intention of publishing a work upon the names and natures of the Fishes to be found within the dominions of Queen Elizabeth. But the catalogue of 1557 was a remarkable production for the middle of the sixteenth century, and refers to many old names of British Fishes. Thus the title of "Keeling" is applied to Cod (Gadus morhua) of a particular size. Or again, Turner's remarks have a historical value, as when he represents that the Smelt (Osmerus eperlanus), which rarely ascends the Thames higher than Woolwich at the present day, used in his time to follow the tides as high up as Kew and Brentford in the spring of the year. How carefully Turner studied the specific characters of fishes may be guessed from the gravity with which he rejects the fallacious opinion entertained by some of his countrymen that the Sprat, or "Sprote," as the Londoners of those days termed it (Clupea sprattus), was not the young of the Herring (Clupea harengus), nor an immature form at all; but a valid and distinct species of fish. We can well believe that Turner's failure to produce his promised monograph of British Fishes was due in part to the strange vicissitudes of his career; in part to the encroachments of his Herbal upon his spare time.
Whatever shortcomings may be detected in the writings of William Turner, the man himself is worthy of our homage, not only as the first sturdy Englishman who essayed to study our insular fauna in a spirit of intelligent research, but also because, like Dr. Caius and Dr. Fauconer of his own generation, he delighted to clasp hands with brother naturalists across the "silver streak," thus bringing to our own remembrance the signal truth that the naturalist belongs to no single motherland, but is united with his comrades in the bonds of a generous friendship wherever the waves and the winds may carry him.
Dear old Turner was not spared to attain a very great age. His failing strength lasted long enough to enable him to correct the text of the edition of his Herbal printed in 1568; but that same year brought his sorely troubled life to a peaceful termination. On July 7th the great Northumbrian naturalist "quietly" laid his head upon the pillow and passed away. We gather from the epitaph which Jane Turner placed upon her husband's monument in St. Olave's Church, that the veteran was "ac tandem
