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I have almost to apologize for bringing before so learned and critical a Society as this, the few notes and observations I have made upon the “manners and customs” of my pair of common land Tortoises, partly because I feel that much of what I have observed must also have been observed by other members of this Society; and still more because (as is well known) that incomparable master both of observation and expression – White of Selborne – has already noted, and placed upon record, the most interesting of the habits of these creatures.

Mine is thus necessarily a “twice-told tale.” I can only hope that the never flagging interest which naturalists take in the observation or record of the habits of animals, will suffice to make them bear with me for the short time I shall detain them.

I have in my garden two of the common land Tortoises (Testudo Grœca), and these have been in my possession three and four years respectively.

I purchased them from the barrow of a hawker in Norwich streets, in two following years – one being a little larger than the other, and they are in consequence known by the names of the old gentleman and the young gentleman.

Although selected as the best from a number of others, I am sorry to say that they both appeared to be ill or greatly injured, and it was a considerable time before they recovered sufficiently either to begin to take food, or to move about with their proper freedom, or with the well-known liveliness of Tortoises!

Another Tortoise, which I purchased, did actually die a short time afterwards, having lived in a state of semi-stupor for the intervening period; and I fear that the capability of these creatures for suffering is not much recognised in the usual methods of their conveyance and treatment.

The two Tortoises which survived have, as I said, now lived on my premises and thriven for three and four years. They have become almost pets. They most evidently recognise the place as their home. They know the various localities of the garden perfectly. They know the sunny spots to which to go at suitable times to bask. They know where to find sun, and where to find this and shade combined, when they so desire it; and they return, afternoon after afternoon, to the same cosy, and dry, and sheltered spots, under the dry ivy of the wall, or elsewhere, which they have often previously selected as their night’s abode.

It is very plain that they have some recognition of individuals. For instance, if Lady Eade and myself are both preparing to feed them, they will constantly leave me and walk off to her – doubtless because she is more in the habit of bringing them their favourite kinds of food than I am.

They appear to be quick of sight, but show very little, if any, sign of having any impressions conveyed to them by the sense of hearing. They evidently possess a full sense of taste, for they discriminate instantly between food they like, and that which is less palatable to them.

The daily habits of these creatures are certainly very staid and methodical, and vary but little, except as the season of the year, and the warmth of the day, vary.

They are often, in the height of summer, quite early risers, and on sunny mornings will often be up, and perambulating the garden, and nibbling the little trefoil leaves found amongst the grass, by seven or six o’clock, or even earlier. But, I must say, that these early habits are quite limited to the very finest weather; and it has seemed that in the matter of early activity, these animals always err, if at all, on the side of care and caution. They never leave their beds, or the neighbourhood of cover, if there is the slightest appearance of cloudiness or rain, at least until the day is well up; and for a large portion of their year the time for coming forth is not until eight, nine, or ten o’clock.

In electrical weather they are never lively, even though the day be intermittingly hot and bright; and at such times they are often almost lethargic, and show great indifference as to feeding.

They appear to have an extreme and instinctive objection to rain. Cloudy weather makes them dull. A passing cloud will make them discontinue eating. And the passage of a person or object suddenly between them and the sun will cause them as suddenly to draw in their heads. The dislike of clouds and their accompaniments is therefore a very marked instinct with them.

If not fed, they will go and help themselves, not to grass, but to some white Clover growing with the grass in the garden; or in default of this, to some of the garden plants – by preference the fleshy-leaved ones, such as the Echiveria or Sedum – after which they will retire to some warm place, and bask in the sun. They have a special liking for the warm vine-border in front of my greenhouse; and if the day be not too hot, they will tilt themselves up edgeways against the south wall of the greenhouse, or upon the edge of some tuft of flowers; or if the sun is too warm, they will then cover their heads up with leaves or earth on the bed, leaving their backs uncovered and exposed to the heat. (In this respect they seem to remind us of the habits of the tiger in his jungle.)

But they appear greatly to prefer being fed, and having their food found for them; indeed further, one, at least, much prefers to have his food held up to him, and almost put into his mouth when he opens it.

They take their food with a snapping movement; masticate it little if at all; and when feeding themselves, cut or tear it with the sharp-hooked anterior portion of the upper jaw.

In the hottest weather their appetites are very fine (thus they will eat several large Lettuce leaves at one time), and they bear a close relation to the warmth and clearness of the day, and the period of the year.

Their favourite foods are – besides Trefoil, already mentioned, and garden flowers – Lettuces, Dandelions, French Beans, etc. They are much attracted by yellow blossoms, and greedily eat those of the Dandelion and Buttercup. One of my creatures is very fond of sliced Apple, though the other will not eat it.

But the vegetable of which they are most fond is the Green Pea. Both of them will leave all other food for this, and they will consume at a meal a very considerable number of these Peas. Indeed, so fond are they of them, that they will follow a person accustomed to feed them with them about the garden, and will even try to clamber up his legs to get at them.

After sleeping and basking, they will again eat, and then again sleep once or twice more during the day; but in cooler or doubtful weather, they usually eat only once a day, and sometimes not at all.

Although those who hawk Tortoises about the streets will often tell purchasers to put them into their kitchens that they may eat Beetles and Cockroaches, I believe it to be well understood that they are intrinsically vegetable feeders; a position well put by Frank Buckland, who says that Tortoises put into a kitchen to eat Beetles will in due time die of starvation, and then most probably the Beetles will eat them. Certainly ours never eat anything but vegetable food. But a Tortoise in a neighbouring garden does every morning consume a very substantial quantity of bread and milk, or rather bread well-soaked in milk, and he appears to thrive well upon it. Our Tortoises never drink water, and are decidedly not tempted to drink by milk being offered to them.

Whatever the season, the Tortoises retire very early to bed. The warmth and sunniness of the day appear to regulate the exact time, but they rarely remain up after three or four o’clock, and in the cooler seasons, or on dull days, they retire much earlier.

They will go day after day to the same warm and leafy nook; and they have a habit on rising in the morning of simply turning out of bed, and lying for a time just outside of their bed-place, with their heads stupidly stretched out, or staring vacantly up into the air, before entering upon the serious business of the day.3

I should say their Memory is very strong. I have said they remember persons. They remember places they know, and if carried away will march straight off and back again to the place they wish to go to; and what is more remarkable, when brought out in the spring after seven or eight months’ hybernation, they do exactly as they did the day before they went to sleep; and will march off as direct to the old spots as if they had only had one day’s interregnum.

As a further instance of memory or intelligent knowledge, we are constantly in the habit, in the cooler weather, of putting them to bed under a mat in the greenhouse; and we very constantly find them, in the morning, waiting by the greenhouse door to be let out, clearly remembering that this is the place by which they will have to pass into the open air.

They do not appear to care much for each other’s society – (I believe they are both males) – but they do not fight. Neither are they respecters of each other’s persons, for they walk over each other’s backs in the most indifferent way, if either happens to be in the direct road of the other’s progression.

One of the creatures is certainly fond of climbing. We have several times found him mounted (when shut up in the greenhouse) upon the other’s back; or upon an inverted flower-pot; and once we found him in a most pitiable condition through the exercise of these scandent aspirations. He had evidently been endeavouring to climb up some flower sticks placed slantingly against the wall, and in doing this he had turned over upon his axis; and when we found him he was reclining upon his back against these sticks, and standing upon one hind foot, whilst with the other, and with his fore feet, he was making frantic efforts to reinstate himself in a more comfortable position. As so placed he reminded us irresistibly and ludicrously of a huge toad held up by a fore leg.

Our Tortoises have certainly got tempers. They hiss when they are meddled with. They resist and try to scratch, or otherwise hurt, when lifted up from their place of repose; and they exhibit distinct petulance, and will jerk themselves forward out of your hand when you are again placing them upon the ground.

They are also very particular when going to their evening places of repose, and most distinctly refuse to go to rest in the place in which you try to place them, however comfortable this may appear to be, even if they have previously selected this spot for themselves day after day.

Mr. Darwin speaks of a large kind of Tortoise which is reputed to be able to walk at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes; i. e., three hundred and sixty yards in the hour, or four miles a day. I have twice timed the rate of progress of one of my Tortoises. Once it walked ten feet in the minute, and another time twenty feet in the minute. This latter is at the rate of twelve hundred feet, or four hundred yards, in the hour; or of a mile in between four and five hours. This truly is not quite the ordinary rate of the hare’s progress, but I think they can cross a certain small distance of ground much more rapidly than we should at first suspect.

Once more. These creatures distinctly grow in size from year to year. Our two measure respectively seven and seven and a half inches in length. And they must have elongated fully an inch in the three and four years of our possession.

I weighed them this year, on May 29th, soon after their waking up for the summer, and again on September 8th. They weighed in May, 2 lbs. 7½ ozs. and 2 lbs. 3½ ozs.; a fortnight ago they weighed 2 lbs. 10 ozs. and 2 lbs. 5 ozs.; having thus gained in weight through their summer feeding 2½ ozs. and 1½ ozs. respectively.4

When the due period arrives in which they naturally bury themselves, and so surround themselves with earthen bulwarks, and then retire for the winter into their carapace castles, we put them down into a cupboard in the cellar.

Mr. White remarks that his Tortoise did not bury itself into the ground before November 1st, but ours are cold and torpid, and quite ready to hybernate by the first week in October. Probably the different latitude and longitude of Selborne and Norwich may account for this difference of time.

In this cellar cupboard, the Tortoises remain until the end of April, when, though still dull and stupid, the weather is getting sufficiently warm for them to enjoy the sun for a portion of the day. But the frosts and cold of this period of the year are still dangerous. And a relative of mine lost both of his old friends (who for years had taken care of themselves in the winter in his garden) during the cold weather of this spring, after they had duly survived the far greater cold of the winter in the ground places in which they had buried themselves.

From October to April – fully seven months – they rest from their labours of eating, of breathing, shall I say, of thinking? (or nearly so, for they occasionally stir a little, and are found to have moved a little from under their straw). But they neither eat nor drink, nor see light, nor (I believe) open their eyes. And when touched during this time they feel of a stony coldness, and certainly appear to have none of their faculties in operation.

But with the warmer weather, they again gradually resume the precise habits of the preceding year. Gradually, their bright little eyes resume their intelligence; their memory re-awakens; and they return to the ways, and the habits, and the places of the preceding season, as if their sleep of seven months were but a single night, and last summer verily but as yesterday.

They are in many respects both curious and remarkable animals. We find them to have enough of intelligence, enough of quaintness, and apparently enough of affection, to give them considerable interest in the eyes of their owners, and to raise them out of the level of despised reptiles. Whilst their remarkable construction, and mysterious power of hybernation, render them specially worthy of study and contemplation.

These specialities and peculiarities must be my much-needed excuse for having troubled you so long with these few details of their personally observed habits and ways.