178 WEST COAST SHELLS 



How beautifully the different sciences are joined 

 together. The study of conchology calls up pictures 

 ot the long ago, and cities of the Mediterranean 

 come trooping past us, their inhabitants clothed in 

 strange garments, which reflect bright colors in the 

 light of the summer sunshine. Ancient ships again 

 sail our seas, the shrill cries of the sailors and oars- 

 men mingling with the whistling of the winds 

 through the cordage, and the splashing of the salt 

 spray against the prows of the triremes. Again with 

 Saint Paul we listen to the roar of the tempest from 

 the deck of a stranded vessel that is fast going to 

 pieces, and with him and all on board we escape to 

 the shore of the island and enjoy the hospitable care 

 of its rude but kindly inhabitants. History, geogra- 

 phy, even religion itself come bringing their treasures 

 as we blow a blast on a sea-god's trumpet, and voices 

 from all around the world, both modern and ancient, 

 tell us their stories as we hold an empty sea-shell to 

 our listening ear. 



Happy is the child, happy is the man, who sees in 

 the shells of the seashore far more than lumps of 

 limestone, tar more even than lists of Latin names, 

 but to whom they also speak of Nature's beauty and 

 of the struggles of humanity. We cannot all be great 

 scholars, we cannot all be familiar with foreign lan- 

 guages or the history of distant nations; but to each 

 one of us the shells of the shore may speak of beauty 

 and truth, of hopeful trust and providential care, of 

 duty and loving obedience; and we may go back to 

 our humdrum work with fresh courage, and take up 

 our daily duties with a firmer faith that they all 



