CHAPTER I. 



I care not, Fortune, what you me deny ; 



You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, 

 You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 



Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; 

 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 



The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : 

 Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 



And I their toys to the great children leave ; 



Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. 



JAMES THOMSON. 



THE interesting biographies, written by Mr. Smiles, of 

 Thomas Edward the Scotch naturalist, and of Robert 

 Dick the Scotch geologist and botanist, illustrate how 

 a career of laborious industry (that sweat of the brow 

 by which most men's daily bread must be earned) may 

 run side by side with remarkable self-culture, and be 

 accompanied by the truest of enjoyment which flows 

 from the love and study of Nature an enjoyment 

 perhaps intensified by the very difficulties thus excep- 

 tionally encountered. 



We have only to transport the scene from the 

 north to the south of the Tweed to see in Robert 

 Pocock, author, naturalist, botanist, antiquarian, and 

 printer, an English example of the love of Nature and of 

 a thirst for the acquisition and distribution of knowledge, 



