THE WONDERS OF THE SHORE. g 
covered to their surprise that it read like any novel. 
And then came a burst of confused, but honest 
admiration; from the young squire’s “Bless me! 
who would have thought that there were so many 
wonderful things to be seen in one’s own park!” 
to the old squire’s more morally valuable “Bless 
me! why, I have seen that and that a hundred 
times, and never thought till now how wonderful 
they were!” 
There were great excuses, though, of old, for the 
contempt in which the naturalist was held; great 
excuses for the pitying tone of banter with which 
the Spectator talks of “the ingenious” Don Sal- 
tero (as no doubt the Neapolitan gentleman talked 
of Ferrante Imperato the apothecary, and his mu- 
seum); great excuses for Voltaire, when he classes 
the collection of butterflies among the other “ bizar- 
reries de l’esprit humain.” For, in the last gene- 
ration, the needs of the world were different. It 
had no time for butterflies and fossils. While 
Buonaparte was hovering on the Boulogne coast, 
the pursuits and the education which were needed 
