of floral magnificence.

How, then, has the world at large fallen into the pardonable error of
believing tropical nature to be so rich in colouring, and circumpolar
nature to be so dingy and unlovable? Simply thus, I believe. The
tropics embrace the largest land areas in the world, and are richer by
a thousand times in species of plants and animals than all the rest of
the earth in a lump put together. That richness necessarily results
from the fierceness of the competition. Now among this enormous mass of
tropical plants it naturally happens that some have finer flowers than
any temperate species; while as to the animals and birds, they are
undoubtedly, on the whole, both larger and handsomer than the fauna of
colder climates. But in the general aspect of tropical nature an
occasional bright flower or brilliant parrot counts for very little
among the mass of lush green which surrounds and conceals it. On the
other hand, in our museums and conservatories we sedulously pick out
the rarest and most beautiful of these rare and beautiful species, and
we isolate them completely from their natural surroundings. The
consequence is that the untravelled mind regards the tropics mentally
as a sort of perpetual replica of the hot-houses at Kew, superimposed
on the best of Mr. Bull's orchid shows. As a matter of fact, people who
know the hot world well can tell you that the average tropical woodland
is much more like the dark shade of Box Hill or the deepest glades of
the Black Forest. For really fine floral display in the mass, all at
once, you must go, not to Ceylon, Sumatra, Jamaica, but to the far
north of Canada, the Bernese Oberland, the moors of Inverness-shire,
the North Cape of Norway. Flowers are loveliest where the climate is
coldest; forests are greenest, most luxuriant, least blossoming, where
the conditions of life are richest, warmest, fiercest. In one word,
High Life is always poor but beautiful.

EIGHT-LEGGED FRIENDS.

A singular opportunity was afforded me last summer for making myself
thoroughly at home with the habits and manners of the common English
geometrical spider. By the pure chance of circumstance, two ladies of
that intelligent and interesting species were kind enough to select for
their temporary residence a large pane of glass just outside my
drawing-room window. Now, it so happened that this particular pane was
constructed not to open, being, in fact, part of a big bow