32 
NOT MY SPHERE. 
twist here, and a pinch there, and a touch some- 
where else, sticking a needle first in one eye and 
then in the other, when she said, “ Pshaw ! I don’t 
see that anything is the matter with it ! ” 
Well — I didn’t either ! I thought it would 
peep ! Its own mother would have clucked to it. 
How had she done it ? Was it possible the 
trouble had all been in me ? 
As I gazed upon it the conviction was borne in 
upon me that taxidermy wasn’t my “ sphere.” 
I’m very particular about spheres myself; I’m of 
the opinion that the artist in this line, like the 
poet, has to be born, not manufactured out of 
second-hand material ! But a close and accurate 
study of each animal is an indispensable founda- 
tion for the exercise of even his skill. 
To give to the staid and dignified owl the ex- 
pression and position proper to the lively little 
tomtit, would obviously be as truly a mistake as 
to sculpture one of the prophets in the pose of a 
ballet-dancer ! 
Truthfulness in this department can only be 
secured by careful study of animals in their native 
haunts, where, without knowing that they are 
observed, their movements are free and un- 
restrained. 
Mrs. Maxwell’s natural tastes were of invalu- 
able service to her here, for from her childhood 
an irresistible love of all living creatures had led 
