92 THE FERN-OWL. 



and unaspiring naturalist, pausing at every 

 spot which more especially recalled him to our 

 remembrance. His name, as a naturalist, has 

 gone abroad to the world, and gathered fame he 

 never sought. Perhaps, could he have foreseen 

 the future, this fame would have been less grate- 

 ful to his gentle and benevolent spirit, than the 

 knowledge that he would leave a memorial in 

 the hearts of his neighbours, which should de- 

 scend through successive generations, and the 

 children's children of those whom he knew, 

 should look on their excursions to the scene of 

 his scientific labours, as bright eras in their days 

 of enjoyment. That the man who wins golden 

 opinions abroad, is without honour in his own 

 country, is too often true ; but we know of at 

 least one happy exception to the rule in White, 

 the naturalist of Selborne. 



THE FERN-OWL. 



Hark ! hark ! within the beechen shade, 

 The clattering castanets I hear ; 



'Tis the fern-owl's serenade, 

 In his circuit hovering near. 



That whirring sound is dear to me 



As strains of gentler melody. 



