icture so often. But
Matthew Maris is full of surprises. If a new picture by any of his
contemporaries stood with its face to the wall one would know what
to expect. From Israels, a fisherman's wife; from Mesdag, a grey
stretch of sea; from Bosboom, a superb church interior; from Mauve,
a peasant with sheep or a peasant with a cow; from Weissenbruch, a
stream and a willow; from Breitner, an Amsterdam street; from James
Maris a masterly scene of boats and wet sky. Usually one would have
guessed aright. But with Matthew Maris is no certainty. It may be a
little dainty girl lying on her side and watching butterflies; it may
be a sombre hillside at Montmartre; it may be a girl cooking; it may
be scaffolding in Amsterdam, or a mere at evening, or a baby's head,
or a village street. He has many moods, and he is always distinguished
and subtle.

Rotterdam has a zoological garden which, although inferior to ours,
is far better than that at Amsterdam, while it converts The Hague's Zoo
into a travesty. Last spring the lions were in splendid condition. They
are well housed, but fewer distractions are provided for them than
in Regent's Park. I found myself fascinated by the herons, who were
continually soaring out over the neighbouring houses and returning
like darkening clouds. In England, although the heron is a native, we
rarely seem to see him; while to study him is extremely difficult. In
Holland he is ubiquitous: both wild and tame.

More interesting still was the stork, whose nest is set high on
a pinnacle of the buffalo house. He was building in the leisurely
style of the British working man. He would negligently descend from
the heavens with a stick. This he would lay on the fabric and then
carefully perform his toilet, looking round and down all the time
to see that every one else was busy. Whenever his eye lighted upon
a toddling child or a perambulator it visibly brightened. "My true
work!" he seemed to say; "this nest building is a mere by-path of
industry." After prinking and overlooking, and congratulating himself
thus, for a few minutes, he would stroll off, over the housetops,
for another stick. He was the unquestionable King of the Garden.

Why are there no heronries in the English public parks? And why is
there no stork? The Dutch have a proverb, "Where the stork abides
no mother dies in childbed". Still more, why are there no storks in
France? The author of _Fecondite_ should have imported them.

No Zoo, ho