"May God always protect those who sleep beneath that roof, and he who owns it!" he murmured in a low voice; for there, where pride made me see only creatures incapable of comprehending the delicate emotions of the soul, I have found models for myself. I had judged only from the outward appearance, and

believed poetry to be absent because, instead of showing itself outwardly, it lay hidden in the inmost heart of things. An unskilful observer, I kicked aside what I believed to be mere flints, without imagining that beneath this rough exterior diamonds lay concealed."

MONCHOLOGY is a big word, and to the uninitiated may sound formidable. There is a suspicious ring about its last syllable. Do not all "ologies" imply dry lesson-books and hard tasks of memory? So many of them are taught in boardschools and elsewhere nowadays, that one may reasonably object to an addition to the list.

My young friend, I dare venture to say that you have, to some small extent, and perhaps, unwittingly, been a student of this science long before now. Have you never examined an empty snail tenement and wondered what had become of its inmate? Have you never, in your happy wanderings by old ocean, picked up shell treasures? Do you know nothing of the common periwinkle? To be sure! What absurd questions! All these things are familiar to

you.

Well, even that slight amount of knowledge and of interest in our present subject will suffice to start with. More will come, we trust, by-and-by. Certainly, there are few natural history pursuits that better deserve attention, or better repay the following, than this with the hard name-conchology.

My own regard for shells has been quickened by a peculiar circumstance. Along the top of an old-fashioned piece of furniture in a relative's home are ranged at this moment certain large and weighty shells that came from the South Sea Islands. They were brought from thence by one of the chief officers who accompanied the great and good missionary, John Williams. They are very valuable and very striking; but their associations render them still more interesting, and, as I say, the frequent sight of them has given the subject of these trophies of sea and land an especial attractiveness to me.

Shells are certainly amongst the most wonderful of all created things. An infinite field for study, for research, for admiration, is opened here to those who care to enter. At the seaside, as everybody knows, it is а common resource for hours that drag on the hands of young people to gather as, many of the tiny

specimens as can be found and gum them on boxes and other fancy articles-all very good in its way. But our aim is to make recreation systematic, and (if the hint may be pardoned) even instructive in its pleasure. To learn clearly to separate kind from kind and class from class; to study the habits and modes of life of the living creatures shells protect; to understand the economy of these singular existences-surely this must be enjoyment on a higher plane.

To the outsider all small shells are in character pretty much alike. Given a cluster of very plain and mixed specimens, he would find it very difficult, almost impossible, to accurately divide them-to determine which of the number were real land shells, which fresh-water ones, and which marine ditto. In structure and in contour there is often a great similarity. Yet the difference is marked likewise.

and the practised naturalist would not hesitate a second; at a glance he would place them in their respective and legitimate groups.

Our native mollusks, it may be remarked, are exceedingly numerous. Of both marine and of freshwater, and of the land species, there are very many. It will probably be well for an amateur to begin with one of these divisions; to decide, say, on having a collection of land and fresh-water shells, and spare no pains to get it, or to elect to gather sea specimens and avoid all others. Of course he may mix the two departments; but it will be at the risk of much confusion and fatigue. In no pursuit is it advisable to have (using a homely phrase) too many irons in the fire. The question of when to collect appeals for an answer first. All seasons can in some degree be utilized d; the young observer and student of nature must learn to have his eyes always open-never losing an opportunity through carelessness or a surpine regard for formulated ideas of “ But, naturally enough, there are times more favourable than others. The spring and the autumn-or "fall," as they call it in the country-are the best, and of those two the latter promises the chief results. Damp seasons are never to be neglected. After rain, many earth-burrowers will be discovered on the surface, and save digging for. A word of warning by the way. Take care, in your out-door researches, to have stout and thoroughly sound boots on; the most fortunate of "finds" will not repay you for wet feet and a subsequent cold. Autumn, amidst the gales, is a capital time for the coasting collector. Some of the most beautiful and rare of marine forms will be likely to reward diligent search after a storm.

season."

Where to look for shells is the next problem. By the sea, rock-crevices must be peered into, heavy boulders overturned, up-cast wreckage examined. An iron-shod, slightly hooked pole will prove a very useful implement to take on these expeditions. By the skilful manipulation thereof you may achieve great things. A strong knife to cut away hindering masses of sea-weed will also economize time. Beneath such dripping heaps tiny delicate shells will frequently rejoice the sight.

305

In

Snails are not to be laughed at as snails, even apart from the wonderful houses they dwell in. France the Helix pomatia is cultivated as a choice. article of food; and here, certain experts tell us that the peculiar flavour of the far-famed Portland mutton is mainly owing to the great quantity of the little zoned snail, H. virgata, to be found on the dunes, and which the sheep eat. Having gathered your trophies and brought them home, the next step is to separate them from the animals to which they belong; a kind of impudent robbery certainly, but one which need not of necessity be cruel. The emptying of the shells should in all cases take place as speedily after capture as possible. Dip the fresh-water shells into a bath of boiling water-about a minute will be ample for the immersion. Then get the animals out very carefully, taking especial pains not to mar or chip the thin walls of their homes. The inhabitants of land-shells may by preference be drowned. It is easier to get them out then, as their bodies are less contracted. Never take more than one or two specimens of any particular kind for your collection; and see that these are whole and bright, and mature. Shells that are too young will often be thin and incomplete; old and weather-beaten ones will have lost their vividness of hue, and their distinctness of marking, and not be ornaments to your assembly by any means.

For the keeping of shells-as of so many other natural history objects a properly constructed cabinet is, of course, a great desideratum. But there is no absolute need to wait for it. If means are limited, and a lad has no genius for home joinery, a supply of empty pill-boxes fixed on sliding shelves, in a bigger box-the latter having one side taken out for the purpose, or, better still, being made to hinge backwards and forwards-will do. Be very orderly and very systematic. Understand that a small collection well arranged and correctly labelled is productive of far more pleasure, both to owner and inspector, than a huge one modelled on the plan, or no plan, of a schoolboy's pocket.

The best districts for land-shells are those in which chalk abounds. There are neary eightly different kinds of land mollusks known in Great Britain. Look for them in mossy banks-haunts of the glow-worm; under the bark of old trees; down in disused saw-pits, &c.; amongst loose stones; beneath hedge-rows; experience will soon teach the likeliest places to test. The apparatus in this instance is very simple. An ordinary digger," and a tin case-fitted with compartments if possible-will about suffice. Many empty shells will doubtless be found. For the purposes of the collection these are generally useless, being sadly lacking in colour as a rule.

66

Speaking of colour, we may pause to note that this is one of the most marvellous features of shell economy. Take the gay wood snail-what artist could mix upon his palette such delicate reds and browns and yellows in combination as we find upon it? None; and the mystery of the process by which these varied tints are produced is impossible to fathom. It is one of Madam How's secrets.

the present day will supply upon those points ample information. Our aim will have been served if we call the attention of only a few lads to a very fascinating, and hitherto, we fear, somewhat neglected pursuit. It is certain that none who enter it on this recommendation, and work on with patience and perseverance, will regret the step.

H

SPRING.

OW beautiful is earth when gentle Spring Comes for a season, fresh and bright, to reign; Daisies and fragrant violets in her train, While joyously the feather'd minstrels sing.. It is as though fair Nature rose from sleep, Awakened by the voice of God-and then, At His command, assumes her diadem Of flow'rs, that from their mossy beds do peep. How sweet a type of that glad future day!

Ah! who can paint the rapture it will bring,
When we shall see the light of Heaven's own Spring,
Earth's darksome winter ever pass'd away.

O heart, repine not at this life's sad hours,
'Tis Winter's snow that nurtures Spring's fair flowers!
PATTIE ELIZABETH VARNAM.
X

PAPERS ON VERSE - WRITING.

III-ORNAMENT.

S beauty is either external or indwelling, visible to the eye or apparent to the soul, so the charms of true poetry consist in some outward adornment or in the pervading spirit which the words are intended to express. Beauty," says the proverb, "is only skin deep;" nevertheless it is beauty all the same, and so it is with lines of verse. Their attractions may be only superficial, mere verbal sweetness, which is lost when they encounter the cold rains of criticism; to alter the figure, the gilding is washed off and the underlying meaning laid bare. You will see, however, that the highest kind of poetry is that which has beauty of sense or meaning-the indwelling beauty, which nothing can mar or destroy. It is no use sitting down without any original ideas of our own, to dress up in strange garb the sentiments of others. We are fond enough of inventing new phrases and forms of expression and then applying them to the objects we write of, why, then, do we not bring out new thoughts, new fancies? for it is these that mark the true poet. You answer, "Because it is difficult, and requires a productive mind." Doubtless you are right; it is difficult; nevertheless, it is a sine quâ non of poetical genius, and the pen that writes down only the thoughts of others will be forgotten as soon as it has ceased to labour. Nevertheless, this outward adornment must not be neglected; for as a king should have a costly robe, so a fine thought should be clothed in fair words, and the power of the thought is often doubled by the careful selection of a phrase in which to express it.

There are many kinds of " ornament," and each in its way may be used with effect, some writers excelling in one sort and some in another. Perhaps the most popular of the number is that which we call METAPHOR. A Metaphor applies the name of one object to another when the characteristics of the two are the same. Thus we say of a brave soldier, "He was a lion in battle," meaning simply that he resembled that animal in courage and fierce strength. The inspired poems of Scripture are crowded with metaphors, many of exquisite beauty and grandeur. Take, for instance, Psalm xviii., where David says, "The Lord is my rock and my fortress, my buckler and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower." What could be more striking than these emblems of security and firm, enduring strength? And there are many others of similar beauty and force. To us, who live in a different age and country, some of them may appear too extravagant and hyperbolical, but it is the rich and glowing cast of Eastern thought, that would not be content with the tamer and sadder ideas of English bards. Palestine was a land of green woods and sparkling streams, of vine-clad hills, of waving corn-fields and unclouded skies. Hence, as in every case, the poets took their tone from the world of nature around them: the latter was all brightness and fertility, and consequently it was reflected in the writings of the poets who looked upon it. Even to the present day many of the expressions used in oriental song appear to us ludicrous and excessive, but this is because we,

as lying encamped

"Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa."

And Macaulay tells how the beacon fires were lighted on the eve of the Armada—

"Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales." In fact, these similes are indispensable in a graphic poetical description, and will be found in every writer's works in a greater or less degree. One of Shelley's poems is almost entirely composed of similes; the latter are so beautiful that it resembles a chain of pearls strung together on a golden thread. It is addressed to a skylark. Let us take

a verse:

"The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight, Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight." Another effective form of "ornament” is ANTITHESIS. This is the very opposite of Metaphor; for as the latter compares or likens two objects, so the former contrasts or sets them in opposition. Here is a familiar example.

"Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;

Strong, without rage; without o'erflowing, full." Antithesis comes in very usefully when an impressive description has to be made, especially in the case of some natural object. We talk of the "black billows crowned with white foam," of the calm stillness under the waters, and the raging tempest on the surface; of the warm fireside, and the snow without; of the peaceful moonlight on the horrors of the battlefield. These are natural contrasts. There are also contrasts of character; for instance, the fierce, hardened soldier and the rugged miner will often prove the gentlest of nurses, and the rough-handed sailor who has faced death a hundred times on the ocean will take the greatest interest in the romps and prattle of little children. This womanly tenderness under a rude exterior seems, indeed, one of the most beautiful of the divine laws of character.

Then there is HYPERBOLE, or the custom of exag gerating, in more or less degree, the attributes of the