temperance which it is the object of this Church of England Society to encourage and inculcate.

III.
ON TORTOISES. [29]

I have almost to apologize for bringing before so learned and critical a Society as this, the few notes and observations I have made upon the “manners and customs” of my pair of common land Tortoises, partly because I feel that much of what I have observed must also have been observed by other members of this Society; and still more because (as is well known) that incomparable master both of observation and expression—White of Selborne—has already noted, and placed upon record, the most interesting of the habits of these creatures.

Mine is thus necessarily a “twice-told tale.”  I can only hope that the never flagging interest which naturalists take in the observation or record of the habits of animals, will suffice to make them bear with me for the short time I shall detain them.

I have in my garden two of the common land Tortoises (Testudo Grœca), and these have been in my possession three and four years respectively.

I purchased them from the barrow of a hawker in Norwich streets, in two following years—one being a little larger than the other, and they are in consequence known by the names of the old gentleman and the young gentleman.

Although selected as the best from a number of others, I am sorry to say that they both appeared to be ill or greatly injured, and it was a considerable time before they recovered sufficiently either to begin to take food, or to move about with their proper freedom, or with the well-known liveliness of Tortoises!

Another Tortoise, which I purchased, did actually die a short time afterwards, having lived in a state of semi-stupor for the intervening period; and I fear that the capability of these creatures for suffering is not much recognised in the usual methods of their conveyance and treatment.

The two Tortoises which survived have, as I said, now lived on my premises and thriven for three and four years.  They have become almost pets.  They most evidently recognise the place as their home.  They know the various localities of the garden perfectly.  They know the sunny spots to which to go at suitable times to bask.  They know where to find sun, and where to find this and shade combined, when they so desire it; and they return, afternoon after afternoon, to the same cosy, and dry, and sheltered spots, under the dry ivy of the wall, or elsewhere, which they have often previously selected as their night’s abode.

It is very plain that they have some recognition of individuals.  For instance, if Lady Eade and myself are both preparing to feed them, they will constantly leave me and walk off to her—doubtless because she is more in the habit of bringing them their favourite kinds of food than I am.

They appear to be quick of sight, but show very little, if any, sign of having any impressions conveyed to them by the sense of hearing.  They evidently possess a full sense of taste, for they discriminate instantly between food they like, and that which is less palatable to them.

The daily habits of these creatures are certainly very staid and methodical, and vary but little, except as the season of the year, and the warmth of the day, vary.

They are often, in the height of summer, quite early risers, and on sunny mornings will often be up, and perambulating the garden, and nibbling the little trefoil leaves found amongst the grass, by seven or six o’clock, or even earlier.  But, I must say, that these early habits are quite limited to the very finest weather; and it has seemed that in the matter of early activity, these animals always err, if at all, on the side of care and caution.  They never leave their beds, or the neighbourhood of cover, if there is the slightest appearance of cloudiness or rain, at least until the day is well up; and for a large portion of their year the time for coming forth is not until eight, nine, or ten o’clock.

In electrical weather they are never lively, even though the day be intermittingly hot and bright; and at such times they are often almost lethargic, and show great indifference as to feeding.

They appear to have an extreme and instinctive objection to rain.  Cloudy weather makes them dull.  A passing cloud will make them discontinue eating.  And the passage of a person or object suddenly between them and the sun will cause them as suddenly to draw in their heads.  The dislike of clouds and their accompaniments is therefore a very marked instinct with them.

If not fed, they will go and help themselves, not to grass, but to some white Clover growing with the grass in the garden; or in default of this, to some of the garden plants—by preference the fleshy-leaved ones, such as the Echiveria or Sedum—after which they will retire to some warm place, and bask in the sun.  They have a special liking for the warm vine-border in front of my greenhouse; and if the day be not too hot, they will tilt themselves up edgeways against the south wall of the greenhouse, or upon the edge of some tuft of flowers; or if the sun is too warm, they will then cover their heads up with leaves or earth on the bed, leaving their backs uncovered and exposed to the heat.  (In this respect they seem to remind us of the habits of the tiger in his jungle.)

But they appear greatly to prefer being fed, and having their food found for them; indeed further, one, at least, much prefers to have his food held up to him, and almost put into his mouth when he opens it.

They take their food with a snapping movement; masticate it little if at all; and when feeding themselves, cut or tear it with the sharp-hooked anterior portion of the upper jaw.

In the hottest weather their appetites are very fine (thus they will eat several large Lettuce leaves at one time), and they bear a close relation to the warmth and clearness of the day, and the period of the year.

Their favourite foods are—besides Trefoil, already mentioned, and garden flowers—Lettuces, Dandelions, French Beans, etc.  They are much attracted by yellow blossoms, and greedily eat those of the Dandelion and Buttercup.  One of my creatures is very fond of sliced Apple, though the other will not eat it.

But the vegetable of which they are most fond is the Green Pea.  Both of them will leave all other food for this, and they will consume at a meal a very considerable number of these Peas.  Indeed, so fond are they of them, that they will follow a person accustomed to feed them with them about the garden, and will even try to clamber up his legs to get at them.

After sleeping and basking, they will again eat, and then again sleep once or twice more during the day; but in cooler or doubtful weather, they usually eat only once a day, and sometimes not at all.

Although those who hawk Tortoises about the streets will often tell purchasers to put them into their kitchens that they may eat Beetles and Cockroaches, I believe it to be well understood that they are