22 THE BOTANIST AND HIS PLEASURES. 



rocky crevice, or beneath a boulder, shaggy with 

 corallines and sea-weed. He, too, while walking 

 down some rural lane, may love to see a blackbird 

 hastily woo the privacy of a hawthorn .bush, or a 

 frightened hare limp across his path, and strive to 

 hide among the poppies in the corn-field ; I am 

 equally gratified with the sight of a simple razor-fish 

 sinking into the san^l, or with the flash of a silver- 

 bodied fish darting across a rock-pool. 



Nay, even the trembling lark that mounts upwards 

 as my shadow falls upon its nest among the clover, 

 is not a more pleasant object to my eye, than the 

 crustaceous hermit, who rushes within his borrowed 

 dwelling at the sound of footsteps. In fact, the 

 latter considerably more excites my kindly sym- 

 pathies, from its mysterious curse of helplessness. 

 It cannot run from danger, but can only hide itself 

 within its shelly burden, and trust to chance for 

 protection. 



Neither the botanist nor the florist do I envy. 

 The latter may love to gather the ' early flowrets of 

 the year/ or pluck an opening rose-bud, but, although 

 very beautiful, his treasures are ephemeral compared 

 with mine. 



' Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.' 



But I can gather many simple ocean flowers, or 

 weeds that 



'Look like flowers beneath the flattering brine/ 



whose prettily tinted fronds will 'grow, bloom, and 



