32 ON THE RARITY OF CERTAIN BIRDS IN DERBYSHIRE.

abounds in the best cultivated districts. I am, therefore, wholly unable to explain the cause of the non-appearance of the Corn Bunting in these parts; and amongst the numbers of scientific individuals to whom I have communicated the fact, I never found one who could at all elucidate the problem. Corn Bunting is by no means a faultless designation, as its congener, the Yellow Bunting, and others, are fully as partial to corn as itself; still, however, it is preferable to Common Bunting, and may, therefore, be allowed to remain for the present. I will now pass on to the next species.

The Whitethroated Fauvet (Ficedula cinerea, Blyth), is well known, and abounds in almost every part of the British isles, though rather a rare bird in Derbyshire. Here, indeed, it is not met with more commonly than the Garrulous Fauvet (F. garrula, Blyth). It haunts, for the most part, the thickest and most impenetrable brakes, apart from which it is seldom seen. The Garrulous Fauvet occurs more frequently in thick hedges, and also in osier beds; and though sometimes found in trees, usually resorts rather close to the ground. The comparative scarcity of the Whitethroated Fauvet may probably be accounted for by the paucity of underwood and braky woods in these parts, and likewise to the unremitting vigilance with which the woods are cleansed of what is probably considered as rubbish, though, to the ornithologist, the thick impenetrable briers underneath the trees appear in a far different light. About eight years ago, the woods and their denizens enjoyed comparative repose; at that period, probably, the Whitethroated Fauvet was as plentiful as elsewhere; but of late the woods and groves have been much too thin and open to afford requisite shelter to these pretty birds: and should the rage for wood-cutting continue with the same zeal with which it has hitherto been conducted, we shall, in turn, have to regret the departure of others of our sylvan choristers.

The next genus which claims our attention on the present occasion, is Picus, the Woodpeckers: Of these, the Green Woodpecker, (P. viridis), and the Pied Woodpecker (P. maculosus, S. D. W.), are equally and abundantly distributed throughout Britain; but here they are rarely observed, although decayed timber is far from scarce in this neighbourhood. Sudbury Park contains an immense number of old and magnificent trees, exactly suited to the bill of the Woodpecker; and yet, in all my researches in that extensive Park, during eight or ten years, I have only thrice met with the Green Woodpecker, and but once with the Pied species. For this I can adduce no satisfactory reason, especially as many species of

ON THE RARITY OF CERTAIN BIRDS IN DERBYSHIRE.

33

similar tastes, as the Wryneck, Nuthatch, Creeper, &c., are very common in this vicinity, and more especially in the Park above alluded to. Even Bagot's Park, (about eight miles distant), apparently yet more favourable to the Woodpeckers, is seldom enlivened with its loud laugh. I have met with the Green Woodpecker in abundance in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and other counties.

Having thus given some account of the very remarkable scarcity of several species common in most other localities, I shall proceed to notice a few which are abundant in Derbyshire and rare elsewhere.

The most deserving of notice, is the Siskin Goldwing, (Carduelis spinus), which all our Ornithologists describe as a rare and uncertain visitant, but as arriving in large flocks when it does appear. Now, both my own observations, and those communicated to me by others, tend to a totally opposite conclusion; and indeed I have no hesitation in pronouncing the species indigenous in Britain. That numbers of them do migrate there is no doubt; but a tolerably large proportion of them, I am convinced, remain and breed with us; though their shy and secluded habits during the spring and summer months prevent them, in a great measure, from being observed at that season. Indeed, so sedulously does it conceal itself in the midst of the thickest woods and forests, that though I have frequently heard it during the breeding season, yet to get a sight of it is by no means a easy matter; and this, doubtless, accounts for its having been overlooked by the naturalists of other counties. I first discovered, to a certainty, that this species breeds in the south of Derbyshire, in the summer of 1831, when a pair of these birds were caught in the month of July. I have never been able to discover the nest; probably on account of its being built on the lofty and inaccessible trees to which it is so partial. It appears to prefer the fir to any other tree, where it is met with throughout the year, but most abundantly in winter, when they arrive in considerable numbers from foreign parts.

The Marsh Reedling (Salicaria arundinacea) is generally supposed to be confined to the southern counties, and Selby mentions Nottinghamshire as its northern limit. But it is tolerably abundant in every part of Derbyshire and Staffordshire which I have explored, frequenting the low, flat, and swampy portions of the country. It is, however, much less abundant than its garrulous congener, the Sedge Reedling (S. phragmitis). The supposed scarcity of the Siskin Goldwing and Marsh Reedling is doubtless owing to the little attention paid to ornithology, by those living in the country.

VOL. V.-NO. XVII.

E

SOME REMARKS ON THE PHILOSOPHY AND OBSERVANCES OF SHAKSPEARE.

As apology always implies imperfection, it is, therefore, a suspicious feature in literature; for as "good wine needs no bush,” that which is bad is not improved by the confession. An apology is a cowardly device to escape censure, and a mean excuse for imbecility; for an unworthy subject merits no attention, and a good subject badly treated deserves no lenity.

The first question, then, to be resolved is the dignity of the subject, and herein I require no appeal; my subject is one of the noblest character, no less than the image of nature, visible and invisible. Is the subject old? so is nature herself; of which Shakspeare's works are the transcript and express image. The more familiar we become with either, the more novel do they appear; in this mirror is cast the exact and everlasting presence of nature in all her infinite variety, in which individuality is multiplied without confusion. A" habitation" and a form are given to feeling; what we have felt from nature in her combinations, Shakspeare has thrown back again and attached, by description, to particular objects: his poetry is the translation of our sensations when nature is the book we read in.

As nature is coeval with time, Shakspeare will be coexistent with nature; and while the human heart is susceptible of the same emotions and love for nature, Shakspeare will be felt as the incarnation of her spirit. But Shakspeare needs no eulogist; his prerogative is divine, rapt in the awful originality of his genius→→→ the predestinated priest of nature.

The writings of our "philosophic poet" are not merely poetry, they are full of the profoundest truths in philosophy and religion, realized in our daily and hourly duties in private and public life. But if I were to call Shakspeare a "man of science" it would startle the "dull ear" of those monopolists of truth. Yet what is observation? The chemist pursues his discoveries within the walls of his laboratory; the astronomer wakes the sleeping night with the mutter of his calculations; the meteorologist, the botanist, the physiologist, pursue their studies from atom to atom, until, struck with a coincidence, they affirm a law. The laboratory of Shakspeare was the whole world, the earth, the "wind-obeying deep," the "brave o'erhanging firmament fretted with golden fire." He read, with an eagle-sighted eye, the universe of works, penetrated

their governable laws, seized on their coincidences, and established truths as immortal as his own spirit. The heart of man-" the centre of this world"—was laid open, as a cabinet, before him, with the secret springs of feeling and passion. He studied the powers and susceptibilities of the instrument, and thereby predicted its operations. Such was Shakspeare, "in apprehension how like a god!" His genius was an Ithuriel spear that unshrined the hidden spirit of nature and truth. Nature, in a thousand forms and attitudes, sat to him for her portrait, and in his "picture gallery," as Coleridge finely expresses it, are works which bear no resemblance but in their master perfection and truth. Without scholarship he was profoundly learned-without opportunity he detected character-without rank he elevated his imagination to the throne, and pronounced with the nobility of a king.

As though he had walked unseen through all states and degrees of life, and possessed men with his own spirit until it became infected with their dispositions. Shakspeare, as a name, is national—as a work, none perhaps so little known in comparison with its worth. That delicacy of fancy, rounding, as with a zone of light, truths the most solemn and associable-that loveliness of virtue—that passion of the affections-that consolation in trouble-that encouragement in labour-that delight of intellect; while Nature, too, in all her loveliness rises up before the mind

"Forest, hill, and dale, and green-wood wild."

d;

It is remarkable that Shakspeare is the only poet whose works have been illustrated by poetry: Homer, Virgil, Horace, are explained and paraphrased; Chaucer and the older poets, translated Milton, criticised: but none other than Shakspeare have been illustrated by poetry. All the criticisms on Shakspeare are poetical. He is not only poetry himself, but he begets it in others; he communicates the faculty as the flower its perfume; at once surprises the heart and awakens the affections; and he who possesses them most understands him best. Compared with the chief of modern spirits, Byron, how essential is this difference, that in Byron, every creation is identified with the poet himself; we never forget the one in the other: but in Shakspeare, no two instances of this relativeness is observable; and for the god-like man himself, we never dream of him beyond the frontispiece: even his name is become an attribute which, like Nature, expresses ten thousand images, but no one distinctively.

If in this composition I should be found transgressing against the critical law of unity, I must be content to repose on the evidence of those great masters of language and composition, Johnson and Fielding. The former, in his life of Pope, remarks" As the end of method is perspicuity, that series is sufficiently regular that avoids obscurity, and where there is no obscurity it will not be difficult to discover method." While the immortal Fielding, in the initial chapter (fifth book) of that incomparable work Tom Jones, overturns the bastard claims of criticism altogether. The quota tions I select are too far distant from each other to be related, which must render my style discrepant. But continuity is less necessary, as Shakspeare, like nature herself, has this peculiar excellency, that while the parts are essential to the whole, yet each part, like a beautiful tree or flower, is a picture in itself.

With regard to the character of this composition, without refer ring to those illustrious commentators of the poet, Steevens, Ma lone, Tyrwhitt, Schlegel, Hazlitt, and, though last yet first, the sweet and sensitive Jameson,* I shall merely reply, in the words of an eminent writer and critic, " If every line of Shakspeare's plays were accompanied with a comment, every intelligent reader would be indebted to the industry of him who produced it." My object is to examine the philosophy, physical and moral, or the observances, of Shakspeare; and if the work be uncalled for, the public at least encourage the undertaking, for would we patch up an argument, give strength to reason, argument to truth, and poetry to every thing, Shakspeare is always conclusive. Thus much for the worthiness of my subject, but how far it is worthily treated is not for me to proclaim'; but if the reader have "thought the same things a hundred times," I rely confidently on a verdict in my favour; for when an author's thoughts are anticipated he is sure of approbation, since he has given a premium to vanity. Following the order of the plays, we commence with

THE TEMPEST.

Shakspeare strictly adhered to truth: his forms unknown were not as the "traveller's tales," reputed facts, however excusable the

* Of all the illustrators of our poet, Mrs. Jameson is the most fascinating, the most true. Love, with her, is an instinct; her very thoughts (noble as they are) are embued with sensibility; her reasonings are of the “ woman all compact"-the Portia of her sex.

"That was excellently observed,' say I, when I read a passage in an author where his opinion agrees with mine; when we differ, there I pronounce him to be mistaken."-Swift.