150 



IIARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



a mass of lovely blossom. We used to sit, out on that 

 pleasant little sunny terrace and watch the crea- 

 tures. I had two very tame dormice, whose little 

 house stood on the top of Marco's, but they were 

 as much out of their house as in it. Marco grew 

 daily more gentle and affectionate. He slept most 

 of the day curled up in a fine furry ball. If I waked 

 him, he would look up with a reproachful gaze and 

 roll up again still tighter. 1 enjoyed his gentle 

 society all that summer, and in the autumn we re- 

 turned to town. Marco came too, his home was on 

 the leads outside the dining-room windows. 



Eor some time we did very well ; with his chain 

 he could have a scramble about the leads and steps 

 (to the interest occasionally of the next-door neigh- 

 bours). I covered him up with carpet as the cold 

 weather approached. Winter came on. I began to 

 fear whether Marco Polo's constitution would 

 stand the cold and damp. I tried to find a home for 

 him with friends who might keep him in a stable 

 or warm covered place. However I failed, and 

 after much deliberation I wrote with regret to Mr. 

 Bartlett, and asked if he could receive my poor 

 dear opossum into the Zoological Gardens. He 

 most obligingly let me know at once that he would 

 do so, and said that in .the course of a few days he 

 would send for Marco. I felt the idea of parting 

 with a creature so pretty and so endearing very 

 keenly. I was afraid to go out lest he should be 

 fetched away in my absence, and spent a day or 

 two in feeling very "low" upon the subject. We 

 had poor Marco Polo in to breakfast, and he ran up 

 the dining-room curtains and at last got into the 

 coal-scuttle, from whence I had to lift him. I had 

 heard accounts of a fine equipage belonging to the 

 Gardens and drawn by zebras ; 1 had vague hopes 

 that these gaily-striped creatures would come trot- 

 ting down our quiet street, and stop at our door. 

 I was disappointed. 



One morning a kind-looking quiet man asked to 

 see me. He was the keeper of the carnivora, at 

 present disabled by a wound on his arm given him 

 by the bear. He produced a little sack, in which 

 were many brass eyelet-holes to admit the air. I 

 bade farewell to Maixo Polo. He was coaxed and 

 persuaded into his sack, the end was tied up, and, 

 slung over the keeper's shoulder, he made his un- 

 dignified progress to the Regent's Park. Soon after- 

 wards I paid him a visit. There had been no room 

 for him in the opossum-house, and I found him 

 chained up in a corner behind the cases in the 

 snake-house. I took him in my arms and gave him 

 some sugar I had brought ; he appeared very well 

 and happy and was very fat. He was the means of 

 our seeing and experiencing many amusing things 

 in connection with the snakes, the keeper being a 

 very good-natured one. 



Once or twice afterwards I saw Marco. The last 

 lime about a year ago, he was then in first-rate 



society, being in the same cage as the Duke of 

 Edinburgh's opossum, and the happy possessor of a 

 wife and a flourishing young family. No wonder 

 with these attractions Marco Polo had forgotten 

 me ; I think he had. The keeper would not vouch 

 for his being tame, but I ventured still to stroke his 

 beautiful thick fur and hold his hand in mine, and 

 he looked up at me in the old way, but I do not 

 think he knew me. Since then I am rather uncer- 

 tain if there has not been a clearance of some of the 

 opossums, and whether Marco is not gone off some- 

 where else. The name of his old possessor no longer 

 hangs on the cage. A pleasanter, tamer pet than a 

 domesticated vulpine phalangist no one need wish 

 to have. M. A. D. 



THE SONG OF BIRDS. . 



TN your April number • is an extract from 

 -*■ Mudie, proposing a question as to what 

 precise purpose is served by the song of birds. 

 I conceive that, unless our eyes are filled with the 

 dust of Darwinism, we will not have to search far 

 for an answer. The soug of birds is an arrange- 

 ment of nature— one of a great class — which, as far 

 as we can see, serves no purpose of direct utility. 

 The Author of Nature has not only provided abun- 

 dantly for the utilities, but has also been lavish in 

 decoration. All nature is rife with pleasing sounds, 

 from the brief song of the Robin, or the gentle 

 sighing of the summer breeze, to the grandeur 

 and majesty of the pealing thunder. Nature's de- 

 lightful painting rejoices the eye, and a thousand 

 fragrant emanations regale the nose. ]t has been 

 beneficently contrived that those things which are 

 necessary to our existence also minister to enjoy- 

 ment. Not only so, but many things exist for no 

 purpose, unless it be to confer pleasure on living 

 beings, and to display the character and resources 

 of the Creator. What kind of world would this be, 

 devoid of all the unnecessary variety and elegance 

 that surrounds us on every hand. One would 

 scarcely feel any reluctance to leave such a world. 

 I do not mean to say, however, that things created 

 merely for the enjoyment of sentient beings are of 

 no use. Our whole nature is modified by our sur- 

 roundings. Objects of beauty, when appreciated, 

 not only have a refining influence on the mind, 

 but they render us cheerful and joyous. I never 

 met a morose naturalist. He who has eyes to see, 

 and a heart to admire the charms of nature, will 

 never become so far depressed in spirits as one who 

 has not learned to enjoy these beauties. Those in- 

 fluences of nature that are only aesthetic, though 

 less obvious, are not less real than those that are 

 material. Physiologists are well aware of the con- 

 nection between mental conditions and the physical 

 state of the body. Thus it is true in a sense other 



