XII. 

 DECEMBER 



DECEMBER is here, with its short days, its feeble 

 watery sunshine, its frequent gloom and mist, its hang- 

 ing leaden skies ; in short, as the poet describes it, 



" Sullen and sad, with all his rising train ; 

 Vapours and clouds and storms." 



It requires some zeal in the pursuit of scientific lore 

 to leave the glowing fire and the pleasant book, the 

 luxurious arm-chair and the elastic carpet, and to ven- 

 ture down to the wild sea-beach, to poke and peer 

 among the desolate rocks. Yet even now we may find 

 a few bright days, when Nature abroad looks inviting, 

 and when an hour's marine research will prove neither 

 unpleasant nor unsuccessful. 



On such a noon, then, calm and quiet, the sun bright 

 and cheerful, if low and feeble, the tide tolerably low 

 and the rocks accessible, we hie down to some one or 



