intrinsically vegetable feeders; a position well put by Frank Buckland, who says that Tortoises put into a kitchen to eat Beetles will in due time die of starvation, and then most probably the Beetles will eat them.  Certainly ours never eat anything but vegetable food.  But a Tortoise in a neighbouring garden does every morning consume a very substantial quantity of bread and milk, or rather bread well-soaked in milk, and he appears to thrive well upon it.  Our Tortoises never drink water, and are decidedly not tempted to drink by milk being offered to them.

Whatever the season, the Tortoises retire very early to bed.  The warmth and sunniness of the day appear to regulate the exact time, but they rarely remain up after three or four o’clock, and in the cooler seasons, or on dull days, they retire much earlier.

They will go day after day to the same warm and leafy nook; and they have a habit on rising in the morning of simply turning out of bed, and lying for a time just outside of their bed-place, with their heads stupidly stretched out, or staring vacantly up into the air, before entering upon the serious business of the day. [33]

I should say their Memory is very strong.  I have said they remember persons.  They remember places they know, and if carried away will march straight off and back again to the place they wish to go to; and what is more remarkable, when brought out in the spring after seven or eight months’ hybernation, they do exactly as they did the day before they went to sleep; and will march off as direct to the old spots as if they had only had one day’s interregnum.

As a further instance of memory or intelligent knowledge, we are constantly in the habit, in the cooler weather, of putting them to bed under a mat in the greenhouse; and we very constantly find them, in the morning, waiting by the greenhouse door to be let out, clearly remembering that this is the place by which they will have to pass into the open air.

They do not appear to care much for each other’s society—(I believe they are both males)—but they do not fight.  Neither are they respecters of each other’s persons, for they walk over each other’s backs in the most indifferent way, if either happens to be in the direct road of the other’s progression.

One of the creatures is certainly fond of climbing.  We have several times found him mounted (when shut up in the greenhouse) upon the other’s back; or upon an inverted flower-pot; and once we found him in a most pitiable condition through the exercise of these scandent aspirations.  He had evidently been endeavouring to climb up some flower sticks placed slantingly against the wall, and in doing this he had turned over upon his axis; and when we found him he was reclining upon his back against these sticks, and standing upon one hind foot, whilst with the other, and with his fore feet, he was making frantic efforts to reinstate himself in a more comfortable position.  As so placed he reminded us irresistibly and ludicrously of a huge toad held up by a fore leg.

Our Tortoises have certainly got tempers.  They hiss when they are meddled with.  They resist and try to scratch, or otherwise hurt, when lifted up from their place of repose; and they exhibit distinct petulance, and will jerk themselves forward out of your hand when you are again placing them upon the ground.

They are also very particular when going to their evening places of repose, and most distinctly refuse to go to rest in the place in which you try to place them, however comfortable this may appear to be, even if they have previously selected this spot for themselves day after day.

Mr. Darwin speaks of a large kind of Tortoise which is reputed to be able to walk at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes; i.e., three hundred and sixty yards in the hour, or four miles a day.  I have twice timed the rate of progress of one of my Tortoises.  Once it walked ten feet in the minute, and another time twenty feet in the minute.  This latter is at the rate of twelve hundred feet, or four hundred yards, in the hour; or of a mile in between four and five hours.  This truly is not quite the ordinary rate of the hare’s progress, but I think they can cross a certain small distance of ground much more rapidly than we should at first suspect.

Once more.  These creatures distinctly grow in size from year to year.  Our two measure respectively seven and seven and a half inches in length.  And they must have elongated fully an inch in the three and four years of our possession.

I weighed them this year, on May 29th, soon after their waking up for the summer, and again on September 8th.  They weighed in May, 2 lbs. 7½ ozs. and 2 lbs. 3½ ozs.; a fortnight ago they weighed 2 lbs. 10 ozs. and 2 lbs. 5 ozs.; having thus gained in weight through their summer feeding 2½ ozs. and 1½ ozs. respectively. [36]

When the due period arrives in which they naturally bury themselves, and so surround themselves with earthen bulwarks, and then retire for the winter into their carapace castles, we put them down into a cupboard in the cellar.

Mr. White remarks that his Tortoise did not bury itself into the ground before November 1st, but ours are cold and torpid, and quite ready to hybernate by the first week in October.  Probably the different latitude and longitude of Selborne and Norwich may account for this difference of time.

In this cellar cupboard, the Tortoises remain until the end of April, when, though still dull and stupid, the weather is getting sufficiently warm for them to enjoy the sun for a portion of the day.  But the frosts and cold of this period of the year are still dangerous.  And a relative of mine lost both of his old friends (who for years had taken care of themselves in the winter in his garden) during the cold weather of this spring, after they had duly survived the far greater cold of the winter in the ground places in which they had buried themselves.

From October to April—fully seven months—they rest from their labours of eating, of breathing, shall I say, of thinking? (or nearly so, for they occasionally stir a little, and are found to have moved a little from under their straw).  But they neither eat nor drink, nor see light, nor (I believe) open their eyes.  And when touched during this time they feel of a stony coldness, and certainly appear to have none of their faculties in operation.

But with the warmer weather, they again gradually resume the precise habits of the preceding year.  Gradually, their bright little eyes resume their intelligence; their memory re-awakens; and they return to the ways, and the habits, and the places of the preceding season, as if their sleep of seven months were but a single night, and last summer verily but as yesterday.

They are in many respects both curious and remarkable animals.  We find them to have enough of intelligence, enough of quaintness, and apparently enough of affection, to give them considerable interest in the eyes of their owners, and to raise them out of the level of despised reptiles.  Whilst their remarkable construction, and mysterious power of hybernation, render them specially worthy of study and contemplation.

These specialities and peculiarities must be my much-needed excuse for having troubled you so long with these few details