HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



39 



THE LOVE OF NATURAL HISTORY. 



AYERY readable, instructive little book, I be- 

 . lieve, lias been written, entitled "Eyes and 

 No Eyes." I write the words, " I believe," because 

 I have never met with the work myself; but a friend 

 of mine was quoting it to a young lady, not long 

 since, and her remarks recalled to my mind bow 

 often it had been my lot to. meet with the mental 

 blindness in regard to Nature and the startlingly- 

 beautiful objects that she every day, and in every 

 place, presents to the thinking, appreciative soul, 

 which " No eyes" is intended to typify. 



The Bruce, in his lonely cell, had " eyes " for the 

 spider. Men of fashion, and women of society, both 

 educated specimens of humanity in their way, have 

 often need of powerful glasses ere they can discover 

 any beauty in natural objects. Even those mem- 

 bers of the Great Eamily who are, from their voca- 

 tion, supposed to teach others, while preaching 

 sermons to their fellow-mortals on the truths of the 

 written Book, are frequently unable to draw atten- 

 tion to the vast wonders and evidences displayed 

 by the meanest form of creation, in the grand 

 Library of Nature, thrown open to all who have 

 "eyes." 



How is this ? Is it that we require to be speci- 

 ally educated to love and understand Nature, as we 

 do ere we can appreciate 'Art ? Must the bodily 

 eye be tutored? or is the defect in the mental 

 vision? I am disposed to think the root of the 

 evil lies in the mind, and the love of Natural History 

 should, to give pleasure, be really instinctive, 

 although a knowledge of it can be obtained, and a 

 certain amount of taste acquired, by culture. 



But I am getting out of my depth. I sat down 

 to gossip, just to relate some of the amusing errors 

 a lack of natural-history knowledge occasionally 

 leads folks into. 



A sort of Bardic meeting — Eisteddfords they are 

 called in Wales— was got up, not very long since,, 

 at a small Welsh town ; indeed, it was more of a 

 Penny Reading than an Eisteddford; and people 

 were invited to write on given subjects, and judges 

 appointed to decide on the merits of the varied 

 papers. 



One of the subjects was the " Sea-shore ; " and 

 doubtless the person or personages who suggested 

 such a field fully understood the ground — were pre- 

 pared, in fact, for a description of the ocean wonders to 

 be met with in a walk on the beach. Not so, I fancy, 

 the judge. I draw my conclusions from the remarks 

 he made. He evidently considered animal marine 

 life — the lower grades of it — a very contracted and 

 poor matter to waste words on — sponges and sea- 

 anemones far too insignificant to be written about. 

 What added to the absurdity of the business 

 was this— the individual who repeated the judge's 

 remarks pronounced the word " sponges " like 



" spoon " with g-e-s as a tail to it ; and endowed 

 anemones with an unorthodox number of the second 

 vowel in the English language— thus : "a-nee-mo- 

 nees." The writer of the paper in question sat right 

 in front of the critic, listening with undisguised fun 

 to his would-be profound observations, whilst he — 

 poor miserable mortal, unconscious of the author's 

 presence — proceeded ex cathedra to denounce the 

 meagreness of the topic. 



Imaginary: conversation, of course, next morn- 

 ing :— 



Miss F.— " Do you really mean to say, dear Mr. 

 G., that one of the papers was all about sponges and 

 those flowers ? Where could any one find a sponge 

 here? and as to anemones, why it is quite ridi- 

 culous : they could not grow in the sand ; I put a 

 barrowful of manure with mine last year." 



" Oh, Aunt," exclaimed a youthful voice, " sea- 

 anemones are what Mr. G. alluded to." 



" Well, child, never mind ; I want Mr. G. to an- 

 swer my question ; not you." 



" Yes, Miss F., I may say the paper was all about 

 such meagre, paltry matters, with just a little re- 

 specting crabs, star-fish, and such-like stuff." 



"Well, to be sure, now; when so much might 

 have been written about our shore. There is that 

 fine new te. i ice just facing the sea, you know ; and 



a club in L have taken a building lease of the 



ground below, to build baths ; and now I think of it, 

 a few lines might have, been put in about the good 

 pickle Mr. Williams makes of the samphire he finds 

 on the rocks here. Aud then there are the pier, and 

 the steamers, and the heaps of provisions brought 

 here in the season, and the loads of geese we 

 send off " 



"And the surplus stock you keep, Aunt," inter- 

 rupted the niece. 



"Let me speak, child ; I want to tell Mr. G. how 

 I should have treated the subject, instead of writing 

 about crabs and such-like ugly things." 



" But, Aunt, the notice never specified it was this 

 particular strip of sea-shore, just this mite of beach, 

 that was to be described. It was the sea-shore ; 

 and I should have read it as he did, and have 

 written about the various animals found on the 

 shores of Great Britain." 



" Animals ? Did you ever hear a child talk so 

 foolishly? Call a crab and such-like ugly things 

 animals! " 



"Then what are they, Aunty dear? And just 

 let me ask you to read a little poem written by a 

 friend of mine. It begins thus :— 



"Oh, call not insects ugly : 

 There never yet was one 

 Of God's created creatures, 

 Beneath yon glorious sun, 

 Who did not show some beauty, 

 Or play a wondrous part ; 

 For vice can only injure 

 Proud man's rebellious heart." 



