That I have always considered uniformity in the manner in which observ. ations should be made by meteorologists, not only with respect to time, but as regards instruments of similar construction, of the greatest importance, I need only refer to a letter written by me, in February, 1823 (see Monthly Magazine, vol. lv. p. 207.), recommending the establishment of a Meteorological Society in the metropolis; and I should be most happy, at any time, to assist in the arrangement of some plan by which that desirable object could be obtained. I will now proceed, without further preface, to state the method practised by me in making my observations. The thermometer and barometer are examined every day at 8 A. M., 3 P. M. (esteemed the hottest period of the day), and 10 P. M., and the extreme of cold is ascertained by a self-registering thermometer; thus giving four observations of that instrument, all of which are duly registered, and the monthly mean is found by dividing the sum of all these by the number of observations, which, of course, varies with the number of days in each month. The rain and evaporation are measured every morning at 8 o'clock, and the wind reported, if the prevailing wind of the day. From this statement, Mr. Gorrie will see that "I refer to the daily extremes." The annual mean results from the division of the sum of the monthly means by 12, or is the mean of means. If the averages of the monthly extremes had been alone attended to, the annual mean for the last year would have been lower than even that recorded in my report, being only 47.6041. I subjoin the annual temperature for the last seven years, by which the similitude between the years 1826 and 1828, noticed by Mr. Gorrie, very evidently appears. It would be extremely gratifying to me, and, no doubt, equally to your other meteorological readers, if Mr. Gorrie would favour us with the course pursued by him, in making his observations, and it might prove conducive to the adoption of some regular plan of observation among meteorologists, at any rate among those who correspond with the Magazine of Natural History. Annual mean for 1822 46.51° 1823 44:26 1824 46.11 1825 46.81 1826 47:37 1827 46.25 1828 47.75 I remain, Sir, &c. James G. Tatem. Wycombe, May 21. 1829. Vision over the Sea. Sir, It is stated (Vol. II. p. 470.) that a person, under favourable circumstances, could see over the surface of the ocean to the extent of 150 miles. I would ask under what circumstances an object on the surface of the earth or sea would be visible at that distance; as, from the convex form of the earth, it would require an elevation of nearly three miles to bring it to a level with the horizon, or within the line of vision, setting aside the aid of refraction. Perhaps the limit of vision is unknown, the distance at which a body may be seen appearing to depend upon its size, the intensity of its light, and the state of the medium through which the rays pass from it to the eye; as the planets, though too remote for their figure to be discerned by the unassisted eye, are yet conspicuous from the light which they reflect; whereas the fixed stars, from their immense distance, would be totally invisible to us, if, like the planets, they shone only by reflected light. Perhaps some correspondent may furnish some useful information on the subject, and oblige, among others, your obedient servant, T. E. Southwark, Dec. 4. 1829. THE MAGAZINE OF NATURAL HISTORY. MARCH, 1830. ART. I. Some Account of the Life, Genius, and Personal Habits of the late Thomas Bewick, the celebrated Artist and Engraver on Wood. By his Friend JOHN F. M. DOVASTON, Esq. A.M., of Westfelton, near Shrewsbury. Sir, (Concluded from p. 9.) "Swote hys tyngue as the throstle's note, Oh! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree: Mie love ys dedde, Gone to hys deathe-bedde, Alle vnderre the wyllowe tree." CHATTERTON. BEFORE I Conclude this familiar account of my friend Bewick, you must, in justice, allow me to inform the public, that it was commenced, and (after its first portion) very considerably lengthened, at your request. Yet still, under the continual fear of dilation, I reluctantly omit innumerable incidents that are sparkling about the twilight of my memory, and hurry on to my last interview with my esteemed friend. Early in June, 1827, he wrote to me from Buxton, that, for the gout in his stomach, he was hurried there by his medical friends, accompanied by his daughters Jane and Isabella. At sunrise I mounted the high-pacing Rosalind, and entered that naked but neat little town early the second morning; alighting at the Eagle fit sign to a visitor of the king of bird-engravers. In my haste to find his lodging, I passed it; but stumping behind, with his great cudgel, he seized me ardently by the arm before I was aware, exclaiming, "I seed ye from tha window, and kenned yer back and gait, my kind friend." I found him in very good lodgings facing the fountain-corner VOL. III. No. 12. H of the superb Crescent, nearly opposite the Old Hall; and, after the fervid raptures of again meeting, we settled down into our usual chit-chat. There were three windows in the front room, the ledges and shutters whereof he had pencilled all over with funny characters, as he saw them pass to and fro, visiting the well. These people were the source of great amusement: the probable histories of whom, and how they came by their ailings, he would humorously narrate, and sketch their figures and features in one instant of time. I have seen him draw a striking likeness on his thumb-nail, in one moment; wipe it off with his tongue, and instantly draw another. He told me that, at watering-places, if his name were known, he was pestered with people staring at him, and inflicting foolish questions; and he cautioned me always in public to call him the" old gentleman." We dined occasionally at the public table; and one day, over the wine, a dispute arose between two gentlemen about a bird; but was soon terminated by the one affirming he had compared it with the figure and description of Bewick, to which the other replied that Bewick was next to Nature. Here the old gentleman seized me by the thigh with his very hand-vice of a grasp; and I contrived to keep up the shuttlecock of conversation playfully to his highest satisfaction, though they who praised him so ardently, little imagined whose ears imbibed all their honest incense. On evenings we often smoked in the open windows of his pleasant lodgings, and chatted in all the luxury of intellectual leisure. A cocky wren ran, like a mouse, along the ledge of the window. "Now," says he, "when that little fellow sings, he sings heartily!" Upon which the merry little creature, as if conscious of our conviviality, and of who heard him, perched on a post, and trilled his shrilly treble with thrilling might and main. Of nights we had music, the young ladies sang, or we read marvellous or merry ballads, or again relapsed into our pleasantries; fully agreeing with the piquant and pithy Venusian poet, that fun is no foe to philosophy, to mix short sallies with our serious discourse, and nothing so sweet as to play the fool when fitting. "Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem: Of mornings he walked out before the gnats and butterflies (as he called the company) began to frisk: for his most satirical arrows, though always pointed, were never envenomed; mere birdbolts, that he playfully and smartly squandered, not for prey but pastime. There was a neat, clean, pretty damsel that waited on the lodgers, to whom he gave little history books and prints of animals, joking her about her sweetheart; and as he always rose very early to "waak oot," one morning, on the stairs, I asked Sally if the old gentleman had walked out. "Yes, sir;" said the good-humoured girl, "and a very nice old gentleman he is." I walked after him, and found him in a place they call the grove (a long, thin, narrow belt of stunted larches), playing with a group of curly rosy children, for whom he was drawing funny figures on a painted bench, and telling them the names of birds, insects, and plants. Many of his opinions, though dropped at different times and places, I may as well group together; and omit, in some degree, his peculiar dialect, as difficult to express on paper, and awkward to those who knew him not; though, to my ear, it always seemed to give point, potency, and a sort of Doric beauty to his aphoristic truths. On my remarking that the. pig-parsnep (Heracleum Sphondýlium), or hogweed, had always been a great favourite with me, as being by far the best foliage for painters' foreground, he not only concurred, but ingeniously explained the reason. The hemlock and parsley-leaved plants, he said, were too minutely cut and divaricated; and the butter-bur and docks too round and heavy: now, the pig-parsnep uniting the lightness of the one with the strength of the other, became instantly pleasing to the eye of taste. He said, of all birds he thought the dove tribe most beautiful. Their outline presents every possible variety of the line of beauty; their colours are brilliant and varied; their notes amorous and soothing; their manners gentle and affectionate; their flight both rapid and graceful; and, in all times and nations, they have been emblems of peace, love, and fidelity. They have, moreover, many qualities and habits exclusively peculiar to their tribe; they drink differently (by immersion), and have no gall. Of Lord Byron's poetry he spoke with great disgust, saying, it teemed with less imagination, and more trash, in any quantity, than that of any other great poet; that power was the prominent feature of his mind, which he prostituted; and the great failing of his heart was depravity, which he adorned. He thought the romances of Sir Walter Scott breathed very large and frequent aspirations of the genuine essence of poetry; that his landscapes and figures were spirited and highly coloured painting, and his real characters the finest specimens of historical portraits. Paradise, he said, was of every man's own making; all evil caused by the abuse of freewill; happiness equally distributed, and in every one's reach. "Oh!" said he, "this is a bonny world as God made it; but man makes a packhorse of Providence." He held that innumerable things might be converted to our use that we ignorantly neglect; and quoted, with great ardour, the whole of Friar Lanrence's speech in Romeo and Juliet, to that effect. In corroboration of this, one day, at the mouth of Poole's Hole, which, on account of the chilly damp and dripping of the cavern, he declined to enter with me and the young ladies; while we were exploring the strange and fantastic formations of calcareous tufa therein, the Flitch of Bacon, the Saddle, and Mary Stuart's Pillar (which, it is said, she went quite round when a prisoner at Chatsworth), I found, on our emerging, he had collected his handkerchief full of nettle-tops, which, when boiled, he ate in his soup, methought with very keen relish. It was on our walk back, for some joke I cracked, they promised me a collection of all his engravings on India paper, which, at the time, I thought a joke too; yet, valuable and expensive as was the promise, I, in due time, found it faithfully and affectionately performed. One night he expressed a busy desire to see that tremendous and far-famed cavern, about ten miles from Buxton, called The Devil's Arse i' th' Peak; for his healthy mind was disgusted with the ridiculous, squeamy, and mawkish affectation of calling it "Peak's Hole," without, in the least, diluting the slight indelicacy of the ancient name, for which the witty combination amply compounds. In the morning, I readily engaged a vehicle and driver, wherein we comfortably sat, two and two, face to face; and were soon a-gig, by the pretty village of Fairfield, jaunting merrily o'er the bare and smooth, but sunny mountains of Derbyshire. This excursion alone would afford my pen more anecdotes than all I have recorded, had I room to relate; but I (somewhat reluctantly) confine myself to such as illustrate the versatile mind of my imaginative and merry companion, which I deem far more finely and firmly delineated by these trifles, than by church-tables of benefactions in golden capitals, or glaring lapidary epitaphs of his virtues in cold dull marble. For his mind, like the sun in his annual and diurnal rounds, was continually, and, as it were, cunningly catching unthought of objects, and piercing nooks and corners unnoticed; steeping for a moment, with its mellow rays, interior walls and chilly pillars; edges of forest glens, and trees in deep groves; marbling a chamber panel through a waving willow; or glowing on some ancient post in the gloomy recess of an old hall: thus not only calling the eye to what it would otherwise miss, but shedding on the most common objects, for the time, a soothing and a celestial gleam. As we rumbled along by the curious "Dove-holes" of that river on one side, and the "Shivering Rock" of Mam Tor on the other, I observed him silent for a short time, with |