and Excellencies of Natural History, 405 



him the silver rivulet tinkled down the rocks amid delicate 

 and fairy flowers. For him the cataract thundered the voice 

 of God amid the thousand echoes of the hills. He buried 

 himself in the deep woods, and there, amidst the impenetrable 

 shade, a host of birds charmed his ear with their melody, a 

 thousand insects, as their wings reflected the straggling rays 

 of light, pleased his eye ; to him their language was not un- 

 known, and as he rested on the soft moss beneath the shade 

 of vegetable columns, he enjoyed a delicious elysium. What 

 were his emotions as the sun set in the billowy main ? Heaven, 

 earth, and ocean smiled, as he feasted his eyes on the beaute- 

 ous prospect. Even midnight beheld him travelling with the 

 moon, and listening to the ceaseless song of the nightingale. 

 When the winds arose, when the forests moaned, when the 

 hurricane rolled along with devastating fury, and ocean, lashed 

 into madness, poured all her angry billows on the rocks, still 

 he looked out ; a solemn delight pervaded his soul ; he per- 

 ceived the wisdom of the Deity even in this elemental turmoil, 

 and patiently expected that hush of savage wildness, which 

 he knew would succeed. Thus, every season had its charms 

 for the naturalist. His were joys which the thoughtless could 

 not know ; his were emotions which the unobservant had no 

 conception of; till, by the formation of societies like these, 

 the recorded observations of the dwellers in the wilderness, 

 the publication of their ideas, and the collection of the speci- 

 mens in museums, they were made known alike to all. Could 

 the labours of the naturalist then, ever become threadbare; 

 the beauties of Nature ever become extinct ? Never. They 

 were a perpetual fountain of delight; and hence a society 

 founded on such an extended basis was secure from decay, 

 because it called up pleasing emotions in every breast, it in- 

 flicted no pang upon any individual. The love of nature that 

 burned within the breast of the naturalist might be said to 

 resemble that sacred fire, which, derived from heaven, was ever 

 to be kept burning on the altar, and never to be suffered to 

 go out. When all Jerusalem slept, and nought was heard 

 but the heavy tramp of the sentinel upon the battlement, or 

 the clank of arms as the guards relieved each other at the 

 brazen gate of the temple, then, that sacred flame, fed by 

 the white-robed priest, flickered upon the carved cedar-work, 

 the palms and the cherubim, and lighted up at intervals their 

 mystic glories in one brilliant glow, anon shrouded in the 

 ebon robe of night. So this fire that animated us resembled 

 that in its purity, its lustre, its indestructibility. It would 

 animate their efforts while life endured, it would ever be burn- 

 ing, it should never go out." 



