On the 12th of January, Mr. Mustel placed several shrubs in pots against the windows of his hot-house, some within the house, and others without it. Through holes made for this purpose in the panes of glass, he passed a branch of each of the shrubs, so that those on the inside had a branch without, and those on the outside one within; after this, he took care that the holes should be exactly closed and luted.

The 20th of January, a week after this disposition, all the branches that were in the hot-house began to disclose their buds. In the beginning of February there appeared leaves, and towards the end of it shoots of a considerable length, which presented the young flowers. A dwarf apple-tree and several rose-trees, being submitted to the same experiment, showed the same appearance then as they commonly put on in May; in short, all the branches which were within the hot-house, and consequently kept in the warm air, were green at the end of February, and had their shoots in great forwardness. Very different were those parts of the same tree which were without, and exposed to the cold. None of these gave the least sign of vegetation; and the frost, which was intense at that time, broke a rose-pot placed on the outside, and killed some of the branches of that very tree, which on the inside was every day putting forth more and more shoots, leaves, and buds, so that it was in full vegetation on one side, while frozen on the other.

The continuance of the frost occasioned no change in any of the internal branches. They all continued in a very brisk and verdant state, as if they did not belong to the tree, which, on the outside, appeared in a state of the greatest suffering. On the 15th of March, notwithstanding the severity of the season, all was in full bloom. The apple-tree had its root, its stem, and part of its branches, in the hothouse. These branches were covered with leaves and flowers; but the branches of the same tree, which were carried to the outside, and exposed to the cold air, did not in the least partake of the activity of the rest, but were absolutely in the same state which all trees are in during winter. A rose-tree, in the same position, showed long shoots with leaves and buds; it had even shot a vigorous branch on its stalk, while a branch which passed through to the outside had not begun to produce any thing, but was in the same state with other rose-trees left in the ground.

The interior branches continued their productions in a regular manner, and the external ones began theirs at the same time, and in the same manner, as they would have done

had they been left in the ground. The fruits of the interior branches of the apple-tree were, in the beginning of May, of the size of nutmegs; while the blossoms but just began to show themselves on the branches without.

The consequences seemed to prove, 1. That the circulation of the sap does not take place in plants as the circulation of the blood in animals. 2. That each part of a tree is furnished with a sufficient quantity of sap to effect the first production of buds, flowers, and fruits. 3. That it is heat which unfolds the leaves, and produces the other parts of fructification, in the branch exposed to its action. From this it appears, that the vegetable economy is different from the animal, and that those who endeavoured to establish the circulation in both carried their analogy too far.

Experiments and Observations on the Singing of Birds. By the Hon. DAINES BARRINGTON, V.P. R. S.-[1773.] To chirp is the first sound which a young bird utters, as a cry for food, and is different in all nestlings, if accurately attended to; so that the hearer may distinguish of what species the birds are, though the nest may hang out of his sight and reach. The call of a bird is that sound which it is able to make, when about a month old; it is, in most instances, a repetition of one and the same note, is retained by the bird as long as it lives, and is common, generally, to both the cock and hen. The next stage in the notes of a bird is termed, by the bird-catchers, recording. This attempt in the nestling to sing may be compared to the imperfect endeavour in a child to babble. A young bird commonly continues to record for 10 or 11 months, when he is able to execute every part of his song, which afterwards continues fixed, and is scarcely ever altered. When the bird is thus become perfect in his lesson, he is said to sing his song round, or in all its varieties of passages, which he connects together, and executes without a pause.

Notes in birds are no more innate than language is in man, and depend entirely on the master under which they are bred, as far as their organs will enable them to imitate the sounds which they have frequent opportunities of hearing. Mr. B. educated nestling linnets under the three best singing larks, the skylark, woodlark, and titlark, every one of which, instead of the linnet's song, adhered entirely to that of their respective instructors. When the note of the titlark-linnet was thoroughly fixed, he hung the bird in a room with two

common linnets, for a quarter of a year, which were full in song; the titlark-linnet, however, did not borrow any passages from the linnet's song, but adhered steadfastly to that of the titlark. Having some curiosity to find out whether a European nestling would equally learn the note of an African bird, he educated a young linnet under a vengolina, which imitated its African master so exactly, without any mixture of the linnet-song, that it was impossible to distinguish the one from the other. This vengolina linnet was absolutely perfect, without ever uttering a single note by which it could have been known to be a linnet.

Mr. B. took a common sparrow from the nest when it was fledged, and educated him under a linnet: the bird, however, by accident, heard a goldfinch also, and his song was, there fore, a mixture of the linnet and goldfinch. Mr. B. educated a young robin under a very fine nightingale; which, however, began already to be out of song, and was perfectly mute in less than a fortnight. This robin afterwards sung three parts in four nightingale, and the rest of his song was what the bird-catchers call rubbish, or no particular note whatever. He educated a nestling robin under a woodlark-linnet, which was full in song, and hung very near to him for a month together; after which the robin was removed to another house, where he could only hear a skylark-linnet. The consequence was that the nestling did not sing a note of woodlark, though he afterwards hung him again just above the woodlark-linnet, but adhered entirely to the song of the skylarklinnet.

Some passages of the song in a few kinds of birds correspond with the intervals of our musical scale, of which the cuckoo is a striking and known instance: much the greater part, however, of such song is not capable of musical notations. As a bird's pitch is higher than that of any instrument, we are at a loss when we attempt to mark their notes in musical characters, which we can so readily apply to such as we can distinguish with precision. An insurmountable difficulty is, that the intervals used by birds are commonly so minute, that we cannot judge at all of them, from the more gross intervals into which we divide our musical octave. Though we cannot attain the more delicate and imperceptible intervals in the song of birds, yet many of them are capable of whistling tunes with our more gross intervals, as is well known by the common instances of piping bullfinches and canary birds.

Most people, who have not attended to the notes of birds, suppose that those of every species sing exactly the same notes and passages; which is by no means true, though it is admitted that there is a general resemblance. Thus the London bird-catchers prefer the song of the Kentish goldfinches, but Essex chaffinches; and when they sell the bird to those who can thus distinguish, inform the buyer that it has such a note, which is very well understood between them. Some of the nightingale-fanciers also prefer a Surrey bird to those of Middlesex. These differences in the song of birds of the same species cannot, perhaps, be compared to any thing more apposite than the varieties of the provincial dialects.

The nightingale seems to have been fixed on, almost universally, as the most capital of singing birds, which superiority it certainly may boldly challenge: one reason, however, of this bird's being more attended to than others is, that it sings in the night. In the first place, its tone is infinitely more mellow than that of any other bird, though, at the same time, by a proper exertion of its musical powers, it can be excessively brilliant. When this bird sang its song round, in its whole compass, Mr. B. has observed 16 different beginnings and closes, at the same time that the intermediate notes were commonly varied in their succession with such judgment as to produce a most pleasing variety. But it is not only in tone and variety that the nightingale excels; the bird also sings with superior judgment and taste. Mr. B. has observed, that his nightingale began softly like the ancient orators; reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which by this means had a most astonishing effect, and which eludes all verbal description.

The bird which approaches nearest to the excellence of the nightingale, in this respect, is the skylark; but then the tone is infinitely inferior in point of mellowness: most other singing birds have not above four or five changes. The next point of superiority in a nightingale is its continuance of song, without a pause, which Mr. B. has observed sometimes not to be less than 20 seconds. Whenever respiration, howbecame necessary, it was taken with as much judgment as by an opera singer.

ever,

Mr. B. here inserts a table, by which the comparative merit of the British singing birds may be examined, in which the number 20 denotes the point of absolute perfection:

It may be asked, how birds originally came by the notes which are peculiar to each species. The answer, however, to this is, that the origin of the notes of birds, together with its gradual progress, is as difficult to be traced as that of the different languages in nations. The loss of the parent cock, at the critical time for instruction, has, doubtless, produced those varieties which are in the song of each species; because then the nestling has either attended to the song of some other birds, or, perhaps, invented some new notes of its own, which are afterwards perpetuated from generation to generation, till similar accidents produce other alterations.

The History of the Sea Anemonies. By Abbé DICQUEMARE, at Havre de Grace. - [1773.]

THE sea anemonies found on the coast of the Havre seem to constitute three different species. Those here put in the first class, because in certain positions they resemble most the flower known by the name of anemone, cling or adhere to rocks and stones, and are often found in the holes that chance to be in them, and seem to like the surface of the water. The outer shape of the body of this animal, when it