1856.] A Naturalist's Expedition. herring-gulls are welcoming us as we sweep by them! Wheeling in loftier and ever decreasing circles, they gather in a cloud in the high air, and hurl at us their short, scornful laugh of secure defiance. Now we are opening the quiet hamlet of Lee, embosomed in retiring hills and slopes of oak and cleaves of fern and gorse; and now, at last, the great object of our expedition is looming ahead of us. The cliffs have been trending more and more seaward as we have been advancing. and now they suddenly make an abrupt curve and terminate in a sharp outstanding line and a peak of grey, barren, weather-worn rock, which stands out among the wild wash of waters like the gigantic fossil vertebræ of some extinct and fabulous antediluvian monster. That is Morte Point. As we near it, and the tide recedes further and further, we see that a low reef of broken rock runs out far into the sea, and terminates in three abrupt pinnacles. The innermost and largest of these is the famous, or rather perhaps infamous Morte Stone. Beyond this the reef still continues, but it is always covered by the unquiet sea, and a buoy far out among the breakers marks the termination of the 'Race,' so great an object of terror to the homeward-bound sailor. We are outward-bound to Morte Stone, and are the first party of naturalists who have ever invaded its unexplored recesses. Between it and the mainland there is an impassable gully, or gut,' as the fishermen call it; and though the legends of the district tell us that in case of wreck the abyss has been crossed by the aid of planks and ropes, yet the rock is so far isolated and so hazardous to land at from the sea, that we may safely claim the honour of the first attack. So with many a bump and a grind against the sharp rock peaks, as the swell rises and falls with mighty swirls, we scramble out and up with more or less success, and planting our banner of naturalistic paraphernalia, take formal possession of the new land in the united names of their majesties, Nature and Science. Our success was certainly commensurate with our undertaking. 257 We may allude in passing to the shoals of Actinia coriacea which unfolded their many-hued beauties in every rock cleft-to the myriads of mussels which clung pertinaciously to the rock summits, in spite of the awful seas which roll over them in stormy weather-and to the polypes, which shot up in clusters and stars and spangles from the lower depths -the sturdy Sertularias, and the nodding white and scarlet Tubularias, which gladdened our eyes and enriched our vascula. We found endless numbers and varieties of those individuals which Mr. Gosse specifies under the names of Actinia aurora, A. venusta, and A. nivea, and records as having been found in the Tenby caves only, of which more anon. Beautiful they were, now with tentacles of pearly white, then flushing into orange, blooming in delicate lilac and rose, or deepening into sombre russet and olive. And a lovely Corynactis, which we had never before observed on the Devonshire coast, opened for our admiration a series of about twentyeight short, clubbed, erect tentacles of a deep russet, tipped with yellow globules, and was outwardly clad in a soft and glistening rose-tinted garb. Was not that reward enough for all our toil? But we must not weary the reader; and so we will omit all record of our homeward voyage, though we did entrap medusa numberless and beautiful exceedingly,' and countless hosts of the luminous noctiluca, whose wondrous nature almost tempts us to break our vows of reticence. Now, in re nature-loving, may we ask two questions? Does not the love of nature, as exemplified in this brief sketch of a naturalist's expedition, tend to foster and forward the love of science? and has not the love of science a strong reactionary influence on the love of nature? If so, have we not made out a good case in favour of our friends who pursue science from a love of nature? There is yet another class of minds who pursue the study of natural history from a simple love of science. They desire to unravel the great system of order whose complicated network envelops our outer world. They investigate the various phenomena of nature which are apparent to the eye, aided by instruments which extend its powers in a twofold direction. They seek for unvarying sequences of cause and effect, and hence deduce natural 'laws,' dovetailing one in the other, and resulting in that unity of design which matures a flower and controls a universe. These are heroes whom no peril can deter-martyrs whom no persecution can destroy-everlasting beacon-lights on the road to the cloud-hidden temple of knowledge. Nor are we dealing in words only. Who cannot recal the sight of Galileo immured in a dungeon, clad in sackcloth, bowing the power of his mighty mind before the physical force of the Inquisition bigots or in his latter days, blind and deaf, and tortured by disease, yet, in spite of all his troubles, still grappling with the material universe,' and dying in his harnessdying, too, a prisoner in the grasp that religious tyranny which disputed the martyr's right to a Christian burial? Think, too, of the narrow-minded strife and moneygetting bitterness which drove Tycho Brahe from his sea-girt table-land of Huen-from his Uraniberg, the city of the heavens'-his Stiernberg, 'the mountain of the stars;' which checked him in the full career of his genius, and hurried him to his death, an exile, though an honoured one, in a foreign land. Think how nobly he worked in the great cause; how generously he aided those who toiled with like objects; how unhesitatingly he sacrificed health, and life itself. Well indeed might he have the consolation of crying, as the vital tide ebbed for the last time, Non frustra vixisse videor!' of We do not seek to evoke and inspire such mighty spirits as these; they are heaven-born, and do their work at a higher bidding; but we are desirous of enforcing upon our readers the conviction that, with but few exceptions, it is in the power of every intellect to follow in the track of these old science-pilgrims. Every mind may do something for the cause of science. Granting that the love of nature is more or less a gift, the pursuit of science may be acquired. We have seen that it will lead to the knowledge of nature, and that the espousals of these two mighty powers lead to a happy, a fruitful, an eternal union. We say advisedly, that any mind may aid in the cause of science. True it is that but few of the many can be observers in the wide fields of a Linnæus and a Cuvier, or reason in the profound depths of an Oken and an Owen; but every mind can observe and reason, and if it be only content to con centrate its powers in the focus of a small field, it will, ere it pass away, be enabled to echo Tycho's dying cry, and be comforted that it too has not lived in vain. Let us, for the sake of example, take the case of our late acquaintances, the naturalists of Morte Stone. Their powers were chiefly concentrated on the simple object of defining the various species of the obscure genus Actinia; and simple though the object be, we shall see that it involves lengthened ob servation and close reasoning, and that its results are far from contemptible or unscientific. Some few years ago it might have been necessary to explain what we meant by an Actinia, or a sea anemone, but thanks to the universal distribution of aquaria, this beautiful class of radiates is no longer unfamiliar to the world. Nevertheless, much as people read, and hear, and write, and observe in the matter, we do not hesitate to say that the natural arrangement of these animals is as little known in the world of natu ralists, as their very existence was a short time ago to the world at large. Å familiar instance of this position may be given in a few words. Dr. Johnston (Hist. Brit. Zooph.) describes three distinct actinia under the names of A. troglodytes, the cave dweller;' A. viduata, and A. anguicoma, the snaky-locked.' Mr. Gosse, in his Devonshire Coast, makes 4. viduata synonymous with A. anguicoma, and gives a drawing and a description of an anemone, which he calls an anguicoma, and which, to our feeble apprehension, closely resembles undoubted specimens of Johnston's 4. troglodytes. "When doctors disapparent ? agree,' who shall say that truth is 1856.] How all may forward the Cause of Science. Again, with regard to the denizens of Morte Stone. Mr. Gosse describes as frequenters of the Tenby caves, four distinct species of actiniæ, under the names of A. aurora, A. venusta, A. nivea, and A. rosea. To the first he gives eighty tentacles; to the two next, two hundred or more; to the last, about one hundred and twenty. He describes their respective peculiarities of colour; remarks justly that they are nearly of the same size and form, are found in company with each other, and that venusta has close relations with nivea.' Now, on the bleak rocks of Lundy Island, at the mouth of the Bristol Channel, we have found specimens of A. venusta, aurora, and nivea, together. We have specimens of the same from Tenby, agreeing in the main with Mr. Gosse's descriptions in everything but the number of the tentacles. We have discovered on Morte Stone specimens of the same, plus an animal which resembles A. rosea, minus only the same difference. We have, in short, an entire colour series, the formal type of which may be described as follows: body from half an inch to one inch in diameter, opaque, conical, possessing sucking glands, and emitting capsuliferous filaments,' or white threads bearing spike-cases; tentacles about two hundred, graduated, erect, short; outer row smaller than the rest, and everted over the disc rim. And here are our varieties: 1 (A. venusta, Gosse), body orange-brown, disc orange, tentacles white; 2 (A. nivea, Gosse), body orange-brown (pale), disc and tentacles white; 3 (a new variety), body orange-brown, tentacles lilac; 4 (A. rosea, Gosse), body orangebrown, tentacles rose-colour; 5 (4. aurora, Gosse), body oilve-green, dise green, spotted with white, tentacles orange; 6 (a new variety), body olive-green, tentacles russet. There are, then, six colour varieties of the formal type. Now, says Dr. Latham, in his Memoir on the varieties of the human species, a species is a class of individuals, each of which is hypothetically considered to be the descendant of the same protoplast, or of the same pair of protoplasts;' a protoplast being an organized individual capable (either singly or as one of 259 pair) of propagating individuals, itself having been propagated by no such previous individual or pair;' and a variety is a class of individuals, each belonging to the same species, but each differing from other individuals of the species in points wherein they agree amongst each other.' In the case of the sea anemones, the first thing which forcibly strikes the matured observer is, that he has, after much time and labour, collected a colour series of specimens which are all referable to a typical form. The question then naturally arises in his mind, May not the form, which is always more or less permanent, be the characteristic of the species-that is, of the protoplast; and the colour, which is variable and given to run in series, be the characteristic of variety? If it be objected that Mr. Gosse's varying tentacles be formal differences, we may suggest that the number of tentacles vary according to the age of the individual, and that not only do we possess the unbroken series above referred to, but also individuals united to the various links of the chain, by a difference in the number of tentacles. However this be, and we should weary the general reader were we to pursue the theme, it is, at any rate, a fair example of the manner in which the humblest and youngest observer and natural history lover may do something to forward the cause of science, by investigating isolated districts in the vast continent of the natural world, by working honestly, and dispassionately, and lovingly, in the indelible traces which the mighty minds of old have left behind them. And if the student's courage ever fail him; if his heart wax faint as difficulties seem to grow and flourish in his path; if he ever, crying always with the dying Goethe for more light,' be tempted to think that a dawnless night is gathering around him, he may be encouraged by the persuasion that the science which is founded on the eternal Rock of Truth, must, too, be everlasting, he will surely be comforted by the noble and touching words of Augustin Thierry, which-a fitting epitaph-were recited by his friend 260 Laboulaye, over his open grave, 'Si j'avais à recommencer ma route, je prendrais celle qui m'a conduit où je suis. Aveugle et souffrant, sans espoir, et sans relâche, je puis rendre ce témoignage, qui de ma part ne sera pas suspect. Il y a au GILFILLAN'S HISTORY OF A MAN.* WHEN we contemplate the pur chase of a horse, we lead him up to the measuring-bar, and there ascertain the precise number of hands and inches which he stands : what a blessing it would be if we could subject the mental stature of human beings to an analogous process of measurement! There is nothing we have often so longed for, The mass of educated * impostor. We have seen a paper in fillan, we take it, bears the same In many passages throughout this Yes, imagination, thou hast been at once the angel and the demon of my existence, and still thy fairy fingers are spreading their gauzy veil between me Hitherto I have been and the universe. fed on phantasy, and with any coarser pabulum cannot away! The leading characteristic of The History of a Man is impudence. There are several other qualities in a very high degree. There is a great amount of bombast; no small measure of twaddle: ignorance, vanity, and general quackery are strongly developed; but impudent false pretence is, after all, the most striking feature. The author pretends to an intimate acquaintance with many eminent literary men whom he probably never saw. He tells us in the preface that the value of the work mainly consists The History of a Man. Edited by George Gilfillan. London: Arthur Hall, Virtue, and Co. 1856. 1856.] Mr. Gilfillan's Classical Attainments. in the fact that 'it is replete with sketches of, and conversations with, literary men of eminence.' Certainly Mr. Gilfillan has recorded in his book many conversations which he tells us he held with Thomas Campbell, Jeffrey, Professor Wilson, Chalmers, and a host more; and if we are to judge from Mr. Gilfillan's work, we must come to the conclusion that they all talked exactly alike, that they all talked nonsense, and that they all talked precisely in the style of Mr. Gilfillan's contributions to the third-rate Scotch magazines. Now as these conversations are manifestly invented by Mr. Gilfillan himself, we say that this book is a scandalous imposition upon that portion of the reading public which is incapable of discriminating the thought of Jeffrey, Lockhart, Wilson, and Campbell, from the vile trash which Mr. Gilfillan ascribes to them. It is perfectly insufferable that every impertinent quack should thus become an assassin of reputation, by inventing conversations for distinguished men, which, if they ever uttered them, would prove them as great fools as himself. Mr. Gilfillan would leave an impression on the mind of an English reader, that it is or was an uncommonly easy thing for anybody to obtain admission into the most refined circles of Scottish society. Although a person in an extremely humble position, sleeping in ‘a garret whose only furniture was a bed, a table, and a meal-barrel,' and although-to use his own elegant words-his external appearance was that of a clouterly carcase;' still he finds himself quite in a position to speak with authority of the best society of Edinburgh: he was entreated by Christopher North to be present at what (with a fine sense of grammar) he calls A Noctes Ambrosiana: he dined with Jeffrey at Craigerook in company with Hazlitt, Cockburn, and Carlyle. And it should seem that upon such occasions Jeffrey and Wilson were wont to address long monologues to Mr. Gilfillan, expressive of the most valuable literary opinions. Among other things, Wilson said that Goethe was a huge dunghill:' and Jeffrey stated that Southey was 'a 261 mocking-bird with a million heads;' that Coleridge had run all to tongue;' and that Shelley was a wild-goose.' The Man' of whom this book professes to be 'The History,' is of course Mr. George Gilfillan himself. He wrote it, rightly judging that it must be a matter of great public interest to know the course of training by which such a splendid mental phenomenon was raised.' Mr. Gilfillan tells us that he is the son of a Highland parish clergyman of the Scotch Church, a man of small income and large family; and evidently under the impression that he is drawing the picture of a simple patriarchal mode of life, he gives us a view of a home of such squalid vulgarity as we trust rarely if ever existed among the Manses' of the kirk. But Mr. Gilfillan, we are told, is the son not of a parish clergyman, but of a dissenting preacher: and from what he tells us afterwards of the position of that unfortunate class in country-places in Scotland, there may be sad truth in the lines of the frowsy picture. He gives us a description of his father's study, which it appears contained 'a bed, in which his father and mother slept;' and there are hints of the refined cuisine of his boyhood in occasional descriptions of his hurrying over dinner to get back to his books, by bolting his beef and broth.' He tells us that his father was a man of great talent and simplicity and piety; and we should be sorry to treat the feeling which dictated the description otherwise than with respect. His father, however, 'could not ground him well in the Latin and Greek tongues, and he feels this to the present hour,' as do his readers also. way. He is fond, however, of classical quotations and allusions. He tells us he hears his father's voice as a Perge' to cheer him on his When youthful poetasters send him their manuscripts for perusal, if they seem to possess any kind or degree of genius, he says to each,' Perge, Puer.' When at Loch Katrine, a Highland boatman conveyed him across the lake, and he thought of Charon.' When at Glasgow College, he found it very affecting to hear Sir Daniel Sandford, the Greek Professor, re |