I was also a member of the Royal Medical Society, and attended pretty regularly; but as the subjects were exclusively medical, I did not much care about them.Much rubbish was talked there, but there were some good speakers, of whom the best was the present Sir J.Kay-Shuttleworth.Dr.Grant took me occasionally to the meetings of the Wernerian Society, where various papers on natural history were read, discussed, and afterwards published in the 'Transactions.' I heard Audubon deliver there some interesting discourses on the habits of N.American birds, sneering somewhat unjustly at Waterton.By the way, a negro lived in Edinburgh, who had travelled with Waterton, and gained his livelihood by stuffing birds, which he did excellently: he gave me lessons for payment, and I used often to sit with him, for he was a very pleasant and intelligent man.
Mr.Leonard Horner also took me once to a meeting of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, where I saw Sir Walter Scott in the chair as President, and he apologised to the meeting as not feeling fitted for such a position.I looked at him and at the whole scene with some awe and reverence, and I think it was owing to this visit during my youth, and to my having attended the Royal Medical Society, that I felt the honour ofbeing elected a few years ago an honorary member of both these Societies, more than any other similar honour.If I had been told at that time that I should one day have been thus honoured, I declare that I should have thought it as ridiculous and improbable, as if I had been told that I should be elected King of England.
During my second year at Edinburgh I attended --'s lectures on Geology and Zoology, but they were incredibly dull.The sole effect they produced on me was the determination never as long as I lived to read a book on Geology, or in any way to study the science.Yet I feel sure that I was prepared for a philosophical treatment of the subject; for an old Mr.Cotton in Shropshire, who knew a good deal about rocks, had pointed out to me two or three years previously a well-known large erratic boulder in the town of Shrewsbury, called the "bell-stone"; he told me that there was no rock of the same kind nearer than Cumberland or Scotland, and he solemnly assured me that the world would come to an end before any one would be able to explain how this stone came where it now lay.This produced a deep impression on me, and I meditated over this wonderful stone.So that I felt the keenest delight when I first read of the action of icebergs in transporting boulders, and I gloried in the progress of Geology.Equally striking is the fact that I, though now only sixty-seven years old, heard the Professor, in a field lecture at Salisbury Craigs, discoursing on a trapdyke, with amygdaloidal margins and the strata indurated on each side, with volcanic rocks all around us, say that it was a fissure filled with sediment from above, adding with a sneer that there were men who maintained that it had been injected from beneath in a molten condition.When I think of this lecture, I do not wonder that I determined never to attend to Geology.
From attending --'s lectures, I became acquainted with the curator of the museum, Mr.Macgillivray, who afterwards published a large and excellent book on the birds of Scotland.I had much interesting natural- history talk with him, and he was very kind to me.He gave me some rare shells, for I at that time collected marine mollusca, but with no great zeal.
My summer vacations during these two years were wholly given up toamusements, though I always had some book in hand, which I read with interest.During the summer of 1826 I took a long walking tour with two friends with knapsacks on our backs through North wales.We walked thirty miles most days, including one day the ascent of Snowdon.I also went with my sister a riding tour in North Wales, a servant with saddle- bags carrying our clothes.The autumns were devoted to shooting chiefly at Mr.Owen's, at Woodhouse, and at my Uncle Jos's (Josiah Wedgwood, the son of the founder of the Etruria Works.) at Maer.My zeal was so great that I used to place my shooting-boots open by my bed-side when I went to bed, so as not to lose half a minute in putting them on in the morning; and on one occasion I reached a distant part of the Maer estate, on the 20th of August for black-game shooting, before I could see: I then toiled on with the game-keeper the whole day through thick heath and young Scotch firs.I kept an exact record of every bird which I shot throughout the whole season.One day when shooting at Woodhouse with Captain Owen, the eldest son, and Major Hill, his cousin, afterwards Lord Berwick, both of whom I liked very much, I thought myself shamefully used, for every time after I had fired and thought that I had killed a bird, one of the two acted as if loading his gun, and cried out, "You must not count that bird, for I fired at the same time," and the gamekeeper, perceiving the joke, backed them up.After some hours they told me the joke, but it was no joke to me, for I had shot a large number of birds, but did not know how many, and could not add them to my list, which I used to do by making a knot in a piece of string tied to a button- hole.This my wicked friends had perceived.
How I did enjoy shooting! But I think that I must have been half- consciously ashamed of my zeal, for I tried to persuade myself that shooting was almost an intellectual employment; it required so much skill to judge where to find most game and to hunt the dogs well.
