John Cordeaux

John Cordeaux

Summary

Portrait of John Cordeaux John Cordeaux The Zoologist (1877)

It seems easy enough for the spectator unaccustomed to the scene, bewildered and dazed by the blaze of light within the lamp-room, to slip and pitch headlong through the glass into the same black abyss which has just swallowed up the birds; but it is years now since I spent a night in a lighthouse, and the sensation of fancying oneself pitching backwards through the glass into the darkness requires some imagination to recall it.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Cordeaux John Cordeaux The Zoologist (1897)

Nothing struck me more in Arctic Norway than the enormous extent of the birch forests, filling the valleys and clothing the sides of the mountains, till they give place to cold grey rock and a sparse vegetation, with long streaks and patches of pallid snow, carrying the eye forward and upward into the interminable ice-plateaux and the grey-blue shadow-lands of the higher ranges. There seems to be everywhere, both inland and on the bleak tundra, on the shore of the Arctic Ocean, room for all the birds in Europe to nest and enjoy the long summer day of those high latitudes.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Cordeaux John Cordeaux The Zoologist (1877)

Numbers of small birds will often hover for hours to and fro in the blaze of light without striking the glass, like moths on a summer evening when the hall-door is open and the lamp lighted. Sometimes, too, on dark and misty nights flocks of Curlew and Whimbrel, like spirits of the lost, wail and scream round the solitary lamp-trimmer in his lonely pharos, or troops of Gray Plover and Dunlin whirl past in the blaze cast forth by highly-polished lenses—shape, size or colour as distinctly apparent in each individual bird as if seen by the light of noonday.
Source: Wikisource

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