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The Cambridge Philosophical Society has been employed from the period of its first establishment in 1819, in gradually forming a Museum of Natural History. With a view to this end, it has from time to time effected several purchases, as well as received the contributions of various donors. The Museum however is not large; partly owing to the limited funds which can be appropriated to its support, and partly to the necessarily restricted space allotted for its reception in the Society's house. It is principally, though not exclusively, devoted to the illustration of the British Fauna. The foundation of the Museum may be attributed to Professor Henslow, who presented to the Society at its first institution his entire collection of British Insects and Shells, arranged respectively in two cabinets. Several smaller donations quickly followed, leading the Society to take an increased interest in this part of its establishment. In 1828, a spirited subscription was commenced amongst its members to assist in purchasing a most valuable collection of British Birds, for obtaining which an opportunity then offered itself. This collection had belonged formerly to Mr. John Morgan of London. It was extremely rich, especially in the rarer species. Many additions however have been since made to it; and the whole forms now a range of thirty large cases, which are placed round the principal room in the Museum.
We are not of the number of those who look upon Milton's tree with that reverential awe with which it is regarded by some of its visitants: It is well when faith can so far hold its possession of the mind as to present a more vivid impression to the imagination through the medium of some sensible image, than could be produced without such aid. It was thus that the ancient Persian adored the Sun as the visible image of the Deity and, in humble prostration before the God of day, did but acknowledge, through him, the eternal source of Light and Life. But we confess it is beyond our capacity to associate very distinctly the immortal Bard with a decayed tree, which, now some two hundred years old, may or may not have been stuck in the ground, when a helpless twig, by his hand,
Seris factura nepotibus umbram.
An apple-tree at Pembroke College boasts the venerable Ridley as its foster father or patron: a cedar, though dead, is allowed to stand a memorial of the botanist Martyn: a pear-tree once stood in the garden of Sidney College, which was said to owe its existence there to the Protector: Lausanne, every one knows, rejoices in Gibbon's acacia: and Olney Chace arrogates no little fame to itself from the presence of Cowper's oak.
Having understood that you consider that an account of the river Cam, in its course to the sea, would tend to the completeness of your work, I propose to supply the want to a certain extent; not however without diffidence, as I have little topographical, physiological, or statistical knowledge of the adjacent districts. My pretensions are founded on the circumstance of my having been concerned in a voyage down the river to Lynn in the spring of 18—, in weather which did full justice to the dreary nakedness of the soil.
‘If the Fen country you would know,
Go visit it in the frost and snow.’
Indeed, it is one of the most important refinements in the art of travelling to secure as far as possible a reciprocal adaptation of country and climate. I shall have the advantage in this little narrative of entering at least on untrodden ground; for it is not likely that any of your contributors should have condescended to the exercise of the rude and corporeal energies necessary for so unsedentary an occupation, though indeed in some sense it may be considered sedentary, as rowing. I might perhaps except the author of your account of boat races, who seems to have some acquaintance with the subject; but I may safely assume that his experience is confined to the polish and brilliancy of the art considered as an ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ παρὸν, and not to its practical application as a mode of conveyance to a distance.
The Gogmagog Hills, or, as they were more anciently termed, the “Pleasant Hills of Balsham,” would in most parts of England be looked upon as little better than hillocks, but Cambridgeshire is not famous for its mountains, and in their present position these hills lift their heads proudly over every thing which lays claim to the same name in their immediate neighbourhood. They are one of the favourite objects of pilgrimage to the Cambridge Student, on account of the rich and extensive views which are seen from their summit.
The most agreeable approach to the hills is by the lower road through Cherry-Hinton, which, with the clear limpid stream that skirts it, and the soft turf of the pasture meadows over which it leads, is in Summer one of the prettiest walks about Cambridge. But the more direct road lies along the high-way to Linton—dull, straight, and dusty as any road may well be, yet it leads to the loftiest part of the Gogmagogs, where, on the right, under a tuft of trees, by a simple turn on the bench which some kind hands have placed there, we may enjoy almost at one view the wide panorama extending from the extensive level of Cambridgeshire, with the Minster of Ely as its central and principal object, to the rich and well wooded county of Essex.
In 1627 was published a book called Vox Piscis or the Book-Fish. The preface quaintly relates the story of its origin :— it was simply this, that the sheets from which the matter was taken were found in the maw of a cod-fish that was caught on “Lin deeps.” From the fisherman it came to the Cambridge market; it was opened in common course, and the book produced, where Benjamin Prime the Batchelor's beadle seeing it, had it conveyed to the Vice-Chancellor who took special notice of it, and made inquisition into the truth of the matter. The book was put into the hands of a binder to be restored: the story soon became known and was proclaimed by letter in all parts of the world. This happened at Commencement when it may be supposed fish were in request; the wonder excited by the event was great, and the talk spread wide: some spoke in earnest, others in joke ;—
“A yongue Scholar (who had in a Stationer's shop peeped into the Titles of the Ciuill Law) there viewing this vnconcocted booke in the Codd-fish, made a Quiblet thereupon, saying, ‘that it might be found in the Code, but could neuer be entred into the Digest.’” “Another said or wrote, ‘that hee would hereafter never count it a reproach to be called Codshead, seeing that fish is now become so learned an heluo librorum,’ which signifieth a man of much reading, or skilfull in many bookes.”