at his beautiful coat, and his orange-coloured waistcoat, down the whole length of his back disports a magnificent crest, for just now he is in prime condition; he is indeed a handsome beast, and, by the way he parades himself up and down in front of his favourite batch of weeds, he evidently knows it. "O formosé Triton nimium nè crede colori.” We want you: how are we to get you? The question is often asked, "What did your god-fathers?" &c. My god-father, peace to his memory, gave me a silver cup, and a bit of advice. Sir Francis Chantrey was a fisherman, and a practical man. Never, said he, "Go without a knife, a bit of string, and a sixpence." We have followed his advice, and have all those three articles in our pocket. When we see the triton, our obedience to sponsorial authority is rewarded. We cut a stick with our knife, we tie our bit of string to the end of it; now for a hook-ah, here is a pin all ready, in the corner of our coat; this is soon crooked, and a worm affixed thereto; triton sees it, he snaps eagerly, we have him, and for the first time in his life he is tied up in the corner of a pocket handkerchief. But where is Mrs. Triton? not far off; she is recognized by her crestless and russet-coloured body, but she refuses the worm. She shall be caught, nevertheless, by means of our sixpence. This is quickly changed into fine brass wire, at a neighbouring shop, the proprietor of which seems to sell everything, from a nail to a flitch of bacon, or a pair of old woman's pattens. In true Calcraft style, a noose of wire is made, and fastened to the stick-Madame joins Monsieur in the pocket handkerchief. The scene changes; the happy pair have now resided a week in a private crystal palace of a globular shape; what we observed about them, imprimis, was that they lived like Mr. and Mrs. Sprat, and always quarreled at dinner time; a worm was given them, the gentleman did not wait for the lady, but seized the one end of the worm while she seized the other, each gulped their portion down as fast as Italians their maccaroni; but there must be an end to all things, and worms are included in the category. In due time the loving couple meet, nose to nose, each with having swallowed exactly half a worm. Husband looks daggers at wife, as much as to say, what business have you here; the compliment is returned, and they set off a waltz, twisting, twirling, and rolling over each other, round and round their globe, neither will let go of the worm, neither will cry "peccavi;" somebody must give way, and that somebody is the poor worm, who "comes a two in the middle," and settles the conjugal difficulty. Secondly. I have observed that the lizards obey the command, "increase and multiply." The young make their debût in this D form: the female deposits her eggs when in captivity; these eggs are not agglutinated together in a gelatinous medium as are the frogs' eggs, but are carefully deposited by the mother, one by one, each in a distinct spot from the other. Resting on a leaf or bit of weed, she folds it, by means of her two hinder fect, into the shape of a funnel, and therein deposits a single egg, gluing, at the same time, the folded parts together, thus concealing and protecting the enclosed deposit. In due time the young lizard-tadpole comes forth from his egg, and much resembles, during the few first stages of development, his first cousin, the frog-tadpole; they both are furnished with tufted gills or branchiæ of aquatic respiration, fixed outside their body, which become ultimately lost, and are replaced by true lungs inside their body. The eggs are deposited at the latter end of April, and during the months of May and June; but I know not how soon the tadpole assumes the form of a perfect adult lizard. Thirdly. I have observed that the lizards frequently change their skins, as do snakes; and this much in the same manner. A few days before the skin is coming off, the lizard looks covered with a sort of slime, and appears stupid and sluggish; when he feels his coat is loose enough, he gets between two conveniently placed portions of stick or weed, and, leaving the dead skin or slough, as it is sometimes called, behind him, comes forth more brilliant and lively than ever. What Virgil says about the snake is equally applicable to the water newt: "Cum positis novus exuviis nitidusque colore juvento These cast-off skins are sometimes most perfect, particularly when the lizard has not been disturbed during the operation; the only way to examine it is to take it most carefully out from the vessel in which it is found, on the top of a camel's hair brush (anything ruder, as a bit of stick, will tear it to bits), and place it in a wineglass of clear water, then, with the lightest touch possible, brush the parts assunder, and, if you are lucky and have a light hand, you may get the whole skin expanded quite perfect, looking like the ghost of its former owner. There is not a portion of the body that has not parted with its covering; the very toes and skin of the feet are seen hanging like an empty glove; and even the beautiful and yet hard and transparent covering of the eye remains faithfully fixed in its old companion, the skin. A magnifying glass will reveal, on the surface of the skin aforesaid, numerous pits and depressions (remember the skin is inverted); these pits and depressions correspond to their relative elevations and furrows on the body of the lizard. These curious formations are little glands set in the skin, which secrete a peculiar fluid, which serves, we think, two purposes -first, to keep the body of the lizard moist when he goes out of the water, which he not unfrequently does; I mean on his own account. Secondly, to afford his poor naked body some sort of protection. Who ever saw a dog hold a lizard long in his mouth? Certainly not. The captive expresses a peculiar acrid fluid from these glands, and the dog drops him instanter. This fluid is also particularly poisonous to the human race. I remember once killing a lizard; and, beginning to dissect him immediately afterwards-upon dividing the skin of the abdomen, there came forth a very peculiar and remarkably offensive odour, though I cannot say it amounted to a stink. I confess I was obliged to give up my dissection; for I felt faint, and was obliged to lay down a few minutes. An hour afterwards, there was no trace of the odour; and I finished my work. I therefore advise naturalists never to dissect a newt till he has been defunct some little time. The little Italian land-lizards probably have not these poison-secreting glands, for the Italian cats (I am credibly informed) delight in catching and eating them. It is possible that this power possessed by lizards has given rise to the well-known story of the Salamander. The ancients, and some moderns, doubtless, believed, and do yet believe, that the salamander is incombustible, and has the power (like Phillips's suicidal fire annihilator) of putting the fire out. Aristotle says, it is reported that the salamander, when it goes through the fire, extinguishes it. Elian says that it will live in flames, and attack fire like an enemy. From the above erroneous notions of the poor beast's power, the name of "Salamander's wool" has been given to Asbestos; and, why or wherefore I know not, but the alchemists tortured salamanders in their attempts to change quicksilver into gold. I have never tried the experiment, nor do I intend so doing; but I conceive it likely that a newt, thrown into a fire, might escape death, and possibly be able to crawl away, defending himself from the heat by means of his self-moistened skin. The alchemists have not been the only persecutors of the poor tritons; modern philosophers have frequently tried experiments upon them, and have found out that, like lobsters and crabs, they can reproduce limbs or parts of limbs which have been amputated, whether by nature or accident. A French philosopher, M. Bonnet, has amputated their tails, and arms, and legs, which have been reproduced with toes capable of motion; and in one case the same limb was reproduced four times; an eye, also, which he cut out, was reproduced in twelve months; and the results of many other similar interesting, but cruel, experiments are on record. Would that the poor limbless fellows in the Crimea had this triton-like power, instead of being obliged to appeal to cork and wood-but clumsy substitutes at the best for the useful members they have lost! The Tritons* of our glass-bowl are the representatives of the crocodiles and gavials, which formerly inhabited this "nice, little, tight, little island." Quere, was it an island in those days? Geologists, with good reason, think not; however, island or continent, gigantic lizards lived, died, and were buried. Should there be an unbeliever, let him go to the British Museum, and look at the bones of these gigantic British lizards in their coffins of hardened mud; let him read the white labels upon them, informing him where they were found; he will recognize many names of true English towns; some of them, perchance, nearer London than he had imagined. But the most celebrated newt ever discovered was found about a century ago, in a tertiary strata, at Aningen, and was described by a philosopher of those days as a human skeleton, which he called "Homo diluvii testis ;" and a great fuss it then made in the learned world. Cuvier, however, came to the rescue, and decided that it was not the skeleton of a man, but of a gigantic salamander. This skeleton is still, I believe, in the Museum of Haarlem. Since this date, the Prince of Canino has examined it, and decided that it is closely allied to his genus, Sieboldtia, a gigantic water newt, three feet long, found by Siebold, whence its name, in a lake within a volcanic crater in Japan. A male and female specimen of this enormous water newt were brought alive from Japan, by their discoverer, Siebold; but the female was eaten, during the voyage to Holland, by the male, which arrived safe and sound at Leyden, often changing its skin and feeding on small fishes, and snapping at the fingers of any man that attempts to catch it. Let us now throw our lizards, frogs, and tadpoles back into the horse-pond, and our horse-pond into the " Medley." Windsor, May 28, 1855. * Several of the Tritons above-mentioned have been transferred from their glass-bowl to the fresh-water tanks of the Aquarium, in the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens. We advise the reader to inspect and admire them for himself. CHESTER, PAST AND PRESENT. I. "Queer, quaint old Chester." MRS. SIGOURNEY. QUEER, quaint old Chester-how true and faithful a description is couched in those four words, and how clearly do they bring the outlines of the ancient city before the eye of him who has once traversed its quiet streets, and paced in the summer moonlight around the mouldering walls. Modern innovation, and the rage for improvement have done but too much to alter the character of the town, and to sweep away the ancient memorials of our forefathers; but much yet remains to delight the eye and occupy the mind of him who loves to study the relics of the past, and to muse upon those stirring days when the banner of England, floating from the Castle wall, proclaimed that castle the bulwark of the shire against the marauding Welsh, or, in later days, bade a stern defiance to the rebel generals who sought by threats to seduce the fair city from her allegiance to her king. Right nobly did Chester maintain the royal cause; nor is there any lack of memorials of the long and bloody siege that she endured, with fortitude unsurpassed, even in those days of fiery trial. The ancient barrier of the "Bars," that held the Puritans so long at bay, is indeed gone, and should scarcely be lamented; for, like Temple Bar, its "occupation was gone," and it merely obstructed the street it once protected. But come with me up the Northgate Steps, and turn your gaze eastward; on that little tower of crumbling sand-stone stood the unfortunate Charles, his eyes bent upon the fearful tragedy then enacting upon Rowton Moor. Alas! his star was waning fast; the gallant, but undisciplined cavaliers were borne down before his eyes by the resistless charge of the republican cavalry. As night came on, crowds of fugitives, wounded and dispirited, sought the shelter of the town; and ere another sun had set, the ill-fated monarch had quitted his faithful city, and betaken himself to the shelter of the "stormy hills of Wales." Soon after this, the Parliamentary leaders drew closer around the devoted city, and the horrors of the siege began. Their unflinching adherence to the royal cause could give the men of Chester but little claim upon the clemency of their enemies, and |