weaving together the many tints of German wool, but what does this amusement do for the mind, except to keep it quiet, and not always that? Now, the substitute I would propose for this occupation, is equally pleasing in the variety of colours employed, and yet calculated to be highly beneficial in its influence upon the mind, by increasing its store of knowledge, and supplying a perpetual source of rational interest, even at times when the occupation itself cannot well be carried on.
My proposition, then, is this; that, in pursuing the study of botany, instead of the unattractive hortus siccus, which pleases no one but the scientific beholder, correct and natural drawings should be made of every specimen, just as it appears when growing, or when freshly gathered. Instead of the colourless, distorted, hot-pressed specimens which the botanist now displays, to the utter contempt of all uninitiated in his lore, we should then have beautiful and imperishable pictures of graceful, delicate, or curious plants, looking just as they did when the mountain-wind blew over them, or when the woodland stream crept in amongst their thousand stems, and kissed the drooping blossoms that hung upon its banks. We might then have them placed before us in all their natural loveliness, either the flower, the branch, or the entire plant, and sometimes, to render the picture more complete, the characteristic scenery by which it is usually surrounded.
But if in botany the practice of this art is so desirable, how much more so does it become in entomology, where the study can scarcely be carried on without a sacrifice of life most revolting to the female mind. What beautiful specimens might we not have of the curious caterpillar, with a branch of the tree on which it feeds; then the larva and its silken bed; and, lastly, the splendid butterfly, whose expanded wings no cruel touch could ruffle; all forming
