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the crate in a very exposed truck on a chill autumn night, which killed three-quarters of them at least. The remainder throve at Edstone for a while, the latest survivor being an oyster-catcher, who came to his end thus. It had been freezing hard in the night, followed by soft snow, and then re-freezing. Next morning they found the tracks of a fox on the snowcovered ice, going to a place where the yellow legs and nothing else of the bird remained frozen in. The oyster-catcher's legs had been entrapped by the frost, and his body had been snapped up by the fox.

During the many weeks and months that I spent

in London between 1846 and 1850, which is the time

to which this chapter refers, I took walks with friends, and sometimes rides with Harry Hallam, once on a most pleasant riding tour with him in South Wales, and I went to meets of the Queen's Stag

ol it 14 1"4,

Among many other things,' I was eager to know the sensations of ballooning; I venture to give my own impression of it. There were occasional nightly ascents from the then existing Cremorne Gardens, and foolishly thinking that I could sneak in under cover of darkness, I engaged a seat. The evening arrived, and I found it was advertised as a Gala Festival, and I was anything but secluded from observation. A number of fireworks were attached to the car, and after an oration from the aeronaut, up we went. I t was very curious to observe the upturned faces of the crowd below, which seemed to recede, for I had no sensation of being myself in movement. The fireworks went off, and doubtless made an effective display, and then all seemed singularly