THE HOME OF A NATURALIST. 13 



of science was as keen after he had seen fourscore as 

 it had ever been ; and although the number of his pets 

 had decreased, they were not the less cherished when 

 life became a vague dream of the past. 



I went not long ago to the Naturalist's Home, to 

 look again upon the place where he had lived and 

 laboured, the spot of all others indissolubly associated 

 with him, where he has left a never-dying memory. 

 There were many changes about the old place, though 

 rock and hill and northern sea change not, nor does 

 the heaven above them; nor indeed did it seem as if 

 the Naturalist himself were dead, for wherever I went, 

 I seemed to see and hear him. The skylark was sing- 

 ing over his fields, and the corncrake uttered its quaint 

 complaining among the grass, just as they did years 

 agone when he lay and listened to them. But there 

 were no interesting pets about the house — if we omit 

 his grandchildren — only the necessary sheep-dog, cat, 

 horse, fowl — characterless on the whole, because the 

 wonderful tact of one who understood the nature of 

 bird and beast was not there to evoke their reason, as 

 it had done that of their predecessors. Some of the 

 trees which he had fostered had grown a good deal, and 

 had thrust their branches across the paths he had 

 trodden smooth when wandering up and down, with 

 bowed head, pondering over the mysteries of creation. 

 I knew my way by those paths to the graves of his 

 household; and I found his resting-place, quiet and 

 solemn, under the shadow of his own trees, with birds 

 he had loved piping on every spray, with no sound of 



