Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 713, August 25, 1877

While on feminine eccentricities we must record some that we have met with in our own day. So convinced is one elderly married lady of the peculating propensities of all lodging-house menials, that after each meal a curious scene takes place in her room. Every article, such as her tea-caddy, sugar-basin, jam-pot, &c., which she has had occasion to use during the meal, is placed on the table, on which stand a gum-bottle, a brush, and several long strips of paper. She then proceeds to gum up her property. A strip of paper is gummed round the opening to the tea-caddy; the pot of preserve is similarly secured, together with all else that is likely to attract that lawless fly the lodging-house servant! We know of another lady who for years has lived with only the light of gas or candle in her rooms. She imagines that air and daylight are injurious to her sight, and her rooms are little better than well-furnished tombs, into which no chink of light or breath of heaven is suffered to intrude.

Mr Timbs introduces us to a lady equally eccentric in her ideas about water. Lady Lewson of Clerkenwell objected totally to washing either her house or her person. She considered water to be the root of all malady, in the unnecessary way people expose themselves to the chills caught by frequent ablution! And as for health – was she not a living instance that a morning tub is all nonsense, for she was one hundred and sixteen years old when she died! For the greater part of her life she never dipped her face into water, using hog's-lard instead, to soften her skin. Although large and well furnished, her house, like her person, was never washed and but rarely swept.

We remember an amusing instance of French respect for cold water, in the speech of a French gentleman, married to an English lady of our acquaintance who used to indulge in a bath morning and evening; a custom so astounding to her husband that he exclaimed in our hearing: 'She does not use water – she abuses it.'

Eccentricity often displays itself in an inordinate affection for animals and a singular manner of treating them. An instance of this was the late Earl of Bridgewater, who now comes before us with his family of performing dogs. He lived in Paris during the last century, where the circumstances we narrate took place. He was a miserable-looking little man, unable to walk without the support of two lackeys. He had an immense fortune, which he spent in gratifying every caprice. Was a book lent him? It was regarded as the representative of its owner, and returned in the earl's landau, occupying the place of honour and attended by four footmen in costly livery, who handed it to the astonished owner. His carriage was frequently to be seen filled with dogs, his special pets. On the feet of these dogs he bestowed as much attention as though they were unfortunate human beings; he ordered them boots, for which he paid as dearly as for his own. Not caring to entertain his own kind at his table, few people dined with him. Still, covers were daily laid for a dozen, served by suitable attendants. At this table he received, and dined with no less than twelve favourite dogs, who seemed to comprehend the compliment paid them, as they occupied their chairs with decorum, each with its white napkin tied round its neck. They were so trained, that should any, by an instinct of appetite, transgress any rule of good-manners, he was banished from the table, and degraded to an antechamber, where he picked his bone in mortification; his place remaining empty until he had earned his master's pardon.

There are some whose eccentricity takes the form of hatred of society. Of this number was the Honourable Henry Cavendish, a man of great learning and enormous fortune, who earned the title of 'Woman-hating Cavendish,' as he would never see a woman if he could avoid it. If a female servant was unlucky enough to shew herself, she was instantly dismissed. He was compelled to employ a housekeeper, but all their communications were carried on by correspondence. His ideas of dining were restricted to legs of mutton only. On one occasion when his housekeeper suggested that one leg of mutton would not be sufficient for a party invited, he met the difficulty by ordering two!

A number of eccentricities are displayed by people in their burial bequests. A certain Dr Fidge, a physician of the old school, converted a favourite boat into a coffin, which he kept under his bed for many years in readiness. When death drew near, he begged his nurse to pull his legs straight and place him as a dead man, as it would save her trouble afterwards, saying which he comfortably departed. Job Orton, a publican of the Bell Inn, Kidderminster, had his tombstone with epitaph erected in the parish church. His coffin was also built and ready for him; but until he was ready for it he used it as a wine-bin. Major Peter Laballiere of Box Hill, Dorking, selected a spot for his burial, which he directed should be without church rites, and head downwards; in order that, 'as the world was in his opinion topsy-turvy, he might come right end up at last!' But a certain Jack Fuller caps even the major, for he left directions that he was to be buried in a pyramidal mausoleum in Brightling churchyard, Sussex; giving as his reason for selecting to be embalmed in stone above ground, his unwillingness to be eaten by his relatives – a process he considered inevitable if buried in the ordinary manner, for 'The worms,' he declares, 'would eat me; the ducks would eat the worms; and my relations would eat the ducks.'

Of all eccentricities, those displayed by misers are the most notable and repulsive. To dwell upon them at any length is neither pleasant nor interesting; it is only where parsimony and genius are allied that one pauses to examine the specimen. Let us now take a brief survey of Nollekens the sculptor, in whom these opposites were met. Descended from a miserly stock, he did not fall short of his ancestry in his love of money, and it first became apparent in a filthy mode of living while a student at Rome. He married a woman even more parsimonious than himself, and their housekeeping was pitiful. Hatred of light is an observable trait with most misers; and over their coals and candles the Nollekens were scrupulously economical; the former, Nollekens counted with his own hands. The candles were never lighted at the commencement of the evening; and if a knock were heard at the door, it was not answered until repeated, in case the first should prove a runaway, and the candle be wasted! A flat candlestick served them for ordinary purposes, and by carefully extinguishing them when company went, they made a pair of moulds last a whole year!

Before his marriage, Nollekens had an unfortunate little servant called Bronze, whose appetite he so feared that he placed her on board-wages, and gave her only just enough money to furnish him with food each day, which he took care to consume. Bronze with rare patience, for which we cannot account, continued to serve after her master was married, and declared that never had she seen a jack-towel in their house and never had she washed with soap! Mrs Nollekens never went to any but a second-hand shop for their wearing apparel and shoes, and their charity was of the same second-hand nature, as when Mrs Nollekens directed the maid to give the 'bone with little or no meat on it' to two starving men who applied for relief. If a present of a leveret was sent them, they made it serve two dinners for four people. The sculptor grew more generous before death, his parsimonious partner having gone first, as though he strove by sundry spasmodic gifts to atone for the avarice of a life. If these details are as unsavoury to some as to ourselves, we only justify their narration on the ground stated, that the qualities they set forth were found existing in a genius.

Did time permit we should like to linger over those notable eccentrics, Porson, Horne Tooke, Peter Pindar (Dr Wolcot), and others; but we can only give a characteristic anecdote or two. Porson, the cleverest and most erratic of creatures, was the victim of abstraction to an extent that rendered him forgetful at times to eat. 'Will you not stay and dine,' asked Rogers the poet. 'Thank you; no; I dined yesterday!' he replied. Dr Parr asked him before a large assembly what he thought about the introduction of moral and physical evil into the world. 'Why, doctor,' said Porson, 'I think we should have done very well without them.' And it makes us laugh to hear an ignorant person, who was anxious to get into conversation with him, ask, if Captain Cook was killed in his first voyage. 'I believe he was,' answers Porson; 'though he did not mind it much, but immediately entered on a second!'

Tooke began life with a joke, telling every one that he was the son of a Turkey merchant; by which name he defined his father's trade of poulterer. His ready wit was never at a loss; and it is to him we are indebted for the following well-known joke. 'Now, young man,' said an uncle to him one day, giving him good advice, 'as you are settled in town I would advise you to take a wife.' 'With all my heart, sir,' replied Tooke; 'whose wife shall I take?'

Peter Pindar boasted that he was the only man that ever outwitted a publisher. Being a popular writer, his works brought him a good income. His publisher wishing to purchase the copyright and print a collected edition, made him an offer in cash. In order, however, to drive a good bargain, Pindar feigned to be in very bad health, declaring he could not live long; and every time the publisher came to see him he acted the invalid to such perfection that he got a handsome annuity, which, to the disgust of the publisher, he lived to enjoy until the unconscionable age of eighty-one.

We leave a number of our eccentric friends with regret. There was Curtis, whom we do not care to accompany in his search after the horrible and his passion for convicts and executions. There was Dr Fordyce, whose eccentricity in the matter of food is a study; he lived for years on one meal a day only, but a meal so enormous that we wonder, as we read the quantities, how he ever lived to repeat it daily for twenty years. We can only now recommend those who have been interested so far, to supply our deficiencies by going to the source from whence we have gathered the matter for this brief notice.

SNAKE-INCUBATION

The Zoological Gardens of London, always attractive, now and then acquire even additional interest by the arrival of some new inmate, or the occurrence of some rare event among those already established there. Last year the Prince of Wales's Indian collection of animals, the year before the snake-eating snake, drew extra crowds; and of late the anaconda from Brazil has rendered herself popular by bringing forth a family of snakelings; though, owing to the effects of her long journey and close imprisonment, her young ones were dead. A few years ago the largest snake in the Gardens was an African python, that deposited above one hundred eggs in a nest of moss which had been supplied to her; and as some writers about snakes had told us that the python incubates her eggs, and that only this kind exhibits any such maternal instinct, she also drew crowds of the curious.

The pythoness whose proceedings we are about to relate, having deposited her eggs, arranged them in a level mass and then coiled herself around and over them; sometimes they could be just discovered between her coils, and sometimes she covered them entirely. Heat combined with moisture are essential to the development of snakes' eggs; and in the choice of a spot in which to deposit them, the maternal instinct of the animal in a state of freedom is evident. It is generally among decaying vegetation where heat is generated, or in some moist soft herbage where the sun's rays can penetrate. To regulate the temperature in a close cage and keep the moss precisely in a condition to suit snake requirements, was by no means easy, and our pythoness seemed far from satisfied. The fact, however, was established beyond doubt, that she was hatching her eggs by the warmth of her own body.

But a most untoward disaster happened one night in the overflowing of the tank among her eggs, completely saturating them; and it was not surprising therefore, that no young pythons appeared. The enormous reptile remained coiled around and over her addled eggs for above seven weeks, after which they were taken from her. She had, and with good reason, been exceedingly irritable and even savage during this time of trial, as it was mid-winter, the season when under other circumstances she, like her companions, would have been half torpid. But her maternal affection was undeniable, and this alone was worth witnessing; since some authors would have had us believe that snakes (and particularly non-venomous ones) manifest entire indifference regarding their eggs and young. The python's eggs being, as usual, in one long string, the keeper had no little trouble in getting them from under her.

Being aquatic in their habits, and on that account requiring much water, anacondas are difficult to keep in captivity. The one lately arrived among us was no sooner released from its travelling box than it took to the tank with which its cage is furnished, and remained in it for hours and even days together. But not there, poor thing, can its swimming powers be displayed, since in close coils it completely fills it. Notwithstanding these drawbacks of London life, the Gardens can now boast of three of these valuable snakes; one of which has been a resident since 1869; while those in Paris have not survived any length of time.

One still more remarkable characteristic of the anaconda is that, like the sea-snakes (Hydrophidæ), but unlike the python, it produces its young alive. We have long been accustomed to think that only vipers produce live young – and hence their name – and that all the non-venomous snakes lay eggs. But snakes, so far as those in captivity are concerned, are continually doing what is not expected of them. Zoological Gardens afford valuable opportunities to students for acquiring knowledge of the form, size, habits, &c. of animals, and an occasional insight into their modes of life unattainable otherwise. This is especially the case regarding the Ophidians; creatures which in their native haunts are so retiring, inaccessible, and mostly nocturnal, that less has been known of them than of almost any other tribe of creatures. Regarding the subject in question, several very important zoological facts have recently been established at the Gardens, and we may add, to the surprise of the naturalist world in England. In 1862 (the same year in which the pythoness laid her hundred eggs), the then but slightly known non-venomous English snake Coronella lævis gave birth to a family of six live young ones in a cage in London; and several other harmless snakes in the London ophidarium have also afforded cause for surprise, not only in producing live young, but in manifesting a very decided care for them. Some New-world species have been examples of this; as, for instance, the 'garter-snake,' the 'chicken-snake,' and the 'yellow boa' of Jamaica (Chilobothrus inornatus), the latter on several occasions, and sometimes depositing eggs at the same time, but the eggs proving bad.

Mr Philip Henry Gosse, when in Jamaica nearly thirty years ago, gave much careful attention to the habits of this 'yellow boa,' a snake which sometimes attains eight or ten feet in length and is extremely active. He records a great deal of highly interesting matter concerning the chilobothrus; and, as a careful and conscientious observer, his testimony is of much value. That this snake when at liberty lays eggs, was well known, nests with eggs in them being often found. In one case a 'yellow boa' was seen issuing from a narrow passage in a bank, which when dug into was found to lead to a cavity lined with leaves and soft trash, and containing eggs. This hole had been excavated, because the dry crumbled earth was discharged at the entrance, where it lay in a heap. The passage was only just large enough to admit the snake, and the soft rubbish within must have been carried there. We cannot positively assert that the snake constructed this skilful hiding-place for herself, but if she did, she must have forced out the earth as the burrowing snakes do, or by the muscular undulations of her body; and she must have conveyed the leaves there in her mouth. Snakes do, we know, sometimes make nests by coiling themselves round and round to form a hollow. Under either circumstance maternal instinct is undeniable; and if chilobothrus merely discovered and appropriated the nest of some other creature, her intelligence is still worth recording.

We knew an instance where a snake in captivity exhibited restlessness and uneasiness, crawling about the cage as if in search of something. Those who had the care of it suspected she was with eggs, and placed some sand in the cage. This appeared to satisfy her, and the eggs were deposited. Mr Gosse had a Jamaica boa in the same condition. For a long time it manifested discomfort and restlessness, being savage and in every way objectionable, till at length it produced a family of young ones. Knowing it was the habit of this snake to incubate its eggs, Mr Gosse was greatly surprised at the event; and the startling question occurred to him, that when circumstances are unfavourable for the deposition of eggs, could a snake retain them until the young are hatched?

Mr Gosse's surmises have been entirely confirmed both by similar occurrences at the Zoological Gardens and by other writers, who in the subsequent interval have also given careful attention to the habits of Ophidians, and have produced valuable scientific works on the subject. It is now an ascertained fact that not chilobothrus only but several other oviparous species may at pleasure be rendered viviparous by retarding the deposition of their eggs when circumstances are unfavourable for them! In fact we find that we must almost discard those old distinctions of oviparous, viviparous, and ovoviviparous; which German authors tell us are not founded on any other ground than a greater or less development of the fetus in the egg at the time of laying; or on the nature of the exterior covering of the egg; which is thicker and leathery in those which take some time in hatching, and slighter and membranous in those which are hatched either before or on deposition.

In serpents the eggs differ from those of birds by undergoing a sort of incubation from the very first, so that whenever examined, the embryo more or less advanced will be found. In the case of the pythoness of 1862, an egg was examined on the fifteenth day of incubation, and found to contain a living embryo; a noteworthy fact, as the python incubates for fifty-six days before hatching her eggs. Observations with the eggs of chilobothrus are attended by the same results – namely the fetus in a certain stage of development is discovered whenever a gravid snake is killed and examined. The young ones of the boa in the London collection were perfectly developed and active, climbing all over their cage as soon as they saw daylight. One family consisted of thirty-three; another of eight; and another of fourteen. The activity and daring of the snakelings were amazing, affording ample proof of their perfect development. They were always on the defensive, shewing fight on the slightest molestation. When the keeper put his hand into the nest among them they seized upon it and held on so tightly with their teeth, that on raising his hand they hung to it, wriggling and undulating like a waving golden tassel. I ventured to take up one of these aggressive little reptiles, but could scarcely hold it, from its energetic wrigglings and contortions. It constricted my fingers tightly enough to prove its singular instincts, and bit me savagely with its sharp little teeth; but my glove being on, I permitted this, glad of so good an opportunity for making personal observations.

It was said of the python that notwithstanding her care and vigilance so long as she was incubating, when her snakelings were born she took no notice of them. This may not always be the case. Vipers we know are extremely watchful over their young; other snakes are often seen accompanied by a young brood; and in the Jamaica boa maternal affection is exhibited in no slight degree. A lady visiting the Gardens compassionated one of these young families on the gravelly floor of their cage, and brought a quantity of cotton wool, which was placed in one corner. She was rewarded by seeing the luxury fully appreciated, mother and little ones all huddling into it immediately.

That these non-venomous snakes thus produce their young under abnormal conditions is further confirmed by the varying size and appearance of the offspring, and by their being more or less enveloped in the shell-covering. Some are born quite coiled in the ruptured shell, others with portions of it clinging about them, and others again entirely free. Sometimes they are, as it were, imbedded in the coriaceous covering. This was conspicuously the case with the anaconda's progeny, but her young ones had every appearance of having been a long while dead. The first of the six was freer from the shell than the others, and about a foot and a half in length.

Snake-life is altogether marvellous. The power which some snake mothers possess of retarding the deposition of their eggs, and we have reason to believe, sometimes even the young when circumstances are unpropitious for her to produce them, seems to us specially curious. Chilobothrus is known to have had both eggs and a living brood. So has Coronella lævis. Of the latter, some German ophiologists state that it is 'always viviparous;' others 'occasionally' so. In her native Hampshire woods she has been seen with a young brood about her; but there seems no satisfactory evidence of any eggs having been found. Time and careful notings only can substantiate this and many other singular facts regarding these 'wise' and 'subtle' creatures, hitherto surrounded by prejudice and but little studied. We, not well versed in Ophidian biographies, might have expected the anaconda to lay eggs because her cousin the pythoness did so; and we might have also speculated upon her incubating them, as the python did. But she has produced a perfectly developed though dead family of six, instead; a circumstance of so much interest to naturalists, that the loss of the young ones is to be regretted though not wondered at. Captured from her native lagoons, and shut out from the light of day in a box just large enough to contain her, this 'good swimmer' arrives alive; thus proving her amazing powers of endurance; but she has had no fitting place in which to deposit her young, and they died unborn. Still it is a noteworthy fact in the annals of zoology. At first, from the result of observation, the incubation of the python was 'suspected;' then it became confirmed; and the birth of young coronellas also. From this it is evident that we cease to declare that only vipers produce live young; or, according to the original signification of the word, a boa, a coronella, and several other non-venomous snakes would be 'vipers!'

Again, it is remarkable that these peculiarities of reproduction are not confined to particular families and genera; because some coronellas lay eggs, some incubate them, and others bring forth a live brood. So also, while some of the Boaidæ lay eggs, the anaconda is completely viviparous.

We would venture to urge upon those lovers of nature who dwell 'remote from towns' the value of careful observation and a noting down of what appears unusual, even of the habits of the much persecuted snake.

C. H.

PLAYTIME AT OXFORD

'What is to be done this afternoon?' is a question invariably asked by scores of undergraduates, either at the well-supplied breakfast-table (for whatever men do not learn at Oxford, they at least learn to eat a good breakfast), or by those victims of procrastination who leave everything to the last moment, just as the scout is bringing up the more modest luncheon.

There are certain rules at the university – social rules I mean – which, though unwritten, are not to be broken save under severe penalties, such as being entered among that class of undergraduates yclept 'smugs.' Of these unwritten laws, one of the best and most universal enacts, that a great part of the afternoon shall be spent outside the college, presumably in active and healthy exercise, even if it be but a sharp constitutional. Not that this is a hardship, or that the answers to the question, 'What's to be done?' and the modes of spending these two or three hours, are monotonous or circumscribed. Far from it. Many places may be more full of life and amusement than Oxford in the morning and evening; but few, I am sure, can surpass the bill of amusement which Alma Mater presents to us after lunch.