NATURE NOTES. 
114 
Beauty of all kinds is a precious boon to men, and surely the 
beauty ol the country is a thing to be valued most highly, and 
to be cherished and preserved with the greatest care. A spirit 
of indifference to, or even of apparent contempt for the beauties 
of Nature seems to be too prevalent, cheapness being in most 
matters the first if not the only consideration. It is a sad state 
of things that man should be in a state of continual warfare 
against Nature, instead of working hand in hand with her. 
The time will come, let us hope, when these matters will 
receive more attention than is afforded them in this mercenary 
age, and happily much might certainly be done towards mitigat- 
ing the evil — by the liberal planting, in suitable spots, of our 
native trees, which in the end alw'ays produce incomparably 
more pleasing effects than foreign importations ; by allowing 
that old English institution “the hawthorn hedge” a chance of 
showing us its full beauty, and carefully avoiding all unnecessary 
lopping, clipping or shearing, both of trees and hedges; by 
better taste in the building of cottages, and by rigorously dis- 
countenancing the use of such incongruous materials in building 
as corrugated iron. 
By these and similar means, much might surely be done 
towards regaining a part at least of that charm which was once 
inseparable from our English highways, lanes and homesteads. 
G. T. Rope. 
SCLATER STREET. 
HE student of ornithology and human nature who goes 
down to Sclater Street about eleven o’clock on a 
Sunday morning will be repaid for his excursion into 
the unsavoury district, by finding a bird and medicine 
market or fair in full swing, and perhaps the quacks and their 
nostrums and their victims are the more interesting study of the 
two. The street is as choked as Fleet Street on election nights, 
and the atmosphere, besides being redolent of poultry, stewed 
eels, goats and old clothes, is adorned with the floating feathers 
shed by the truculent cochin-china cocks, when they struggle in 
the fat arms of their mistresses. In the depths of the sack held 
open for our inspection a dozen unfortunate pigeons — Blue 
Runts, Blondinettes and Homers — trample on one another in a 
sort of black hole, and as the wayfarer runs, or rather scrim- 
mages through the gauntlet of the dealers, the dazed birds are 
almost thrust into his face for examination. To cages of 
unlucky hens packed like herrings in a barrel and all trying ta 
move at once succeed open boxes peopled by inert and drowsy 
rabbits with room enough and to spare. 
At the entrance of the street a German puffs his canaries, 
but unfortunately for him there is a suspicion afloat that they 
are only painted sparrow's or that they are Dutch, and will not 
