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Observations on the Temperature of the Sea, made during the Voyage of H.M.S. Rattlesnake, Dec. 1846-July 1847. By JOSEPH DAYMAN, R.N., Lieut. and Assistant-Surveyor. (From Mr John Macgillivray's "Voyage of the Rattlesnake," vol. i. p. 329.)

But there is one master musician, whose varied notes leave the efforts of his rivals at an immeasurable distance behind him. It is he that makes our sunny glades and shady groves eminently melodious, by night and day, sustaining almost the whole burden him

self.

He is the nightingale of the Western World, the many-voiced Mocking-bird, (Mimus polyglottus). Abundant in almost all situations, from mountain-peak to sea-shore, but especially common in the orchards and about the homesteads of the lowlands, the voice of the Mocking-bird is heard all through the year, even when other birds are silent; and all through the day; and that not by ones or twos, but by dozens and scores, each straining his melodious throat

to outsing his rivals, and pouring forth his full expressive strains in all the rich variety for which this inimitable songster is so famous. Wilson has truly observed of this delightful bird, that "the ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all the others seems a mere accompaniment." If all the birds of Jamaica were voiceless except the Mocking-bird, the woods, and groves and gardens, would still be everywhere vocal with his profuse and rapturous songs.

In those brilliant nights, when the full-orbed moon shines from the depth of the clear sky with such intensity that the eye cannot gaze upon the dazzling brightness of her face, shedding down on plain and sea a flood of soft light sufficient to enable one to read an ordinary book with ease in the open air,-how sweet, how rich, how thrilling, are the bursts of melody that rise from the trees around, the serenades of wakeful Mocking-birds. Nothing to be compared to it have I ever heard in England; the night-song of a single bird, however fine may be its execution, is no more to be put in competition with such a chorus, than the performance of a single musician, though a master, with that of a band. Nights so lovely are seen only in the tropics, and the music is worthy of the night.

The Water-Thrushes (Seiurus), one of which at least is said by Wilson to be so exquisitely sweet a songster, that he was never tired of listening to it, though common in Jamaica during a portion of the year I have never heard sing, perhaps because the months that they spend in the island are those of autumn and winter. But the Wood-Thrush (Turdus mustelinus), or May-bird, as it is provincially called, is recognised as a songster rivalling even the Mocking-bird in the brilliant execution of its melody. This sober-coloured, but delightful bird does not extend, so far as I am aware, to the neighbourhood of the Bluefields, in its transient vernal sojourn; but confines itself to the sea-side groves and plains of the windward end of the island.

Besides all these, which, in various measure, perform their parts in the music of our woods, and not to mention the multitudes of Warblers, and Flycatchers, and Finches, whose notes, insignificant in themselves, help to swell and vary the general harmony, there is another series of voices that must by no means be overlooked in an enumeration of our woodland music,-the plaintive cooings of our numerous wild doves. In the recesses of the mountain forests, the silence is broken by the loud hollow calls of the Ringtail and Blue Pigeon (Columba Caribbea and rufina), and by the mournful cadences of the lustrous Mountain-Witch (Geotrygon sylvatica). The woods, that densely clothe the inferior summits, and sheet the sides of the sloping hills, resound with the energetic coo of the Baldpate (Col. leucocephala), the short reiterated moaning of the Partridge Dove (Geotrygon montana), the querulous call of the Ground Dove, (Chamapelia passerina), and the tender, melancholy, sobbing fall of the gentle Whitebelly (Peristera Jamaicensis).

But as it is in the lowland plains and cultivated estates that we most abundantly hear the melody of singing birds, so here do the plaintive voices of the doves fall most frequently upon the ear. The Whitewing (Turtur leucopterus) and the Pea-Dove (Zenaida amabilis) are essentially lowland birds; and these, with the exception. of the Whitebelly, are the most incessant and the most tender of all our cooers. Not, however, that we hear their voices immediately around the homestead; when they come into the open pastures to feed, they are usually wary and silent; but from the surrounding woods, the tall thick trees of the fens, and especially the impenetrable mangrove morasses, their loud, but sweetly gentle, moanings fall with mournful, pleasing cadence upon the ear. The Pea-Dove's voice is the more tender, and is particularly prominent in the evening, while the blustering sea-breeze gradually lulls itself to repose; the longer, sharper, and more impatient call of the Whitewing is most heard in the morning, though each season brings the notes of both birds from all parts of the woods around. They are respectively characteristic of the quietude of the late and early hours.

None but those who have listened to these gentle voices can tell what an effect they produce upon the mind. Their tender melancholy communicates itself to the hearer; and though reason tells him that they are the expressions of buoyant joy and health, he can scarcely fail to feel a pang of sympathy for what seems to be the complaint of gentleness in distress.

Nor is it true that our groves and fields are destitute of fragrance. In spring the oranges and limes that are planted in such profusion upon every estate, both in mountain and in plain, and even border the public roads, are covered with their abundant blossom, and the air all around is loaded with the richest perfume. So it is in the upland districts, when the coffee plantations are in bloom; the flower of which tree is as fragrant as it is delicately beautiful. the edges and borders of woods, there is a common shrub called Wild Coffee (Tetramerium odoratissimum), nearly allied to the cultivated species botanically, as it is both in beauty and fragrance. Butterflies, moths, bees, and flies, throng around its lovely white blossoms, the delicious and powerful odour from which is diffused to a great distance.

In

I have observed that many flowers in Jamaica possess the aromatic odour so much admired in our pinks and carnations, that of the clove. The beautiful plants called the red and the white Spanish jasmine (Plumeria rubra and P. alba), common shrubs, whose thick stems, leathery leaves, and noble spikes of blossom, form so striking objects in the smaller woods, have this odour. I found it in the blossom of a species of Pancratium, with small bulbs and large oval leaves, growing on the St Elizabeth Mountains; the fragrance, which was very abundant, I should not have been able to distinguish from that of a carnation. That gorgeous flower, the

Nightflowering Cereus (Cereus grandiflora) is another notable exaniple of the same prevalent odour. The long, trailing stems of this cactus are very commonly seen in the lowlands, sprawling to a great length over the stone fences, hanging in irregular festoons from the forks and limbs of the trees, the great cotton tree in particular, and intertwining its tough and prickly vines among the shrubs, helping to give the woods that formidable, repellent, impenetrable character which a tropic "bush" is known to present. The magnificent flowers are, however, rarely seen; the plant seems to be a shy bloomer, and, when the blossoms do meet the eye, it is in nine cases out of ten either as unexpanded buds, or in that miserable drenched condition which the flowers of a cactus always assume when fading, looking exactly as if they had been dragged through boiling water. In order to see it in perfection one must make it open in the house, or visit it at midnight, which is inconvenient. I have several times marked a maturing bud, and, when it appeared nearly ready to burst, cut a few inches of the stem on each side and brought it within doors. Soon after dark it begins to open, and towards midnight expands in its noble beauty; a disc, six inches in diameter, very double, the exterior rows of petals of a yellowish-brown hue, gradually paling in tint to the centre, where the petals are of the purest white. Meanwhile the delicious clove-like perfume, is diffused in such abundance that a delicate person can scarcely sit in the room, and the very house is filled with it from one end to the other. In the morning beauty and fragrance are both gone, and the blossom, lately so gorgeous, possesses no more of either than may be pretended to by a boiled cabbage.-(A Naturalist's Sojourn in Jamaica, by P. H. Gosse, p. 170.)

On the Distribution of Manganese; on the Existence of Organic Matter in Stalactites forming Crystallised and Amorphous Crenate of Lime. By DAVID A. WELLS, Cambridge, Mass.*

1. On the Distribution of Manganese.

The occurrence of pebbles and water-worn stones in many of the streams and water-courses of New England, which have their origin among, and run over, igneous and metamorphic rocks, is by no means uncommon, and has doubtless attracted the attention of every observer. When the bed of a stream in which they occur is examined, the coloured pebbles and stones will be found at intervals, generally after or below a fall or rapid, and not immediately above.

* Silliman's Journal, January 1852.