be noticed is this : the charges being fixed at what seems less than cost price, one has the sensation all the time of being an honoured guest, and, indeed, Herr Abrahamson and his nephew, Herr Otto Salomon, treat the visitors in that manner all through the course. The castle itself is frequently thrown open for their entertain- ment, and the hospitality is truly Swedish—generous in the extreme. The total cost might be covered by a ten pound note, and of this, of course, the lion's share would be swallowed by the expense of the voyage. So that six weeks here represents the maximum of pleasure and benefit for the minimum of cost, and if this is not a boon to the average pocket, I am greatly mistaken in average incomes. Of course, there is great difficulty now in obtaining the opportunity to go—so many apply, and the accommodation is not unlimited. But I have never yet met anyone who has brought away any but happy recollections of Nāās, and most visitors cherish a hope of going at some favoured time later on. And as we leave the friendly spot, we cannot help wishing that some of our great nobles may someday think of a similar plan for sharing the pleasures of their beautiful estates with others, so that we English may have the chance of paying back a little of the debt which we owe to the hospitable and generous Swedes who have set us the above example. Barnet to Hitchen and back on a Bike. By a Fourth Form Boy. THIS is a very nice ride for London cyclists. You take the train from King's Cross to High Barnet Station which is on the Great North Road. (the return fare is 1/6). By this means you get out into the country before you start riding. We will suppose you have arrived at the station; you will probably think it advisable to walk up the hill into the old town of Barnet. The steepest part of the hill ends somewhere about the Church, which, by the way, was built in the year 1400, where you may safely mount, taking care, however, to follow the right hand road as the other will land you in Arkley or Elstree. Keeping straight on through the town you will presently come to Hadley Green, through the middle of which the Great North Road runs; you will pass on the left the obelisk commemorating the battle fought here in 1471, between the Yorkist and Lancastrian armies, where the latter were totally defeated and the great Earl of Warwick killed. You then go up a slight hill, at the top of which is one of the entrances to the Earl of Strafford's park. From here to the Duke of York hotel, where the duke of that name is supposed to have stopped after the battle of Barnet, the road is fairly level. Then there is a down hill about half a mile long, and soon you get into the pretty little village of Potters Bar. When you get past the outskirts of the village there is a steep down hill. After this the road is level until you get to a long up hill running through a very pretty ravine. Then there is a magnificent run into Hatfield. When you arrive in Hatfield you will have covered about ten miles and if you feel so disposed, it would be a good thing to put up your machine at the Temperance Hotel, and go and have a look at the Marquis of Salisbury's park and house. This house was built early in the 17th century in the Elizabethan style. The original structure belonged to the Bishops of Ely, and was obtained from them by Queen Elizabeth, who resided in it whilst a princess. It was given by James the first to the Earl of Salisbury, in exchange for Theobald's Park which the readers of this paper read about in a previous number. In 1835 a portion of the house was destroyed by fire, in the flames of which the Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury perished. There are also the remains of a Roman camp at Hatfield. There is a steep up hill out of the town, and later on, just before you get to Welwyn, there is a run down of about two miles terminating with a very steep drop into the town. Here Doctor Young, author of Night Thoughts,” who was long rector of the parish, is buried. Then you proceed to Hitchin, passing on the way the village of Codicote, which is two miles from Welwyn. Hitchin, which is beautifully situated at the bottom of a steep hill, is ten miles from Welwyn, and possesses a richly ornamented and spacious church built in the reign of Henry VI., and containing a beautiful altar-piece by Rubens. A very good and cheap dinner may be had at the Temperance place here. From Hitchin you ride a rather hilly road into the old village of Stevenage, passing by the side of the road seven small mounds, supposed to be some Roman entrenchments, now called the Seven Hills of Stevenage. Just before Knebworth. which is the next village, you turn to the left, and go along a straight road into Hertford which is about eight miles further on. There is a branch of Christ's Hospital School here, also the celebrated school of Haileybury, which was built by the East India Company. The castle of Hert- ford was built in 909 A.D., and some portions of the I82 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. existing edifice are very ancient. It was taken by the French Dauphin in the reign of John, and in that of Edward III. the kings of Scotland and France were prisoners in it. There are also a number of mills, tanneries, etc., worked by the Lea, in this town. Out of Hertford there is rather a steep up hill, but, after that, there are no hills worth mentioning until one which leads up into the small village of Essendon, where about a year ago, that celebrated doctor, Sir Andrew Clark, was buried. From here you ride over a very hilly road past the hamlet of Woodside into the Great North Road again, about a mile from Potters Bar, through which you ride into Barnet, and so home. If you follow this ride, as I have mapped it out, you will have ridden somewhere about sixty miles. - Letters to the Editors. Free Public Library, Redruth, June 4th, 1895. The Editors, Gipsy Journal. Dear Sir and Madam, I am directed by the Library Committee to thank you for your presentation to the library here of your valuable journal. We shall be happy to place your paper regularly upon our reading tables if you care to send it. Yours obediently, W. G. HALE, Librarian. Wandsworth, S.W. 24th May. Dear Sir and Madam, In reply to your kind note, re St Mark's Rambling Club, I have the pleasure to inform you, that the club has been re-started under the name of the “South Western Ramblers,” and, more- over, I have been appointed Hon. Sec. This will be the fifth year the club will have been in existence, and I notice that the Battersea PCly., and the Battersea Library, have started clubs. I should be greatly obliged if you would put our name on the cover of your excellent magazine and also give us a note in your pages. As I see you invite contributions in the way of reports of rambles, I shall hope to favour you with some from time to time, as we have visited some of the best bits of Surrey, of course easily reached on a Saturday afternoon. Yours faithfully, EWD. B. ROSSITER, South Western Ramblers. Kolnischer Hof, Coblenz-am-Rhein. Cyclists in the Rhine District will find good accommodation. Bedrooms from 1s. 6d. a night. NOCTURNE (Summer). - —- See the great sun slowly sinking To its wonted ocean-bed, Yielding, as a parting favour, Tints of orange, gold, and red. Gradually steals on the twilight, One by one the stars appear Scintillating in the heavens,— Tiny points, or there or here. O'er the hill-tops duly rising With a majesty serene, Sheds the moon a silvery lustre, Ting'd with blue, and now with green; Keeping guard o'er towns and hamlets, Lighting travellers on their way, Over copse and woodland pouring Freely her enchanting ray. Look at yon meandering streamlet, As it winds through park and heath, While it mirrors ev’ry object In its placid depths beneath. Listen now the song of all songs Issues from the nightingale, Putting other notes to silence Save the screech-owl's dismal wail. Now, behold, the mists are rising From both field and lane and stream,_ Rising to unfold the distance Like the opening of a dream. See the landscape now enchanted By the witching power of Night:- Not a sound to make a discord, - Or disturb the fading light. Every playful wind is silenced, Every zephyr laid to rest,- For the shrine of night is sacred And the time of Night is blest : Silence deep, and solemn silence, Having but a little span, Forms a time of contemplation For the reasoning soul of man. W. F.A.B.INI. The “Bristol Times and Mirror ’’ says: WE have just received a copy of a monthly magazine which is quite apropos to the time of year. and will doubtless attract the attention of all lovers of nature and rural beauty. It is well styled “The Gipsy Journal,” and has struck out quite a new line of interest for the reader, which is saying a good deal in this age of magazine literature. In leaving town don't forget your Cat. TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL. - 183 FAF WEST. By E. THORNTON TODID. {N THE THEY say that this has been the most severe winter for at least five years, so that I may say that I have seen one of the old time Canadian Winters—33 degrees below zero, just fancy, and this is the part with the mildest temperature, it registering between 50° and 60° below zero up in Manitoba and the North West Territory. I have been sleighing pretty nearly every day for five months, and for six months I have not been able to see the bare ground. Everything has been on runners, from bakers' carts and waggons to your cutter (sleigh). Snow ploughs going on the rail- road track all day and night, and heaps of work for men at 1 dollar a day, 1 dollar 25 cents Sundays, and three meals for shovelling the “beautiful” off the track. I am two miles from Brooklyn, six from Oshawa, and five from Whitby, 33 from Toronto, about six from the Lake shore, but can easily see the Lake quite distinctly from my bedroom window. In fact, I saw the flames from a fire at Rochester, N. Y., as distinctly as if they were only ten miles off. Rochester is opposite us, on the American side, 60 miles across the lake. Coming up the St. Lawrence we arrived at Quebec at 7 p.m.; it was then quite dark, but the electric lights, especially those from that large hotel on the Battery, shining and playing on the water. I thought made one of the finest sights I had ever seen. I landed at Quebec (Point Levi side) and walked about for five hours, and then returned to the boat and off to Montreal. I stopped in Montreal a couple of days and looked around. Montreal is almost cosmopolitan. There you may see Indians from the North (Missassagas tribe and odd remnants of the Huron tribe that were not slaughtered by the Iroquois of New York State) peddling with baskets and fancy bead work at remunerative prices; English, Scotch, Irish, Germans, Canadians, Halfbreeds, Italians, Jews, Niggahs, sah (called coous), and a sprinkling of Yankees. give you a list of what the Canadians play. In Winter there is hockey, curling (Scotch game), skating, ice-boating (ice boats under certain conditions go faster than the wind) on Toronto Bay, and racing on the ice going in full blast. In Summer, baseball, football, lacrosse, lawn tennis, croquet, and, here and there, cricket. Canadians are enthusiastic bicyclists. Referring to your query re the Indians, the Blackfeet tribe used to dwell in the states bordering on the international boundary; but, a few years ago, Uncle Sam drove As you are interested in sports, I will - them out, they then took refuge in the North West of Canada, and are around Winnipeg and the surrounding district yet. A body of men, called the North West Mounted Police (I see by the papers they have reduced the staff to 800 this year), keep them in order, from interfering with the whites and quarrelling amongst themselves, and also prevent them from obtaining skidiavoo (whiskey),anyone giving drinks to an Indian being fined fifty dollars each drink. In the country where I am now staying, viz., Ontario co., there are two settlements or reserves for the Indians. On the West of the township of Rama, on Lake Couchicing, there is a settlement of Indians. They consist of three tribes of Chippewas and a band of Pottawo- tamies. They live in log dwelling-houses erected by the Government. Each Indian, with a family, has a little farm, and hunting has been abandoned in many cases, and in only a few appears, as formerly, to be resorted to as the only means of subsistence. There are also reserves on the banks of Lake Simcoe, and one of the islands (Snake Island, named, as I suppose, after one of the chiefs of the three tribes of Chippewas mentioned above) in the lake is inhabited by them. The Mohawks settled in Upper Canada.(West of Toronto, Hamilton, London, etc.). There is a good deal of truth in the Yankee saying—“There is no Indian like a dead Indian.” They cannot be trusted, are lazy, ever ready to pick a quarrel, or cheat the white settlers near them. M . Simpson, with whom I am now living, and who l s spent some years in the North West Territory, having been nearly all over it, has told me some of his adventures with the Indians out there. You may be amused to know the recipe for pow-wow, the Indians' chief dish—Boil a dog in skideavoo (whiskey), add kidicanick (chewing tobacco), to flavourit, and there you are. There is a burying ground of Indians in a wood near us, and they come to perform some rites there every Summer. It is not known of wha tribe they are. The number has dwindled down to five. There is another place, three miles from us, called Indian Garden, where Indians visit, and some interesting relics have been picked up there, and have been sent to Toronto Museum. We have at last fine weather, and I can see what I am walking on. TO RAIMIBILERS. Contributions describing a three or four hours” walk, or an afternoon’s outing in the suburbs, with notes of Nature, or any information which may be of interest to our readers, will be gladly received for the next Number. Address to—EDITORS, GIPSY JOURNAL, TEMPLE CHAMBERS, TEMPLE AvKNUE, LOINDON, E.C. 184 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. Highgate woods, Finchley Aği) HAMPSTEAi). By F. W. SMITH. HIGHGATE WOODS may be reached either by tram from Euston Road to the Archway and then walking up the Archway Road, or by train to Highgate from King's Cross, G. N. Ry. Entering the woods by the first gate on the left of Muswell Hill Road, we follow the path directly opposite us, which leads through an avenue of trees re-echoing , with the songs of various birds. Following our path through the wood, and after passing several pretty bits of woodland scenery, we come to a bridge running over the G. N. Ry. Crossing this, we are out in the fields, with East End, Finchley, on the left. Our path from here is plainly marked, and runs off in a slanting direction to the left, over several fields. It is a glorious day, one of Nature's brightest days; in many fields the hay-makers are at work, and in some there are sheep and horses grazing, who seem to thoroughly enjoy the warm sun. In the hedges are to be seen the pretty pink flowers of the ragged robin. Our path soon passes through a swing gate into a road, where we turn to the left and take the first road on the right, Western Road. At the top we turn to the left, down Fortis Green Road to the North Road at Finchley, and are opposite the Bald-faced Stag tavern. From here we go again leftwards and, just before reaching Bishop's Avenue, take a path on the right which skirts the G. N. Ry., and leads into a road, where we continue along to the Five Bells tavern, opposite which we turn into a path with a high fence on either side and very soon enter the open fields again. From here we have opened out before us a vast stretch of country. On our right, we have a peep into Hertfordshire, directly opposite us is Bishop's Wood, and, to the left, are Highgate Woods, where we have come from. Resting awhile on a stile there seems a charm in the surroundings of this pleasant spot. and one can hardly bring oneself to believe that it is so near town. Soaring high up in the air are several larks, sending forth their enrapturing song, the hedgerows are now decked with Summer flowers, and all around one sees the bountifulness of Nature's Creator. Continuing along our path down hill, we soon cross a brook, the banks of which afford a home for water rats, which are occasionally to be seen on their journey in quest of food. Passing Mutton Wood on our right, we continue over several fields to the Spaniard's Farm. Here our path enters a lane which skirts Bishop's Wood on the left, and on the right are Bunker's Hill and Turner's Wood, in which the Nightingale's sweet song is to be heard at times. Our course brings us to Hampstead Lane, where we turn to the right, and, after passing the Spaniard's Tavern, arrive on the Heath, and rest awhile under the fir trees close by. It is surprising what a charm Nature has to a mind that is thoroughly open to receive knowledge of a genuine character, and such a spot as this is a feast for Nature lovers. From here we cross Hampstead Heath, and, after passing the flagstaff, take the road leading to Frognal, and in a short distance arrive at Finchley Road Station, where our walk ends. Little as I have said regarding Highgate Woods, much more could be written in praise of this remaining portion of the ancient forest of Middlesex. A half holiday could be easily spent in investigating the scenery of this woodland spot. THE CLARION FIELD CLUB We are informed that this powerful organisation contemplates quite a new thing in the manage- ment of Rambling Clubs. During the course of this month Shakespeare's play, “As You Like It," will be performed by the members, in the open air, at one of the most attractive spots in Hadley Woods. The idea is strictly charming, and offers a prospect of quite a revolution in the rural out- door life of England. The idea of watching a real Shakesperian Play, presented, on a fine June day, in the leafy glades of a charming forest, reminds us somewhat of the romantic side of the Oberammergau Spectacle, plus many other features peculiar only to those who appreciate the idyllic side of the drama. We have just suffi. cient knowledge of Mr. Lowrieson, who is organi- sing the affair, to feel confident that, in his hands, this alfresco, “As You Like It,” will be exactly how readers of the Gipsy Journal will like it, and, speaking for ourselves, we mean to be early astir on what we confidently predict will be an epoch-making day. - 33 creibrü, uniti) &ſijänkä. “To Paris on a Bike,” by Henry Heather, Head Master, St. Paul's Boys' School, Stratford. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 185 [THIRD sEASON. HOW TO OBSERVE WITHOUT DESTROYING A SER / A'S OF UT-D908 Gºſłºś EDITH CARRINGTON, Author of “Five Stars in a Little Pool.” “A Narrow World,” etc., etc. s WATERSIDE WANDERINEs. “To-DAY I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie. An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk ; from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. He dried his wings, like gauze they grew, Through crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he fiew.” Tennyson. plain, surrounded by gently rolling hills, and watered by seven rivers, with streamlets innumer- able, the ancient city of Salisbury stands crowned by the central glory of its C at he dral spire. \, Surely no sweeter place could be found in which to sº & dream away an hour than the º: / water-meadows lying like so many emerald isles between º silver streams in the fertile valley ; the waters are so clear that their finny flocks may easily be watched at their happy play. Lately I passed a brief, idle, blissful holiday there, soothed by the murmur of melodious brooks, the rustle of reeds, the silence and solitude broken only by the quaintchuckle of a moorhen as it paddled across from one bed of whispering rushes to another, the cry of some passing bird, or the song of a high- poised lark. Being a lonely place, and in winter- - creatures not commonly seen. time a desolate swamp almost impassable by human feet, this flat irrigated expanse of fields is a perfect paradise for birds, and for many wild I was much enter- tained one day by watching a pair of sparrow- hawks pursuing a rook. I say “entertained.” because, although the chase was not friendly, and it was a case of two to one, the rook appeared to be quite master of the occasion, and it was a most exciting scene. The habit of the sparrow-hawk is to attack small birds, or perhaps a wood-pigeon now and then : and I should think that in the present instance the hawks had mistaken the rook for a pigeon, and had now found out that they had “caught a tartar,” for instead of submitting meekly, the rook showed fight in the most unmistakeable manner. One of the hawks kept above him and the other below. The rook avoided both, by maintaining a strong steady flight, deviating from the straight line as slightly as possible when it was absolutely necessary to avoid an onslaught, and then returning to the direct route. I could see the enemy above poise himself ready for a pounce; it appeared to be necessary that he should hover overhead as a part of the business; but while this preparation for striking was going on, the rook quickened his pace, and the hawk's swoop carried him helplessly below through the vacant air. Towards the foe beneath the rook showed no mercy. He could plainly be seen running a tilt at him with his stout spear-shaped bill, and occasion- ally, when the upper of the two hawks approached too near, he also received a shrewd buffet. My sympathies were of course with the solitary warrior, and I was pleased to see that the rook had decidedly the best of it. Perhaps in the long run the hawks might have succeeded in tiring him out, and I watched almost breathlessly to see. But the rook was far too sensible for that. He was all the while beating in a direct course for his own particular rookery, where he knew that some thousands of his black-coated friends were at home, and would sally forth “en masse” to the rescue. In fact, the hawks dared not go too near the rook township. They departed, baffled tº rest fallen to discover some smaller game. A distant chorus of sarcastic caws came wafted on the wind. The kestrel, too, haunts these wilds. One need not wait long before seeing him apparently motionless in the air, but in reality shivering his long pinions incessantly in order to balance himself on high. In a moment he will spy some tiny mouse, or even a worm or beetle creeping on the ground far beneath, and drop, grim, sure and silent as death upon it, driving beak or claws into the creature so that it dies almost before knowing its fate. What marvellous powers of sight and wing ! The beak of the hawk, too, is a wonderful instrument, being so formed that it is a perfect cutting tool, not only 186 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. fitted for plucking the game, but for separating with ease every fragment of flesh from the bones. These are the guardians of the crops from the voracious appetite of sparrows and other small destructive birds. The presence of a single sparrow-hawk or kestrel in or near a field of corn will produce an unearthly stillness, and will absolutely scatter the petty pilferers in five minutes. It will be long before they venture back! No boy with his rattle, no scarecrow, however cunningly dressed to look human, no firing of shots, will do the work half so well. The wary little sparrows know that the lad cannot catch them, that no bundle of clothes can do them any harm at all, and that even the dreadful gun is not winged, and cannot fly after and hunt them down. - THE DEAGON-FLY. But birds of prey are not the only creatures seeking a livelihood on a sunny morning among the green pastures and still waters. Everything is comparative in this world; and to the gnator but- terfly the dragon-fly, though an insect like himself, is formidable as the eagle to the rabbit, or the tiger to a man. Look! The glittering creature shoots from out a bed of flowering sedges, its lace-like wings vibrating so fast that they are almost invisible, and its slender frame seems like a jewel encircled by a rainbow-coloured mist. This glorious and radiant insect nevertheless was born in the slime in yonder ditch. Its appearance now is a complete contra- diction of its babyhood, when it crawled, a dusky brown grub, underneath the water of the mud, muddy. Did one not know how astonishing are Nature's secrets, such a transformation could not be believed. In late Summer, or in Autumn, the female dragon-fly commits her eggs to the water, and in due time they are hatched. A most mysterious-looking creature is born from them, coloured like the ooze in which it is to dwell, over which it creeps, or in which it hides itself in order to have a better chance of catching the worms, grubs or other water-creatures on which it preys. It is very fierce and voracious, and will even attack small fish, or newts a hundred times as big as itself. In fact, it spares no moving thing it meets. The dragon-fly grub or larva has six legs with which to walk, but it possesses another power of locomotion, by means of squirting a jet of water out at its tail. The force of this douche, ejected from the body, carries it in an opposite direction. The water is forced out backwards, the grub is propelled forwards. But the most remarkable thing connected with this young water-dragon is the curious mask-a kind of under lip which it is able to dart out in front of its face to a good dis- tance. This nether jaw or lip is armed with a pair of pincers at the end, and with these forceps the grub seizes any living object to which it takes a fancy. It is fond of lurking with its entire body hidden, and making a sudden grab at its un- suspecting victim as it passes heedlessly by. The larva changes its name, but hardly its nature, when it enters another stage of existence, and becomes a pupa. Traces of short imperfect wings may now be seen on its shoulders. After having spent about a year (sometimes much longer) in the manner described, going about through the water world as a lion seeking what it may devour, and thereby doing mighty service in keeping down the millions of water-grubs and fry of fish which, otherwise, either by changing into overwhelming millions of flies, or by overcrowding the waters, would bring on us a terrible pest, the young dragon-fly prepares for a new sphere. Truly, after all these long months of dredging and drudging in the slime, it has earned a right to a little rise in life. And a new, freer career lies before it, gay though brief: yet not one of uselessness, for it is now to carry on in the upper air those labours which hitherto it performed in the depths. It is now to become a winged insect of prey, the hawk of the fly-world, being precisely to the gnat, butterfly and blowfly, with their kindred tribes, what the bird of prey is to the feathered races. When the dragon-fly knows that the proper time has come, he creeps up some friendly rush, until he is well above the surface of the water. Then he sits in the sun's rays, until, in a few minutes, his skin splits along the back. From the old husk a creature, new and yet the same, gradually works its way, shining in all the lustre of its brilliant coat of mail, but with wings as yet crumpled, weak and damp. The new-born dragon-fly has to stay quietly on his reed until the gauzy pinions have dried and ex- panded. It may be seen in this helpless and half- dazed condition near almost any pond during the hot months, a beautiful spectacle as it gradually wakes to vigour and delight;-and lo! while one is absorbed in viewing the neophite's fresh loveli- ness, and joyfully reflecting that earth has acquired one glad being the more, it will suddenly vanish from the spot, so swiftly that the eye cannot trace its movements, and it is gone for ever, unless your sight may chance to be caught by something like a dancing speck of blue, green or ruby light, flitting hither and thither so softly that hardly the least hum from its rapid rush of winglets reaches the ear, though it may whirl close to your head. What a graceful motion it has And the dragon- fly owns a power of reversing its engines so to speak. Without fuss or awkwardness or stop of any kind he directs his gliding flight to the right, and then should the object he is chasing dodge him, he can follow it with equal ease back again, doubling more sharply than any hare. When he TEIE GIPSY - JOURNAL. 187 has caught an insect the dragon-fly usually settles on a twig or leaf to eat it, shearing off the wings first. While occupied in swallowing the morsel, which he tears in pieces with his powerful jaws, (also after the manner of a hawk), he will allow you to stroke his wings, and hardly notice it. But the instant that the dinner is all gone, the creature appears to awake to its risk and darts off like a flash of lightning. Were it not for the dragon- fly and other predaceous insects vegetation must suffer severely from the inroads of those smaller flies on which they live. The daddy-longlegs, for instance, which is devoured in large numbers by the dragon-fly, is most mischievous to pastures— that is, when over-abundant there, for, in moderation they are desirable root-pruners. Mrs. Daddy is furnished with a hollow spear at her tail, by means of which she deposits many hundreds of eggs just beneath the surface of the soil; in due time a host of hungry grubs appear and begin to eat raven- ously the tender rootlets of the grass. In some districts the ground is laid completely bare by their attacks; obviously on account of inter- ference with the balance of Nature brought about by silly slaughter. FISH AT PLAY. Upon one of the many little plank bridges, rather ludicrously described in the district as “high- ways,” since they consist of nothing but a few frail bits of wood nailed across rough timber at intervals which allow one to see the rushing water beneath one's feet, a lounger may stand at his ease and watch the happy citizens of the river or brook at their work or play. In that delightful realm the two are combined. The streams hereabouts are so absolutely limpid that the shoals of dace and minnows can be plainly observed, passing over the golden gravel or sand, casting each its shadow if the sun happens to be shining, and the shadow is more distinctly visible than the de- licately floating body which casts it. For this reason shyer fishes venture not forth unless in cloudy weather. Here and there, on a sunny day, a silver twinkle from the water, only a foot or so deep, tells that a fish has turned on its side, hold- ing for a moment a mirror to the beams, and flashing back the sunlight from its crystal abode. The sunbeam, glinting from the brilliant scales and flung upward from the brook, tells that the fish has caught, or is in pursuit of, some small living thing ; it circles and darts, without breaking the surface of the water, except now and then, if a fly should touch the glassy top, when a fish may jump out, curving its body while in the air, so as to dip in again headforemost, and gleaming like a hand- ful of diamonds. The backs of these water-birds, cast none. (so they may fitly be called, since fins are very like wings, and the form of a fish as it cleaves its way through the water wonderfully like that of a “winged fowl" as it fans its path through the air), and all their upper portions, are craftily shaded so as to resemble the tufts of ragged mossy weed rooted in the sand. Do the dace know this, or is it by accident that they lie up stream, with wagging tails, among the knots of olive-green stuff, till one can hardly distinguish vegetable from animal They seem to know, at any rate, that their shadows may betray them, for on the least disturbance of the water, they glide so close to the bottom as to e. I watched some dace feeding, and saw what their plan was. First, they scooped mouthfuls of sand or mud from the bottom, and then they sent it out again with a puff into the water, as if they had been smoking pipes. All the while they kept their dainty fins in motion so as to regulate their position in the stream. The nerves of taste in a fish's mouth are few and slight, so that this sifting process is not unpleasant to him. He doesn’t mind having a mouthful of mud between his jaws, so long as he finds a few tit-bits there, after selecting which he quietly spits out the refuse. The water-shrimp and also many. larvae have a custom of burying in the sand, these form the meal of dace. Fish are like birds in their office of clearing the element in which they live from over-abundant life. The swallow purifies the air from gnats, the perch, dace and minnow purify the water from their eggs or young in the first stage. By feeding on water-insects of all kinds, tadpoles, and small fry of fish, they prevent the waters from becoming a seething mass of living beings, putrefying and useless as well as dangerous. SEIOALS OF MININOWS. By some natural law, or in consequence of I know not what mutual agreement for their own comfort and welfare, these pretty little fishes appear to sort themselves out and to herd in com- panies according to their size. Where the stream grows gradually shallow, and lies in a broad pool hardly deeper than half an inch, bands of miniature minnows, measuring scarcely more than a quarter of an inch in length, the infants of the community, will be seen frisking together. A little further off they are to be seen in the boy and girl stage. They feed on minute living specks, invisible save through a microscope, and do a world of good as scavengers thereby. Again, where the water runs in a swifter channel, are shoals of middle-sized minnows, strong enough to see life, and to gad abroad; big enough to catch gnat-larvae and tackle tiny worms. Here, where the river runs deep and the water is dark with the splendid green 188 THE GIPSY JOURNAL. hairlike masses of water-crowfood waving freely in it, telling of a swift current, you will observe all the grandfather and grandmother minnows, amusing themselves sedately—stately fishes these, of some three inches in length—taking beetles, or even boldly rising at flies. Their backs are mottled and barred with green, to match their surroundings; it is only when they twist and turn sideways that the silver flash betrays their where- abouts, and to an unpracticed eye that beam is too much like a ripple catching the light to be distin- guished from it. The kingfisher knows the difference though . He is on the look out for that metallic glimmer, it guides him to the fishing place. Skimming along from willow branch to elder bush he notices the sparkle, and plunges in headfore- most, the water running off his back like a shower of pearls and leaving him dry. He bears a minnow in his beak, small if to be carried to the nestlings, larger if for himself ; in any case he beats the life out of it against a stump. More merciful is he than the human angler, who allows his poor dumb victim to linger long in misery on the bank, panting out its life by inches THE TRouT. And not far from the minnows' feeding place, in a sheltered nook, lies their arch enemy the trout, enjoying a cool, calm and contemplative existence. His business it is to see that not all the little fishes born into the waters year by year in millions live to grow up and overcrowd the streams. Every young fishling when he quits the egg carries with him a little sack, a sort of sandwich bag, containing nourishment enough to support him comfortably until he can shift for himself. He then begins with small living atoms, gradually increasing his size and that of his diet. Unlike other fresh-water fish the trout seems to prefer solitude, and a fixed re- sidence. He is most eccentric in his habits. I have been honoured by the acquaintance of one old party who lives under a bridge—I will not say where, lest somebody should go and try to hook and worry and tantalize him, Hook him out I do not believe anybody could, he is far “too old a bird” for that ' He has dwelt, and still doubtless dwells. in a retreat not a hundred miles from where I write, turning up his eye literally and his nose metaphorically at the people who go across. I do not think that anybody knows of that trout except me. and I only found him out by accident. I shall not betray his secrets. If I toss him some crumbs, or any trifle, he will come out of his hole to in- vestigate, and accept the prize if to his liking. Then he turns tail and unceremoniously disappears, so that it is a rather one-sided friendship. He knows well enough, however, that I do not want to pull him out, or he would not favour me even so far. Towards any of those craftsmen whose apparatus Dr. Johnson pithily describes as having “a worm at one end and a fool at the other,” he shows nothing but scorn. In Salisbury one cannot go far without coming to a bridge, a delicious bridge, with a cool clear rushing river beneath, and there are trout there which will not disdain bits from the hands of the passers-by, caring nothing for the traffic and the publicity. Certainly Mr. Trout is a fisherman, but he takes rank above the human sportsman for this reason :-he earns a decent living by it, he fishes for business, not for “ sport.” The various lower animal orders hunt, fish, share their game in order to live ; it is strange that the highest animal of all should be the only one that kills from an ignoble motive, that of finding pastime and recreation in a destructive and cruel act. [Copyright strictly reserved.] Lincoln's Kindness to Birds. -º- ABRAHAM LINCOIN was once on a journey with some fellow travellers, and when they stopped to water their horses he did not appear. The enquiry was made of the last man who came, “Where is Lincoln’? “Oh,” he replied, “when I saw him last he had two young birds which the wind had blown out of their nests, and he was hunting for When the nest that he might put them back in it.” Lincoln came up, the party began to laugh at his care for the young birds, but he said, “I could not have slept if I had not restored those little birds to their mother.” How many men of the present generation would do an act of kindness like this. Most young men now-a-days seem to think it rather “grand '' to be cruel and hard-hearted. In looking back through the by-gone ages, however. we invariably find that great thinkers and philosohpers, and most of those who have left a venerated name, have advocated and practised kindness and mercy towards the weak. Dont stop the tram to save yOu a few yards walk. A good Walk is a natural dose - of medicine. THE GIPSY JOURNAL. 189 To deprive others of their right to the use of the earth is to commit a crime only inferior in wickedness to the crime of taking away their lives or personal liberties.—HERBERT SPENCER. --~~~~ --~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ RAMBLERS' --~~~~~~ IN the County of Hertford, some six miles from the ancient City of St. Albans, lies the picturesque village of South Mimms. Readers of the Gipsy Journal probably know South Mimms well. The village church, reposing peacefully across a patch of green sward, tempts the pedestrian to pause at this juncture of his Saturday ramble and muse on the soothing influences of rural life. At the old- fashioned roadside inn, too, both pedestrians and cyclists are wont to turn in and refresh the inner man. On the whole, South Mimms is a delightful halting-place for passing pilgrims to the grim cathedral pile dedicated to Saint Alban. The village itself, moreover, possesses a rich green sward, on which the village swains and maidens may disport themselves what time the May-pole is erected or the village feast comes on. But the rapid whirl of civilization has stirred the erstwhile slumberous current of events in South Mimms, and brought with it, amidst other Nineteenth Century developments, a Rural District Council. Fore- most amongst the village Hampdens of South Mimms is Mr. Councillor Ellis. Whether Mr. Ellis reads “ Ramblers' Rights” in the Gipsy Journal we know not, but as extracts from this column are frequently reprinted in a Hertfordshire journal widely circulated in the district, let us hope that such is the case. At any rate, Mr. Councillor Ellis evidently feels himself burdened with a mission to wage combat à l'outrance against any attempts to interfere with popular rights in the district of South Mimms, and the village green just mentioned has roused within the Councillor's breast the stern determination of a modern Cromwell. Councillor Ellis will have no tampering with the sacred sward, at any price, not even though the aggressor be Colonel Trotter, the gallant owner of Dyrham Park, a noble residence close by, and whose intentions towards the d-vellers in South Mimns are of the most benevolent. For the gallant Colonel spied, some time ago, a something wanting in the village green, namely, a tree, under whose leafy foliage the gaffers and goodies might sit like old Caspar when the Summer's sun was sinking, and the dance of the swains and maidens mingled with the gay gambols of the children. In fact, so charmed are the good folks of South Mimms with one sturdy stripling which, under the Colonel's fostering eye, already is attaining respectable dimensions, that they are said to have preferred a modest request for another tree at the other end of the green. The gaffers and goodies of South Mimms would then rival their contemporaries of Chenies, in the heart of the Hampden country, whose village green is one of the lions of Bucks. But not so Mr. Councillor Ellis, who saw in Colonel Trotter's action the designs of the encroacher, and, at a meeting of the South Mimms District Council, denounced the Colonel’s action as an invasion of popular rights, and raised a heated discussion on the subject. Now, all this seems scarcely worthy of record in the Gipsy Journal, yet here are the germs of a tendency to too much zeal, which may possibly prejudice defenders of Ramblers' Rights in the eyes of many whose moral support is a tower of strength to the cause, and we are glad to note that the “Barnet Times.” a journal which speaks out fearlessly whenever any really popular prerogative is at stake, cautions our ultra-enthusiastic supporters against zeal not mingled with discretion. “It is this needless and unnecessary interference in trifling matters,” says the “ Barnet Times,” “which puts up the backs of those country gentlemen and landlords who wish to benefit and show consideration to poor people in many ways.” We thank our contemporary for the suggestion, the more so as the Gipsy Journal’s “ Ramblers' Rights” column must of necessity be unpleasant reading to many landowners. By all means let Mr. Ellis and other patriotic- minded men stand up for popular rights, but at the same time let us all remember the motto Noblesse Oblige. There must always be an instinctive antagonism on our part to squires and noblemen whose parks and domains are rigorously excluded to respectable ramblers in cases where the nature and necessities of the locality imperatively proclaim a moral, if not a legal right of way, but let us deal courteously with those who sympathise with our love for country pleasures. A bull in a china shop, or an express engine off the line, is likely to do as much good for our cause as are our well-meaning, but over-heated supporters, who fail to temper zeal with discretion. Boys, throw away your catapults and keep ward over the citizens of the air. Sow the seed of kind deeds, instead of smirching your hands with blood, and hardening your ears to the cries of wantonly-inflicted suffering. 190 THE GIpsy journ AL. The Destruction of Nestlings, Translated by J. O’SULLIVAN. DARWIN made the remark, when speaking about the decrease of our small songsters, that out of every 20 birds born, 17 perish in some way or other during the year, only 2 or 3 surviving to breed in the second year. This anormous proportion of 17 deaths to 20 births does not seem to be exaggerated when we consider the many causes of destruction of small birds. We do not intend to speak about the birds' nests taken by children, nor the birds caught in snares during the winter; we merely wish to say a word about the nests destroyed by certain kinds of animals. In a recent article published in the Bulletin de la Société Zoologique de France, M. Xavier Rasphail gives the results of experiments which he made in a small park, and states that, in 67 nests observed, 41 were destroyed by cats, dormice, Squirrels, jays and magpies; one had even been sucked by a hedgehog and another by a bird of prey. The cat, the most formidable enemy of birds, had devoured the contents of 15 nests, and the dormouse had destroyed 8, although in the park in question cats were pitilessly ostracised. But there are other mischievous animals which, according to our observations made in Berry and Poitou, decimate birds in startling proportions— they are weasels, snakes, and, in particular, vipers. Many times we have surprised vipers removing the nestlings one after the other ; sometimes also we have caught sight of a weasel running before us amongst the brambles, and, at the place where we startled it the young or eggs of a nightingale, or yellow-hammer lay on the ground by the side of a nest torn to pieces. From the observations of M. Rasphail and our own it results that, out of 100 nests of singing birds—blackbirds, bullfinches, chaffinches, green linnets, yellow-hammers, warblers and others, we may say that 65 to 70 are killed in the following proportions:-- By Cats (at least) 15 º, Magpies and Jays --- 15 ,, Squirrels - - - --- - - - 1() , Dormice & Rats 1() ,, Serpents 8 Weasels --- 6 -> -> 3 Birds of prey - - - - other animals 1 Hedgehog, Badger, and º: Of course, if it is only a question of nests constructed on high trees, the proportion to the account of jays, magpies, and birds of prey increases, whilst for nests on the ground, serpents and weasels are the chief culprits. - We have said nothing about the cuckoo, which also carries off some nests of warblers, every female ruining some 4 or 5 nests yearly for the Sake of her young. But the cuckoo is relatively Scarce, and is a great destroyer of hairy cater- pillars. Let us spare it, somewhat as a matter of necessity, and let us show no mercy, in the matter, to magpies, jays and vagabond cats. REVUE DES SCIENCES NATURELLES. The Stupid Policy of Murder. [*** IN spite of the destruction of birds shown by the above interesting statistics it is needless to observe that the stupid policy of wholesale murder will bring greater disaster on us than the loss of singing birds. Wisdom and Love are at the root of much that seems merciless in Nature. Under what looks like havoc without pity, tenderness for her children is concealed. The food supply of birds, and consequently their comfort, depends on the proper and judicious thinning out of their numbers. If every hedge- sparrow, linnet and goldfinch lived to grow up, not only these little songsters themselves but the country and its inhabitants generally would suffer. Nature loves the jay and the cuckoo as well as the nightingale and the skylark, she has planned a provision for both, she arranges a balance by which all her household s all be fed, and none starved by the results of over population. She makes the best of that sad necessity, death, and turns it into a gate of new life. Her agents do their work in moderation ; man, when he steps in with the gun, trap and net, knows not moderation. His short-sighted policy is to preserve this or that pet species at the expense of all the rest : —but Nature is just. Man brings ruin on himself by his reckless delight in sweeping away animals. Setting aside the beauty, attractiveness and interest which such creatures as those named in the foregoing list add to the world, each has its work to do. Persecute the weasel, and the rat and rabbit become a plague. Shoot the owl and hawk, and the fields will be laid bare by mice and sparrows. It has been proved over and over again that death dealt out wholesale by human beings interferes with the grand scheme by which the welfare of every living thing is attained. Surely the Great Creator knew what He was about when He peopled this earth with beings each beautiful after his kind, blessed them, and found them “very good.”—Editors G. J. ONE of the noblest old parks quite near London is Trent Park, ten miles or so from King's Cross. If you can manage to slip through the fingers of the “old lady” who keeps the lodge, you will be lucky. This lady gets rather cross as soon as you try to do the “Little Red Riding Hood Trick’ with the lodge gate, so be careful. MOOR PARK, near Rickmansworth, is now in the height of its glory. The trees are magnificent. The Editor wants all rambling clubs to give him an opinion on the subject. THE GIPSY JOURNAL: 191 ORIGINAL WEGETARIAN RECIPES By P. H. ECHLIN. Price 1d. (by post, 1.d4). Address.-65 & 66, Chancery Lane, - London, W.C. Manchester: A. Hemingway, 25, Higher Chatham Street. º - Those who doubt of the benefits which accrue from a judicious non-flesh diet—smiling as many often do at the irrepressible enthusiasm of its advocates, and not crediting such simple fare with such mighty results—had better leave smiles and doubts, and try the diet for a month perseveringly; for that is the only way to settle the question. They will be repaid over and over again for their pluck.-P. H. Echlin. # Mr. Artillſ Melville, x BARITONE And Sketches at the Piano, 2, NEWTON ROAD, STRATFORD, E., Is Open to accept engagements for Concerts, Banquets, Oratorios, Garden Parties, &c. Army Examinations. RECENT STUCCESSES. Militia Military Competitive, September, 1893. 7th (Infantry), 8th on list. Promotion, November, 1893. One Candidate successful. Militia Military Competitive, March, 1894. 42nd (Infantry) 48th on list. Promotion, May, 1894. One Candidate successful. Tactics (Senior), May, 1894. One Militia Officer successful. - - Promotion, November, 1894. One Candidate Successful. Military Law (Senior), November, 1894, One Militia Officer successful. - Every Candidate prepared has been successful. CAPTAIN S. PRICE MUNIRO, Lower Compton Villa, PLYMOUTH. N.B.-University Graduates in High Honours for Literary Subjects of Milātia Literary and Staff College Entrance Eacaminations. - ſ Carnivorous Rabbits and Rats in Hen Pens. Translated by J. O’SULLIVAN. I HAVE often wondered at the ignorance dis- played regarding an animal with which we are so familiar and which is so important in alimentation. I am speaking from a scientific point of view. Thus, there are few countrymen who do not know that frequently Does eat their young in the hutches. The taste they acquire for such flesh is so great, that once they have eaten one of their young, they devour the others, whatever the precautions taken to prevent them from so doing. Breeders have stated that it is the thirst which, after giving birth to their young, causes them to act in this manner. I think that thirst is not the cause, but I have no demonstrative experiment on this question. How- ever it may be, it is the mere fact of a herbivorous animal eating its young without necessity for its existence which is extraordinary and quite un- natural. Cats, carnivorous as they are, never do so. I have one which, after dragging the two dead bodies of its young out of the water, at the peril of its own life, carried one of them to the home to warm it. It is only when all efforts prove fruitless that she at length eats them. Rats also are carnivorous. This is not strong enough. Our sewer rats have quite a predilection for flesh. Examples are known where they have despatched the entire carcases of horses with startling rapidity, because flesh attracts them. But what is not known is that they attack animals much larger than themselves to devour them. Thus they easily climb into hen pens and knock the hens off the perches to eat them, carefully picking their bones so close that they leave them with most of the feathers. How is the tragedy enacted I cannot say, as the work is done by night. I suppose the hen, violently bitten during sleep, is paralyzed with terror, because she is not afraid of cats, which she puts to flight, nor of animals she is accustomed to see in the day time. Persons to whom I spoke about these misdeeds of rats were obstinately incredulous. I declare that my certainty of the facts is absolute. I have surprised some in the act, and hens were eaten when there were no other animals in the house but rats, which had corn at their disposition. It is better known that rabbits cannot be kept where there are rats; all the young rabbits are devoured shortly after birth. LA REVUE SCIENTIFIQUE. 192 TEIE GIPSY JOURNAL New Books and Reviews. SEVEN WORDS OF LOVE. By the Rev. J. Alford Davies, B.A., B.D. A notice of this publication will appear in our next issue. THE GOLDEN PENIN.Y. THE GRAPHIC proprietors announce a new weekly under this name, and, though the field of penny weeklies is very crowded, we hope much from the “Golden Penny.” Coming from the same source as the “Daily Graphic,” we are hopeful that, like the senior illustrated daily, the “ Golden Penny’ will be read widely by schoolboys as well as by grown-ups. All schoolmasters must feel a painful consciousness of something wanting in the way of suitable current literature for young people. good boys' periodicals can be counted on four fingers, and, if the “Golden Penny” takes the place of some adult weeklies now much read by public schoolboys, we shall be heartily glad. We have confidence in advising all our readers to go for the “Golden Penny.” TELIE COLLEGIAIN. A little school paper came into the Editor's hands the other day, and deserves a word of warm praise. “The Colle- gian” is the most perfect school paper published in hectograph we haye ever seen and contains some very clever illustra- tions. The youthful editor has certainly turned out, too, some literary matter which would do credit to more am- bitious productions. “The Collegian * will, we feel sure, blossom out soon into print. - FAIMOUS CRICKETER.S & CIEICECIET G-ROTUINIDS. Edited by C. W. Alcock. Published at the “Sun. ” Offices, Whitefriars, E. C. Part I, Price 6d. Eve RYBoDY who loves cricket ought to secure all the parts of this magnificent series. The photographs are a veritable masterpiece, and will doubtless be treasured up for years to come in many a household, where such names as Grace, Stoddart and Lohmann are already household words. It makes us feel twenty years younger, at the very least, to look on the fresh, vigorous reproductions of Grace and Hornby, and to remember that it is now more than twenty years ago since we used to hurry off, on half holidays, to watch these doughty warriors do battle for Gloucester and Lancashire against our own broad-acred shire at the Bramall Lane ground. In these days public schoolboys pull hard on the paternal purse strings, but we recollect the time when sixpennyworth of the “Famous Cricketers” series would have provided a perpetual feast during the whole cricket season, only to be laid aside when winter pastimes came on. This publication from the “Sun ? office certainly eclipses everything of the sort yet produced. FIELD-PATH RAIMIBILES amongst the SURREY HILLS. By Walker Miles : Robert Edmund Taylor & Son, 19, Old Street, E.C. THERE are so few publications to which the Gipsy Journal can give unstinted praise that we welcome, with pleasure, an exception in the shape of another of Walker Miles's excellent “Field-path Rambles.” Walker Miles is a genuine Gipsy, and we thoroughly like the man and the simple, unaffected way in which he bids us follow him into all kinds of quaint nooks and sylvan retreats only a few miles from the metropolis. For a veritable genius in lighting upon The really | White Horse Inn, Shere.” . field-paths, cart-tracks, “field-tracks leading to copses,” gate-ways, “cool avenues of tall firs,” hedge-sides, old barns, plank-bridges, stiles, large ponds, farmhouses “ smothered in honeysuckle,” spires of churches “rising from among tree tops,” let us entrust ourselves to this trusty friend, and his fairy wand will transform the surroundings of this vast city into a summer palace of Saturday afternoon delights. Walker Miles is a true artist, and the secret of his success consists in his power to eliminate the discordant in Nature and leave us alone with the beautiful. Where some men see only dusty roads, railway bridges, chimneys and dirty rows of cottages, Walker Miles, with his own happy knack of looking always in the right direction, discerns picture subjects for all manner of idyllic beauties. The twenty-two illustrations speak for themselves. We have just been looking at “ Milton Court Mill,” “Hatch Farm,” “Box Hill,” “The Silent Pool,” “The Fire-place at the ... but enough. The result of this inspection is, that we mean—at no late date either—to take off the handsome little book which Walker Miles has sent us and see if all he tells us is not the mere “vision of a dream.” As we have already said—the Gipsy Journal cannot honestly praise much that is now published, but we are charmed with Walker Miles. “THE OLD HOUSE OF RAYNER • and ** HOW TO READ IN THE LOING...” By Grimley Hill: Digby, Long & Co. IT is the second of these stories which is the more suitable for readers of the Gipsy Journal. “How to Read in the Long,” is a love story dealing with two Oxford undergraduates and two girls at a romantic spot on the Cornish coast. The tale is well told, and the plot worked out in excellent style. To those Gipsy readers who know the scene of action—Kilderry, so disguised–and the glorious sweep of bay where Edgar Trehaine and Arthur Gould rescue the two heroines—the story will be more than usually interesting. Tourists in the neighbourhood of Fowey, Looe, Polperro and Polruan will have no difficulty in tearing aside the disguise from the so-called Kilderry. THE E. C. L. MAGAZINE was put into our hands the other day, but, as we are not sure whether the work is not intended for private circula- tion only, we refrain from reviewing it. It is original, and in many places clever, and we suspect the three editors of a close connection with the leading girls' school in the Metropolis. - GILBERT WIBIITIE’S INATURAL HISTORY and ANTIQUITIES of SELBORNE. Compiled by E. A. Martin. Sold by G. Wilstead, “Echo.” Office, Thornton Heath. Price 6d. THIs important and valuable work, by a well-known Selbornian, Edward A. Martin, has reference to no less than 24 editions, dating from 1789 to 1887. Among the editors of the various issues we notice such familiar names as Rev. J. Mitford, Rev. J. G. Wood, Henry Morley and Richard Jeffries. LITERARY Associations of the ENGLISH LAKES. By Canon Rawnsley. WE regret that want of space prevents us, in this number, from printing our second promised review of this interest- ing work. The second notice will appear at considerable length when we have room. - “Full Nature swarms with life, one wond’rous mass Of animals, or atoms organised.” º º º *: % *.T-- ---------— L jº.re- jº/ſº JLº, jº-T- T -- ...,,..., ... .” --~~~ uſ!/ti/% | % A//? Aſſº, 27// "h/whſ//// /. *~2. __” ... • *-* \ill º *\|// |/1([///% f/z ºr O/ º % t º % I% % % // . . e. | - |/|||ſyſłaj iſ 7/.(W///////// WWM" º/”, lovers of English History and Archaeologists. ... Tutt, W. *~ ūn'tutº/ P. f.º. § ºr y awa ---zz. Wºź. z Clim Em Willºr Mº"fill Pill Rims"| (A NEW HAND-BOOK FOR THE HOLIDAYS). Printed and Published by - R. E. TAYLOR & SON, 19, OLD STREET, LONDON, E.C. - ：-（ |×|×|× |-| … ···|-- -|-|-|-|- ， . .---- -- _ -| .|-----|-|-|- · · ·|-|-- -！！！！！！！！！----|-- - |- §§§ 3.3 "{}NIHGS £Hº, d 9.10]99. ouow ano UIQ.In GINT Gº Gº $\0 (Z) ► 4 |-|- 7-7 - uspua “di | ， ， º £ arº - - . 3:TH: ‘768, Joj 910KO tº 3u OFF ** NDIND1 MNWAWDJ INIHOWW INIMHS HIIHM 33:S | | |- |- AWARDED AT THE itſ Exhibition. Agent—Stratford New Town, E. Holborn Williſt, IOllol H. CRAPPER, 80, Chandos Road. J Help us to Preserve our Walks, Trees, Flowers, Birds, and all that is beautiful in animate and inanimate Nature. Become a Subscriber. - Cood. Accommodation. * - sERIEs v., vi., vii., viii. ºr a new hand-Book for the Holidays, " * * * FIELD-PATH RAMBLES WEST KENT SERIES.–By WALKER MILES. - CAREFULLY-PREPARED DIRECTIONS - FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish "...anes, Kentish Market-Grounds, Kentish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Meadows, Kentish Corn-Fields. - 236 Pages, with 21 Route Maps and F100 / - 17 Illustrations. / Of all Booksellers, or Post Free, 4/2}d. To BE PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERVALs, DURING THE EARLY PART OF 1894, The work is also published in Four Series, as follows: º - will, comprise Price 6d. Each, or Post Free, 63d. º - - - º First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. º MANY QUT-ſ}F-TH E WAY WALKS º 3econd Series | Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. - Part III Bromley to Rochester. R |. R - - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. U N D D O K | N G Third Series } Part W. Bromley to Tonbridge. º º - Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells º AND THE - Fourth Series } Part VII. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. S - For the 1atter the Route Maps are issued separately, - - - - S | | R R EY H | | in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. - PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY ºniº. TT R.E.Tºm, ſºilst indon. E.g. Himmºrſm. Sº IHeinemann's Illustrated Catalogue of New and Self-grown Seeds, English Edition, which is s nºw ready, includes all the finest Novelties of the * Season, and may be had post free on application s (1d; pºstcard). Please quote GIPSY JOURNAL. Nº º F. C. Heinemann's is the oldest and largest seed º warehouse of Erfurt that supplies the nobility, gentry, and amateur gardeners exclusively. More than 60,000 parcels are sent yearly to all parts of the world, Heinemann's seeds are offered at much lower prices than at any English or Conti- mential seed house of good repute, and warranted to be self-grown, genuine, and fresh seeds only. It is an established fact that the greater part of all seeds sold in England or America is grown in Germany, especially in and near Erfurt, the gardening town of Germany. - - - Ordered seeds will arrive in Great Britain within a few days after receipt of order, and are offered and sent package and postage free. Begonia Odoratissima –new sweet-scented large flowering Begonia (Illustration opposite), seeds, per packet, - ls, bulbs, each, 23 two, 4 - - - - - Ej - F. C. HE IN EMIA NN, Seed Grower, ºl ERFURT, GERMANY. Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East in the Parish of West Ham in the County ºf Essex. Copy by post, 1}d.; Sir, 7d. ; Twelve, 1s. * ++***** PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALIEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NewsAGENTs. º - - - 'J tº ***** # 2 § wº º º š gºº.sº § # # *Xº " RAMBLERS' LEAVES - sº."#. ### "A ºf Xà. IFIROIMI THE 3% # # (ºff S㺠4. º $ºr # Hºbook of NATURE.” #: EDITED BY MISS EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. G. MUNRO, B.A. No. IV. 2nd Series.] JUNE. MONTHLY, ONE PENNY. READ THIS JOURNAL - - - yºſ. {}}. º | Ç2% * {} *Iſlf ºf "Yº 3./JV, J \, e^\9 Mo JAG -. t - L J'ſ, J. M. JA, - . Proprietor, Wm. BENNETT (from Blanchard's). Hadley Hotel, close to the magnificent Hadley Woods, and in the neighbourhood of fine winter and summer walks. High class cuisine and every accomodation for cyclists and pedestrians. Hadley Woods and Church, near the site of the battle of Barnet, are well worth a visit from - - lovers of English History and Archaeologists. “Friendship, Love and Truth" SUMMER. Our Motto: VIEw of Erom wALKER IMILES’ Leith Hill Field-Path Rambles Tº gº ºg Roº, Tower Allº （) Hijºji, P : Hið HOR3:53. sHEN THE WANTON. BEspise THE CREEL. A MºW COYºr, J. SPECIALLY:#DESIGNED BY A Gipsy JOIrmal Artist. º -Fºr- Will appear in I}\ſ mūnth's and ſlflrt NImhºrsº § Order the Gipsy Journal, and insist on having it. May be had of all Wewsagents. Back Nos., 2d. Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. º Help us to Preserve our Walks, Trees, Flowers, Birds, and all that is beautiful in animate and inanimate Nature. Become a Subscriber. -- - - 17, West Terrace, Eastbourne. • º- Cood Accormmodation. Home Comforts. = \º SERIES V., VI., VII., VIII. ºr New Hand-Book for the Holidays. * * * * FIELD. PATH RAMBLES WA}_{E}; Wºłł ES" W 2.3T KENT SERIES. - By WALKER MILES. CA REFU 1, LY-PREPARED DIRECT] ONS FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF | | Kentish lanes, Kentish Market-Grounds, - Kentish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kent.sh Me.idows, Kentish Corn-Flelds. - 2: 6 Pages, with 2 Route Maps and .." Priſº 4. /- 17 Illustrations. - Of a Bookselers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. TO BE PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERVALs The , ork is also published in Four Series, as follows : D'URING THE EARLY PART OF 1894, WILL COMPRISE Price 6d. Eart, or Post Free, 6%d. --- L. Lu L-L- First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. MANY OUT-0F-THE-WAY WALKS second series ºf 4: ...}}}...:* *econd Series i Part III Bromley to Rochester R - - , Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. O U N D DOſ t K| N( i Third Series part v. fromièy to Tonbridge. - | Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells AND THE Fourth Series pārāvū. fromisy to Greenwich, &c. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, S U | R R EY H | | | | S - in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY R. E. Taylor & Son, 19, Old St. LOIldOſl, E.C. --r-rº-ºº-º-º-º-º-> Prospectus on Application. HGillºmällm’s”Erfurt Sºils Heinemann's Illustrated Catalogue of New and Self-grown Seeds, English Edition, which is now ready, includes all the finest Novelties of the Season, and may be had post free on application (1d. post card). Please quote GIPSY JOURNAL. F. C. Heinemann's is the oldest and largest seed warehouse of Erfurt that supplies the nobility, gentry, and amateur gardeners exclusively. More than 60,000 parcels are sent yearly to all parts of the world. Heinemann's seeds are offered at much lower prices than at any English or Conti- nential seed house of good repute, and warranted to be Self-grown, genuine, and fresh seeds only. It is an established fact that the greater part of all seeds sold in England or America is grown in Germany, especially in and near Erfurt, the gardening town of Germany. - –Ordered seeds will arrive in Great Britain within a few days after j. of order, and are offered and sent package and postage free. begonia. Odoratissima —new sweet-scented large flowering Begonia (Illustration opposite), seeds, per packet, ls. ; bulbs, each, 2/6 ; two, 4| F. C. HEINEMANN, Seed Grower, ERFURT, G ERMANY. Printed and Published by H. Y. E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East, in the Parish of West Ham, in the County ºf Essex. Copy by post, 1%d. ; Sia, 7d. ; Twelve, 1s. PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEwsAGENTs. [copyRIGHT]. MONTHLY, 1d. -- EDITED Ty EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. G. MUNRO, B.A. Printed, Published & Sold at the Office of the G.J., 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London; E. W. Allen, 4, Ave Maria Lane, E.C.; and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. - SUMMER. There’s a stain of blood on every bonnet - - Which has a dead bird stitched upon it. Don’t say the world is growing worse when you are doing nothing to make it better. - - - From WALKER MILES' Leith Hill Field-Path Tower Rambles S.P.A.R.E & Hijº £C, D AND HELP THE HO RSFS. STTWNTNTºsº. Tº cº- *- In moving out of town don’t forget your Cat. A BAND OF MERCY HYMN. TUNE– Hold the Fort.” Hearts of love with hands of mercy, - Cruel acts and dire oppression Hear our joyful song; Soon will be no more : Highest hill and lowest valley ... We will bear the law of kindness Roll the words along. - - To the farthest shore. Join our Bands; the promise taken, Mercy, is the cry; We plead for all God’s creatures, Come to-day, the world is moving ! Soon our eyes will see Tenderness to all God’s creatures, Vic'ory is nigh. Sound the jubilee –MRs. White. - - Order the Gipsy Journal, and insist on having it. May be had of all Newsagents. Back Nos., 2d. Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. - Help us to Preserve our Walks, Trees, Flowers, Birds, and all that is beautiful in animate and inanimate Nature. Become a Subscriber. THE “MoRNING LEADER." says: - - — . - #..º. º.º.ºsſ) HOW iſ 0})}{FW0 With0lf rural walks and country rambles, descriptions of short ºf ! .º. excursions by foot and train, incidents of animal life, and - at protecting rights of way, commons and open spaces, and teaches kindness to every living thing. ^DBstrying, rºad the G.J. SERIES V., VI., VII., VIII. | fºr A New Hand-Book for the Holidays. (and probably series IX.) FIELD - PATH RAMBLES walke:: Wºłł.EŠ” WEST KENT SERIES. – By WALKER MILES. CAREFU 1. LY-PREPARED DIRECTIONS FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF I. Kentish lanes, Kentish Market-Grounds, Kentish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, - Kentish MeadowS, Kentish Corn-Fields. º 236 Pages, with 21 Route Maps and Priſº 4/- 17 Illustrations. * . Of a l Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. TO BE PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERVALS * - I)"URING THE º PART OF 1894, Pº-j (:42 6d. E, t , º, , or Post Free, 6%d. L COMPRISE First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. MANY 0UT-0F-THE-WAY WALKS --- second series #: II. Bromley to Gravesend. Part III Bromley to Rochester. - - - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. ROl | N D DO R K | N G Third Series }# * :::::::::::::::::::::::. - Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells AND THE Fourth Series } Partv11. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, S | | R R | Y - | | | | | º ; in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. - - Pristed AND published by R. E. Taylor & S0m, 49, Old St., LOndon, E.C. The work is also published in Four Series, as follows : º --~~~~~ Prospectus on Application. 17, West Terrace, Eastbourne. g. Good Accommodation. Home Comforts. * Manufacturer of all kinds of Cycles, Fittings, &c., II, Elm Terrace, High Road, (Opposite the “Bell.”) . - - Leytonstone, London, E. Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East, in the Parish of West Ham, . in the Cownty of Essea. Copy by post, 1%d. ; Sia, 7d. ; Twelve, 1s. PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEWSAGENTS. ſcopyRig HTJ. MonTHLY, - - 1d. A. London MUNR0, B DITH CARRINGTON AND A. TDITFTETE Printed, Published & sold at the office of the Chandos Road and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. W. Allen, IE - 3. Stratford, 2 30, G.J. - 3. C. ----- ia Lane, E 4, Ave Mar º Our Motto: “Friendship, Love an d Truth" - There's a stain of blood on every bonnet º which has a dead bird stitched upon it. Don’t say the world is growing worse when you are doing nothing to make In movin - g out of town don't forget your Cat. - º -- -- - The mºſt iSSIB, NO, 7. All Sºlº, Willº Italy On Sept. 10th, Our Anniversary. Order the Gipsy J ournal, and insist on having it. - May be had of all Newsagents. Back Nos., 2d. Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. Help us to Preserve, our Walks, Trees, Flowers, Birds, and all that is beautiful in animate and inanimate Nature. Become a Subscriber. - º - - --- THE “MoRNING LEADER." says: THE “GIPSY JOURNAL’’ provides chatty papers on: $. rural walks and country rambles, descriptions of short excursions by foot and train, incidents of animal life, and | at protecting rights of way, commons and open spaces, ’ W DCŞū’ſ) ill -. - - j | and teaches kindness to every living thing. - y I'É? - {} U , º - ºwn ºn Wim series v., vi., vii., VIII. |TW.Wººdſidy, (and probably Series IX.) FIELD 'm PATH RAMBLES ----- OF - west KENT SERIES.–By WALKER MILES. CAREFULLy-PREPARED DIRECTIONS - - --- - - - - - - - - . FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY GF Fº º | Kantish ,anes, Kentish Market-Grounds, - - | Ke ush Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, --- - Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Me ºdows, Kentish Corn-Fields. -- - - - ---. / 2 5 Pages, with 2. Route Maps and º: - º -- £106 4/- 17 Illustrations, - - [T - w of a Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2% º - - TO BE PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERVALs - - - - -- DUIRING THE EARLY PART OF 1894, The work As also published in Four series, as fºllows : WILL COMPRISE - Pºº ic (2 6d. Earl, or Post Free, 6%d. --- .*diu- º First series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. MANY 0UT-0 F-TH E-WAY WALKS Second Series Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. | -- º R - Part III Bromley to Rochester O U N D DOſ { K | N G Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. - - - - - - — = - * - º Third Series Hºt v. Bromley to Tonbridge. AND THE -- ....…. s. Part VI, Bromley to Tunbridge Wells --- º Fourth series) Part VII: Bromley to Greenwich, &c. º * * *|For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, S | | R REY *H | t ; º º in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. --- - I - - 2 = - painted and published by - º Prospectus on Application. |R.E.Taylorssmſ, Olistindon, E.C. Manufacturer ." ds of Cycles, Fittings, &c., - | |, Elm Terrace, High Road, (opposite the * Bell.”) º Leytonstone, London, E. ºf 17, West Terrace, Eastbourne. N -º- s - º - º - - º - --- 㺠Good Accommodation. Home Comforts. - - Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30 Chandos Road E . . . . . - - - j ast, in the Parish Ham. - in the County of Essea. Copy by post, 1%d. ; Sia, 7d. ; |...”.”ſ West Ham, PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEwsAGENTs. - Printed, Published & Sold at the Office of the G.J., 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London E. W. Allen, º 4, Ave Maria Lane, E.C.; and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. Our Motto: “Friendship, Love and Truth" º º - - ºf º - º H N T in Chris, Giºllars, Memoraniums, &C, #Eºſi.” º º º Address—Gipsy Journal Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. - Mºº º- - º - ºf ſºyºo Yº Yº YY Cº. Yºº Yo Yºº Yº Yº 𺠺 -#%-33. jºiššč, ', # Wilſº **i. º, º $39W --- ENGL}}}} PENS:0 Situated near the Rhein-Anlagen Gardens, and recommended by the English Chaplain. Terms—four to six shillings a day. Proprietress - - MRS. MULLER. Don’t say the world is growing worse when you are doing nothing to make it better. - SPARE THE Rop AND HELP THE HoRSEs. G E O. T U F N E L L. ſ/ Manufacturer of all kinds of | |, Elm Terrace, High Road, (Opposite the “ Bell.”) Leytonstone, London, E. ${{{{N THE WAN'ſ (3.N. {}{.{S}{S}. TH}, {{{{{{{.. *** ***** ***.*.*) HOW tº OSERVE. WithUlt *DEstrying, rºad the G.J.' rural walks and country rambles, descriptions of short excursions by foot and train, incidents of animal life, and at protecting rights of way, commons and open spaces, and teaches kindness to every living thing. - Continental cycling, cyclists in the Rhine district ſº ARB RECOMMENDED TO GOOD AND REASONABLE QUARTERSAT Tº . liftify |*Tº KOLNISCHER HOF, Coblenz-am-Rhein. sº BEDROOMS FROM is. 6d. A NIGHT. Heinemann's Illustrated Catalogue of New and Self-grown Seeds, English Edition, which is now ready, includes all the finest Novelties of the season, and may be had post free on application (1d, post card). Please quote GIPSY JOURNAL. F. C. Heinemann's is the oldest and largest seed warehouse of Erfurt that supplies the nobility, gentry, and amateur gardeners exclusively. More || than 60,000 parcels are sent yearly to all parts of | the world. Heinemann's seeds are offered at . much lower prices than at any English or Conti- mential seed house of good repute, and warranted | to be self-grown, genuine, and fresh seeds only. It is an established fact that the greater part of all seeds sold in England or America is grown in Iº Germany, especially in and near Erfurt, the gardening town of Germany. º Ordered seeds will arrive in Great Britain within a few days after receipt of order, and are offered and sent package and postage free. Begonia Odoratissima-new sweet-scented large - flowering Begonia (Illustration opposite), seeds, per packet, 1s. ; bulbs, each, 2/6; two, 4| - F. C. HEINEMANN, Seed Grower, ERFURT, GERMANY. Whoever is kind is handsome. Whoever is kind is lovely. -ºš º For “Beauty Lives with Kindness.” . -º-º: º SERIES V., VI., VII., VIII. ºr A New Hand-Book for the Holidays. º probably Series IX.) - FIELſ) - PATH RAMBLES OF WA}_{E} \}}}_PS' WEST KENT SERIES. - By WALKER MILES. FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF - CAREFULLY-PBEPARED DIRECTIONS Kentish Tianes, Kentish Woods, Kentish Commons, Kentish Market-Grounds, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Me idows, Kentish Corn-Fields. TO BE Ram PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERWALS 17 Illustrations. Of a l Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. Prict 4/-...º 236 Pages, with 21 Route Maps and The work is also published in Four Series, as follows: DURING THE EARLY PART OF 1894, - WILL Cº. MPRISE Many out-ºf-the-way walks Price 6d. Ever tº, or Post Free, 6%d. Third Series # *. First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. ies ſ Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. second Series ifāti ſã žič tº Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. Part VI. Bromley to Tonbridge. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells ROUND DORKING SU Fourth Series } Part VII. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. PRINTED AND Published by R. E. Taylor & SOI, 19, Old St., London, E.C. RREY HILLS. zºº Prospectus on Application. --- __ º Hotels, &c. Tºyournal Advertisements. Home and Abroad. EPPING - --- º RAMBLINo societies, - Cyclists, Pélèstrials, and ill LWºrs ºf Nature -- WILL FIND Good Accommodation AT THE - ; Filº Hº CŞR& r W Hyllº " High Street, Eppi MP80N, PROPRIETOR. Luncheons. Teas. Beds. exs wo FOREST -ºº: º ſ t | % - IMIan & Beast well provided. - y Tourists in search of a Continental Holiday Home, within easy access from London, will find every comfort at the - - - NIDEGGEN DUREN, GERM -º-º: - ---. - - ºſſ AGNIFICENT Views of the beautiful Roer Thal. Panoramic Landscape as far § as Cologne Cathedral and the Siebengebirge from the hills round Nideggen. This sequestered part of Continental Europe although so near London, is, at present, almost totally unvisited by British tourists, and the Gasthof von Heiliger is recommended by one of the Editors of the Gipsy Journal. - 17, West Terrace, Eastbourne. Cood Accommodation. - Home Comforts. OSE Lil E Ante Roman stetit Treviris annos MCCC. Hotel zum Rothen Haus. The Rothes Haus was formerly the Stadthaus of Trier. BEDROOMS FROM 2s. 6d. A NIGHT. -- Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East, in the Parish of West Ham in the County of Essex. Copy by post, 1}d. ; Siº, 7d. ; Twelve, 1s. - PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEwsAGENTs. No. VIII., 4th series. Oct. & Nov., (d. Next issue, JAN. 8, 1895. A. EDITED BY EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. G. MUNR0, B 4, Ave Maria Lane, E. W. Allen, and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. - --> IE.C. ted, Published & Sold at the Office of the G.J., 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London rin P. -- ++++++++++++4–4–4–4–4–4–4–4–4–4 Carls, Girºllars, Memoraniums, &C. 7\ddress–Gipsy Journal Office, 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, E. º: SPARE THE Rop AND HELP THE Hossºs. {}{}{3}, º – 3:3}}}\;. (Jºjijº-jºº ºvćMºjº. Tº jº, #=–2-3-oi=3 NGLISH PENSON Situated near the Rhein-Anlagen Gardens, and recommended by the English Chaplain. Terms—four to six shillings a day. - Proprietress - - MRS. Vi U LLE.R. Don’t say the world is growing worse when you are doing nothing - to make it better. F N E L L - \ # Manufacturer of all kinds of Cycles, Fittings, &c., | I, Elm Terrace, High Road, (Opposite the “ Bell.”) Leytonstone, London, E. --- sºn THE WANTON. HESPISE THE CH+ i. i. HOW iſ 0}S(FWG With0llſ Fº LEADER '' says: THE “GIPSY JOURNAL * provides chatty papers on § rural walks and country rambles, descriptions of short excursions by foot and train, incidents of animal life, and at protecting rights of way, commons and open spaces, and teaches kindness to every living thing. - º, º . . *Distrying ºld tilt G.J.' Continental Cycling. Cyclists in the Rhine district ARE RECOMMENDED TO GOOD AND REASONABLE QUARTERS AT THE KöLNISCHER HOF, Coblenz-am-Rhein. BEDIROOMſ S FROIMI IS. 6d. A NIGHT. Heinemann's Illustrated Catalogue of New and Self-grown Seeds, English Edition, which is now ready, includes all the finest Novelties of the season, and may be had post free on application (1d. post card). Please quote GIPSY JOURNAL. F. C. Heinemann's is the oldest and largest seed warehouse of Erfurt that supplies the nobility, gentry, and amateur gardeners exclusively. More than 60,000 parcels are sent yearly to all parts of the world. Heinemann’s seeds are offered at mential seed house of good repute, and warranted to be self-grown, genuine, and fresh seeds only. It is an established fact that the greater part of all seeds sold in England or America is grown in Germany, especially in and near Erfurt, the gardening town of Germany. --- Ordered seeds will arrive in Great Britain within a few days after receipt of order, and are offered and sent package and postage free. Begonia. Odoratissima-new sweet-scented large | 1s. ; bulbs, each, 2/6; two, 4| -- F. C. HEINEMANN, Seed Grower, ERFURT, GERMANY. Whoever is kind is handsome. Whoever is kind is lovely. —º For “Beauty Lives with Kindness.” " sERIEs v., vi., vii., VIII. |Tº Twº, Tºmºy, * * * * FIELI) - PATH RAMBLES --- . The work is also published in Four Series, as follows: - r - 2 - - DURING THE EARLY PART OF 1894, Price 6d. Each, or Post Free, 6%d. - - WITIL COMPRISE - First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. MANY 0UT-0F-TH E-WAY WALKS §econd Series É II. Bromley to Gravesend. Part III Bromley to Rochester WA}_{E} \}} ES" WEST KENT SERIES. – By WALKER MILES. CAREFU i, LY-PREPARED DIRECTIONS FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish Tianes, Kentish Market-Grounds, Ketitish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, lº Kentish Meadows, Kentish Corn-Fields. º ºf ~ . 296 Pages, with 21 Route Maps and º - Priſº / - 17 Illustrations. a -- -- / Of all Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. TO BE PUBLISHED AT SHORT INTERVALs | t | | - | t ( i - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. O ND - DO K | N - Third Series }{j W. Bromley to Tonbridge. Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells AND THE Fourth Series | Part VII. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. For the 1atter the Route Maps are issued separately, S U | i R EY H | | | S - in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. - - - - | PRINTED AND Published by R.E.Tºrssºnſ, Olistinion, E.C. --~~ Prospectus on Application. much lower prices than at any English or Conti- flowering Begonia (Illustration opposite), seeds, per packet, I º EPPING T FOREST. --- --- --- RAMBLING societies. | is, Pºlestrials, and all LOVEIS Of Nallſ. will. FIND Good Accommodation AT THE eet, Epping, Essex. º Man & Beast well provided. - Phonetic shorthand writers' Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President: E. A. Cope Esq. -º-º-º-º: - People’s Palace Rambling Club º Mile End Road, London. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and t Fi ld Club - Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. Sa. º, ; J. * Irvine, Hon. Sec. - º - - 5i Me Bristol Footpath Preservation Society SELBORNE socrºix (51 Branches, 3000 Members) R. C. Tuckett, Hon. See. Selborne Society, Clapton Branch COMIMOINTS TRESERVATION SOCIETY 14, Nation Road, Clapton: R. Marshman Wºº, (Branches established all over the United Kingdom.) South Place Ramblers - Il, NCC. Great George Street, Westminster. — Filian, Sec. 30, Benthall Rd, Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science St. Mark’s, Battersea Rise, Rambling Club. J. Mills, Hon. Sec. - Mr. L. Beaumont, 33, Harbut Rd., St. John’s Hill, S.W. IEssex Field Club St. Nicholas Club ... ..., º, Address, The President, Loughton, Essex. 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. F. W. Hildyard Sec. HUMANITARIAN LEAGUE º: Forest Ramblers’ Club - -- * - - - *7-fiv., 1* a v. , Sły, - - For Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester 97, Tabernacle Street, London J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Road, Regent's Park, N.W. ~, - - Anti-Vivisection Society Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. See. 20, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.E. Hitchin Natural History Society - Protection of Birds (Society for the) F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. º' * Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. . . Lambeth Field Club & scientific society Dieky Bird Society - * C. H. Dedman, 1, Cavour Street, |Hampshire Field Club º (247,000 members) for boys and girls. conducted by - Kennington Park Road, S.E., Hon. Sec Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. Maidenhead, Naturalists' Field Club - tº Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation NATIONAL FOQTPATH PRESERVATION | of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby SOCIETY (130 Branches.) - they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Northern Heights Footpath Association º Editors, Gipsy - Jºurnal, º || “Eirene,” Gaillsborough Gardens, Hampstead. --> Temple Chambers, --- --- - C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. Temple Avenue, London, E.C. - º º ~ -- Printed and Published by H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Ghandos Road East, in the Parish of West Ham, - in the Cownty of Essea. º Copy by post, 1%d.; Sia, 8d.; Twelve, 1s; 3d. º. º PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEwsAGENTs. No. |X ., 5th series. JAN, to MAR., Printed, — EDITED BY EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. G. MUNRO, B.A. Published & Sold at the Office of the G.J., 30, Chandos Road, Stratford, London 4, Ave Maria Lane, E.C.; and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. E. W. Allen, - - 2. - º it. Chris, Girºllars, Memmilms, & Address—Gipsy J ournal Office, 30, Chandos Road, stratford, E. -- sº TH: Rop AND HEEP ºr Torsºs. Cº-º-33.3%, Situated near the Rhein-Anlagen Gardens, and recommended by the º English Chaplain. Terms—four to six shillings a day. - Proprietress - - MRs. MULLER. sº - Don’t say the world is growing worse when you are doing nothing to make it better. º-s - Manufacturer of all kinds of Cycles, Fittings, &c., ---. | 1, Elm Terrace, High Road, (opposite the e Bell.") º Leytonstone, London, E. BESTIS. THE CITE. Hwn Own Wilmſ --~ TSIRTHE WANTENT THE “MORNING LEADER ‘’’ says: THE * GIPSY JOURNAL '' provides chatty papers oniº rural walks and country rambles, descriptions of short excursions by foot and train, incidents of animal life, and - §§§ - º º -- - :^T\ 1 º -- - - * { j at protecting rights of way, commons arid open spaces, \DGSII’ſ ||| Băd thé G J and teaches kindness to every living thing. º } + v. 11v v. v . * = . 2- ºr . ºf Continental Cycling. cyclists in the Rhine district > ARE RECOMMENDED To GooD AND REASONABLE QUARTERS AT THE ÖLNISCHER HOF, Coblenz-am-Rhein. BEDROOMS FROM is. 6d. A NIGHT. Whoever is kind is handsome. Heinemann's Illustrated Catalogue of New || and Self-grown Seeds, English Edition, which is | "now ready, includes all the finest Novelties of the season, and may be had post free on application || (1d. post card). Please quote GIPSY JOURNAL. I. F. G. Heinemann's is the oldest and largest seed | warehouse of Erfurt that supplies the nobility; gentry, and amateur gardeners exclusively. More || than 60,000 parcels are sent yearly to all parts of the world. Heinemann's seeds are offered at || much lower prices than at any English or Conti- || mential seed house of good repute, and warranted | to be self-grown, genuine, and fresh seeds only. It is an established fact that the greater part of all seeds sold in England or America is grown in | º Germany, especially in and near Erfurt, the 2 gardening town of Germany. Ordered seeds will arrive in Great Britain || within a few days after receipt of order, and are offered and sent package and postage free. I T. Begonia. Odoratissima-new swe et-scented large. flowering Begonia (Illustration opposite), seeds, per packet, 1s. ; bulbs, each, 26; two, 4} = Elgeſw; F. C. HEINEMANN, Seed Grower, ERFURT, GERMANY. I whoever is kind is lovely. For “Beauty Lives with Kindness.” Leith Hill Tower. ſ: A New Hand-Book for the Holidays. | FIELD PATH RAMBLES west KENT SERIES. - By walker MILEs. - CAREFU LLY-PREPAR }.D DIRECTIONS FOR OVER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish lanes, Kentish Market-Grounds, Ke itish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Rentish Melidows, Kentish Corn-Fields. 1: - 236 Pages, with 2 Route Maps and Pl 106 4/- 17 I.1.ustrations. - / Of all Booksejlers, or Post Free, 4.2%d.- The work is also published in Four Series, as follows: Price 6d. Each, or Post Free, 6%d. | First series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. Part III Bromley to Rochester - - - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. Third Series }{.{ *. Bromley to Tonbridge. Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells Fourth Series } Part VII. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. - second Series | : - PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY R.E.Tºrssmºſis imm, Eſ. - *EPPING FOREST- . º RAMBLINo societies, - Cyclists, Pélèstrials, and all LOVES O'Nillſº will, FIND Good Accommodation AT THE PSON, proprietor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Man & Beast well provided. Luncheons. Teas. Beds. 17, West Terrace, Eastbourne. Cood Accormmodation. Home Comforts. - l For this Journa Special terms on application to Gipsy Journal Office, Chandos Road, Stratford, London, England. you know ---------- That every little insect-eating bird you may kill, and every egg yOu take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects º 3 - rhigh-AM-Mosell E. Ante Roman stetit Treviris annos MCCC. Hotel zum Rothen Haus. S- - - The Rothes Haus was formerly the Stadthaus of Trier. BEDROOMs FROM 2s. 6d. A NIGHT. Printed and Published by H. y E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road East, in the Parish of West Hain, - in the County y Esser. Copy by post, 1}d.; Sir, Sd. Treire, 1s. 4d. PUBLISHED BY E. W. ALLEN, 4, AVE MARIA LANE, E.C., AND ALL NEWSAGENTS. B. W. Allen, B.A. Stratford, London ; MUNR0, Lane, E.C.; and all Newsagents and Bookstalls. > G. Printed, Published & Sold at the Office of the G.J., 30, Chandos Road 1a, - Ave Mar EDITED BY EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. 4, The Horticultural Review 2. º and general Ap For Country Gentlemen, villa Residents, Gardeners, Fruit Growers, and all interested in Village Life, Orchards, Gardens, and Land. t - Published by the Mutual Printing & Publishing Agency, 337 Strand, London, - and sold by all Newsagents—Price 2d. weekly. * - , -- º - - -> - [and British Tourist. FORM OF ORDER. sº- '-' . º 189 -- To the PROPRIETORS --- Please insert our advertisement in the “ GIPSY J oURNAL & BRITISH ToURIST 5 5 _Insertions, at a charge of £ - to Occupy º - - – for which it is agreed to pay monthly. Name - -- - - Address – - — - “THE GIPsy JOURNAL & BRITISH TOURIsT" - Advertisement Department— º, Charges—4s. per in., 3 in. wide. * . . . . 30, CHANDOS ROAD. W., 8s. , 6 in. , STRATFORD, E. Special prices for a term. - - --- --- - Thien-AM-Moselle, Ante Romam štetit Treviris annos McCC. - Hotel zum Rothen Haus. | ---, ==ree—e - The Rothes Haus was formerly the Stadthaus of Trier. “ º BEDRooms FROM 2s. 6d. A NIGHT. People's Palace Rambling Club --------- tº And Associations connected with £ootpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. Sº IBristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. - - COMMON's PRESERVATION SOCIETY | (Branches established all over the United Kingdom) Great George Street, Westminster. - Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science J. Mills, Hon. Sec. º | Essex Field Club Address, The President, Loughton, Essex. - Forest Ramblers’ Club º . '97, Tabernacle Street, London. J. H. Porter, Hon.Sec. º Hampshire Field Club - - Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society - F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. | Lambeth Field Club & Scientific Society || C. H. Dedman, 1, Cavour Street, . Kennington Park Road, S.E., Hon. Sec. Maidenhead Naturalists' Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. - | NATIONAL FOOTPATH PRESERVATION º SOCIETY (130 Branches) - 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. | Northern Heights Footpath Association - “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. Phonetie Shorthand Writers' Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President : E. A. Cope, Esq. - - * --> SELBORNE SocIETY (51Branches, 3000 Members) C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. . * Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club - Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. - Clapton Branch - 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, South Place Ramblers - º º 30, Benthall Rd., Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. St. Mark’s, Battersea Rise, Rambling Club Mr. L. Beaumont, 33, Harbut Rd., St. John’s Hill, S.W. St. Nicholas Club 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. HUMANITARIAN I.F.AGUE For Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester. Road, Regent's Park, N.W. - Anti-Vivisection Society - 20, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.E. Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. F. W. Hildyard, Sec. the above Associations are requested to apply to the they may apply in the locality most convenient. - address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written, nº - Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, - Temple Avenue, London, E.C. - Hon. Sec. Croydon & Norwood Branch | Edwd. A. Martin, 21, Carew Road, Thornton Heath. I tºº. Conducted by - tº Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation | of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby|| Name and || ºr A New Hand-Book for the Holidays. | Hiſ filiń. - EST KENT SERIES.–By WALKER MILES. º CAREFULLY-PREPARED DIRECTIONS FOR:OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish LaneS, Kentish Market-Grounds, Kentish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Meadows, Kentish Corn-Fields. - - 2:6 Pages, with 2. Route Maps and Priº 4/- 17 Illustrations. - Of all Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. The work is also published in Four Series, as follows : Price; 6d. Each, or Post Free, 5%d. First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. - Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. 3econd Series | Part III. Bromley to Rochester - - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. Third Series } Part V. Bromley to Tonbridge. Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells Fourth Series }###jº. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY R. E. Taylor & Son, 19, Old St., Lºndon, E.C. - - - Trusses (Rupture.) THE LINK SHELL TRUSs is the greatest invention of modern times. Dr. Phelan, the eminent physician, writing to the “Lancet,” says—“It is a Truss which I | always advise patients to use. It will in very many cases be found an effectual cure.” “Lancet’’ says on August 4th, “British I 1894—“It is an efficient Truss for a cure.” Medical Journal’’ on June 30th, 1894—º It is the most comfortable and secure Truss.” Hospital Gazette ’’ says—“It is a sure protection against further prolapse, and cures.” “Edinburgh Medical Journal” says—“It suits exceedingly well for a radical cure.” “English Sports” says—“It is the only Truss that can be worn by athletes competing in races, when suffering, from rupture.” (Lord Kinnaird and Doctor Turner contribute.) Worn by the late Sir Andrew Clarke, M.D. Awarded 19 Gold Medals. Particulars, one stamp, from the LINK SHELL TRUss Co., 171. Wardour Street, London, W. Gasthof Von Heiliger, Nideggen, Germany. On the banks of the Ruhr, Beautiful Scenery. * High class cuisine, accommodation for cyclists. The Horliſltural Review, "l. The Best (See notice inside cover). “Medical Times and º Worn by 698 Medical Men. I ------- - --- -- ------ ºf Do you know - - ---------------- That every little insect-eating bird you may kill, and every egg you take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects? Shell Truss, Patent, POSITIVELY CURES. | vide British Medical Journal, June 30th, 1894. | WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. - º º ink shell Truss, POSITIVELY CURES. Wide Hospital World, July 18th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. Link shell Truss, Patent, POSITIVELY ôtº E.S. | - Wide Lancet, August 4th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. INKSHEITRUSS COMPANY, Smialismiſſiºn, 171, WARDOUR STREET, LONDON, W. ESTABLISHED 1840. -- I - AWARDS–AT GOLD MEDALS.js Agents for this Journal,—LONDON : E. W. Allen, 4, Ave Maria Lane. - - OXFORD ; H. Badcock, l, Pembroke Street, St. Aldates. And may be obtained of any Newsagent in the United Kingdom; or by post, 1s. 6. per annum. Printed and Published by the Proprietors, H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road West, in the Parish of West Ham, in the County of Essex. Copy by post, 1}d. ; Sia, 8d. ; Twelve, 1s. 3d. - h Tour A t IS 1S it. Br ights ©， ± <！--> ſ= E <> ）. §2 g cº 6 -，= ~\）) G}）， <> ± es-3 ººtaſ) F-4 <> EDITED BY EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. .A. MUNR0, The Horticultural Review 2- and general Adventisen, For Country Gentlemen, Villa Residents, Gardeners, Fruit Growers, and all interested in Village Life, Orchards, Gardens, and Land. - Published by the Mutual Printing & Publishing Agency, 337 Strand, London, and sold by all Newsagents—Price 2d. weekly. - º -- -º- The Gipsy Journal] - [and British Tourist. FORM OF ORDER. 189 To the PROPRIETORS - -- Please insert our advertisement in the “GIPSY J OURNAL & BRITISH TOURIST '' - -- -- Insertions, at a charge of £ ____________ to OCCupy — - - for which it is agreed to pay monthly. Name - Address “THE GIPSY JOURNAL & BRITISH TOURIST'" - - - Advertisement Department— Charges—4s. per in., 3 in. wide. 30, CHANDOS ROAD. W. 8s. .. 6 in. , STRATFORD. E. Special prices for a term. - Thien-AM, - W] - Ante Roman stetit Treviris annos MCCC. - Hotel Zum ROthen Haus. - º - —eºGerº-e— - * The Rothes Haus was formerly the Stadthaus of Trier. BIEDIR OOMS FROM 2s. 6d. A NIGHT. People’s Palace Rambling Club And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, &c. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hon. Sec. COMMON's PRESERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom) Great George Street, Westminster. — Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Science . Essex Field Club Forest Ramblers’ Club 97, Tabernacle Street, London. J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Hampshire Field Club Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Lambeth Field Club & Scientific Society C. H. Dedman, 1, Cavour Street, --- Kennington Park Road, S.E., Hon. Sec. IMaidenhead INaturalists’ Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. INATIONAL FOOTPATH PRESERVATION SOCIETY (130 Branches) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Henry Allnutt, Sec. INorthern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. IPhonetic Shorth and Writers’ Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President : E. A. Cope, Esq. Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. - Clapton Branch 14, Narford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, , Croydon & Norwood Branch Edwd. A. Martin, 21, Carew Road, Thornton Heath. South Place Ramblers 30, Benthall Rd., Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. St. Mark’s, Battersea Rise, Rambling Club Mr. L. Beaumont, 33, Harbut Rd., St. John’s Hill, S.W. St. Nicholas Club 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. BIUIMANITARIAN LEAGUE For Member-hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park, N.W. Anti-Vivisection Society 20, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.E. Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by Uncle Toby, Weekly thronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. SELBORNE SOCIETY (51Branches, 3000 Members)| Hon. Sec. I F. W. Hildyard, Sec. º tº” Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of | ſº. A New Hand-Book for the Holidays. FIELD-PATH RAMBLES WEST KENT SERIES. — By WALKER MILES. CA REFU LI. Y. P. REPARED DIRECTIONS FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish lanes, Kentish Market-Grounds, Ke Llsh Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Me dºws, Kentish Corn-Fields. 226 Pages, with 21 Route Maps and 17 Illustrations. Pr106 4/- Of all Booksellers, or Post Free, 4/2}d. The work is also published in Four Series, as follows : Price 6d. Each , or Post Free, 6%d. First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. - Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. second series |### Bromley to Rochester - Part IV. Bromley to Maidstoce. Third series ! E:: *W. Bºy to Tonbridge. Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells Fourth Series } Part VII. Bromley to Greenwich, &c. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY R. E. Taylor & Son, 10,0ſ. St. Lºndon, E.C. Trusses (Rupture.) THE LINK S HELL TRUSS is the greatest invention of modern times. Dr. Phelan, the eminent physician, writing to the “Lancet,” says—“It is a Truss which I always advise patients to use. It will in very many cases be found an effectual cure.” “Lancet ’’ says on August 4th, 1894–" It is an efficient Truss for a cure.” “British Medical Journal '' on June 30th, 1894—" It is the most comfortable and secure Truss.” “Medical Times and Hospital Gazette ’’ says—“It is a sure protection against further prolapse, and cures.” “Edinburgh Medical Journal” says—“It suits exceedingly well for a radical cure.” “English Sports” says—“It is the only Truss that can be worn by athletes competing in races, when suffering from rupture.” (Lord Kinnaird and Doctor Turner contribute.) Worn by the late Sir Andrew Clarke, M.D. Awarded 19 Gold Medals. Worn by 698 Medical Men. Particulars, one stamp, from the LINK SHELL TRUss, Co., 171. Wardour Street, London, W. Gasthof Von Heiliger, Nideggen, Germany. On the banks of the Ruhr, Beautiful Scenery. High class cuisine, accommodation for cyclists. The HQſtillral ReView, "l. The Best (See notice inside cover). Do you know That every little insect-eating bird yon may kill, and every egg you º take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects? Link shell Truss, P POSITIVELY CURES.. -- Shell Truss, Pate - Wide British Medical Journal, June 30th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. - º w URES - POSITIVELY.C. Wide Hospital World, July WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. -- - Link Shell Truss, Pate POSITIVELY CURES... . º Wide Lancet, August 4th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. --- -- ---——------ - 171, WARDOUR STREET, LONDON, W. ESTABLISHED 1840. --- - - t - - º - I - ---. INKSHEIL TRUSS COMPANYSirialismiſſiºn, Agents for this Journal.-LONDON: E. W. Allen, 4, Ave Maria Lane. º - OXFORD: H. Badcock, l, Pembroke Street, St. Aldates. And may be obtained of any Newsagent in the United Kingdom; or by post, 1s. 6. per annum. Printed and Published by the Proprietors, H. & E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Rotud West, in the Parish of West Ham, AWARDS—ſ GOLD MEDALS.::::::::::::::::::::... in the County of Essee. Copy by post, 1}d.; Sia, 8d.: Twelve, 1s. 3d. . . No. XII. (copyright.) SUMMER. (6th Series.) 1d. ist h Tour is t ©， ;---: <> E E <> <！--> ©3 Œ/> „€= ~è º cs-3 ±P， ~\~> <> <> ſr-4 < 1> „№ ~\ → €） <> eugaeș， ce-3 ºotae) F-4 <！---> Br gllis i CD Z Q H- <ſ CD O CD CD <ſ EDITED BY EDITH CARRINGTON AND A. G. MUNR0, B.A. The Horticultural Review AMD GENERAL ADVERTISER. For Country Centlemen, Villa Residents, Cardeners, Fruit Growers, and all interested in Village Life, Orchards, Cardens, and Land. Published by the Mutual Printing & Publishing Agency, 337 Strand, London, - and sold by all Newsagents—Price 2d. weekly. The Gipsy j ournali - [and British Tourist. º FORM OF ORDER. - — —º-º-º- 189 To the PROPRIETORS - Please insert our advertisement in the ‘‘ GIPSY JOURNAL & BRITISH TOURIST * * Insertions, at a charge of £ - to occupy -- --- for which it is agreed to pay monthly. Name - A ddress º “THE GIPSY JOURNAL & BRITISH TOURIST '' - - Advertisement Department— Charges—4s, per in., 3 in, wide. º 30, CHANDOS ROAD. W.. - 8s. i. 6 in. ..., - STRATFORD, E. Special prices for a term. T H E 7-AM-M10 SELLE, Ante Romann Stetit Treviris annos MCCC. Iotel zum Rothen Haus. —e-PG-e- The Rothes Haus was formerly the Stadthaus of Trier. BEDROOMS FROM 2s. 6d. A NIGHT. People’s Palace Rambling Club GLUBS. And Associations connected with Footpath and Common Rights, Protection and Preservation of Birds, Animals, Plants, ye. Bristol Footpath Preservation Society R. C. Tuckett, Hou. Sec. COMMON'S PRIESERVATION SOCIETY (Branches established all over the United Kingdom) Great George Street, Westminster. – Fithian, Sec. Chester Society of Natural Seience Essex Field Club - Forest Ramblers’ Club 97, Tabernacle Street, London. Hampshire Field Club Southampton. M. Miles, Hon. Sec. Hitchin Natural History Society F. Shillitoe, Hon. Sec. Lambeth Field Club & Scientific Society C. H. Dedman, 1, Cavour Street, - Kennington Park Road, S.E., Hon. Sec. Maidenhead Naturalists' Field Club Taplow. J. Rutland, Hon. Sec. INATIONAL FOOTBATH PRIESERVATION - SOCIETY (130 Branches) 42, Essex Street, Strand, W.C. Northern Heights Footpath Association “Eirene,” Gainsborough Gardens, Hampstead. - C. E. Maurice, Hon. Sec. Phonetic Shorth and Writers’ Association Rambling Club, 8, Queen St., Cheapside, E. C. President : E. A. Cope, Esq. J. H. Porter, Hon. Sec. Henry Allmutt, Sec. Mile End Road, London. Saturday Field Club - - Brixton Hill. J. D. Irvine, Hon. Sec. SELBORNE SOCIETY (51 Branches, 3000 Members) Clapton Branch 14, Natford Road, Clapton. R. Marshman Wattson, Hon. Sec. Croydon & Norwood Branch E. A. Martin, 69, Bensham Manor R., Thornton Heath. South Place Ramblers 30, Benthall Rd., Stoke Newington. W. Sheowring, Sec. South Western Ramblers Woodcote, Earlsfield Rd., Wandsworth, S.W. º Edwd. B. Rossiter, Hon. Sec. St. Nicholas Club 81, Queen Victoria Street, E.C. F. W. Hildyard, Sec. I The Clarion Field Club, Mr. Lowrieson, HUMANITARIAN LEAGUE - For Member hip, apply to Hon. Sec., 38, Gloucester Road, Regent’s Park, N.W. - Anti-Vivisection Society 20, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.E. Protection of Birds (Society for the) Mrs. Lemon, Secretary, Redhill, Surrey. Dicky Bird Society - -- (247,000 members) for boys and girls. Conducted by: Uncle Toby, Weekly Chronicle, Newcastle-on-Tyne. º Ladies and Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the above Associations are requested to apply to the Secretary; and the Editor will be glad of the co-operation of other Secretaries in making this list complete, whereby they may apply in the locality most convenient. Name and address, and number, if any, should be distinctly written. Editors, Gipsy Journal, Temple Chambers, Temple Avenue, London, E.C. ſº New Hand-Book for tha Holidays. FIELſ) - PATH RAMBLES WEST KENT SERIES. By WALKER MILES. CAREFU Lily-PREPARED DIRECTIONS FOR OWER 250 MILES OF CHARMING WALKS BY WAY OF Kentish Lanes, Kentish Maiket-Grounds, Kentish Woods, Kentish Hop-Gardens, Kentish Commons, Kentish Orchards, Kentish Meadows, Kentish Corn-Fields. Pitt 4- The work is also published in Four Series, as follows : Pºlice 6d. Earh, or Hºst Free, 6.d. First Series Part I. Round Bromley, Kent. - Part II. Bromley to Gravesend. Second series); # . . ; Part IV. Bromley to Maidstone. Part W. Bromley to Tonbridge. - Part VI. Bromley to Tunbridge Wells Fourth series }#} ºff jº. For the latter the Route Maps are issued separately, in a strong case, 2/- the Set, or 2/1 by Post. 2.6 Pages, with 2 Route Maps and 17 Illustrations. Of all Booksellers, or Post Free, 4.2%d. Third Series } PRIN+ED AND PUBLISHED BY R.E.Tºrssºn'ſ distinion, Eſ. Trusses (Rupture.) THE LINK SHELL TRUSs is the greatest invention of modern times. Dr. Phelan, the eminent physician, writing to the “Lancet,” says–" It is a Truss which I always advise patients to use. It will in very many cases be found an effectual cure.” “Lancet’’ says on August 4th, 1894–º It is an efficient Truss for a cure.” “British Medical Journal '' on June 30th, 1894—º It is the most comfortable and secure Truss.” “Medical Times and Hospital Gazette ’’ says—“It is a sure protection against further prolapse, and cures.” “Edinburgh Medical Journal” says—“It suits exceedingly well for a radical cure.” “ English Sports” says–" It is the only Truss that can be worn by athletes competing in races, when suffering rupture.” (Lord Kinnaird and Doctor Turner contribute.) Worn by the late Sir Andrew Clarke, M.D. Awarded 19 Gold Medals. Worn by 698 Medical Men. Particulars, one stamp, from the LINK SHELL TRUss Co., 171 Wardour Street, London, W. - from - Gasthof Von Heiliger, Nideggen, Germany. On the banks of the Ruhr, Beautiful Scenery. High class cuisine, accommodation for cyclists. Tilt HQſtillral RºſièW, Žil. The Best (See notice inside cover). Do you know That every little insect-eating bird you may kill, and every egg you take from the nest, means one less bird to destroy insects? Link Shell Truss, Patent, POSITIVELY CURES. Wide British Medical Journal, June 30th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. > - R. L.J. P. T. LJ. R. E. POSITIVELY.CURES. Wide Hospital World, July 18th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ONE STAMP. º R. L.J. P. T. LJ. R. E. Shell Truss, Patent. || POSITIVELY CURES. Wide Lancet, August 4th, 1894. WRITE FOR PARTICULARS, ()NE STAMP. LINKSHEIL TRUSS COMPANY. Singalmstment Makers, 171, WARD0UR STREET, LONDON, W. - - ESTABLISHED 184(). AWARDS–1| GOLD MEDALS.js Agents for this Journal-LONDON: E. W. Allen, 4, Ave Maria Lane. - OXFORD ; H. Badcock, 1, Pembroke Street, St. Aldates. And may be obtained of any Newsagent in the United Kingdom; or by post, 1s. 6. per annum. Printed and Published by the Proprietors, H. Y. E. Crapper, at 30, Chandos Road West, in the Parish of West Hum, in the County ºf Essex. Copy by post, 1}d. ; Siº, 8d.: Twelve, 1s. 3d. ſå k