morning of May 27, 1865. The window was open. The sky was beginning
to grow grey, a few rooks had cawed, the swallows were twittering, the
landrail was craking from the Ox-close, and a favourite cock, which he
used to call his morning gun, leaped out from some hollies, and gave his
accustomed crow. The ear of his master was deaf to the call. He had
obeyed a sublimer summons, and had woke up to the glories of the eternal
world.

He was buried on his birthday, the 3rd of June, between two great oaks at
the far end of the lake, the oldest trees in the park. He had put up a
rough stone cross to mark the spot where he wished to be buried. Often
on summer days he had sat in the shade of these oaks watching the
kingfishers. "Cock Robin and the magpies," he said to me as we sat by
the trees one day, "will mourn my loss, and you will sometimes remember
me when I lie here." At the foot of the cross is a Latin inscription
which he wrote himself. It could hardly be simpler: "Pray for the soul
of Charles Waterton, whose tired bones are buried near this cross." The
dates of his birth and death are added.

Walton Hall is no longer the home of the Watertons, the oaks are too old
to flourish many years more, and in time the stone cross may be
overthrown and the exact burial place of Waterton be forgotten; but his
"Wanderings in South America" and his "Natural History Essays" will
always be read, and are for him a memorial like that claimed by the poet
he read oftenest--

"quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignes,
Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas."

NORMAN MOORE.

First Journey.

--"nec herba, nec latens in asperis
Radix fefellit me locis."

In the month of April, 1812, I left the town of Stabroek, to travel
through the wilds of Demerara and Essequibo, a part of _ci-devant_ Dutch
Guiana, in South America.

The chief objects in view were to collect a quantity of the strongest
wourali-poison; and to reach the inland frontier fort of Portuguese
Guiana.

It would be a tedious journey for him who wishes to travel through these
wilds to set out from Stabroek on foot. The sun would exhaust him in his
attempts to wade through the swamps, and the mosquitos at night would
deprive him of every hour of sleep.

The road for horses runs parallel to the river, but it extends a very
little way, and even ends before the cultivation of the