ical study of the science in the field. Unless he deceived
himself, he was an astonishing fast learner. Lady Mabel told him that
she had heard that _poeta nascitur_, and now she believed it from
analogy; for he was certainly born a botanist. He rebutted the sarcasm
by showing that he had the terms stamen, pistil, calix, corolla,
capsule, and a host of others at the tip of his tongue; though
possibly, had he been called upon to apply each in its proper place,
he would have been like a certain student of geometry we once knew,
who, by aid of a good memory alone, could demonstrate all Euclid's
theorems, without understanding one of them, provided the diagrams
were small enough to be hidden by his hand, so you could not detect
him in pointing to the wrong angle and line.

January was gone, and the earlier of the two springs that mark this
climate was opening beautifully. L'Isle displayed temptingly before
Lady Mabel's eyes the wild flowers he had collected during a laborious
morning spent on hill and plain, in wood and field, and urged her to
lose no time in taking the field too, and making collections for the
_hortus siccus_ of which she talked so much, but toward which she had
yet done nothing; while at the same time, she might, without trouble,
indoctrinate him in the mysteries of this beautiful branch of natural
history. Most of these flowers were new to her as living
specimens. Her botanical enthusiasm was roused at the sight of them,
and the offer of a pupil added to her zeal. When we know a little of
any thing, it is very pleasant to be applied to for instruction by the
ignorant, as it enables us to flatter ourselves that we know a great
deal. And it is only the more gratifying when our voluntary pupil is
otherwise well informed.

It was at once arranged that the party should take the field
to-morrow. Mrs. Shortridge, it is true, had no particular taste for
botany. If the flowers in her _bouquet_ were beautiful, or fragrant,
or both, she did not trouble herself about their history, names,
class, order, or alliances; but pleasant company, fresh air, exercise,
and new scenes were inducements enough for her.

CHAPTER VI.

For thee my borders nurse the fragrant wreath,
My fountain murmurs and my zephyrs breathe;
Slow glides the painted snail, the gilded fly
Smooths his fine down to charm thy curious eye;
On twinkling fins my scaly nations play,
Or wind, with sinuous train, their trackless way.