with a gurgling rivulet threading its way to a mill stream. Part of its surface is a mass of white flowers; and, in its shallow depths the eye discerns a miniature forest of waterplants. The blue sky, and large lazy summer-clouds, are over all; the birds are singing; the rivulet is gurgling; the sun is shining; goats are bleating; and the grand deepmouthed bay of a mastiff comes from the distance. That is to me an almost sacred spot; the memory of it is inextricably associated with words and looks that can never grow indifferent, although often heard and seen elsewhere-for there is a sort of elective affinity which seems capriciously to determine these links of association-and thus the spot becomes idealised to my feelings; and yet were the reader to be taken there, he might shrug his shoulders as he exclaimed, "Only a Pond!" Be it so; let all colours of association be sponged away, and the scene owe nothing to its charm but what it can bring itself; the painter, or the poet, or the naturalist, will never pass it without a glance of admiration. Therefore will I seize the reader of neglected education by the button, and convince him that my pond is worthy of his respect.

The Microscope, so potent an instrument in the hands of Science, has latterly become the source of exquisite amusement to thousands. Na tural History-always a favourite pursuit-has taken a decided direction towards the world of waters. The sea-side has gained new charms; a dreary novel and shrimps (from London) no longer form the chief entertainments of those who have bathed, sailed, and paraded. It has been discovered that rock-pools are rich in interest; the arrival of the steamer is no longer the one excitement of the day. Even those whose fortunes or avocations do not permit a visit to the coast, may now have imitation rock-pools in their drawingroom. A new pleasure has been discovered. But it implies expense and trouble, which many cannot or will not bestow; and, on this account, I

propose to show every reader, who has not already anticipated me, something of the amusement and instruction that may be got out of a common pond, with the least possible amount of trouble or expense.

Here, as elsewhere, the first step is half the journey. It is the beginning which intimidates. People form misty conceptions of the pleasure or advantage to be gained in a particular study or pursuit; which remain mere conceptions and unrealised desires, because they fancy that they have not the means and appliances at hand. They don't know how to set about it.

"So men sit shivering on the chilly bank;

once in,

How great is their delight!"* The golden rule in study, as in life, is "Make a beginning." It matters not where or how you begin. Begin somewhere, and the rest is simple. Catch hold of the easiest handle, and you will soon pull yourself through. All roads lead to Rome; all rivers run into the sea.

My own beginnings were so ludicrously unsystematic, yet proved so efficient, that the story may profitably be told here. For some years I had read books of natural history with keen interest, especially books treating of the simpler animals; and great was the envy which was occasionally felt for those happy mortals who made this subject a pursuit. Why did I not imitate them? Because my time was absorbed in other labours? Sophistical excuse! one has always time to study what one really desires to study. The real difference between the true "worker" and the "potterer" lies in energy and purpose, not in the number of hours at command. If therefore neither time nor inclination was wanting, why did I hesitate? Simply because the appliances, supposed to be necessary, were wanting a microscope had to be bought; and in those days microscopes were not cheap, as they are now: all the other accoutrements of a naturalist were wanted; and thus, because the study could not be systematically begun

:

without an expense which made me pause, the desire remained a desire. Is not this the history of hundreds? One spring day, however, I observed some tadpoles swimming about a favourite pond. The word tadpole has, perhaps, no magic in your ears; you would feel no sort of thrill at the sight of a pond full of them? It was otherwise with me. The metamorphoses of the tadpole, and several physiological peculiarities connected with its organisation, had thrown a dignified interest over that animal; and a swift resolution was made to make a "beginning." Appliances or no appliances, the plunge should be taken on the

morrow.

That morrow came, and brought a brilliant and witty friend to spend the day. He was made a sharer in the newly-discovered pleasure. The severe simplicity of historical truth forces me to confess that I don't think my friend had any intense enthusiasm about those Batrachians; I am not sure that he had a very distinct idea of what branch of the animal kingdom they belonged to; but that was of little consequence-to me. He was my guest; and we all know that visitor is synonymous with victim. The only difference between a landlord and a host is, that the one cheats you out of hard cash, and the other out of soft complaisance a guest is, ipso facto, a "mush of concession." He is forced to be interested in your children and your china, your pigs and your pictures, your crops and your grievances. If ever you return his visit, he takes his revenge; but while your guest, he is, body and soul, your property. The reader's experience will, I am sure, feelingly testify to this. Has he not, with suppressed criticism, kissed the moist mouth of "the baby," and servilely declared it to be a remarkably fine child, looking some months older than its age-has he not detected in its amorphous features that likeness to the father which, by a strange coincidence, it never has to its mother? Has he not meekly allowed the young three-yearold pickle to make perilous investigations into his watch; and found himself released only to be dragged remorselessly through the muck of

the farmyard, to inspect pigs and cattle, on which he tried to look knowing and interested, hazarding an occasional question which betrayed immense and initial ignorance of the beasts and their treatment? His host silently noted this ignorance; but that did not prevent further explorations of improvements in draining and subsoiling. In town, at the club, or at a dinner-party, the very talk of such subjects would be quashed; but the man who in Pall Mall may speak disrespectfully even of mangold-wurzel, is condemned to be sympathetic and acquiescent on crops in Hertfordshire. I instance the host who farms a bit of his land; but the case is equally true if your host wastes his time and money on any other hobby. The gentleman farmer is not a whit more tyrannous than the botanist, archæologist, or Socialist. If you are not called on to admire pigs, you must inspect "specimens," or hear all about parallelograms; and woe upon you if your host have a grievance or a quarrel! for not only are you called upon to listen to a redundant exposition of all the details, and to hear all the letters and answers that have passed, but you have to share his indignation, and stigmatise conduct which, secretly, you think might wear quite another aspect if the other side were heard. But what does that matter? you dare not express the opinion. You are in the tyrant's power. You are a guest: your blood be on your own head!

I had my guest, and naturally he was called upon to assist in the pursuit of tadpoles under difficulties. It is probable that he was not asked whether he really cared to spend his afternoon in that exhilarating and instructive manner; and it is certain that whether he "liked it or lumped it," he was seen in the park, walking with one who conspicuously carried a large beer-jug slung on a piece of string. Such were my appliances. No schoolboy ever caught at an easier handle to effect a purpose. This beer-jug was to serve as net and vasculum in one; and it did so. Memorable has the picture remained to me of the two men of letters bobbing with a beer-jug for tadpoles,

amid shouts of Homeric laughter at failure and awkwardness. That Batrachian is not an eminently sagaeious beast, otherwise we should have caught few with such appliances; but we caught as many as were wanted, and after placing a little duckweed and a water-plant or two in the jug, we returned home triumphant. I told P (to console his classical mind) that, undignified as our appearance might be in shallow eyes, we had only to assume a certain severity of deportment and style ourselves cupellophoroi, to make amazement melt into respect. But whether it was that the long lines of school-girls had an invincible tendency to giggling, or that the miscellaneous promenaders had but a dim perception of Greek analogies, certain it is that every one eyed us with something less than admiration. I am always stared at as a monster, when carrying simply my net and vasculum (is it necessary to assure my fair readers that the monstrosity is strictly impersonal?) — imagine what it was with a beer-jug!

On reaching home, two fingerglasses and a tumbler received the noble beasts; and thus were three little aquaria formed, which, although wanting all the artistic elegance which the taste of Mrs Bohn, of Essex Street, Strand, has since given to aquaria, for the captivation of amateurs, were to me full of interest and enjoyment; the very makeshift nature of the thing doubtless adding a relish to it. During the unoccupied hours of digestion, and in many other "fringes of time," I watched the development of the animals. They became quite pets at last; nor dare I trust myself to paint the tragedy of their end, when in incautious ignorance I one day allowed the glasses to remain too long exposed to the sun, and found on returning home that all my little ones had lived.

It was thus I made a beginning; whereby the reader may learn how easy the beginning is. A tank is doubtless more desirable than a fingerglass; a microscope is a far more puissant instrument than a lens; but if you begin with finger-glass and lens you will in due time find yourself with microscope and tank;

whereas if you don't begin until you have these, it is probable you will never begin at all. Observe, it is said "in due time." There are many who supply themselves with instruments before they have felt the need or learned the use of them. A man buys a microscope, expecting to plunge at once into the world of wonders, and finds he can do nothing with it-knows not what wonders he is to look for. Had he begun with a lens, he would have grown up to the use of a microscope. It is thus Science has grown. It did not begin with appliances. In no department do we begin with patents; these are the inventions of our growing wants.

I soon discovered that a lens was not sufficient. A friend lent me his microscope; and, after tasting the enjoyment of its unrestricted use, I was soon forced to buy one of my own. For those among my readers who rebel against the notion of beginning without something like a systematic outfit, a list may here be given of the necessary articles. A landing-net lined with fine muslin - or even simply a muslin net-to skim the surface and dredge the bottom of ponds; a camel-hair brush, to remove the more delicate animals from the net to the bottle; a wide-mouthed glass jar (or a pickle-bottle), and a wide-mouthed phial for the more delicate larvæ; these complete the hunting equipment: there is nothing expensive or cumbrous in that.

Nor are the facilities of the pursuit less noticeable. So rich is almost every stagnant pond, that you have only to dip the jar in, trusting to chance, and on raising it to the light you will see a little world in miniature: insects of various shape and colour; larvæ of many kinds and sizes, from the fierce water-tiger down to the day-fly; water-beetles; waterfleas, with their coloured bags of eggs; plants rich in colour and graceful in form: there is study for months in that glass jar. If you are ignorant of the names and natures of these objects, all will be interesting; if knowledge have already made the commonest objects familiar, the delight of discovering new or rare forms replaces the delight of general wonderment. How far the studies will

be pushed, depends of course on the leisure and mental disposition of each student; they may remain on the level of mere amusement, or lead up to the heights of physiological science. A little experience will soon mark out the ponds which are most likely to contain the best preserves; the angler knows a likely stream when he sees it, and where the pike will lie. As a general rule, the older the pond and the more water-plants it contains, the richer it will be found; the ordinary duck-pond contains little. With our net we skim the surface, and among the mass of leaves and weed we find great varieties of tiny creatures, which we remove with the camel-hair brush, or our fingers, and deposit in the glass jar. Or with the net we drag the bottom, and amid the mud, stones, and bits of stick, we find worms, molluscs, and perhaps fish. The process is not difficult, as you perceive. But there are animals much sought after and rarely found, which require another method of search. I will therefore give the reader a bit of advice, for which I should have been very grateful myself, and which he will not find in any other place-it is how to get Polypes and Polyzoa. So many men of science have asked me how I got my Polypes, that a detailed description becomes necessary.

*

The reader is supposed to know the Hydra, or Fresh-water Polype, since, perhaps, nothing in the pond-world affords the scientific mind more interest than this remarkable animal, the wonders of which were first revealed in the admirable researches of Trembley, whose work may be picked up for a few shillings in almost any second-hand German catalogue of scientific works, and is worth its weight in gold, although seldom, I fancy, read nowadays. To get some of the Hydra became a pressing desire; I would have given fabulous prices for them. To get Trembley's work was also a pressing desire. Both seemed almost unattainable, and both were easy of attainment, could

one but have known how to set about the search. The booksellers told me the book was rare; and every one I asked, told me that the animals were only to be found in a few ponds. Both statements proved inaccurate. Give an order to your German bookseller, if you don't care to look through catalogues for yourself, and he will quickly get a copy of Trembley. Come with me to a good pond or running stream, and the Polypes will no doubt turn up. Between Kew and Richmond there is an arm of the Thames running beside Kew Park, in which Hydra fusca is abundant. In the ponds of Richmond Park, especially the one which lies amid the ferns, as you go from the Sheen Gate to Combe Wood, Hydra viridis is abundant. These are the only two species of Hydra: the former is much the larger of the two, and is of a whitish-brown colour; the latter is of a brilliant green. When in the glass jar of water these animals are discernible enough, but it is in vain to look for them in the pond, or on the weed out of water. I discovered both by accident. In a jar full of water and duckweed which had been left untouched after returning from a hunt, I observed on the following morning certain green spots scattered over the sides of the glass; on raising it to the light, a flash of pleasure ran through me as the long-sought Polypes were recognised. Further inspection showed quantities hanging to the stems of the duckweed, and waving their tentacles to and fro in search of prey. But no sooner was a bit of duckweed removed from the water, than the Polype, before so visible, became invisible, to reappear again on being returned to the water. This explained why the Hydra viridis had never been detected by me before. No sooner has the eye become familiar with them, than it detects them even out of the water; but the easiest and surest way to get them is simply to let the contents of your glass jar stand undisturbed when it is brought from the pond in a few hours the