IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 ^ 
 
 i.<o 
 
 / 
 
 .% 
 
 
 
 
 Q< 
 
 :/ 
 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 |50 
 
 
 IIIM 
 
 1|40 
 
 M 
 
 11 2.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 \A. Illll 1.6 
 
 V] 
 
 <i 
 
 VI 
 
 c* 
 
 c^i 
 
 V> c>1 
 
 w^' 
 
 
 c? 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 /A 
 
 PhotOgTdphic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-450r 
 
 V 
 
 iV 
 
 <\ 
 
 4? 
 
 \^ 
 
 
 ^i>; 4^ 
 
 ^ 
 

 CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadien de microreproductions historiques 
 
 O 
 
 V 
 
Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques 
 
 The Institute has attempted to obtain the best 
 original copy available for filming. Features of this 
 copy which may be bibliographically unique, 
 which may alter any of the images in the 
 reproduction, or which may significantly change 
 the usual method of filming, are checked below. 
 
 L'institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire 
 qu'it lui a 6t^ possible de se procurer. Les details 
 de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-etre uniques du 
 point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier 
 une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une 
 modification dans la m6thode normale de filmage 
 sont indiques ci-dessous. 
 
 n 
 
 Coloured covers/ 
 Couverture de couleur 
 
 □ Coloured pages/ 
 Pages de couleur 
 
 D 
 
 Covers damaged/ 
 Couverture endommagee 
 
 D 
 
 Pages damaged/ 
 Pages endommagees 
 
 n 
 
 Covers restored and/or laminated/ 
 Couverture restaur6e et/ou pellicul^e 
 
 □ Pages restored and/or laminated/ 
 Pages restaurees et/ou pelliculees 
 
 D 
 
 Cover title missing/ 
 
 Le titre de couverture manque 
 
 Q' 
 
 Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ 
 Pages decolorees, tachetees ou piquees 
 
 D 
 
 Coloured maps/ 
 
 Cartes geographiques en couleur 
 
 r~V Pages detached/ 
 ' I Pages detachees 
 
 D 
 
 Coloured ink li.e. other than blue or black)/ 
 Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) 
 
 I ~l/ Showthrough/ 
 I I Transparence 
 
 
 Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ 
 Planches et/ou illustrntions en couleur 
 
 Bound with other material/ 
 Relie avec d'autres documents 
 
 □ Quality of print varies/ 
 Qualite inegale de limj 
 
 pression 
 
 Includes supplementary material/ 
 
 mprend du materiel supplementaire 
 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion 
 along interior margin/ 
 
 La reliure serree peut causer de I'ombre ou de la 
 distortion le long de la marge int^rieure 
 
 Blank leaves added during restoration may 
 appear within the text. Whenever possible, these 
 have been omitted from filming/ 
 II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es 
 lors dune restauration apparaissent dans le texte, 
 mais, lorsque cela ^tait possible, ces pages n'ont 
 pas ete filmees. 
 
 
 Only edition available/ 
 Seule Edition disponible 
 
 Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata 
 slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to 
 ensure the best possible image/ 
 Les pages totalement ou partiellement 
 obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, 
 etc., ont et6 filmees d nouveau de facon a 
 obtenir la meilleure image possible. 
 
 D 
 
 Additional comments;/ 
 Commentaires supplementaires. 
 
 This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ 
 
 Ce document est film^ au taux de reduction <^diqu6 ci-dessous. 
 
 10X 
 
 
 
 
 14X 
 
 
 
 
 18,^ 
 
 
 
 
 22X 
 
 
 
 
 26 X 
 
 
 
 
 SOX 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 12X 
 
 16X 
 
 20X 
 
 24X 
 
 28X 
 
 32X 
 
The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks 
 to the generosity of: 
 
 Library 
 
 Laurent ian University 
 
 L'exemplaire film^ fut reproduit grace i la 
 g^ndrositd de: 
 
 Bibliotheque 
 Universite Laurentienne 
 
 The images appearing here are the best quality 
 possible considering the condition and legibility 
 of the original copy and in keeping with ,ne 
 filming contract specifications. 
 
 Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed 
 beginning with the front cover and ending on 
 the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All 
 other original copies are filmed beginning on the 
 first page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, and ending on the last page with a printed 
 or illustrated impression. 
 
 Les images suivantes ont et6 reproduites avec le 
 plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et 
 de la nettetd de l'exemplaire film^, et en 
 conformity avec les conditions du contrat de 
 filmage. 
 
 Les exemplaires originaux dont ia couverture en 
 papier est imprimde sont film^s en commencant 
 par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la 
 dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second 
 plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires 
 originaux sont film6s> en commencant par la 
 premiere page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par 
 la dernidre page qui comporte une telle 
 empreinte. 
 
 The last recorded frame on each microfiche 
 shall contain the symbol —♦- (meaning "CON- 
 TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END "), 
 whichever applies. 
 
 Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la 
 derniSre image de chaque microfiche, selon le 
 cas: le symbole — •- signifie 'A SUIVRE", le 
 symbols V signifie "FIN". 
 
 Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at 
 different reduction ratios. Those too large to be 
 entirely included in one exposure are filmed 
 beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to 
 right and top to bottom, as many frames as 
 required. The following diagrams illustrate the 
 method: 
 
 Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent etre 
 film6s d des taux de reduction diff6rents. 
 Lorsque le document est trop grand pour etre 
 reproduit en un seul cliche, il est film^ d partir 
 de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche i droite, 
 et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre 
 d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants 
 illustrent la m^thode. 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
V 
 
9 
 
 "■^wttTninwtirimanji.i 
 
 IW-'MUI I . . iW<imi iltji^ I ij .^ ^1 ^..>^;.»; 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 PHILIP HENRY GOSSE, E.R.S. 
 
OTHER WORKS BV 
 
 MR. EDMUND GOSSE. 
 
 IN VERSE. 
 
 ON VIOL AND FLUTE : I.VRrcAL Poems. 
 New ICdilion. Price 6j-. 
 
 FERDANSI IN EXILE, and other Poems. 
 Second Edition. Price 6s. 
 
 IN PROSE. 
 
 NORTHERN STUDIES. 1S79. Popular Edi- 
 tion. 1890. 
 
 LIFE OF GRAY. 
 SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY STUDIES. 
 
 18S3. Second Edition, i:.-85. Price los. dd. 
 
 LIFE OF CONGREVE. 18S8. 
 
 A HISTORY OF EIGHTEENTH-CEN- 
 TURY LITERATURE. 18S9. 
 
IS. 
 
 IS 
 
mn 
 
 
 ,i^4f -fn ^J^U 
 
 k'i^\r*'^^ 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 i PHILIP HENRY GOSSE 
 
 F.R.S. 
 
 BY HIS SON 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE 
 
 HON-. M.A. OF TK,N,TV a.LLEOE, CAMnKII,,, 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL. TRENCH. TRUBNER .^. 
 
 1890 
 
 CO., Lt?. 
 
^ 
 
 1 a 
 
 {JIlu rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.') 
 
 \ 
 
'10 
 
 F;I)WIN RAV LANKESTER. KR.s., I.L.I)., 
 
 ."""-■'•■'. PROCESSOR OK xoouK.v a,,,, co,„..K.,vrnK l.sAnn.v ' 
 IN iNrvKRsiTv (()i.Li.:,;i.:. u,sim>n 
 
 AN.. WCVOKARV ,,.:,XOU ,„ KX,.nK On,LK.,K, OVK,,R,.. 
 
 Dear Laxkkstkr, 
 
 No one who reads this hook will rojinre to be told 
 that there were many points of vital importance upon > Mrh your 
 convictions and those of the subject of this l.io.rap-. were div 
 metncally opposed. Vet you resp-ected bun and v admu-ed vo^^ 
 and of all onr friends you were the earliest to ur<,e me t..> under- 
 take this lauour of love. I desire to inscribe your ...u:c on this 
 tir.^^ page of my book, not merely because of those pleasant 
 relations which have so long existed between vour family and 
 m.ne, but as a hint to such readers as may con.e to the perusal 
 of It with opinions strongly biassed in one direction or in another 
 that It IS wise to "condemn not all things in the Coun.i1 of 
 
 Trent, nor approve all in th 
 reading this life of your old 
 you can share his beliefs, and interested in tl 
 
 least, in 
 
 e Synod of Durt." You, at 1 
 acquaintance, will be pleased where 
 
 mind where you wholly disagree with 1 
 
 le attitude of his 
 
 iim. 
 
 Belie 
 
 ve me to be 
 
 ^'ou 
 
 rs very sincerely, 
 
 Ocfoh 
 
 i8 
 
 ■<)0. 
 
 Edmund Gos 
 
 ;sK. 
 
 ^y-ZcJ/*/ 
 
i' RE FACE 
 
 -*&»- 
 
 doubt that he h-,,1 n f , ^ ^ " ^"-'^^ "■' without 
 
 graphical material, In ,8G.^' 1,1^1 "'" "^ '^'■°- 
 
 ■n a" that .™i„d„, i,i,„ of iii ; ;;::,^'-7;>' ■■■"--^^ 
 
 to tl,c haunts of his childhood he „ro 'l ^ "" ''' ""'' 
 were likely to recall the event n^M ""'""' '' 
 
 and he amassed a ^reat nuanHt! f ' ""' """""="'• 
 
 ".Hia. As is us„:„r,r e'.l':r"°'"r'"'^"""- 
 of elderly persons, his inter i„, '", ™'"'"-°«"P>..-cs 
 1«-- had passed the period f ,n ''"■'"'""'' '"'^" 
 
 letters, and an nnbroken series f , '■^'■'""? 
 
 completed the tale The I in , ' '°°^ "P '"'> 
 
 the rather unnsna^ood ,0 ri'f l''-"'"^""^' '^ "-' 
 -■"> ■"■'tcrial, and o^havinj :;'":";' "'"" ''"'^"^' 
 
 The subject of this n,c„,:ir u-,::'^^ ;r';'"-^''- . 
 character. Hcu-.. lo- • "'^ '' '"^^" "'^ very sintruJar 
 
 -ientifie m":;':':; Lrn;;'^ -■'"/"^ "^--y-^i 
 
 or observer of equal distineti^ ' ;'"; '"^^'''•'f"- •''"y -riter 
 a man should write a Ion., . '■ "•^" ^^ "irious that 
 
 a lonsf ser,es of popular books, and 
 
 
f^m 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 should add in many directions to the sum of exact know- 
 ledge, and at the same time have so little in common with 
 his contemporaries as my father had. I hope that in the 
 course of this narrative the salient points of a remarkable 
 mental constitution, of a peculiarly isolated mind, will be 
 found to have been so illuminated as to permit the reader 
 to form for himself a portrait of the man. I have not con- 
 cealed or manipulated any of his peculiarities. My only 
 endeavour has been to present my father as he was, and in 
 so doing I have felt sure of his own approval. He utterly 
 despised that species of modern biography which depicts 
 what was a human being as though transformed into the 
 tinted wax of a hairdresser's block. He used to speak 
 with strong contempt of "goody-goody lives of good m en.' 
 He was careless of opinion, and he lived rigidly up to a 
 private standard of his o\\n\. I have taken it to be the 
 truest piety to represent him exactly as I knew him and 
 have found him. 
 
 For various statements in the earlier pages I am 
 indebted to the still unpublished autobiography of my 
 grandfather, ]\Ir. Thomas Gossc, and to the memory of my 
 venerable uncle, Mr. William Gosse. Among those whom 
 I have to thank for their kindness in helping me to pro- 
 duce this volume, I must mention two friends in particular, 
 Mr. I'Vancis Darwin, F.R.S., who has allov/ed me to print 
 a number of very interesting letters from his father ; and 
 Mr. Arthur E. Shipley, Fellow of Christ's College, Cam- 
 bridge, who has very kindly revised the zoological 
 portions of the text. 
 
C O N T E N T S 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 vir. 
 \iii. 
 
 IX. 
 
 x. 
 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 
 Cnii.Diiooi) fiSio-iS27)... 
 
 N'KWKorXDI.ANI) (1S27, 1S2S) 
 
 XFWi-orMH.Axn (1828- KS35) 
 Ca.n..\i)a (1835-18381 
 Alabama (1S38) 
 
 LlTKRARY .StIU'GCI.ES (1839-1S44I 
 
 Jamaica (1S44-1846) 
 
 LiTKRAKY Work in Lo.vdo.n- (1S46-1851 
 
 Work at iiik .Skaskouk (1852-1856) 
 
 I.iTKRARv Work i.\ Devonsiiikk (1857- 
 
 Last \'kars (1S64-1SSS) 
 
 Ge.ni:rai. Charac- istics 
 
 Al'I'F.NDIX I. 
 Al'I'EMilX II. 
 
 IS64) 
 
 I'AfJE 
 
 I 
 
 30 
 61 
 
 89 
 
 no 
 
 149 
 
 I So 
 206 
 
 2,55 
 271 
 
 306 
 
 324 
 
 353 
 375 
 
 k 
 
 ssa 
 
^~T 
 
 ^^^ 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 PHILIP HENRY GOSSE, F.R.S. 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 1 8 10-1827. 
 
 EARLY in tlic sprinij of 1807 a middle-aged gentleman 
 arii\ccl in Worcester by the Bath coach, and pro- 
 ceeded to modest lodgings, where he was already well 
 known and highl>' respected. 1 fe was a man of a somewhat 
 rueful countenance, whose well-made, thread-bare clothes 
 indicated at the same time a certain past quality and an 
 obvious state of present impecuniosity. He was tall and 
 thin, his hair was prematurely whitening above a dark 
 complexion, and his grave and gentle features very rarely 
 relaxed into a smile. The simple wallet which comprised 
 all his worldly possessions containcl, beside his slender 
 store of clothes and necessaries, little except a Bible, and 
 a Theocritus in Greek, which never quitted him, but 
 formed, at the darkest moments of his career, a gate of 
 instant exit from the hard facts of life into an idyllic world 
 of glowing pastoral antic^uity. His one other and most 
 indispensable companion was a box, containing colours, 
 
 B 
 
THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 a bundle of five brushes, and some leaves of ivory, for he 
 was a perambulating^ miniature-painter. 
 
 This was Mr. Thomas Gosse, father of tlic subject and 
 grandfather of the writer of the present memoir. Born in 
 1765, he had been the eleventh of the twelve children of 
 William Gosse, a wealthy cloth manufacturer of Ringwood, 
 in Hampshire. The family had been leading citizens of 
 that town, and had always been engaged in the same 
 industry since the reign of Charles II., legend attributing 
 to the race a French origin, and an advent into England 
 at the Restoration. The name appears to have no direct 
 or recent relation with Goss, a frequent name in the west 
 of England ; but to mark kinship with the southern h'rench 
 family, from which Etienne Gosse, the author of Le 
 MciUsaiit, sprang at the close of the eighteenth century. 
 Mr. William Gosse had been not a little of a local magnate, 
 and had served, by virtue of some Welsh estates, as High 
 Sheriff of Radnorshire. But the earliest introduction of 
 machinery had struck heavily at the woollen manufacture, 
 and he died in 1784, at the age of sevent}', an impoverished 
 though not a ruined man. 
 
 Of the divided remnant of the father's fortune, Thomas 
 Gosse had, by 1807, long spent the last penny of his 
 trifling share. lie had been trained, at his own passionate 
 request, to be an artist, had worked at the schools of the 
 Royal Academy under Sir Joshua Reynolds, and for 
 twenty years had lived precariously as a mezzotint en- 
 graver, first under Anker Smith, A.R.A., then under 
 William Ward, A.R.A., and at length independently. 
 But he had no push in him, no ambition, and no energy. 
 He was of a solitary and retiring disposition, and incapable 
 of any business exertion. At last, in the summer of 
 1S03, he had ceased to follow engraving. The fashion 
 for mezzotints was everywhere on the decline, and their 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 he 
 
 High 
 
 lomas 
 of his 
 donate 
 oi the 
 ul for 
 nt cn- 
 undcr 
 JLlcntly. 
 Miergy. 
 [apable 
 
 r of 
 tashion 
 
 their 
 
 place was being taken by the highly finished miniatures 
 on ivory of which Cosway had been the most famous 
 executant in tlic previous generation. The fiishion had 
 now filtered down to the lower middle class, and it was 
 become the practice for artists not of the highest rank to 
 go round the country from town to town, staying long 
 enough in each place to paint the heads of such clients as 
 they met with. Thomas Gossc, who had worked under 
 Edward Penny, R.A., had preserved something of the dry 
 manner of that pupil of Hudson's, but had learned from 
 his own long practice in mezzotint engraving to draw with 
 accuracy. Never inspired or in any way first-rate, his 
 miniatures are nevertheless fairly accomph^iied, and the 
 best of them possess a certain delicate charm of colour. 
 But he had no introductions, he shrank with extreme 
 timidity from any advertisement of himself, and during 
 the first years of his new profession he sank lower and 
 lower into the depths of genteel poverty. When he 
 entered Worcester in 1S07, the fortunes of the gentle, 
 melancholy, unupbraiding man were at their nadir. He 
 was in his forty-third year, and he was ready to despair 
 of life. 
 
 In his perambulations he had several times visited the 
 city of Worcester, for which he professed a special par- 
 tiality. His particular patrons and friends were a Mr. 
 and Mrs. Green, people of wealth and education, at whose 
 table the miniature-painter, w'th his tags of Theocritus 
 and his Parson Adams' manner, was always welcome. On 
 this occasion he met for the first time a fresh inmate of 
 their establishment, a Miss Hannah Best, a very handsome 
 and powerfully built girl of twenty-six, who occupied an 
 ambiguous position, half lady's-maid, half companion, in 
 the Green household. The fiict was that she had run away 
 from her own home to escape the tyranny of her mother. 
 
THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 1 
 
 Ilcr father, Philip IJcst, of Titton Brook, near Stourport, 
 was a yeoman, who cultivated his paternal acres, and 
 added to his income occasionally by workint^ for hire 
 under neighbouring farmers. His wife, the mother of 
 Hannah Best, was a virago of a bygone type. She was 
 a thorough shrew, who kept her children, and for that 
 matter her husband, in wholesome awe of her tongue and 
 hand. Even when her daughters were grown women, 
 Mrs. Best would scruple not, when her temper was aroused, 
 to whip off her high-heeled shoe and apply personal 
 chastisement in no perfunctory fashion. It was while 
 smarting under one of these humiliating inflictions that 
 Hannah Jiest had fled to an asylum in the house of Mrs. 
 Green, in Worcester. 
 
 The beauty, the strength, the pastoral richness of the 
 nature of Hannah Best produced an instant and extra- 
 ordinary effect on Thomas Gossc. She was one of his 
 Sicilian shepherdesses come to life again. Theocritus him- 
 self seemed to .lave prophesied of this beautiful child of a 
 race of neatherds. Like another daughter of Polybotas, 
 she had but just come from piping to the reapers on the 
 Titton farm. He fell violently in love, for the first time 
 in his life. Hannah Best, when he proposed, was startled 
 and repelled. This grey and withered man, who never 
 smiled, without fortune, without prospects — what sort of 
 husband was that for her .'' But Mr. and Mrs. Green, 
 glad perhaps to have an embarrassing knot thus opportunely 
 cut, presented other views of the matter to her. He was 
 a gentleman and a man of education, such as Hannah 
 could not hope otherwise to secure ; he was a man of pure 
 conduct and pious habits ; he would doubtless thrive when 
 once her strength of purpose and practical good sense 
 should supply a backbone to his character. Not enthusi- 
 astically, she consented to marry him, and after a fashion 
 

 CHILDHOOD. S 
 
 she learned to love him. Love or no love, she made for 
 nearly forty years an ideal mainstay and central standard 
 of his family life. They were married at the parish 
 church of St. Nicholas, in the city of Worcester, on July 
 15, 1807. 
 
 He had taken to a nomadic life, and where he wandered 
 she was bound to wander. They began a desperate flight 
 from town to town, c([ualled only in discomfort by the 
 hurried and incessant pilgrimages of the parents of 
 Laurence Sterne. The first movement was to Gloucester, 
 where no one could be found to sit for a portrait. In a 
 panic, the couple presently fled to Bristol, where they 
 lodged for a few months, near the Mot Wells, Thomas 
 Gosse painting " valetudinary " and other ladies and teach- 
 ing drawing with tolerable success. On April 24, 1808, 
 a son, William, who still survives, was born to them in 
 Bristol. After shifting out to Clifton, and then iu again to 
 Bristol itself, they came to the conclusion that business 
 was exhausted in that neighbourhood, and in January, 18 10, 
 shifted again, this time back to Worcester ; thence to 
 Upton-on-Severn, thence to Evesham, and back once more 
 to Worcester, just in time for the auspicious incident to 
 take place of which the previous lines arc but the necessary 
 prologue. 
 
 Philip Henry Gosse, the second child of Thomas 
 and Hannah Gosse, was born in lodgings over the shop 
 of i\Ir. Garner, the shoemaker, in High Street, Worcester, 
 on April 6, 18 10. Short rest was given to the unfortu- 
 nate mother, for in July the family, now four in number, 
 made yet another migration, this time to Coventry, where 
 they took lodgings in West Orchard. For some months 
 Coventry proved to be a capital centre, and Mr. Gosse 
 had plenty of business, but in December of the same year 
 they were off again, and now to Leicester. Mrs. Gosse, 
 
 SI 
 
^^I 
 
 THE LIFE OF riTILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 il! 
 
 however, was by tin's time weary of sucli an aimless life, 
 such incessant pitching of the tent a day's march further 
 on. She swept aside the objections of hur husband's 
 gentility, and determined to see whether she could not 
 bring grist to the mill. While Mr. Gosse was away 
 painting his portraits, she obtained permission to turn the 
 front room of their lodgings into a shop. She was " at 
 the expense of a large and finely sashed bow-window," 
 and this she stocked with groceries. The conseciuence 
 was that, when her husband made his next proposal that, 
 as usual, they should move on, she declined to leave 
 Leicester, and allowed him to start on a professional tour 
 through the cast of England alone. She was, however, 
 in spite of her energy, unskilled in the arts of shopkeeping, 
 and when he returned, she easily agreed to make one more 
 flitting — as far as she was concerned, the final one. 
 
 Three of Thomas Gosse's elder sisters had married 
 well, and were all domiciled at Poole, in Dorsetshire. In 
 the autumn of 1811 he went thither to visit them, and was 
 struck by the advantages that might accrue from settling 
 in the neighbourhood of these three well-to-do establish- 
 ments. His visit to Poole, moreover, was attended by the 
 exhibition in the heavens of a comet of unusual splendour, 
 and this imposing spectacle impressed his wife as an omen 
 of favourable import. Thomas Gosse passed the winter in 
 visiting his three sisters in turn, was encouraged by them 
 all to come to reside in Dorset, and in j\Iay, 181 2, returned 
 to Leicester to prepare for the final flitting. The family 
 set out by stages in the coach, their furniture following 
 them by waggon. They spent a few days at Titton Brook 
 with the grand-parents, and on this occasion my father 
 formed his earliest durable recollection of a scene. He 
 was two years and one month old at the time, and his 
 record of the fact may be given as the first example of the 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 astonishincj power of memory which was to accompany 
 him throuj^li life. " I was in my mother's arms," he wrote 
 in a memorandum dated iS6S, "at the bottom of the 
 front ^^'lrden [at Titton], where it was (hvided by a hedi;e 
 from the road. There came b}' a team of oxen or horses, 
 driven b\- a peasant who j;uided tliem b)-his voice : — ' (iec. 
 Captain! Wo, Alerryman!' Tliesc two names I vividly 
 recollect, and the whole scene." He never a^ain visited 
 Titton Brook, and it is certain that no portion of the im- 
 pression could be derived from later knowledj^c. Travei- 
 \'\\v^ by Birmingham and Salisbury, the Gosses came, in 
 June, 1S12, to Poole, and settled in furnished lodgini^^s in 
 the Old Orchard. 
 
 The borouLjh and county of the boroui,di of Poole, to 
 give it its full honours, possessed in those days a population 
 of about six thousand souls. It was a prosperous little 
 town, whose good streets, sufficientl}- broad and well paved, 
 werj lined with solid and comfortable red-brick houses. 
 The Uj)p>^r part of the borough was clean, the sandy soil 
 on which it was built aiding a rapid drainage after rain. 
 The lower streets, such as the sea end of Lagland and Fish 
 Streets, the Strand, and the lanes abutting on the Quay, 
 were filthy enough ; while the nose was certainly not 
 regaled by the reeking odours of the Quay itself, with its 
 stores and piles of salt cod, its ranges of barrels of train 
 oil, its rope and tar and turpentine, and its well-stocked 
 shambles for fresh fish, sometimes too obviously in the 
 act of becoming stale fish. Yet, among seaport towns, its 
 character was one of exceptional sweetness and cleanliness. 
 And here, though the memory is one of some years' later 
 date, I may print my father's impression of the Poole of his 
 early childhood :— 
 
 " The Quay, with its shipping and sailors ; their songs, 
 
 "and cries of ' Heave with a will, yoho !' the busy mer- 
 
 I 
 
THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENL Y GOSSE. 
 
 "chants bustlin.!::^ to and fro; fishermen and boatmen 
 "and hoymcn in their sou'vvcstcrs, guernsey frocks, and 
 " loose trousers ; countrymen, younj,^ bumi)kins in smocks, 
 "socking to be shipped as 'youngsters' for Newfound- 
 "land ; rows of casks redolent of train oil ; Dobell, the 
 "ganger, moving among them, rod in hand ; customs- 
 " officers and tide-waiters taking notes ; piles of salt fish 
 "loading ; packages of dry goods being shipped ; coal 
 "cargoes discharging ; dogs in scores ; idle boys larking 
 "about or mounting the rigging, — among them 15ill 
 " Goodwin dis[)laying his agility and hardihood on the 
 "very truck of some tall brig ; — all this makes a lively 
 "picture in my memory, while the church bells, a full 
 "peal of eight, arc ringing merrily. The Poole men 
 " gloried somewhat in this peal ; and one of the low inns 
 " frequented by sailors, in one of the lanes opening on 
 "the Quay, had for its sign the Eight Bells duly depicted 
 " in full. 
 
 " Owing to the immense area of mud in Poole Harbour, 
 "dry at low water, and treacherously covered at high, 
 " leaving only narrow and winding channels of water 
 "deep enough for ship[)ing to traverse, skilled pilots 
 "were indispensable for every vessel arriving or sailing. 
 " From our upper windows in Skinner Street, wc could 
 "see the vessels pursuing their course along Main 
 " Channel, now approaching IJlliput, then turning and 
 " apparently coasting under the sand-banks of North 
 "Haven. Pilots, fishermen, boatmen of various grades, 
 " a loose-trousered, guernsey-frocked sou'westercd race, 
 "were always lounging about the Quay." 
 Such was in 1812, and such continued to be for the next 
 twelve years, the background to the domestic fortunes of 
 the Gosses. Thomas Gosse presently departed, in his 
 customary nomadic way, and spent the winter at Yeovil, 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 ling. 
 
 tould 
 
 Jain 
 
 and 
 [orth 
 
 idcs, 
 irace, 
 
 Incxt 
 is of 
 his 
 bovil, 
 
 in Somerset. Before leavinfj his wife and children, he took 
 the house, No. I, Skinner Street, which is mentioned in the 
 above quotation. The sisters-in-law helped with the 
 furnishing, and life promised to be far more pleasant with 
 Hannah Gosse than ever before; but the protection of 
 these relations was tempered by a kind of conscious 
 condescension, and Thomas was not .dlowed to forget that 
 he had been guilty of a mesalliance. I have heard my 
 grandmother describe how deep an impression was made 
 upon her by the loneliness of her first winter in Poole. 
 She was timid and not a little inclined to superstition, and 
 she had newly come into what seemed to her a large house, 
 with not a soul to relieve her nocturnal solitude, excei^t 
 her two slecpin babies. She used to kcc[) them in a crib 
 in the parlour till she went to bed, as some feeble company. 
 These painful feelings were much increased by a terrifying 
 circumstance, which was never satisfactorily accounted for. 
 There was no shutter to the back-parlour window, and late 
 one dark evening, in the depth of the winter of 1812, one 
 of the bottom panes was suddenly smashed, by no apparent 
 cause. Perhaps a cat had lost his footing on the tiles, and, 
 pitching on the sill, had rebounded against the glass. ]iut 
 it was the last straw that broke my poor grandmother's 
 philosophy. 
 
 Partly to increase her income, partly to lose this dreadful 
 sense of loneliness, Mrs. Gosse let some of her rooms as 
 lodgings. They were taken by ^wo ladies of the name of 
 Bird, whose occupation was that of teaching a mysterious 
 art known as " Poonah painting " in private, but on their 
 printed advertisement described as " Oriental tinting." A 
 good many young ladies came to learn ; but the fair pro- 
 fessors affected great secrecy in their process, and bound 
 their pupils by a solemn pledge to keep the secret of " the 
 Indian formulas." This greatly stimulated Mrs. Gosse's 
 
 i il 
 
Hi 
 
 m 
 
 10 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ,- 1 
 
 curiosity, and when, long afterwards, the ladies left, she 
 tried to worm out the secrets of the art by pumping the 
 servant-maid. All that that poor oracle could tell, however, 
 was that she had been frequently sent to the chemist's for 
 " million ; " this the united brains of the family translated 
 into " vermilion," and it was felt that a considerable 
 discovery had been made. 
 
 Immediately after the family !;ad removed into Skinner 
 Street, Philip was seized with a serious attack of v/ater on 
 the brain, and for a while his life hung on an even balance. 
 His subsequent health docs not seem to Lave been 
 impaired and through life, in spite of frc(]ucnt temporary 
 disorders, he enjoyed a very tough and clastic constitution. 
 He acquired the rudiments of book-learning from a vener- 
 able dame, called " IMa'am Sly," who taught babies their 
 alphabet ia a little alley leading out of Skinner Street. 
 To her he went at three years old, to be out of harm's way. 
 A little later, he began to suffer from a phenomenon which 
 would perhaps not be worth recording if it had not shown, 
 in our fami!)-, a hereditary rccurroncc, having tormented 
 the early childhood of my grandfather and also of myself. 
 My father has thus described it : 
 
 " I suffered when I was about five years old from some 
 " strange indescribable dreams, which were repeated 
 "quite frequently. It was as if space was occupied with 
 "a multitude of concentric circles, the outer ones im- 
 " measurably vast, I myself being the common centre. 
 " They seemed to revolve and converge upon me, causing 
 " a most painful sensation of dread. I do not know that 
 " I had heard, and I was too young to have read, the 
 "description of Ezekiel's ' dreadful wheels.' " 
 At the age of four, the instinct of the future naturalist 
 W3« first aroused, as in later years he was fond of repeating, 
 by a vision which imprinted itself upon his memory with 
 
 :% 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 II 
 
 :, she 
 r the 
 rcver, 
 
 ;'s for 
 slated 
 arable 
 
 <inner 
 tcr on 
 dance. 
 
 been 
 porary 
 tution. 
 vener- 
 is their 
 Street. 
 I's way. 
 
 which 
 
 shown, 
 mcnted 
 
 myself. 
 
 m some 
 
 ;peatcd 
 
 led with 
 
 [ics im- 
 
 ccntre. 
 [causing 
 low that 
 
 :ad, the 
 
 ituralist 
 ll)eating, 
 |ry with 
 
 perfect clearness. Being alone in the Springwell Fields, 
 from amidst the tall ripening wheat he saw rise, close to 
 the footpath, and within a few yards of him, a large white 
 grallatorial bird, which he was afterwards sure was the 
 great white heron, or else the stork ; both of them, even 
 in 1 8 14, very rare English birds. In the next winter, 
 between his fourth and fifth years, the child observed, with 
 much interest, a robin, sitting day after day, pouring forth 
 his cheery song from the corner brick of the summit of the 
 parlour-chimney in Skinner Street, right above the yard, 
 in which the delighted Philip stood watching him. Of his 
 slightly later inclinations towards natural history, a note of 
 his own shall speak more fully : — 
 
 " My love for natural history was very early 
 "awakened. In Mr. Brown's library was a complete 
 " series of Ilucyclopadia PcrtJicnsis, of which father also 
 "possessed the first seven volumes. For some time 
 " I was accustomed to call this Encyclopicdia Parcutlwsis. 
 "Well, the plates of animals in tin"s work, poor as they 
 " were, John and I were never tired of studying, and in 
 " later years of copying. Ikit at Uncle Gosse's I had 
 "the opportunity of looking over the Cyclopicdia 
 " Pantologia, which, though a work of inferior value, had 
 " much more pretentious figures of animals, nicely 
 "coloured. Aunt Bell and Cousin Salter both cultivated 
 " natural history, and when I found any specimen that 
 " appeared to me curious, jr beautiful, or strange, I 
 " would take it to Aunt 15cll, with confidence that I 
 "should learn something of its history from her. I 
 "learned something of the metamorphosis of insects 
 " from her, though I'do not recollect actually rearing any 
 "caterpillars except that of the gooseberry or magpie 
 " moth {Abraxas grossulaviatii), I used not unfrcquently 
 "to find the pretty ermine moths (both the buff and 
 
12 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " the white) under the window ledges, and once we 
 " found on the doorstep a very large moth with light 
 "brown deflected wings, which Aunt Bell took for her 
 " cabinet. I presume it was one of the cggers. A 
 " little later I found, at very low springtides, around 
 " Poole quays, the common forms of Actinia mcsein- 
 " bryanthenmm, but I think no other species of sea- 
 " anemone. Aunt Bell taught me their name of 
 " Actinia, and suggested that I should keep them alive 
 "in a vessel of sea-water. I recollect finding a very 
 "showy specimen of the strawberry variety, round by 
 "Oakley's Quay. It was too much trouble to get fresh 
 " sea-water, and there was nothing known in those days 
 "of aquarian philosophy, so the poor things were kept 
 " involved in their mucus until the water stank and they 
 "had to be thrown away. I well recollect them stand- 
 " ing in jugs of sea-water in the kitchen window." 
 To " Aunt Bell," then, belongs the distinction of having 
 been the first person to suggest the preservation of living 
 animals in aquaria of sea-water. This was Susan, the 
 fourth and by far the most intellectual of the children of 
 William Gosse ; she was remarkable for her gracious 
 sentimental manners, and for a devotion to science, then so 
 rare in a woman as to be almost unique. She had been born 
 in 1752, had in 17S8 married Mr. ]5ell, a surgeon of Poole, 
 and was the mother of Thomas Bell, afterwards an F.R.S. 
 and a distinguished zoologist. P'rom this cousin my 
 father in later life received much sympathy, but they did 
 not meet in the youth of the latter. Thomas Bell was 
 eighteen years my father's senior, and left Poole for Guy's 
 Hospital in 1H13. At home in Skinner Street, the early 
 partiality for animals vvas not welcomed so warmly as by 
 Aunt Bell :— 
 
 "Constitution Hill, not quite two miles from Poole, on 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 13 
 
 )n 
 
 "the Ringwood Road, was the h'mit of my walking in 
 "this direction, but here, scrambling up a gravelly cliff 
 " on the left, on a broad expanse of heath, with a fine 
 "view on all sides, one day in summer, probably in 
 "1819 or '20, we caught some beautiful green lizards, 
 " which I incline, from recent evidence, to believe were 
 " the true Laccrta viridis of continental Europe, not- 
 " withstanding what Thomas Bell says in his ' British 
 " Reptiles.' William brought them home in his hand- 
 " kerchief; but on showing our treasures to mother, 
 "she was terribly frightened, supposing them to be 
 " venomous. She ordered us to kill the ' nasty things,' 
 " which of course we immediately did, though with great 
 " regret, on the pebbles in front of the house. 
 If Mrs. Gosse lacked a due appreciation of reptiles, she 
 was none the less an admirable mother. Her life was by 
 no means an easy one. The peculiarity of her husband's 
 profession made him absent from home for ten or eleven 
 months of every year, and during his prolonged journeys 
 all the responsibility fell upon her. The income of the 
 family was extremely restricted, yet she contrived all 
 through the anxious period of their childhood .0 bring up 
 three sons and one daughter in what they were able to 
 look back upon as a "reputable subgentility ; " she took 
 care that they were always clean in person and neat in cloth- 
 ing, sufficiently fed and decently educated. Mr. (iosse's 
 earnings were not very considerable, were so irregular that 
 they could not be depended upon, and were t(j a large 
 degree expended by himself in his ceaseless wanderings. 
 But his wife had an abhorrence and terror of debt, and 
 rarely indeed was the rent not paid on the very day it 
 was due. To secure this, the greatest frugality and 
 industry were required, and ceaseless exercise of ingenuity. 
 Between Mrs. Gosse and her husband there was an ever- 
 
 i 
 
^^Wi?BS 
 
 ^^^1^ 
 
 mmm 
 
 14 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I 
 
 widcninrr alienation, arising from their wholly different 
 habits of thought and life. Each respected the other, but 
 the peculiarities and weaknesses of the painter jarred more 
 and more on the narrow sympathies and practical energy 
 of his wife. It was an unceasing matter of dispute between 
 them that my grandfather was always scribbling. For, in 
 truth, he was a most voluminous writer, producing volumes 
 upon volumes of manuscripts, which he was always en- 
 deavouring, and always vainly, to palm off upon the pub- 
 lishers. I lis works were varied enough — talcs, dialogues, 
 allegories, philosophical treatises, in verse as well as in 
 prose. He completed two epic poems, if not more ; T/ie 
 English Cn'iu zviiitcying in Spit:zbcrgcn i\\\f\ The Attempts 
 of the Cainitc Giants to re-conqiier Paradise still languish 
 in the family possession. Mr. Thomas Gosse is perhaps 
 unique as a very voluminous author who never contrived 
 to publish a line. My grandmother, soon perceiving that 
 all this writing brought no grist to the mill, and even 
 interfered with the painting of miniatures, which was 
 fairly lucrative, waged incessant and ruthless war against 
 it, scrupled not to style it " that cursed writin'," and 
 scolded him whenever she found him at it. Many years 
 after, when Philip was in the stream of successful literary 
 life, and indeed supporting both parents in their old age 
 by his pen, the war still continued. Grandfather would 
 meekly object, " But there's Philip ; he writes books ; you 
 don't find fault with Jiim ! " " Philip ! no, his books bring 
 in bread-and-cheese for you and me ! When did your 
 writings ever bring in anything .?" And the meek author 
 of the Cainitc Giants would fal! back on his favourite 
 ejaculation, "Pooh ! my dear ! " and let the discussion drop. 
 Like all prudent housewives, Mrs. Gosse had a strong 
 aversion to tramps. Her husband, on the contrary, was 
 as easy a prey to them as the great Bishop Butler was, 
 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 lid 
 ou 
 
 ng 
 lur 
 
 lor 
 
 lite 
 
 )p. 
 
 fig 
 ras 
 
 IS, 
 
 and squandered his halfpence on their ill-desert. Once, 
 when the family was at dinner, a bcgc^ar strolled to the 
 door ; the maid came in and told the talc. My grand- 
 mother refused — " Nothing for him ! " But grandfather's 
 soft compassionate heart stayed the denial. " Oh yes ! 
 here's a halfpenny for the poor man." The beggar who, 
 through the open parlour-door, had heard all, shouted in, 
 as he took the copper, " God bless the man, — but not the 
 woman ! " 
 
 Thomas Gosse was a great reader, especially of poetry, 
 but his wife had no approval for this exercise either. In 
 later years the children often recallctl \\ow he would, while 
 engaged in finishing a miniature in the back parlour, lay 
 down his brush and take u[) a volume of verse, till, on 
 hearing Mrs. Gossc's footstep in the passage, he would 
 hastily whip it under his little green-baize desk and set to 
 work on the ivory. I\Iy father well remembered the bor- 
 rowing of Scott's Lady of the Lake and the Lord of the 
 Isles in their original quartos, and especially, about 1S16, 
 the arrival of a batch of Byron's Talcs, then quite new, and 
 in particular The Sie_<^e of Coriiiih. These my grandfather 
 read and re-read with an evident delight, to the irreat 
 curiosity of his little second son, in whom the literary 
 instinct was already faintly awakened ; but the pleasure 
 was confined to himself as a matter of course, since Mrs. 
 Gosse, from her absolute ignorance of books, could not 
 have appreciated or even comprehended it. 
 
 When the miniature-painter was expected home from 
 one of his journeys, his little sons, cvem'ng after evening in 
 summer-time, would go up to the Angel Inn in the Market 
 Place, and wait on the pavement till the Salisbury coach 
 came rumbling in. The particular day of his coming was 
 never announced, and the children would be often disap- 
 pointed, till at length one evening they would see the white 
 
 1^ 
 
■■> 
 
 
 i6 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I I 
 
 hair, the strange costume, the familiar tall thin figure on 
 the box. The dress in which he would reappear was ever 
 a subject of speculation. Once he arrived in yellow-topped 
 boots and nankeen small-clothes ; another time in a cut- 
 away, snuff-coloured coat ; and once in leather breeches. 
 Expostulation on these occasions was thrown away ; his 
 unfailing resource under my grandmother's sarcasm was, 
 " Pooh ! the tailor told me it was proper for me to have ! " 
 His copious head of hair had grown pure silver before he 
 was fifty, and was extremely becoming. In spite of the 
 beautiful and venerable appearance with which nature had 
 supplied him, he nourished a guilty hankering after a 
 brown wig. My grandmother had long suspected the 
 existence of such a piece of goods, but he had never had 
 the temerity to produce it at home. At last, however, 
 when Philip was thirteen or fourteen years of age, the old 
 gentleman came home from his travels daringly adorned 
 with the lovely snuff-coloured peruke. My grantl mother 
 was no paltercr. Her first salute was to snatch it off his 
 head, and to whip it into the fire, where the possessor was 
 fain ruefully to watch it frizzle and consume. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Gosse had collected a considerable mass 
 of miscellaneous literary information, and his son after- 
 wards often regretted that he so seldom felt drawn to 
 impart it to his children. The memory of his second son 
 would certainly have borne away the greater portion of 
 any instruction so given, and as a very extraordinary 
 instance of the child's retentive power, I may mention 
 the following fact : — My father happened once to relate to 
 me a conversation he had with his father about the year 
 1823 — that is to say, nearly half a century previously — in 
 the course of which Mr. Thomas Gosse had quoted a 
 .'.■:anza of a poem on the Norman Conquest, in which there 
 "ere many Saxonisms. This stanza my father had never 
 
 the 
 
 for 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 17 
 
 mass 
 .ftcr- 
 n to 
 d son 
 on of 
 jnary 
 nition 
 late to 
 year 
 ly — in 
 Ited a 
 there 
 never 
 
 heard a second time, had never met with in any book, and 
 yet remembered so perfectly that I, happening to recollect 
 the source, begged him (in 1869) to write it down. He 
 did so literally as follows : — 
 
 "With thilka force he hit him to the ground, 
 And was demaisin^ how to take his life ; 
 When from iK-hiiul he L^at a trcach'rous wound, 
 
 Given by De Torcy with a stabl)ing knife. 
 O trcach'rous Normans ! if such acts ye do, 
 The conc[uer'd may claim victory of you." 
 
 The passage comes from the twenty-eighth stanza of 
 Chatterton's Battle of Hastinj^s No. i, and the divergencies 
 are so extremely slight and unimportant that they merely 
 add to the impression of the extraordinary tenacity of a 
 memory which could retain these words from childhood to 
 old age after only hearing them once recited. 
 
 In a paper which has been printed since his death,^ my 
 father has described the schooling which he enjoyed m 
 Poole. After having imbibed a slender stream of tuition 
 successively from Ma'am Sly, and from a slightly more 
 advanced Ma'am Drew, at the age of eight he joined his 
 elder brother at the school of one Charles Sells, whose 
 establishment was at that time the best day school in 
 Poole. While he was there, Mrs. Gossc " would sometimes, 
 for economy, keep us at home a quarter to carry on our 
 studies in the back garret by ourselves. We were indus- 
 trious, and mother was on the keen look-out, and wc did 
 not miss much." It was before this, in 181 5, that Philip 
 began to form a friendship which lasted, with only one 
 momentary interruption, until adolescence and the un- 
 timely death of his friend. John Hammond Brown was 
 the nephew of a widow lady, a Mrs. Josiah Brown, who 
 
 "A Country Day School Seventy Years Ago," in Longman's Magazine 
 for March, 1S89, 
 
i8 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 
 lodged in the Skinner Street house in succession to the 
 fair professors of tlie mystery of Poonah-painting. The 
 two little boys, who were identical in age, and who shared 
 several peculiarities of temperament which were not 
 found in any of their playmates, immediately became and 
 remained inseparable companions from morning to night. 
 My father has recorded, " My tastes were always literary. 
 As early as I can recollect, a book had at any time more 
 attraction for me than any game of play. And my plays 
 were quiet ; I always preferred my single playmate, John 
 Brown, to many." In another note I find this statement 
 enlarged : — 
 
 "From infancy my tastes were bookish. I can recall 
 "myself, when a very tiny boy, stretched at full length 
 "on the hearth-rug before the parlour fire, reading with 
 "eager delight some childish book; and this as an 
 "ordinary habit. The earliest books I read were, I 
 " iWxuk, London Cries, The History of Little Jack, and 
 " Prince Leboo. Old Mrs. Thompson, our former land- 
 " lady, gave me a Sparrman's Travels in South Africa 
 "and the East Indies. This became one of my most 
 " valued books, yet, owing to my morbid bashfulness, I 
 "could not be persuaded to formally thank the old lady 
 " for her gift, Robinson Crusoe was an early delight, of 
 "course, and Pilgrims Progress another. This latter 
 " I knew nearly by heart when I was ten or twelve years 
 "old. It was the first part only that we had. 
 "Christiania's adventures I did not know until loncf 
 " after, and when I came to read them they never 
 "possessed for me the same charni as Christian's. I 
 "could not persuade myself that they were genuine." 
 The first break in the monotony of the child's life 
 occurred when he was nine jears old. For seven years 
 Mrs. Gosse had not seen her parents, and in order that 
 
CiriT.DHOOD. 
 
 19 
 
 that 
 
 she mjfijht ^o to Titton, it was necessary first of all to 
 find a place where she could leave her children. They 
 were accordincjly boarded at the house of a farmer in the 
 villac^e of Canford Parva, a mile from Wimborne. This 
 was tlic first experience of the country, or of anythincf but 
 the tarry quays of I'oolc, which the children had enjoyed. 
 My father's memory of it was very vivid, but it was divided 
 between the meadows and the orchards, on one hand, and 
 a store of the highly coloured romances, by Miss Porter and 
 Lady Morgan, which had just come into fashion, and had 
 found their way down into a cupboard of the Dorset farm- 
 house. It was here, moreover, that he read Fat lie r Clemoit, 
 and formed, at the tender age of nine, the basis of that 
 violent prejudice against the Roman Catholic faith and 
 practice which he retained all through life. At Canford 
 Magna there was a nunnery, and the precocious little 
 Protestant shuddered in passing it, with a vague notion of 
 the terrible practices which, no doubt, were the occupation 
 of its inmates. 
 
 It is pleasanter, and more agreeably characteristic, to 
 note that the event wliich, above all others, illuminated 
 the visit to Canford Parva was the discovery of a king- 
 fisher's nest. Just beyond the farm, a short and narrow 
 lane ran down to a bend of the river Stour. In this lane 
 there was a low gravelly cliff over a horse-pond. P'rom 
 a hole in this cliff the child used to watch the brilliant 
 little gem fly out many times a day, and as often return ; 
 while, by going a few rods further, the bird could be seen 
 coursing to and fro over the breadth of the river, sitting 
 on the low horizontal branches, or swooping down for fish. 
 The child was already naturalist enough fully to ai)preciate 
 the interest of this incident. The visit to Canford Parva 
 was the only stay in a rural English district which my father 
 enjoyed until, in middle life, he came to reside in Devonshire. 
 
jiu I '"i.iu.'i.k> .ii.M.jmm 
 
 20 
 
 r///r L/FE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 Next year, in July, 1S20, the boys had another brief 
 outin_!^, this time by sea to Swanat^c. It was haymakinf^ 
 time, and they were playing in the hayfield, whence the 
 crop was being carried until pretty late in the evening. It 
 was quite dark, when I'hilip found, moving rapidly through 
 the short mown grass, already wet with dew, a half-grown 
 conger eel, though the field was a long way, perhaps half 
 a mile, from the seashore. The incident was a decidedly 
 curious one ; though far from unprecedented, and, in fact, 
 mentioned by Yarrell as having occurred within his experi- 
 ence. About the end of this same year, Poole, like other 
 country towns, was almost universally illuminated on 
 occasion of the termination of the trial of Queen Caroline 
 in accordance with popular sympathy. The house of the 
 Gosses became, on this occasion, the cynosure of Skinner 
 Street, for while neighbours were content with a candle 
 or two in each window, the Gosse b^ys adorned their front 
 with heads and figures borrowed from out of the paternal 
 portfolio — the queen at full length, a dark bandit who did 
 duty for " Non mi ricordo" Majocchi, a priest, a scara- 
 mouch, and other vaguely effective personalities, handsomely 
 illuminated from behind. 
 
 The fust incident which could be called a landmark in 
 this uneventful career was the departure of the elder 
 brother to make his way in the world. Early in 1822, 
 William, being fourteen years old, sailed from Poole for 
 service in the firm of his uncle, in the port of Carbonear, 
 Newfoundland. Philip accompanied him on board the 
 ship, returning in the pilot's boat, and William's last act 
 was to tie a comforter round his brother's throat just as 
 the latter was leaving the ship. This mark of brotherly 
 care would bring tears into the younger boy's eyes for 
 months afterwards, whenever he thought of it. It 
 appears that the departure of William drew more 
 
 % 
 
CirrLDHOOD. 
 
 i\ 
 
 in 
 
 der 
 
 [822, 
 
 for 
 lear, 
 the 
 act 
 ;t as 
 lerly 
 for 
 It 
 lore 
 
 V 
 
 attention to Philip, whose curious cleverness in certain un- 
 f.imiliar direction;; began from this time to be more aiul 
 more a subjuct of h)cal talk. In s[)ite of his moilier's 
 absence of cthication, she knew the vahie of book-lcaniin;^, 
 and tlie aptitude which her second son slioweil imhiced 
 her to make jiecuh'ar sacrifices for liis advantaLje. Slie 
 was determined to give liim a chance of acquiring some 
 knowledge of Latin, and in Januar>', 1.S23, she contrived to 
 get liim admitted into the well-known scIujcjI at Blandford. 
 Of his brief stay in this school not many memorials exist. 
 But one anecdote may not be thougiit too trivial to relate, 
 because it illustrates the early development of the boy's 
 independent curiosity in all matters connected with 
 literature : — 
 
 " One day, when we boys were out walking on the 
 " VVimbornc Road, and had just come to the opening 
 "of Snow's VoWy and Hanger Down, an eklerly 
 "gentleman with a long beard met us, and gathering the 
 "elder boys around him, began to question us abc^ut 
 "learning. He pulled an I'lton Latin Grammar from 
 
 "his pock'ct, and turning to the examjile ' —nee hujus 
 
 " ' existimo, qui me pili a;stimat,' asked us to explain 
 " it. Several, in an instant, ^-^//^//v/it'd^ it, correctly enough, 
 "'Nor do I regard him this, who esteems me not a hair.' 
 " ' Yes,' said our bearded friend, ' that is the translation, 
 "'but I want the meaning; what is meant by this?' 
 "All were dumb, till I, whose curiosity had long before 
 " been exercised on this very point, having guessed out 
 "for myself, unaided, the solution, snapped my fingers at 
 "the word 'this', as I repeated it to him. He inimcdi- 
 " atcly approved my answer, and praised mc before the 
 "others as ' a thinker.'" 
 
 W hen my father, however, in later years was desired to 
 recall the incidents of this part of his boyish life, he was 
 
32 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 apt to recollect more clearly when the narcissus bloomed 
 in fields beside the Stour, and where yellow froths of an 
 uncommon marking were to be found, than what boys more 
 usually remember. Yet he never failed hii^hly to appreciate 
 the education which he receivetl during these months, the 
 only classical training w hich he ever enjoyed. I lis favourite 
 walk was over the race-down to Tarrant Monkton, along 
 the course of that primitive telegraph, on the six-shutter 
 princi[)le, which had been opened by Government to connect 
 London with Weymouth in the course of the Naj)oleonic 
 wars. Of the working of this line of telegraj)!!, a i)icturesquc 
 account is given in Mr. Hardy's admirable Dorset novel, 
 T/ie Trumpet Major. In summer my father used to 
 wander off, across Lord Portman's park, to the bend in the 
 river just below Stourpaine, w!ierc the "clotes," the water- 
 lilies, grow thickest ; and in after years, Uxjking back on 
 these childish excursions, he used to repeat with peculiar 
 gusto those exquisite lines of William Barnes' — 
 
 " Wi' eiirms a-sprcaden, .tu' cheiiks a-blowcn, 
 How proud wcr I when I vu'st could zwim 
 Athirt the i)lcac:e where tliou bist a-growen, 
 Wi' thy long more vroni the bottom dim ; 
 While cowH, knee-high, O, 
 In brook, wer nigh, O, 
 Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote ! " 
 
 The inseparable John Brown had accompanied his friend 
 to Blandford, and these two weresuf'lcient unto themselves 
 throughout their school-days there. My father, at no time 
 of life much given to promiscuous r uuiality, does not seem 
 to have formed lasting acquaintanceships with any of his 
 Blandford schoolfellows, John Brown and he continued 
 their zoological studies with unabated ardour, and at this 
 time began to make coloured drawings of animals with 
 great assiduity. In 1S24 Wombweiri: travelling me- 
 
 I 
 
 % 
 
 '4. 
 
mniiii w 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 n 
 
 friend 
 
 Isclvcs 
 
 time 
 
 seem 
 
 lof his 
 
 [inued 
 
 [t this 
 
 with 
 
 me- 
 
 
 na^erie arrived at lUandford. The two youncf naturaHsts 
 were excessively interested in a canvas paintin^j on tlic 
 booth, which advertised an animal unknown to either of 
 them by name or fii^ure. This was "The Fierce Xon- 
 dcscript, never before seen in this Country alive." John 
 Brown, to allay his feverish curiosity, contrived overni^L;ht 
 an interview with the attendant, who confessed that the 
 Nondescript was also sometimes known by the less 
 mysterious name of the tortoiseshell hyena. This, on 
 the followint^ day, was found to be the case, and the boys 
 had the deli^dit of seeing the South African hyena or 
 Cape huntin;j;-dog {Lycaoit picttts),x\o\v familiar to Ent:jlish 
 sightseers, but in those days a quadruped never before 
 secured by any travelling menagerie. 
 
 Phili[) was at Blandford until the en' of the first 
 term of 1S24. He acquired during his one full year at 
 ]ilandford a good fundamental knowledge of Latin and 
 the elements of Greek, being well grounded in the grammar 
 of the former language. His vocabulary in Latin was 
 not extensive ; he had read but few authors, and only 
 Virgil at all thoroughly, yet he had secured an acquaintance 
 with the language which was of great service Lo him in 
 later life, and which he steadily increased until quite recent 
 years. Like all boys who are destined to be men of letters, 
 he began to versify, and such specimens of hir, early rhymes 
 as have been preserved from his Blandford days show that 
 he was beginning to secure facility in the arrangement of 
 phrases. The expense of keeping him at boarding-school 
 now became more than the household at l^ooie could 
 sustain any longer, and he came home early in his fifteenth 
 year. For the next twelvemonth he continued his studies 
 as well as he could with none, or with at best very in- 
 adequate local help. 
 
 At fifteen Philip Gossc was a broad-shouldered, healthy 
 
24 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 boy, sliort for his aoc, with a profusion of straight dark- 
 brown hair on his Iicad, and a dark complexion which he 
 inherited froiu his falhcr. He describes himself at that age 
 as "a burly lad, tolerably educated, pretty well read, fairly 
 well behaved, habitually truthful, modest, obedient, timid, 
 shy, studious, ingenuous." It was time for him to begin 
 bread-winning, but what was to be done with him ? Poole 
 was a town of merchants. His brother William had 
 entered life in a merchant's counting-house ; why should 
 not he? His parents had kind and influential friends, and 
 one of them spoke to Mr. Garland, the much-respected 
 head of a large mercantile house in the Newfoundland trade. 
 There was a junior place vacant in his Poole business, and 
 he sent permission for Philip to call on him. Accordingly, 
 Mrs. Gosse took him to the office, where the kind and genial 
 old gentleman readily offered to engage the boy as a junior 
 clerk, at a salary of i^20 per annum to begin with. This, 
 of course, would not pay for his food, yet it was better than 
 lying idle, and there were hopes that it might lead to some- 
 thing better. The proposal was thankfully accepted. 
 
 The counting-house of Messrs. George Garland and 
 Sons was a spacious old-fashioned apartment, adapted from 
 a sort of corridor in the rambling family mansion. The 
 whole of one side, except an area at the doors which was 
 shut off by a rail, was occupied by three ample desks, which 
 looked down into the back-yard. The first of these desks 
 was occupied by Mr. lulward Lisby, chief clerk, a spruce 
 little man of about twenty-thice. The.econd was assigned 
 to young Gosse, and the third remained untenanted. Each 
 clerk was ensconced in a den, since each several desk was 
 surrounded by a dark wainscot wall, around the summit of 
 which ran a set of turned rails. Mr. Lisby was very silent ; 
 the new clerk was very shy ; and a portentous hush, broken 
 only by the squeaking of pens, was accustomed to reign in 
 
CfriLDITOOD. 
 
 25 
 
 pa 
 lin 
 
 that solemn apartment. There was not nearly work enough 
 to keep the boy employed, and he enjoyed a great deal of 
 leisure. The time he spent at Air. Garland's office was 
 very pleasant. The further end of tlie counting-house was 
 occupied by an antique bookcase, in which were many old 
 books and a few new ones. There was an extensive series 
 of the Centlcnians Magazine, and another of the 'J'oi<.'n and 
 Coiii/try Magazine ; and these the boy read witli great 
 avidity. But, far more important to record, it was in this 
 bookcase that Philip discovered a volume which exercised, 
 as he has said, "a more powerful fascination upon me than 
 anything which I had ever read." This was the first 
 edition of Byron's Laya,\\\c issue of iS 14, with Roger's 
 Jacqueline printed at the end of it. To the close of his 
 days my father used to avow, with rising heat, that it was 
 most impertinent of Rogers to pour out his warm water by 
 the side of Byron's wine. Lara he had till now, in 1S25, 
 never even heard of, but as he read antl re read, devourmg 
 the romantic poem with an absorbing interest which 
 obliterated the world about him, almost the entire book 
 imprinted itself upon his memory, and remained there 
 indelibly impressed. The reading of Lara, he says, " was 
 an era to me ; for it was the dawning of Poetry on my 
 imagination. It appeared to me that I had acquired a new 
 sense. Before this I liad, of course, read some poetry, 
 many standard pieces of the eighteenth centur)-, including 
 something of Cowper, Thomson, ;!n'.l Shcnstone ; but 
 Shakespeare, Milton, and Dry den I knew onl)' by the 
 extracts in my school-books, and of the modern sensational 
 school nothing at all." About the same time, the two 
 volumes of Wordsworth's I^yrical Ballads came into his 
 hands, and caused him great pleasure, tame, however, it must 
 be confessed, in comparison with his ecstatic enjoyment of 
 Byron's talc. 
 
 II 
 
 % 
 

 26 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP ItENRY GOSSE. 
 
 1 . : 
 
 l\ 
 
 There was in the office bookcase a copy of Scarron's 
 Roman Comiqjic in Enc^lish, and the broad humour of this 
 farcical chissic dch"L;"hted the boy amazingly, although its 
 coarseness a little shocked him. He enjoj-ed it iufmitely 
 more than Don Quixote, which he had read a short t'me 
 before. " Perhaps my boyish mind," he says, " could not 
 appreciate the polished wit and satire of Cervantes so well 
 as the broad grins and buffoonery of Scarron." But Don 
 Quixote was a book to which he retained through life an 
 inexplicable aversion. Another novel in the office book- 
 case was the immortal yfAT/// Andreivs, with which he was 
 so greatly charmed that, on a second perusal, he could not 
 refrain from taking it home to read aloud in the evenings 
 for the delectation of his mother and his sister. The 
 rough expressions which he had not observed as he read 
 the book to himself, however, became painfully patent 
 when propounded openly by the fireside, and he found, 
 what others have discovered before and since, \\\c\\. JoscpJi 
 Andrczus, noble as it is, is one of the male children of the 
 Muses ; he had to make an excuse and leave the tale half 
 told. Among other literary stores laid up in this delight- 
 ful bookcase were the " Peter Porcupine " pamphlets of 
 William Cobbett, and these, when everything else was 
 exhausted, were waded through for lack of better reading 
 in many unoccupied hours. 
 
 John Brown remained at school in Blandford until mid- 
 summer, 1825, when the friends were once more reunited 
 in Poole. He was presently put into a counting-house on 
 the Quay, and after office-hours, which closed at five in 
 each case, the two lads were always together. They read 
 and studied science together, tried their hands at music, 
 and stained their clothes with chemicals, on one occasion 
 coming near to a public scandal with the unparalleled 
 success of an artificial volcano. A large room at the top 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 27 
 
 Ig 
 
 ill 
 
 :d 
 
 of the house now occupied by John Brown's mother they 
 turned into a studio and worlvroom. Jolin was me- 
 chanical, rhih'p inclined to the arts, both were equally 
 bookish. One exijerinieiit of theirs mildly foreshadowed 
 a famous invLiit'on of our own day. Philip contrived to 
 make an acoustic tube of the rain-spout that led from a 
 guttjr within the parapet of his mother's house all down 
 th J ficnt of the l:ouse to the street, and into this sort of 
 speaking-tube, the si)caker bein<;^ concealed close beneath the 
 roof, he used to brcatiie projjhutic utterances, which rose 
 as if from the pavement, to the alarm of mystified passers- 
 by. But the serious amusement or main studious enter- 
 tainmcpt of ihc boys was zoology. From every available 
 souice tl;'\\' added to their knowledge of natural history, 
 eagerly \' ading up for the dimensions, colours, postures, 
 and habits general!}' of the piincipal (juadrupeds and birds. 
 This, with iu'^essant copying of cuts and [)lates of animals, 
 could not fail to give them both a solid substratum of 
 zoological knowledge. 
 
 At sixteen they were children still, unsophisticated, 
 bashful, an.d ignorant of the world, far more interested in 
 such a show as Sir Ashton Lever's travelling exhibition 
 of natural history than in any public events or local 
 politics. It was the ci^ilection which I have just mentioned 
 which first awakoii,.d in Phih'p Gosse one (A the master 
 passions of hi-, life. .1 love of exotic lepidojitera. The 
 Lever Museum con.anied rue of the grand silver-blue 
 butterflies of South .\ p.erica, — it was probably Morpho 
 Mcnclaus — and this created an extraf)rdinary longing in 
 the boy's heart to go out and ca[)lurc such imperial 
 creatures for himself It was outside this show that was 
 exhibited the portrait of a mermaiJ, "radiant in feminine 
 loveliness ami t.'-ic>ne scaliness." But the boy had studied 
 his zoology wi'li iwi too much care to be deceived for one 
 
28 
 
 THE LIFE OF n/ILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I' 
 
 moment by the real object, a shrivelled and blackened 
 little thin_c( comi)o;,cd by the in<;cnuity of some rascally 
 Japanese fisherman out of the head and shoulders of a 
 monkey and the body and tail of a sahn;m. It was in the 
 year 1826 that I'hilip made his first debut in the world of 
 letters, in a ^xry humble way. He composed a little 
 article on "The Mouse a Lover of INIusic," and sent it to 
 the editor of the Youth's Magazine. It was usual, in those 
 days, to get the local M.P., so far as his good nature ex- 
 tended, to frank your letters, and the bo)- appeared early 
 at the door of Mr. Lester, the member for Poole. Me 
 had addressed the envelope to ' • •ublishers, "j\Iessrs. 
 Hamilton, Adams, and Co.;" th . lan, as he took it 
 
 in, misread the " Messrs." for " Miss, and benevolently 
 smiling, rallied the lad on its being "for his young lady." 
 The member fr.ink-cd it, however, and in due time, to the 
 inexpressible joy o{ its author, " 'I'he Mouse a Lover of 
 Music " appeared, signed <l'</\(7r, in the pages of the YoutJis 
 Magazine. 
 
 One da}', in 1826, he had a narrow escape from death 
 by drowni-ng. Standing at the q.(\^c of the quay just 
 behind his employers' business premises, he suddenly 
 slipped down between the quay and one of Garlands' 
 brigs which was anchored there. By an extraordinary 
 good fortune he fell astride a spar which happened to be 
 lashed alongside at that point, acting as a " fender," and 
 he was hoistetl up again, jarred and terrified, but unhurt, 
 having escaped the death of a rat by a mere har. '-breadth. 
 A further stage in his imaginative susceptibility was marked 
 this year by his enjoyment of Campbell's Last Man^ then 
 recently published in the Nciv Mont/ily Magazine. He 
 thought it very noble, as indeed it is, but in making copies 
 of it for his friends he must needs, an infant Bcntley, be 
 
 m 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 39 
 
 IS 
 
 )e 
 
 hd 
 
 .h. 
 led 
 Icii 
 lie 
 |cs 
 )e 
 
 tampering with the text, and, in his remarkable revision, 
 a line — 
 
 "The aggregate of woe," 
 
 takes the place of Campbell's (truly rather feeble) 
 
 "That shall no longer flow ! " 
 
 Employment at the Garlands' office came to a natural 
 end towards the close of 1826, when they found they had 
 no further use for a junior clerk. Airs. Gosse became 
 anxious once more, and was constantly urging Philip to 
 " show himself about on the Quay," that the sight of him 
 might keep him in the mind of mercantile acquaiiitar.ces. 
 But he had no liking for the babel of the Quay, and after 
 going thither he used immediately to take himself off over 
 the ferry to Ham, where he would sit for hours in ore of 
 the vessels building in the shipwrights' yards, reading 
 some book which he had bnnight in his pocket. Friends, 
 however, would appear to have noticed him as he strolled 
 across, or else their memories needed no such refreshing, 
 for at length, as the spring of 1827 came on, the firm of 
 Messrs. Harrison, Slade, and Co. offered the lad employ- 
 ment as a clerk in their counting-house at the port of 
 Carboncar, in Newfoundland. lie dreadeil expatriation, 
 and this proposal did not meet with his wishes ; his 
 mother, however, promptly vetoed all objection on his 
 part, and he presently signed an agreement to go out for 
 six years to the American counting-house, on a very small 
 salary. On Sunday morning, Ajiril 21, 1S27, as the bells 
 were ringing the people of I'oole to church, having a 
 few days before completed his seventeenth year, Philip 
 Gosse, with a very heavy heart, slipped down the harbour 
 in a boat and climbed on board the brig Carboncar^ which 
 was lying at Stakes ready to get under way for New- 
 foundland. 
 
 ■I 
 
^^^mmmmmmmmmmm 
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NEWFOUNDLAND. 
 
 1827, 1S28. 
 
 THE brig Carbonear, on which Phih'p Gossc sailed 
 away for the New World, was a poor tub of a craft. 
 Her sailing powers were limited ; the voyagers suffered 
 from a large proportion of westerly winds ; and the voyage 
 extended over not fewer than ♦'orty-s'x days. The preval- 
 ence of fine warm weather, however, the pleasant society 
 onboard, together with the rare faculty of observation which 
 the boy possessed, and could now exercise on so n(n-el a 
 field as the ocean, prevented his feeling the inordinate 
 length of the voyage to be at all tedious. Ikside the 
 captain and mate, there were three other passengers — Luke 
 Thomas, a lad two years younger than Gosse ; a Mr. 
 Phippard, saihnaker to the firm; and Air. Ochlenschlager, a 
 German gentleman from Hamburg, now going out to estab- 
 lish a mercantile connection in St. John's. The grown-up 
 people behaved with great cordiality to the two lads, 
 and they formed a lively party around the cabin-table. 
 Philip's sense of depression at partmg from home was 
 very transient. As soon as he grew accustomed to the 
 sickening motion of the sea, his pleasures began. He 
 soon learned to mo'.nt the rig^Mng, and to take up a 
 pleasant station in the maintop, delighting to : it and read 
 there, in the warm sunshine, with all the turmoil of the 
 
NE WFO UNDLAND. 
 
 31 
 
 r* 
 
 Ic. 
 lis 
 
 o 
 a 
 d 
 
 sliip far below liiin. Of course, the first time tliat he 
 essayed this feat he had to pay his footinf:^, for one of the 
 sailors swarmed up after him, and tied his legs with an 
 end of spun-yarn in the rigging, until he promised to stand 
 treat with a quart of rum. 
 
 He soon found that he could write and even draw 
 without any difficulty on board, in fair weather ; and so he 
 went on with the literary work which had beguiled his 
 young ambition at Poole, a volume of Quadrupeds, copied 
 and described from various books in his possession. This 
 was good practice, though not in any sense an original 
 exercise ; he kept hard at it, however, and it was finished 
 in time to be sent home on the first returning vessel from 
 Carboncar. ]\Iore important, as a work of self-education 
 for the future naturalist, was a copious journal kept for 
 the delectation of the loved ones at home, mainly devoted 
 to the birds and animals seen or conjectured on the 
 voyage, and illustrated by coloured drawings of everything 
 that seemed paintable, such as whales spouting ; porpoises 
 leaping and plunging; petrels, boatswain-birds, " hfjg- 
 downs," and other birds ; Portuguese men-o'-war {P/iysa/ia), 
 of which curious and gorgeous beings they encountered 
 sevc. al ; icebergs ; Cape St. Francis from seaward, and 
 the like. All this, though the adventures which were 
 chronicled were small and trite, was excellent exercise 
 both for pencil and pen. It was while on the Atlantic 
 that the lad found himself, almost suddenly, to have 
 acquired the art of finishing a drawing — of " working-up," 
 as it was termed in the profession of miniature-painting. 
 
 During this voyage, Philip Gosse scrupulously obeyed 
 what had been his mother's final injunction, that he should 
 read his Bible daily. No one else in the ship liad culti- 
 vated the same habit, and, as there was no opportunity 
 for retirement, and as the lad was obliged to brave 
 
 I i 
 
mmmm 
 
 32 
 
 7 IIP. LIFE OF FHILIP IJENRY GOSSE. 
 
 publicity, it was not altogether easy to persevere. His 
 young shipmate, Luke Thomas, looked upon the practice 
 with stern disapproval, and took an opportunity of advising 
 him "to get rid of that sort of thing, as that wouldn't do 
 for Newfoundland." At no period of his life, however, was 
 my fatlicr affected in the slightest degree by considera- 
 tions of this sort. His conscience was a law to him, and 
 a law that he was prepared to obey in face of an army 
 of ridicule drawn up in line of battle. At this time, he 
 was far from having acce[)tcd the vigorous forms of reli- 
 gious belief which he adopted later on. He was not, as he 
 would afterwards have put it, "converted;" he was as other 
 light-hearted boys are, but with the addition of an inflexible 
 determination to do what was right, and in particular what 
 he had i)romiscd to carry out, however unpleasant the 
 performance might prove to be. This was a personal 
 characteristic with him, and one which will be found to 
 have coloured his whole career. In an age which has 
 mainly valued and cultivated breadth of religious feeling, 
 he was almost physiologically predisposed to depth, even 
 at the risk of narrowness. 
 
 At length, on the morning of Wednesday, June 6, 1827, 
 a long line of dim blue, ending in a point, was visible on 
 the western horizon, — Newfoundland apparent at last, in 
 the form of Cape St. Francis, the eastern boundary of 
 Conception Bay, to which the brig was bound. All that 
 day the promontory continued to occupy the same position, 
 for there was very little wind. A noble iceberg of vast 
 dimensions was also in view ; and this, while they were 
 gazing at it, majestically shifted its balance, and turned 
 about one-third over, causing an immense turmoil of water 
 and a swell that was felt for a long time afterwards. To 
 the impatient and imaginative lad, fretting for the con- 
 quest of a new continent, this iceberg seemed no inappro- 
 
NE WFOUNDLAND. 
 
 33 
 
 priatc sentinel to i^uard the approach to those coUl sliorcs. 
 Next mornini:^ Cape St. Francis lay behind them, and the 
 ship was bowlin;^ along with a fair breeze into the ample 
 and beautiful Bay of Conception. The town of Carbo- 
 near (the third in size in the colony, bcinij exceeded only 
 by St. John's and by Harbour Grace) lay near the head 
 of the \o\v^ f^i^il^- I^hilip was aj:^recably surprised by the 
 first siL;ht of the town from on board. It was a much 
 more considerable place than he had expected to find. 
 The number, respectability, antl continuity of the houses ; 
 the crowd of shippin;^^, including^ a fleet of about !-'eventy 
 schooners just about to start for Labrador; the small 
 boats hurryini; to and fro ; the multitude of cries at sea 
 and movement on the shore ; — all these made up a scene 
 very different from the desolation which, in his uninformed 
 fanc}', the lad had imagined of Newfoundland. It was 
 early summer, too ; fields and gardens and potato-patches 
 mapped out the sides of the hills which formed an amphi- 
 theatre around the long lake-like harbour, and verdure 
 was smiling ever}-where up to the very edge of the 
 universal dark environment of pine woods. 
 
 Amonu' the first of thixse who came out in boats to 
 welcome the new-coming ship from England was William 
 Gossc, who, in his fraternal anxiety, had kindly drawn u[) 
 a code of regulations for his brother's behaviour in matters 
 of dei^ortment and etiipiette. I'hilii) was unsophisticated 
 as w( 11 as unaffected; he took this odd attention in the 
 spirit in which it was tendered, and endeavoured 
 scrupulously to observe the jutlicious precepts of his 
 nineteen years old brother. The presence of the Labrador 
 tleet was disturbing, and until these vessels were gone, he 
 was put, for a week or two, under the storekeeper, Mr. 
 •Vpsey. But as soon as the Labrador iiien had sailed 
 away, he took up his permanent place in the counting- 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 house. This office was pleasantly situated in the midst of 
 a large [^arden, in front of the dwelling-house of the firm, 
 the resident member of which was a Air. T.lson. Of the 
 four clerks, the third was William Charles St. John, a 
 lad of about twenty years of age, a native of the neigh- 
 bouring town of Harbour Grace, where his parents resided. 
 His father, Mr. Oliver St. John, belonged to a Protestant 
 Tipperary family, which claimed relationship alike with 
 Cromwell and with Lord Bolingbroke. As the young St. 
 John was destined for many years to be my father's most 
 intimate friend, I will now transcribe his portrait as T find 
 it recorded among my father's notes : — 
 
 "Charley was a youth of manly height, with features 
 " of the Grecian type, exquisitely chiselled, formed in a 
 "very aristocratic mould, to which an aquiline nose of 
 "unusual dimensions gave character. A mouth of 
 "feminine smallness ; a finely cut chin ; a lofty forehead ; 
 " dark eyes and hair, the latter copious, and rather 
 " crisp than lank, completed the physiognomy of my 
 " new acquaintance, which was continually animated 
 "and lighted up by arch smiles, and by the frolic wit 
 "and merry repartee which his prolific brain was 
 " constantly forging. I saw in him a new type of 
 "character; he was a fair sample of the Irish youth at 
 " his best. Sarcastic and keen, ready in reply, un- 
 " abashed, prompt to throw back a Roland for every 
 " Oliver, full of fun and frolic, as ready at a practical as 
 " at a verbal joke, possessing a strong perception of the 
 " ludicrous side of everything, cool and self-possessed, 
 "already a well-furnished man of the world, St. John 
 "presented as great a contrast as can well be imagined 
 " to me. I was thoroughly a greenhorn ; fresh from my 
 " Puritan home and companionships ; utterly ignorant of 
 " the world ; raw, awkward, and unsophisticated ; simple 
 
 I 
 
 9 
 
li 
 
 XtlVfOUXDLAXI). 
 
 35 
 
 in countenance as unsuspicious In mind ; — the very 
 quaintncss of the c(<sturne in which I h.ul l)ccii sent 
 forth from the parental nest told what a yokel I was. 
 A surtout coat of snuff-brown hue, reaching to my 
 ankles, and made out of a worn j;rcat-coat of my 
 uncle Gosse's which had been driven to mother, 
 enveloped my somewhat sturdy body ; for I was 
 
 " ' Totus, teres, atiue rotundas ;' 
 while my intellectual rcj^^ion rejoiced in the protection 
 of a luhiU- hat (forsooth !) somewhat battered in sides 
 and crown, and manifestly the worse for wear. Such 
 was I in outward iruise : the idea of a witticism or 
 repartee, made hot on the occasion, had never entered 
 my noddle ; but then, had I not in my chest those 
 manuscript pages of stale jests, which I had toilfuUy 
 co[)icd out of the Joe Miller, with which I expected to 
 take captive the laugh of the office ? What wonder 
 that I became immediately the butt of so keen an 
 archer as St. John, the inviting centre about which the 
 flashes of his sparkling wit constantly coruscated 
 until at length, by the very inhalation of the 
 atmosphere, I learned gradually to play the same 
 game, and to pa\- him back with his own weapons ? 
 " Intellectually I think we were pretty much on a 
 par. We were both readers, but possibly I had read 
 more books than he ; I had learned Latin at school, he 
 French ; my slight knowledge of natural history was 
 balanced by his acquaintance with chemistry, mainly 
 acquired from Parkes's Chanical Catcchisin, which I 
 had been used to see at John Brown's, l^ut then he 
 was a poet ; at least, he had the art of versification, 
 which, however, he chiefly exercised in semi-doggerel 
 Hudibrastic satirical pieces. A poem a his was extant 
 when I came, on the Methodist Missionary Meeting 
 
 . « 
 
 m 
 
■m 
 
 3*5 
 
 THE LIFE OF nnr.ip nF.vRV gosse. 
 
 "of the preccclinj^ autumn — a merry lampoon on the 
 " preachers, and most of the people of the place, on the 
 " occasion of their t^atherini^. It was very smart and 
 "tellin.L,f, and entertained us fj^reatly. His favourite poet 
 "was Pope, whose Essay on Ma)i he was continually 
 "citin;:^, perhaps because it was dedicated to St. John, its 
 "openinf^ lines running — 
 
 " ' Awake, my St. John, leave all meaner things 
 To low ambition, and the pride of Kings.' 
 
 "The philosophy of this poem, such as it is, formed 
 " another of our staple subjects of discussion. 1 lis mode 
 " of thinkini; was somewhat loosC; dash}', indefinite ; 
 "mine, on the other liand, precise, microscopic, according 
 "to rule. Withal, he was lithe and active in bodily 
 "exercise-;, a skilful and much-admired skater, a 
 "vigorous swimmer, a good leapcr end runner. He 
 "possessed, too, an inexhaustible fimd of good humour; 
 "was a jovial boon-companion on occasion; and, to 
 "crown all, a great favourite with the ladies, being hand- 
 " some, gallant, attentive, with a fluent flattering tongue, 
 " ready wit, and a good store of frivolous conversation, 
 "the sniall-talk which is the spice of life and means 
 " nothing." 
 
 William Charles St. John and Philip Henry Gosse not 
 only became knit in a warm friendship which lasted until 
 circumstances drew them apart, but the former had very 
 much to do in moulding the far from susceptible mind of 
 the latter. At least, their two minds grew very steadily 
 together, in the dail}', hourly, momentary companionship of 
 several years of budding manhood. The two friends Widked 
 together, read together, discussed and disputed together, 
 on every imaginable subject ; in the office they joked 
 together, and spent their spare moments in a never-ending 
 scries of intellectual combats, so that the counting-house 
 
 I 
 
of 
 cd 
 
 ILM", 
 
 ;ed 
 se 
 
 f 
 
 NEWFOUXDLAXD. 3, 
 
 became the arena of constant mental j^Mailiatorship between 
 these ardent and vigorous ^'ounj^ iiitellij^ences, " Whatever 
 of humour or u it in conversation I possess," my father lias 
 written ; " whatever of lo^^Mcal precision of thou<;ht ; what- 
 ever of readiness of speech or power in tlebate, I lar,t;ely 
 owe to those years of merry C(jmpanion.->hip." St. John 
 went to IJoston, U.S.A., where he died on March 13, 
 
 1874. 
 
 The establishment of Mr. IClson in Carbonear was com- 
 posed of two contiLjuous buildini^s — the up[)er house, where 
 the family resided, and where the head of the firm slept ; 
 and the lower house, where all the clerks slept and boardetl, 
 and where Mr. Elson took his meals with them, spendini^ 
 the day from breakfast-time till about eleven o'clock at 
 niijht. The lower house, a larj.jc but 1(jw structure <jf 
 wood, w as old and ramshacklcd ; the only ornament on its 
 rude colonial front, opposite the countin<;-hou .e, was an 
 antique sundial. Immediately before this fagade, and 
 running along its entire extent, was a raised platform of 
 boards, known as "the gallery," so old and rotten that in 
 a year or two it was cleared away and rephu ed by a walk 
 of hard gravel. On this platform it was usual for the 
 officials to assemble, as well as all those captains of ships 
 in port who were free of Mr. l-llson's table, at one o'clock, 
 when a bell aloft was rung as the signal for dinner. Here 
 they would form in knots, conversing, until the man-cook 
 appeared at the door and announced that Mr. h^lson was 
 served. The bedrooms of the clerks were barns of j)laces, 
 destitute of carpet or curtain, the unpainted deal of the 
 walls and floors being black with age. Whatever bedding 
 was required was supplied from the shop, without any 
 supervision from Mr. Klson, and the young fellows took 
 care to sleep warm enough. They made their own beds, 
 and did for themselves whatever service was needed, 
 
mmmFJM 
 
 38 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 \ 
 
 I, 
 
 sweeping each the floor of hi:, room, and performing his 
 ablutions at a sink at the end of the gallery. 
 
 For Sundays there were three places of religious 
 assembly : firstly, the Roman Catholic chapel, attended by 
 the great mass of the working population, as alsc by Mrs. 
 Elson and her daughters; secondly, the Established Church, 
 a small edifice ministered to by the Rev. John l^»urt, who 
 came over for the purpose from his own parish of Harbour 
 Grace, of which he was tlie incumbent ; ami, thirdly, the 
 Methodist chapel, which rivalled the Catholic chapel in the 
 number of its attendants. Mr. Elson was a Freethinker, 
 and attended no religious service. On the first Sunday 
 afternoon at Carbonear, Philip Gossc, feeling much at a loss 
 for occupation, went boldly into the parlour and asked 
 Mr. Prison to lend him a book. He was very kind, entered 
 into conversation with the lad regarding recent literature, 
 and lent him at once two works which were still fresh to the 
 world of readers, The Fortunes oj Nigel and the first scries 
 of the collected Ilssaj's of lilia. As at home in England, 
 so even in Newfoundland, in tliat fortunate age for authors, 
 there was a book-club in every town of any consequence. 
 Of the Carbonear book-club Mr. I'Llson was the president 
 and librarian, and the books were kejit in a closet to which 
 the clerks, most of whom were members of the club, had 
 free access at breakfast-time and on Sundays. New books 
 were bought but once a }'car, when a solemn meeting of 
 members was hcKl in tlie parlour, and the pnrchase of 
 volumes was voted. Tnc choice was mainly left to Mr. 
 lilson himself. Of course there was the usual large pro- 
 portion of novels, of which Gossc became a great devnirer. 
 Most of Scott's, lialwer's. Cooper's, Gait's, and the O'Hara 
 series were to be found at Carbonear witliin a year of their 
 publication in London. 15i(jgrai)hy, poetr}-, travels, and 
 even science wer-j very fairly represented, and the basis of 
 
NE WFO UN D LAND. 
 
 30 
 
 a sound knowlcdjre of contemporary literature could be, 
 and was, formed in this remote harbour of Newfoundland. 
 It would be interesting:;' f.o know whether, in the course of 
 sixty years, the colonial standard of ci\-iH/.ation has risen 
 or fallen, and whether the clerks of the Carbonear of to-day 
 know their Stevenson and their Hajji^ard as well as my 
 lather and his colleagues knew their Buhver and their 
 Banim. At this point I may quote an amusiiv^ letter from 
 the late Mr. W. C. St. John to my father, dated lAIay 25, 
 186S, but referring to events of the year 1.S27 — 
 
 "One of my first experiences with the ' old white iiat' 
 "was an evening's walk on that most delectable of all 
 "turnpikes, Carbonear beach, when the surf-worn stones 
 "spread themselves out so invitingly to one, like your- 
 "sclf, but recently recovered from rheumatism in the 
 "feet. Bad as is my memory, I remember the heads of 
 "our confabulation. You told me about your school 
 "curriculum under one Charles Henry Sells (I think), 
 "and of a further polishing-off under a Unitarian minis- 
 " ten You had begun the French, and had made some 
 "considerable progress in Latin. As I knew nothing 
 "of the latter myself, Ifelt flattered that I should have 
 " a classical scholar for my companion, and wasn't at all 
 "unwilling that the street passengers should hear us 
 ''conversing in an unknown tongue. So I asked you to 
 "repeat some Latin verses, which yow did ver)- readil\-, 
 " ever and anon, however, stopping to rub your toe or 
 "ankle, as those outl\'ing members would receive damage 
 " from tlie treacherous stones. Your favourite jxjet 
 "appeared to be Virgil; and I hear you now going 
 " mcasurcdly and with admirable ore rotnndo and em- 
 "phasis over the old Roman's ' Bucolic' — 
 
 " * Siix'lides Musaj, paiillo inajora canamus : 
 
 Nun om [oh ! pslia ! my toe ! hop, hop, hop] 
 
 I 1 
 
m 
 
 IM 
 
 \U i 
 
 |: 
 
 Pr 
 
 40 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 Non omnes arhustoi [ankle turns : limp, limp] 
 
 Non omnes arbusta juvani, huniil [psha !] 
 
 humilesquc myrica;; 
 Si canimus silvas, silvan sint Consule digniij !' 
 
 "The last line was brought out with great oratorical 
 "power, as being 'eminently beautiful;' to whieh I 
 " assented xvithoiil hesitation — requesting )-ou, over and 
 "over, to repeat it, perhaps half a dozen times before we 
 "reached the bridge; and alwa)'s with an eye to have 
 "you spouting the incomprehensible language just as 
 "somebody — it might be only Johnny Dunn the cooper 
 " — was passing. But the naughty beach-stones sadly 
 "disturbed my calcuk'.tions, and the audience was sure 
 " to pass in the midst oi a parenthesis ; thereby render- 
 " ing the limping sufferer anything but an object of envy 
 " or admiration. I have picked up a little Latin since ; 
 "and man}' and many a time have those lines recurred 
 " to me, — with all their concomitaiUs of ' psh.a ! O dear ! ' 
 "etc., etc., as well as the glowing expression of counte- 
 " nance at the inimitable — 
 
 " ' . . . silv;c sint Consule digna;.' 
 
 " On this memorable occasion you discovered that I 
 "knew a little about French, and had dabbled somewhat 
 " in chemistr}-, ami you were prepaied to assure Pack's 
 " chaps that I wasn't such an ignoramus as they took 
 " mc to be.* I tliink it was this evening that, on our 
 " return to our chambers, you produced a voluminous 
 "compilation of Joe Miller anecdotes in manuscript, 
 " man)' of which you read to me, taking care to look 
 " grave on tcach.ing ///<' /c////, lest it should be thought 
 "(as I took it) that you knew no better than to laugh 
 "at your own (comi)iled) jokes! " 
 
 * " 'I'lu' Incl w.is ' I'.uk's tliaps' wcc vury iini'.li iti ;uvo i>l my friend's wit 
 and iiuwcis ulsuicasni. Fur liis cintUc was luit hid uiidcr a IjusUlI." 
 
NE WFO UNDLA XD. 
 
 41 
 
 Another walk which Gossc took with St. Jolin at a very 
 
 early period may be recalled, because it gave occasion for 
 
 one of those burlesque poem; c f the latter which, if not 
 
 quite up to the highest level, was quite good enough to 
 
 gain for " Charley " St. John a local reputation as a 
 
 dangerously gifted poet. The laugh was raised at Gossc's 
 
 expense, and it is the butt himself who has preserved the 
 
 ditty. On one of those June evenings the two friends, 
 
 having sauntered through the long town until they liad 
 
 passed the contiguous houses, had protracted their ramble 
 
 to the very lonely lane near Burnt J lead, known as Rocky 
 
 Drong. This " drong," or lane, was reputed to be haunted. 
 
 It was now ten o'clock at night, when, turning round in 
 
 this desolate and gloomy locality, Gosse saw ahead what 
 
 seemed a dim female figure in while, afterwiirds igno- 
 
 niiniously identified as "one of Dicky the ]5ird's nieces 
 
 coming up from the 'landwash' with a 'turn' of sand 
 
 for her mother's kitchen lloor." The young naturalist 
 
 from I'oole endured and quite failed to conceal a paroxysm 
 
 of terror, and got home in an exhausted condition. Two 
 
 days afterwards, Charley St. J(jhn produced at the office 
 
 a piece of foolscap, from which he i)roceeded to read to a 
 
 delighted audience the following doggerel effusion, the only 
 
 surviving text of which is, 1 regret to say, imperfect :— 
 
 . . . The other night 
 The mocii it shone, not \eiy hriglit, 
 A\'hcn lo ' iu Rochy Dioni; niijiear'd 
 A tdrni that iiiade jioor (;os>k afeard. 
 It seem'd to wear a woman's dollies, 
 A horse's head, a luHk-oit's nose; 
 And with a deep and liulluw moan, 
 It thus addressed the Latin drone — 
 "Young Man, I'm happy for to say 
 That long in Poole you did not stay ; 
 For to your house that very night, 
 The Devil claim'tl you as his right. 
 
 \ : 
 
 'A 
 
 \ 
 
42 THE LIFE OF FIT I LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 A Parson who was right at hand, 
 
 'I'old him you'd gone to Xowfouiidland." 
 
 " Indeed ! " says H.-U/ " when did he go ? 
 
 For he's deserted, you must know. 
 
 But morrow-morning 1 shall post 
 
 On every wall his bloody ghost, 
 
 And, ill a fiery placard, speak 
 
 'I'lie following words, in broken Greek : — 
 
 ' Notice. 
 
 ' Deserted from okl Bkelzkhub, 
 'Two nights ago, I'liiL Gossk, my cub. 
 ' Had on, when left, an old white hat, 
 'A brown surtiMit, choke full of fat, 
 'A [iialf-lino missing], and in his box 
 * Were two old books by Doctor Watts. 
 ' One sermon by Durant, and, dang 'ee, 
 ' A book of ridtlles from his granny. 
 'Whoever harbours this my man, 
 ' Let him beware : iiis hide ill tan ! ' " 
 
 One of the [)ublic characteristics of Newfoundland life 
 of which Gosse became earliest aware was tlie growing 
 jealousy of the Irish element in the population. The lad 
 quickly took the tone of the baxoii and purely colonial 
 minority amongj whom he had been thrown. A .special 
 nuisance of the town of Carbonear was the abundance of 
 mongrel curs in the streets ; and one day, wlien j-oung 
 Gosse liad strolled down to Harbour Rock (an elevated 
 spot about half-way down the port, which formed a very 
 general resort as a terminus to a moderate walk), in com- 
 pany with his brother William, two or three of the ships' 
 captains, and some clerks of various firms, he committed 
 an indiscretion which left a strong imi)ression on iiis 
 memory. One of his companions was a very gentleman- 
 like young fellow, called Moore, book-keeper to one of the 
 
 I 
 
 15i'Llzcbul) 
 
NE nFOUXDLAXD. 
 
 43 
 
 smaller firms. A captain asked Gossc how he liked New- 
 foundland ; safe, as lie thouj^ht, witli none but colonists, he 
 replied smartly, " I see little in it, except do!^s and 
 Irishmen." The silence that followed, where he had ex- 
 pected approvinn^ lau,i;hter, told him that somethinL^ was 
 wron^. At length his brother said, " Do \'ou not know 
 that Mr. Moore is an Irishman } " rhili[) Gosse was imme- 
 diately extremely abashed ; but Moore replied, with i^rcat 
 good humour, "There's no offence; T am an Ulsterman, 
 and love the Papist Irish no better than the rest of you." 
 The southern Irish were not slow, of course, to observe the 
 feeling of which this conversation was an example. They 
 immensely preponderated in numbers, ami they already 
 formed an anti-English party in Newfoundland, the rancour 
 of which was an inconvenience, if not a danger to the 
 colony. My father saj's, in one of his manuscript notes — 
 " There existed in Xewfoundland in iSj/, among the 
 " Protestant population of the island, an habitual dread 
 "of the Irish as a class, which was m(jre o[)[)ressively 
 " felt than openly expressed, and there was customary 
 "an habitual caution in convers;ition, to avoid any 
 "unguarded expression which might be laid hold of by 
 "their jealous enmit\'. It was very largely this dread 
 "which impelled me t(j forsake Newfoundland, as a 
 "residence, in iSj5 ; and I recollect saying to my 
 " friends the Jacjueses, ' that when we got to Canada, we 
 '• ' might climb to the iop of the tallest tree in the forest, 
 " ' and shout " Irishman ! " at the top of (jur voice, without 
 " ' fear.' " 
 
 Gosse's first summer in Newfoundland was one of much 
 freedom. Mr. Elson, not having seen his English partners 
 for several years, took a holiday in the mother-country, 
 and Newall, the easy-going book-keeper, ruled at Carbonear 
 as his /(jfum teneiis. Besides this, the summer was always 
 
 
■pvann 
 
 CS9I 
 
 44 
 
 THE LIFE or ririLIP J/EARV GOSSE. 
 
 1 1 
 
 a \'v^\\\. time. The fleet of schooners sailed for Labrador 
 in the middle of June, and from that time tiU the end of 
 October, when the crews had to be paid off and all accounts 
 settled, there was very little to be done in the counting- 
 house, I'ortuiuiLely the brief summer of Newfoundland is 
 a vcr)' del._L;htful one. Of the winter pleasures of Carbonear 
 I ma)' well permit my father to speak for himself, nor 
 interrupt the unaffectrid chronicle of his earliest loves : — 
 " Parties were frequent, but they were almost always 
 "'balls.' The clerks of the different mercantile firms, 
 "were of course in demand, as bein;^ almost the only 
 "younjj^ chaps with the least pretensions to a genteel 
 " appearance. Jane Elson one day sent mc a note, inviting 
 " me to a forthcoming ' ball.' I had never danced in 
 " my life, and so was compelled to decline. Her note 
 " began, ' Dear Henry ; ' and 1 thought it was the proper 
 "thing, in replying, to begin mine with 'Dear Jane.' 
 "Having my note in my pocket, I gave it to her, as 
 "1 met her and Alary in the lane, just below the plat- 
 "form. Lusii, who had seen the action, benevolently 
 " took me aside, and told me that ' it was not etiquette, 
 "'to write a note to a lad}', and deliver it myself;' at 
 " which I again felt much ashamed. This ignorance of 
 "the art of dancing caused me to refuse all the parties, 
 " and very much isolated me from the female society of 
 " the place. I do not doubt that this was really very 
 " much for my good, and preserved me from a good deal 
 "of frivolity ; but I rebelled in spirit at it, and mur- 
 " inured at the ' Puritan prejudices ' of my i)arents, which 
 "had not allowed me to be taught the elegant accom- 
 "plishinent, which ever)' Irish lad and girl acquires, as it 
 " were, instinctively. I supposed it was absolutely im- 
 " possible to join these parties without having been 
 "taught; thoLiijh, in truth, such movements as sufficed 
 
 
lil' i iim i iD i nntil i u. ^ ;> 
 
 NEWFOUXDLAXD. 
 
 45 
 
 I 
 
 " for those simple Imps would have been readily ac- 
 " quired in an evening or two's observation, under the 
 "willing tuition of any of the merry girls. William, 
 "indeed, as I afterwards found, went to them, and ac- 
 " quitted himself ftfw;//^ il fant ; though he had no more 
 " learned than I had. However, I believe I had somc- 
 " what of the 'Puritan prejudice' myself; at least, 
 " conscience was uneasy on the point, as I had been 
 "used to hear balls classed with the theatre. 
 
 " ]\Iy familiarities with the Elsons never proceeded 
 "farther than a making of childish signals with my 
 "candle at night. My bedroom window looked across 
 "the meadow towards the Up[)er House, in frcjnt of 
 " which was tlie bedroom window of the girls. We 
 "used to signal to each other, holding the candle in the 
 "various panes of the window, in turn, in res[)onse to 
 "each other. There was no ulterior meaning attaclied 
 "to the movements; it was mere child's play. They 
 "certainly began it, for I am sure I should not have 
 "ventured on such a liberty myself. Apsey, however, 
 "took greater freedoms, for if he were on the platform 
 "waiting for dinner, when they happened to be coming 
 "down the meadows to go into the town, he would way- 
 "lay them at the end of the platform (which the)' were 
 "obliged to cross) and not suffer them to pass, till each 
 "had paid him the toll of a kiss. It was readily yielded ; 
 "and though they affected to frown, an.d said, 'Mr. 
 '"Apsey is such a tease,' they were evidently not much 
 "discomposed, and bore him no malice, being (jf a for- 
 " giving disposition. The toll was taken with full 
 " publicity, in presence of us all, some of whom envied 
 " him his impudence and success. 
 
 " In truth, Jane IClson became the unconscious object 
 " of my first boyish love. Before the autunm of this 
 
 t II 
 
 i 1) 
 
■■M 
 
 46 
 
 THE LIFE OF mi LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 \\ 
 
 "first season had yi'jldcd to winter, I loved Jane with 
 "a deep and passionate love, — all the deeper because I 
 " kept the secret close locked in my own bosom. 
 
 " ' He never told his love ; 
 Pnit let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on his damask cheek.' 
 
 " The chaps in the office used to rally me about Mary, 
 " who was indeed much the prettier and more vivacious 
 " of the two, and I never undeceived them ; but Jane 
 "was my flame. One night I awoke from a dream, in 
 "which she had appeared endowed with a beauty quite 
 "unearthly, and as it were angelic; so utterly unde- 
 ' scribable, and indeed inconceivable, that on waking 
 " I could only recall the general impression, every effort 
 "to reproduce the details of her beauty being vain. 
 " They were not so much gone from memory, ?.s from 
 "the possibility of imagining. There was in truth no 
 "great resemblance in the radiant vision to Jane's 
 "homely face and person ; and j-et I intuiti\cly knew it 
 " to be her. 
 
 " My unconquerable bashfulness precluded my ever 
 "hinting my love to Jane. A year or two afterwards, 
 " I was at a 'ball ' at Newell's, the only one which I ever 
 "attended, and the IClson girls were there. It was cus- 
 "tomary for the fellows each to escort a lady home: 
 " I asked Jane to allow me the honour. She took my 
 "arm; and there, under the moon, we walked for full 
 "half a mile, and not a word — literally, not a single 
 "word — broke the awful silence! I felt the awkward- 
 "ness most painfully ; but the more I sought something 
 "to say, the more my tongue seemed tied to the roof cf 
 " my mouth. 
 
 "This bojish passion gradually wore out: I think all 
 
 "traces of it had ceased long before I visited England 
 
KEWFOUNDLAXD. 
 
 47 
 
 "in 1832. About a jx-ar after that Jane married a 
 "young merchant of St. Jolin's, named Wood; and 
 "IMary accepted one of tlic small merchants of Car- 
 "bonear, one Tom Gamble, in June, 1S36." 
 What society Carbonear possessed was mainly to be 
 met with in the houses of the planters, several of whom 
 were wealthy and hospitable. The name "planter" needs 
 explanation. It had no connection with the cultivation of 
 the soil, although doubtless inherited from colonies where 
 it had tliat meaning. Tn Ncwfoundla. d the word de- 
 signated a man wIkj owned a schooner, 1 which he pro- 
 secuted one or both of the two fisheries of the colony, 
 that for seals in spring and that for cod in winter. In 
 Carbonear, a town of some two thousand five hundred 
 inhabitants in 1S2.S, there \\cre about seventy planters, 
 whose dealings were distributed amongst the mercantile 
 liouscs of the place. Of these, about twenty-five were 
 fitted out by the firm in which m\' father was a clerk, that 
 of Messrs. Slade, Elson, and Co. In general, business was 
 carried on upon the following terms. The mercantile firm, 
 having a house in luigland as well as one in Newfound- 
 land, imported into the island, from various pcjrts of luirope 
 and America, all supplies needful for local consumption 
 and for the prosecution of the fisheries, the colony itself 
 producing no provisions except fisli, fresh meat, oats, and 
 a few vegetables. Tlie planter was supplied by his mer- 
 chant, and alwaj's on credit, with cvcrj'thing requisite, the 
 whole produce of his voyage being bound to be delivered 
 to the house. The planter shipped a crew, averaging 
 about eighteen hands to each schooner, who (in the seal- 
 fishery) claimed one-half of the gross produce to be divided 
 among them ; the other half going to the owner, who in 
 most instances commanded his own vessel. The names 
 of the crew having been registered at the counting-house, 
 
 fc I 
 
4S 
 
 77//; LIFE OF rrriLir irEVRV gosse. 
 
 iir 
 
 If n 
 \\ 
 
 l\ 
 |i I 
 
 each man wa:; allowed to take up t^oods on the credit of 
 the voyage, to a certair. amount, perhaps one-third, or even 
 one-half, of his probable carninc^s. The clerks were the 
 judj^cs of the amount. For these goods both [planter and 
 crew applied at the office, in order, and received tickets, or 
 "notes," for the several articles. In the busy season the 
 registering of these notes, delivering'the goods, and enter- 
 ing the transactions in the books would occupy the whole 
 staff until late into the night. 
 
 In his Introduction to Zooh\Q;y (i. iio) my father has 
 given the details of the seal-fishery, on which, as he was 
 never personally cogni/.ant of them, I need not dwell. But 
 the preparation of the sea! fleet for starling was the busiest 
 time of the year to him, the North Shore, and particularly 
 Carbonear, being, from the 1st to the 17th of March, all 
 alive with a very active, noisy, rude, and exacting popula- 
 tion. During this fortnight, life was a purgatory for the 
 clerks, wdio were besieged from morning till night l)y these 
 vociferous and fragrant fellows. By St. Patrick's Day, 
 however, it was a point of honour for all the scalers to 
 have sailed, and thence, until the middle of i\pril, when 
 the more fortunate schooners began to return, the 
 counting-house kept a sort of holidr". Then, once more, 
 a press of work set in. The seal-pelts brought home were 
 delivered in tale, all the accounts incurred had to be 
 settled, and amounts due to the successful crews to be paid 
 them. This had to be done partly in cash — the Spanish 
 dollar of four shillings and twopence sterling passing for 
 five shillings — and partly in goods, which involved more 
 " notes." The planters' accounts, too, had to be squared 
 and the profit or loss on the voyage of each determined. 
 
 By this time May would be far advanced, and now all 
 was hurry, almost exactly a repetition of the scenes in 
 March ; on this occasion, the cod-fishery being prepared 
 
 
A'y? IVFO UNDI.A XD. 
 
 49 
 
 II 
 
 for. The same schooners, commanded by the same 
 skippers, but with newly selected crews, were fitted out 
 <»n exactl)' the same system of credit as before, with the 
 same bustle. \Sy the middle of June, all had sailed for 
 Labrador, where they remained, catchinrj and curini; fish, 
 until October, when they brou£,dit their produce back. 
 This interval was nearly a four months' holiday for the 
 clerks, and in the most deli;^htful part of the \'ear. The 
 work in the office was then little inore than routine — the 
 copyinj^ of letters, keepini^ the goods' accounts of such 
 residents as dealt at Mr. Mlson's stores, despatchinij^ two 
 or three vessels to Knc^^land with the seal oil of the sprinj^ 
 collection, and the business connected with what was 
 called the Shore fishery. 
 
 In the coves round about, and especiall)- alon^^j the 
 " North Shore " — that is, the coast of Conception Bay 
 which stretched from Carbonear to Point Baccalao, an 
 iron-bound, precipitous shore, much indented with small 
 inlets, but containinc^ no harbours for ships — along this 
 North Shore, there resided a hardy population, mainly 
 luiglish and Protestant, who possessed no schooners, but 
 held small sailing-boats, with which, mostly by families, 
 they pursued the cod-fishery in the bay. The fish they 
 took were commonly of larger size, were better cured, and 
 commanded a higher price than the Labrador produce, but 
 the quantity of it was strictly limited. Many of the 
 North Shore men were tall, well-made, handsome fellows, 
 singularly simple and guileless, with a marked aversion 
 and dread of the Irish population of the harbours, to whom 
 their peculiarities of idiom and manners afforded objects 
 of current ribaldry. In the spring, as they had no re- 
 sources at home, these mild giants shipped with the 
 planters for the ice, and during the noisy first fortnight of 
 March, when the crews " came to collar," as their arrival 
 
 !' 
 
Kf 
 
 50 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY COSSE. 
 
 w.as called, the port was rcs()un(lin;r every .light with shouts 
 
 atid cries and responses, bandied from vessel to vessel, 
 
 nicknames, ribald jokes, and ojjprobrious epithets showered 
 
 on the inoffensive heads of the poor meek men from the 
 
 North Slujre. Their tlialect was peculiar. It sounded 
 
 particularly stran<^e in the ears of the Irish, althoui^h it 
 
 was really ecpially diverse from that of any English 
 
 peasantry. One of its traits was an inability to pronounce 
 
 the ///, which became / or </. Most of them were Wesleyans, 
 
 and it was amusing to hear them fervently singing hymns 
 
 in their odd language : — 
 
 " J^c ting my God dut hate, 
 Dat I no more may do." 
 
 With these simple folk the summer business of the 
 counting-house was mainly occupied, they bringing their 
 little boat-loads of excellent fish, according as it was 
 cured, with such subordinate matters as fresh salmon for 
 the house-table, and various delicious berries. Of these 
 latter the Newfoundland summer produces a considerable 
 variety, as cranberries, whortleberries, and the exquisitely 
 delicate cloudberry {Rubies c/unnccinonis), locally known ivs 
 " bakc-apples." These were always saleable, and some- 
 times, though not often, the North Shore men would bring 
 a carcase of reindeer venison, nearly as large as a cow — an 
 excellent and savoury meat. Such minute transactions as 
 these, however, hardly broke the office holiday, and alto- 
 gether the work of these four summer months would have 
 been by no means oppressive, if performed in one. 
 
 In October the harbour gradually fdled again, and as 
 the 31st of that month was the terminus of every en- 
 gagement, no sooner did that much-hated and dreaded 
 day arrive, than the counting-house was beset by the 
 clamorous rogues, a dozen or more crowding in at once 
 into the office, all shouting, swearing, and wrangling to- 
 
1% 
 
 NElVrOUXD/.AXD. 
 
 5« 
 
 gcthcr, dirty and greasy, redolent witli a commingled 
 fragrance of fish, oil, ruin, and tobacco — one calling Heaven 
 to witness in the richest Milesian accents that a certain 
 pair of hose charged in his account never went upon //is 
 legs, slunving the said legs at the same time, as a [)atent 
 proof that he had no such stockings four months before ; 
 another affecting great indignation, because the usual 
 charge of one shilling has been made for "hospital;" 
 another finding the balance of cash due to him rather less 
 than his vivid imagination has antici[)ated, and romping 
 and tearing about, swearing that he will not touch the 
 dirty money, that the clerks ma}- keep it, that he doesn't 
 care two i)ins for the clerks, but presently C(Joling down, 
 pocketing the cash, and signing his beautiful autograph in 
 the receipt-book. The hottest part <jf this settling business 
 did not last through November ; at least, the crews, the 
 roughest utter /AAs", were pretty well done with by the end 
 of that month. Ikit as the year drew near its close, books 
 had to be wound up, long planters' accounts to be copied, 
 ample inventories of all stock in the various stores and 
 shops to be taken and copied, various statements to be 
 drawn uj) for transmission to England, long letters to be 
 transcribed, and general arrears in many branches to 
 be made up. The winter business, therefore, was long 
 and pretty arduous. 
 
 The prices charged cm account varied little ; in general 
 they were about double what they cost in England ; that 
 is to say nominally, but the difference between sterling and 
 currency must be borne in mind. 'I'o residents in the 
 town, who paid cash over the counter, prices were con- 
 siderably less. The clerks had all their goods charged to 
 them at the actual invoice prices, to which twenty-five per 
 cent, was then added, and all the cash they had drawn was, 
 at settling time, turned into sterling, and the difference 
 
 H 
 
 li' 
 
 ^ 
 
m 
 
 
 r///c L/FE OF PITILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 li 
 
 U 
 
 1'^! 
 
 II ' 
 
 allowed to their.. The wages Philip Gossc rccciv^cd were 
 small but then board and lodging were provided. VV'a.sh- 
 ing, however, he had to pay himself, a/id the following 
 anecdote may be peimitted to illustrate the system and 
 his personal economy r — 
 
 " It must have been in the summer of 1829 that I had 
 
 "been a little exceeding my income, and Mr. IClson had 
 
 "evidently his eye on ^x\y account. One little item 
 
 " brought matters to a crisis. Tlicre suddenly appeared 
 
 " in the ledger against my name, ' 2 o/s. Cmnamon, \s! 
 
 "This I had got at the shop, to chew, as .-: litt'o 'uxury ; 
 
 "but the skipper noticed it, and, sno more, said nothing 
 
 "to me, but gavo orders to Lush that Thiiip Gosse must 
 
 " have nothing more without a note from him. Soon .'ifter 
 
 " this my laundress applied to me — through her usual 
 
 "mesi. ngcr, a buxom daughter — for some goods on 
 
 "r"^. ant, for which I, suspecting nothing, gave her a 
 
 "note in my nvn hand. This note was dishonoured; 
 
 "and a few days later, old Mrs. Rowe herself applies to 
 
 " Mr. Iv, wl'.o comos with her into the office. It so 
 
 " happcricd that I did not recognize her, having genen.lly 
 
 "(lone business with one or other of her daughters, and 
 
 " I look no hcetl whatever to what she and Mr. F-!,. were 
 
 "talking about, the chiel'of the discussion having doubt- 
 
 "Icss passed before they entered the office. Mr, E. at 
 
 " length gave her the note she asked in my name, and 
 
 "she Vv'cnt cut looking daggers at me as she passed. 
 
 " The skip[)er presently retired also, saying not a word 
 
 "to me; and not till then did I, throut;h St. John's 
 
 "raillery, who had from the first apprehended the state 
 
 "of affairs, know what had transpired, lioth Durell and 
 
 " he had wondered at my coolness and nonchalance, 
 
 " which was now explained. Thenceforward I was more 
 
 "economical; and my disbursements, which had not 
 
 I 
 
 
NE. IVFOUNDLAND. 
 
 53 
 
 ^'greatly exceeded my earnings, at length were overtaken 
 "by them, aiid all was right again. I. was a lesson I 
 " never forgot." 
 
 The remainder of this chapter shall be formed of a 
 variety of desultory scraps, referring mainly to the years 
 1827 and 182S, which T fmd in my father's handwriting. 
 The> have never before been printed, and they may S'jrve 
 to com[)lete the picture of his first years in Newfound- 
 land : — 
 
 " During the first summer, while the skipper (our 
 "representative for the modern term 'governor') was in 
 " England, the dwelling-house had a narrow escape from 
 '•fire. I was standing alone at the office window whicli 
 "looked up to the house, just after dinner one day, 
 "watching a vivid thunderstorm. Suddenl)- I saw what 
 "appeared exactly as if a cannon had been fired directly 
 "out of the house chimney. This was the lightning 
 "flash, which struck the house, attracted b)' an iron 
 "fender, which was set on end in the fireplace of the 
 "best bedroom, I saw the wide column of intense 
 " flame ; the ap[)arent direction, which suggested the 
 "resemblance to a cannon fired tmt of the chimney, was 
 " of course, an illusion of my senses. The rei)ort, too, 
 "was the short ear-piercing crack of a great gun when 
 "fired close by you; nothing like ordinary thunder. 
 "There was now a general rush to the house. Newell 
 "and Caj/tain iVndrews had been cosily sitting before 
 "the empty fire[)lace in the parlour, each smoking his 
 "long pipe after dinnei', while the glass of giog was in 
 "one case standing on the hob, in the fjther in the 
 "owner's hand. The two sitters hail been in a moment 
 "jerked half round, though unhurt ; the glasses dashed 
 "down, nmch row and terror caused, but wondrously 
 " little damage. The electric course could be distinctly 
 
 
 m 
 
 :• i 
 
 I 
 
 \ ^ 
 
 ! 
 
If! 
 
 m 
 
 mmmm 
 
 i: i i 
 
 54 7V/E LIFE OF PII/LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "traced along the bell-wire half round the room, to the 
 "door opposite. TliJ wire had been melted here and 
 "there; the gilding on the frames of two pictures 
 "on the wall had contracted into transverse bands, alter- 
 "natin_,^ with bands of blajk destitute of gt)ld ; the door 
 " had been thrown off its hinges, though these were 
 "unusually massive; and a few other freaks of this 
 "playful character had sated the lightning's ire. 
 
 " St. John thus recalls to my memory one result of this 
 "storm: 'Do you recollect Newell's account of that 
 "' event (the thunderbolt?) in his letter to I'oole .' We 
 "'amused ourselves with its diction, counting the 
 " ' prodigious number of was-cs crowded into the 
 "'sentences, " I was," and "he was," and " it was," etc., 
 "'without end. I think you coi^ied the letter, and fairly 
 " ' foamed with laughter ; — bad boys as wc were ! ' 
 
 " My friend John Brown wrote me, / think, but one 
 "letter. I left him ill of consumption ; and the summer 
 "had scarcely set in, when he died at home in Poole. The 
 "death of my early friend did not affect my feelings in 
 "any appreciable degree. It seemed as if I had forgotten 
 " him. I was much ashamed of this, and, I may say, 
 "even shocked ; but, as it was, new scenes, new friend- 
 " ships, had come in, and, what was perhaps more to 
 " the point, I had, since I parted from him, brief as the 
 "period really was, changed from the boy into the ))ian. 
 " Thus there seemed a great chasm between my present 
 " feelings, aspirations, anci habits of thought, and those 
 " of only a few months before ; and it had so happened 
 " that this physical transition had been exactly coin- 
 " cidcnt with the change of place and circumstances, 
 " J(jhn Brown seemed to belong to another era, which 
 " had faded away. It was true, in more than one sense, 
 "that I had migrated to 'The New World." 
 
I 
 
 s 
 
 v-,^ 
 
 NE IVFO UNO LAND. 
 
 55 
 
 •1 
 
 " Charley would occasionally invite me to accompany 
 " him over to Harbour Grace, about three miles distant, 
 " to spend the evening with his family, sleep with him, 
 "and return to business next morninfr. His parents 
 "were a venerable pair of the aucicn n'<^iine ; all their 
 " manners and their furniture told of hi<;h breeding^ and 
 "'blue blood.' There was avast oil painting, covering 
 "nearly one wall of the dining-room, such as we 
 " occasionally see in o'd m.ansions, representing a great 
 "spread of fruit, and a peacock, in all the dimensions and 
 "ail the splendour of life. Charley had two sisters — 
 " Hannah, a sweet, sunny girl, with bright eyes and 
 "auburn hair ; Charlotte (Lt tty), a little deformed, very 
 " gentle, but retiring, and less attractive. J5oth were 
 " very sweet, amiable girls. 
 
 "One day (I think within my first year), having 
 "occasion to go over to Harbour Grace, i borrowed a 
 "horse to do the ]o\.\rx\cy en cavalier. I think this was 
 " the first time I had ever crossed a horse's back, unless 
 " it was in going with my cousins Kemp from Holme to 
 " Corfe Castle, and then I had not attempted more than 
 "a walk. Now, however, I was more ambitious ; and 
 " as my steed broke into a gentle trot, I jerked from 
 " side to side in a style quite edifying and novel to any 
 "passing pedestrians, no doubt; for I had no notion of 
 " holding with my knees. The success of the expcri- 
 " ment did not encourage me to repeat it, and I didn't 
 "know how to ride till I learned in Jamaica, in 1S45. 
 
 "The facilities for reading afforded by the library 
 •' I eagerly availed myself of, particularly in novels, of 
 " which I presently became a great devourer. Several 
 "of Scott's, several of lUilwcr's, of D'Israeli's, I read ; but 
 "the American tales of Cooper, and the Irish series 
 "published under the noiii de giicrre of 'The O'Hara 
 
 I 
 
 ■\ 
 
 4 
 
T 
 
 iii 
 
 56 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "Family,' were the prime favourites. As an example 
 "of the absorption of interest with which I entered into 
 " these imaginary scenes, I remember that on one 
 "occasion this autumn (1827), I was sittintj in my becl- 
 "room late at night, finishing a novel, and when I had 
 "done, it was some minutes before I could at all recall 
 " where I was, or my circumstances. At another time, 
 " I actually read through two of the three volumes of a 
 " novel at one sitting. 
 
 " It was, if I am not mistaken, in The Collegians* 
 ■'one of the O'llara tales, that I met with the following 
 " sentence : — ' If time be rightly defined as " a succession 
 '""of ideas," then to him whose mind holds but one 
 '"abiding idea, there is no time.' This definition struck 
 " me forcibly at the time ; and all through life I have 
 " recurred to it, ever and anon, when I h;ive read the 
 "ordinary confused definitions of time, in which the 
 " motions of the heavenly bodie-: are prominently 
 " mentioned. There are indeed the tneasuic's of time ; 
 " but the essence of time is something ([uite distinct 
 " from its admeasurement. The sentence I have just 
 "quoted formed the basis of many a discussion betv.eeu 
 "St. John and me; and we speculated much upon 
 " eternity, as if its essence precluded succession. We 
 " talked too of Gotl, as the schoolmen had done long 
 'before us ; assuming that to Him there was no succes- 
 "sion, but one abiding iKyio. 
 
 "The year 1827 closed, and I knew by experience 
 " what a Newfoundland winter was. It was by no 
 " means unbearable. The thermometer very rarely 
 " descends below zero more than once or twice in the 
 "season; snow sets in generally by the end of Se[)- 
 
 ♦ My Gcrulil (iriOin. 
 
 il 
 
NEU'FOUXDLAXD. 
 
 57 
 
 tcmbcr, and bv the middle of November it has be- 
 come permanent till April. However, the weather is 
 generally fine ; we in tlie office kept good fires, took 
 daily walks to the great gun upon Harbour Rock, or 
 in some other direction, and contrived to enjoy our- 
 selves. Mr. Elson had returned in October and 
 resumed his woiitetl authority, and Newell had sunk 
 to mere book-keei)er again. It was, I think, in this 
 winter that St. John urged me to write a novel. 1 at 
 length complied ; and taking down a quire of foolscap, 
 began the adventures of one l-^lwin Something, 'a )'Oulh 
 ' about eighteen,' who ' dropped a tear over the ship's 
 ' side ' as he left his native ctnmtry. I passed ni)' hero 
 through sundry scenes, and, among the rest, into a sea- 
 fight with a Tunis corsair, in which, I said, ' the Turks 
 'remained masters of the field.' There was no attempt 
 at fine writing ; it was all verj- simple, and all very 
 brief; for I finished off my story in some three or four 
 pages. St. Joiin read it very scriousl)-, and mercifully 
 restricted his criticism to the expression ' fit^ld,' in the 
 sentence above cited, which, he saitl, as the subject was 
 a sca-\\g\\t, was hardly coinuw il faiit. lie did not 
 laugh at me ; but I had sen.se enough to know that it 
 ^vas a very poo: affair, and did not preserve it. 
 "In the spring of 1S2S, when the vessels began to 
 return from the ice, I was sent t<j the oil-stage to take 
 count of the seal-pelts delivered. The stage was a 
 long projecting wharf, roofed and inclosed, carried out 
 over the sea upon jmIcs driven into the bottom. I take 
 my place, pencil and pap( r in haiul. at the oi)en end of 
 this stage, seated on an inverted tub. Hefore me is a 
 wide hand-barrow. :\ boat loaded to the water's edge 
 with seal-pelts is being slowly pulled from one of the 
 schooners b)' a noisy crew, nioslly Irish. As soon as 
 
 '!« 
 
 
k; 
 
 ««HHBHM«H 
 
 it : 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 5S 7V/E LI Hi OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " she arrives at the wharf, two or tierce scramble up, and 
 "the rest, remaining in tlic boat, begin to throw the 
 " heavy pelts of greasy bloody fat up on the floor of the 
 "stage. At the same time one of the crew that has 
 "climbed up begins to lay them one by one, fur down- 
 " ward, on the barrow ; singing out, as he lays down 
 " each, ' One — two — three — four — tall}-,' I at each one 
 " making a mark on my paper. I'ivc pelts make a 
 "barrow-load, and instead of the word 'five,' the word 
 " ' tally' is used, for then I am to make a diagonal line 
 "across the four marks, and this formula is called 'a 
 "tally." Immediately the word 'tally ' ?s uttered by the 
 " loader, which is always with a loud emphasis, I also 
 "say 'tally;' and then two labourers catch up the 
 "barrow, and carry it into the recesses of the stage for 
 " the pelts to be skinned ; a second barrow meanwhile 
 " receiving its tally in exactly the same manner, while 
 " my marking goes on, but on the opposite siue of the 
 "basal line; so that the record assumes a form which 
 "represents fifty pelts. This is very easily counted, 
 "while mistake is almost impossible. 1 forgot to say 
 " that one of the more responsible hands, perhaps the 
 " mate, also stands by, and keeps a like tally with mine, 
 " on behalf of the owner and crew. 
 
 " Of course this was by no means so pleasant an 
 "employment as that I had been used to in the warmth 
 "antl comfort and congenial company of the counting- 
 " house. The dirty, brawling vulgar fellows crowding 
 "around, uttering their low witless jokes, or cursing 
 "and swearing, or abusing others, or bragging their 
 " achievements ; the filth everywhere ; the rancid grease, 
 "which could not fail to be absorbed by my shoes and 
 " scattered over my clothes ; so that whenever, at bell- 
 " ringing or in evening, I essayed to join my companions. 
 
 
 i 
 
 III 
 
A'E WFOUNDLAXD. 
 
 59 
 
 
 " the plain-spoken roj^ues would welcome me with — • 
 " ' Oh, Gossc, pray don't come very near ! you stink so 
 "'()f seal-oil!' then, at times, the hitter cold of winter, 
 "not yet )'ieldin;jj t(j s[)rinL,^ the snowy gales driving in 
 "on me, and hlowinc; up through the corduroy poles 
 "which made the floor ; — all this made mc heartily glad 
 " when the last schooner was discharged, and I was 
 "again free to take my place with my fellows. 
 
 " I picked u[), however, curing this occupation, a good 
 "deal of interesting information. I became familiar with 
 "the different species of seals; learned much of their 
 "habits and natural history, and of the ailventures of the 
 "hunters; and f<irmed a i)retty graphic and correct 
 "idea of the circumstances of the voyage, and scenes at 
 "the ice. .\ good deal of this I embodied in a journal, 
 " which I had contiuuetl to keep ever since I parted from 
 " home, sending it consecutively to mother, as book after 
 "book became filled. The one I now transmitted was 
 "embellished, as I well recollect, with a coloured frontis- 
 " piece, of full sheet size, folded so as to correspond with 
 " the leaves of the book. This represented an animated 
 " scene at the ice, in which several schooners were 
 " mooretl and several boats' crews were scattered about, 
 "with their gaffs and guns, pursuing the young seals; 
 "others pelting them, and others dragging their loads of 
 "pelts to their boats. Though destitute of all artistic 
 " power, it was a valuable picture ; for it represented, 
 " with vividness and truth, a scene which then had 
 "never been adequately described in print, certainly 
 "never depicted. 1 am sorry to say that this, with all 
 "the other records of tlKjse times and scenes, has long 
 "been utterly and unaccountably lost ; no trace having 
 "been preserved, except in fading memcjry, of what I 
 "took so much pains to perpetuate. Many shiftings of 
 
 i|^ 
 
 f 5 
 
6o 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "homes liavc occurred, and 'three removes are as bad 
 
 as a tiie. 
 
 " I have ah-cady alluded to my painfid susceptibiHty 
 "to c^hostly fears. In my imagination, a skeleton, or 
 "even a cori^se, was nearly the same thing as a ghost. 
 "This spring, the body of a drowned sailor was pickeil 
 " up in the harbour, and laid under a shed on our 
 " premises, covered with a sail, till it could be buried. 
 "My morbid curiosity impelled me to look on it; and 
 " Captain Stevens turned back the sail, to show me the 
 " face. The corpse had evidently lain long in the water, 
 " so that only the greenish-white bones were left — at least, 
 "in the parts not protected by the clothes. I felt a 
 "great awe and revulsicjn as I looked at it; and the 
 "grim grinning skull haunted my dreams, and would 
 " suddenl)- come up before my e)'es, when alone in the 
 "dark, for months. It was the hrst time I had ever 
 " beheld the relics of poor deceased humanit}'. 
 
 " Among the numerous scraps which had lain, from 
 "time immemorial, in my father's great portfolio, there 
 " was an engraving b}' Bartolozzi, in his peculiar manner 
 " imitating red chalk. It was a Venus bathing, after 
 " Cii)riani, — a most exquisite thing. This 1 had taken 
 " possession of, and had brought to Newfoundlaiul. 
 "There was a servant girl, named Mary March, living 
 " in one of the houses near our premises, whom I used 
 "to see occasionally, as she came with her pitcher to 
 " fetch water from the clear cold brook that ran along 
 " at the end of our platform. Mary was quite a toast 
 "among our chaps — a pleasant, smiling, perfectly modest 
 " girl ; but what attracted my eager interest was that her 
 " face was the exact counterpart of that of my most 
 " lovel}- Venus of liartolozzi's." 
 
 il 
 
( 6i ) 
 
 ■>^-ii ' ■ '^ %> i.^^ . 
 
 
 cirAPTi<:R III. 
 
 N p:\vfou N' I )L a \ D {continued ). 
 1S28-1.S35. 
 
 EARLY in Auij^ust, 182S, Philip Gnssc was sent for by 
 Mr. Klson, and told that he must "ct himself rcadv 
 to rro and take his place in the office at St. Mary's. 
 This he knew of only as an obscure, semi-barbarous settle- 
 ment on the south coast of Newfoundland, where, as the 
 clerks had gathered, the Hrm had just purchased an old 
 establishment. The young man's heart sank within him 
 as this command was delivered to him in Mr. I-CIson's dry, 
 short, peremptory manner. Remonstrance, of course, was 
 (Hit of the question, but it seemed an exile to the antipodes, 
 to be severed from all his pleasant companions and en- 
 vironment, to be shut up in an out-of-the-world hole, for 
 an indefinite period, since no liint was given of any term 
 to this banishment. He could only bow in silence, and 
 rush down to the counting-house, there to pour forth his 
 sorrows to his sympathizing fellows, not without tears. 
 
 The Plover, a schooner recently purchased b}- Mr. 
 Elson, was being sent round with a cargo of sup[)lies. On 
 board this vessel Gosse sailed a few da\'s later, enveloped, 
 as the ship ran down the coast, in a dense sea-fog, raw, 
 damp, cold, and miserable. On the second day he saw a 
 curious phenomenon, which roused him a little out of his 
 depression. Mounting the rigging some twent}- feet or so 
 
62 
 
 rilE 1.1 IE OF nil LIP HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 
 % 
 
 above the sea-level, he found himself in l)ri;4ht sunshine, 
 with the fojr spread below him, like a jjlain of cotton. On 
 this surface his shadow was [)rojected, the head surrounded, 
 at some distance, by a circlin<^ halo of rainbow colours. 
 This is the rare Arctic appearance known as the fog-bow, 
 or fog-circle. On the third morning, still sailing in blind 
 fog, tlie vessel got into the harbour of St. Mary's. It 
 proved a dreary, desolate place indeed. There were 
 perhaps three or four hundred inhabitants, almost all of the 
 fisherman or labourer class, and for the most part Irish. 
 There were two mercantile establishments — the principal, 
 which the Carbonear firm had recently purchased ; and 
 another, of much humbler pretensions, kept by a genial, 
 jovial, twinkling little old Ivnglishman, named William 
 Phippard, who also filled the office t)f stipend iar\- magistrate. 
 The manager of Mlson's was one Jnhn W. Martin, a I'oolc 
 man, the son of a certain Mr. Marlin who was a little fiit 
 man, with a merry laugh and a hnid chirping voice, a jest 
 ever on his lips, as he bustled hither and tliithur, w Iuj had 
 been in Gosse's boyhood one of tlie familiar objects of 
 Poole life. There was nothing genial about his son, John 
 W. Martin, however ; conscc}uential and bumptious in his 
 deportment, he enjoyed wielding his rod of auihorit)-, and 
 soon began to make his new clerk feel it. At the first 
 meal young Gossc ate with his new chief the latter took 
 his intellectual measure. Gosse asked if there were any 
 Indians in the neighbourhood. "What! you mean," said 
 Martin, "the abo — abo — abo — rceginees .-' " affecting learn- 
 ing, but pronouncing the awful word with the greatest 
 difficulty. Martin began at once to bore the young man 
 with constant petty tyrannies, which, after the liberty to 
 which he had become accustomed at Carbonear, were very 
 galling. One day on the wharf, among the l.iboiirers, where 
 Gossc was doing some duty or other, Martin took offence, 
 
NE WFO UNDLA XD. 
 
 63 
 
 and said, " You shan't be called J/;-. Gossc any more ; you 
 shall be called plain I'hilip." The lad was very timid ; 
 but on this occasion he thoui;ht he saw his advanta^^e in 
 the manat^cr's own overweeniuL,^ sense of dignity, and he 
 pertly replied, " Very well ; and I'll call you plain John," 
 which shut his mouth and stopped that move, while the 
 labourers grinned approval. 
 
 On Suntlays only Philip Gosse was his own master at 
 St. Mary's. Sometimes, while the summer lasted, he took 
 an exploring walk on this day. But thcnigh the scenery 
 seaward was grand, it was not attractive ; the lantl was a 
 treeless waste, and the young man had no companion to 
 interchange a word with, lie therefore soon to(jk to the 
 habit of going round the beach to I'liippard's immediately 
 after breakfast, spending the whole day there, and return- 
 ing to his solitary bedroom at night. Phippard had two 
 daughters — one married to an linglishman named Coles, 
 who commanded a little coasting craft, and who lived in 
 the house ; the other a pretty girl, named Emma, who 
 insensibly became the young clerk's closest friend and 
 principal companion. The I'^lson stores and wharf had the 
 reputation of being haunted. The Irish servants told of 
 strange lights seen and unaccountable noises heard there 
 at night, although there was insinuated, on sunshiny 
 mornings, a sly suspicion that the demon was one Ned 
 Toole, a faithful servitor and confidential factotum of 
 Martin's. It was quite salutar). that such a superstition 
 should prevail ; a ghost is an excellent watch-dog. Martin 
 affected to despise the belief, but secretly ncnirished it 
 notwithstanding. Gossc's bedroom was over the office, 
 and bctw'cen it and the other inhabited rooms there was 
 a large unoccupied chamber called the fur-room. The 
 house did a good deal of business in valuable furs — 
 beaver, otter, fox, and musquash — and the whole room 
 
'f( 
 
 64 
 
 inr. LIFE OF nriLiP nexry gosse. 
 
 I*i 
 
 i 
 
 was hun<^ round willi dry skins, received from the trappers, 
 awaitiiij; shipment. It was important that this very costly 
 property should be i)rotectcd, and so — this fur-room was 
 haunted. The maid-.servants recounted to the young clerk 
 a harrowing tale of an incident which had happened before 
 he came. One night one of them told Martin that conver- 
 sation was heard in the house, but no one could say 
 whence the voices came. He listened, and heard the sound 
 as of a man's grave tones, rather subdued, and occasionally 
 intermitted. y\fter a while it was concluded that it was 
 the ghost in the fur-room. Martin, therefore, with a 
 theatrical air of de\ilry, took a cocked pistol in each hand, 
 marchetl upstairs — the timid women crouching at his back 
 with a candle — and, throwing open the door of the fur- 
 room, authoritatively asked, "Who's there.'" Nothing, 
 however, was heard or seen ; nor was any explanation of 
 the mystery attained. Hut one of the girls ([uietly saii. , at 
 the close, that she thought it was only the buzz of a blue- 
 bottle fly ! 
 
 There can be no question that his timidity was increased, 
 and his dislike of company which he was not certain would 
 be congenial deepened, b)' Philiii Gosse's dreary experiences 
 at St. Mary's, One thing he learned which was afterwards 
 useful to hiiTi, book-keeping by double entr}', both in prin- 
 cipal and in practice. lie sat all day at the desk, mostly 
 alone ; but the work was not nearly sufficient to fill the 
 time, there was no literature in the place, and he was hard 
 set for occupation. His love of animals was known, 
 however, and the good-natured fellows in the port would 
 bring him oddities. One day a fisherman brought him a 
 pretty bird, of dense, soft, spotless white [)lumagc, calling 
 it a sea-pigeon. It was a kittiwake gull in remarkably 
 fine condition ; as I'hilip was holding it in his hands, 
 gazing on it u ith admiration, it suddenl}- darted its long 
 
NFAVFOU.WDLAXD. 
 
 65 
 
 sharp bc.'ik up one of his nostrils, brin.cjin-^ clown a pouring 
 stream of blood. With such poor incidents as these, 1S2S 
 passed c;Ioornily and drearily away. But one mornini;, 
 soon after the new )-ear liad opened, Martin at breakfast 
 electrified Gosse by the announcement that he was ijoing 
 to send the latter to Carbonear. The lad was to travel on 
 foot across the counlr)-, trackless and buried ileej) in snow, 
 riiilii) thought not f )r an instant, however, of dai^L^er or 
 labour, in the joy of _Li[ettin;_j back to companionsiii]) and 
 home. Old Joe l)\'rnc, a trapi)er and furrier, familiar with 
 the interior — a worthy, simple old fellow, and (juite a 
 character — was to be his pilot, and to carry his little kit, 
 his chest remainincj to be sent round the coast b)- the first 
 spring; schooner. 
 
 Accordin;^d)', the next day, they left in a small boat, and 
 were rowed \x\) the ba\-, to its extreme point, where Colinet 
 river enters. Here was Joe's house, and here Philip Gosse 
 remained for one day as his truest, rec^'aled with delicious 
 beaver meat, lie declared to the end of his life that no 
 flesh was so cxcpu'site as the hind quarters of beaver roasted. 
 An old Irish farmer was living;- near, whose Eni^lish was 
 imperfect. lie came in to speed the travellinij party, and 
 wishini,r to describe the abundance of ptarmij^an in the 
 interior, he assured them that")'i:)U will see a thousand 
 partridge, and she will look you right in the face." After 
 a last revel on the delicious tail of the beaver, late in the 
 afternoon Joe and Philip Gosse started to walk to Car- 
 bonear, striking due north for the head-waters of Trinity 
 Bay, some sixteen or seventeen miles distant in a direct 
 line. Just before nightfall they arrived at a little " tilt," or 
 rude hut, of Joe's, made in his pursuit of fur animals. 
 Here they soon built up a good fire and prepared their 
 evening meal, falling asleep at last in a {o^ of pungent 
 wood-smoke. 
 
 lil 
 
66 
 
 THE LITE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 
 TIic second ilay was far more laborious. In man}- 
 places the snow was several feet deei) ; the foot on being 
 set tlcjwn would sink to niid-thii^h, and had to be slowly 
 and painfully dragged out for the next stei). Seven hours' 
 hard walking only accomplished, by Joe's estimate, f.vc 
 miles. The over-exertion produced symptoms of distress 
 in the physical frame of the young man, and he was 
 utterl}- exhausted when they reached a second and much 
 poorer tilt. They were now about half-way across the 
 isthmus. The third day was more pleasant. The weather 
 was fine, the snow tcjlerably firm, and the elasticity of youth 
 began to respond to the neccssit)'. A remarkable charac*"cr- 
 istic of the interior of Newfoundland is a multitude of lakes 
 or ponds, mere dil; tations of the rivers and rivulets ; they 
 occur in succession, like links of a chain, or like beads on 
 a string. These were now hard frozen and snow-covered ; 
 but their perfect level, and the comparative thinness of the 
 wind-swept snow upon thein, induced the old trapper to 
 select these ex[)ansions of Rocky River and its tributaries 
 where -er their cc'i;rse would adn^it. Some of the larger 
 pv:;uls wc ( ; sevcval miles in length, and were often studded 
 w;t!) i lets cK/lied with lofty hard-woods, such as birch and 
 witch ha/el, form-' of vegetation not met with near the 
 r jast This country the young man picturetl as probably 
 full ( f I)eauly and varii^ty in summer. 
 
 O'd Joe was communicative, and in his capacity of 
 fuiri r and tr.ipper his e.\[)erience was interesting. He 
 pointed out .lome large rounded masses of snow at tln' 
 head of (;;ie lako, which, he saii.1, covered a bea\er-house 
 ■vh( nee ho Iuk! drawn many beavers. In other phices he 
 pointed out otter (or, as he pronounced it, ".uithor") 
 slides, ahva) s on the steep slofie of the bank, where the 
 water, even throughout the winter, remained unfrozen. 
 "These slides," sa}s my father, "were as smooth and 
 
y of 
 
 Ile 
 
 It 111'' 
 
 house 
 
 ;.s he 
 
 |ior") 
 
 the 
 
 )zcn. 
 
 and 
 
 NEWFOUXDLAXD. 
 
 r>7 
 
 slippery as glass, caused by the otters sliding; on them in 
 play, in the following manner : — Several of these amusing 
 creatures combine to select a suitable spot. Then each in 
 succession, lying flat on his bell\-, from the top of the bank 
 slides swiftly down over the snow, and plunges into the 
 water. The others follow, while he crawls up the bank at 
 some distance, and running round to tlie sliding-place, 
 takes his turn again to perform the same evolution as 
 before. The wet running from their bodies freezes on 
 the surface of the slide, and so the snow becomes a si;,./.th 
 gutter of ice. This sport the old trapper hatl frecjuently 
 seen continued with the utmost c;igerness, and with every 
 demonstration of delight, for hours together." It remintls 
 one of tobogganing, although the attitude is ni)t quite the 
 same. My father used to say that he knew no other 
 example of adult cpiadrupcds doing so human a thing as 
 joining in a regular set and ordained game. 
 
 They had made fair progress in this third day, and at 
 its end, as there were no more hospitable tilts, they 
 were fain to bivouac under the skies. Old Joe, however, 
 was equal to the emergency. With the axe that he carried 
 at his belt, he promptly felled a numl>er f)f trees in a 
 spruce wood, causing them so to f.ill as that their branches 
 and leafy tops should form a J. n .' wall of foliage 
 around an open area, within which he lighted an immense 
 blazing fire, feeding it with *he trunks, which he cut into 
 logs, and piled up in stcjrc sufficient f<jr the whole night, 
 before he ceased hdjour. Ne.\t moruii.g they trudged on 
 again, and while this fourth day was .;till early, they ar- 
 rived at the sea in Trinity Ha}'. The long narrow inlet 
 at the head was frozen over, and they walked do-.\n it. 
 The ice was solid enough, but fresh water had llowed over 
 it, flooding the whole to the deplli of abinit a foot. This 
 also had hx zen over during the night, but so thinly as to 
 
 m 
 
w 
 
 Ml 
 
 68 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 hear tlio pressure of the foot for only an instant. As 
 soon as the u'cic^ht of the body came, down went the foot 
 through to the ice below. Trud^inj^ tlius throiu^h freezing 
 water, while the edi^e of the thin surface-ice cut the skin 
 at every step, and this for a distance of two miles, proved 
 'die most tryinL,^ incident of the whole journey : but the 
 sense of having reached the northern coast sustained them. 
 A mile or two now brought them to the point whence they 
 had again to strike across country to Conception Bay. The 
 distance was still about a do/cn miles, but along a regular 
 hoatcn track, and they did it jauntily. Near nightfall they 
 leachixl the head of Spaniard's liay, and presently walked 
 into the familiar strect.s of the town of Harbour Grace, 
 where, at the house of his friend Charley St. John, Gosse 
 parted from his trapper i)ilct, and received a cordial greet- 
 ing from the whole of the affectionate St. John family. A 
 letter from Mr. St. John takes up the tale. " 1 lave you for- 
 gotten," he says forty years later (1868), "the night when, 
 on your return from St. Mary's to Carbonear, )-ou stopped 
 at my father's, and when I kept you awake until near day- 
 break relating what had occurred iluring j-our absence, till 
 my father had to tap at the partition to stop our clacking 
 and laughing.'' And how, wiicn you went over next day, 
 the lads were disappointed at finding their bottled ale all 
 fizzled down flat and stale .-• " Very shortly after this, W. C. 
 St. John married, under somewhat romantic cireumstances, 
 and thenceforward began to run over to Harbour Grace 
 for two or three nights of each week, returning to the office 
 in the early morning. Still, he was not ciuitc the same to 
 his friends as before, and the marriage of a clerk without 
 special consent was not looked ui)on with favour. Mr. 
 IClson, after a time, intimated that St. John must seek 
 some other emi)loymcnt, and in the auuimn of 1830 he 
 ceased to be one of the circle at Carbonear. 
 
\'E IVFO UNDLA ND. 
 
 69 
 
 It was in the winter of that year that Philip Gossc 
 became consumed with a passion for poetry, a return to 
 the feelint]j roused tliree j-ears before by the readin^,^ of 
 Lara. lie bec;an to devour all the verse that was tc be 
 discovered in Carbonear, and to form a manuscrij)t selec- 
 tion of the pieces which struck liim as beinL,^ the best, an 
 anthology which he patiently continueil to form until 
 1834. This collection, in two volumes, is now in my 
 possession, and testifies to the refined, but, of course, 
 somewhat conventional taste, of the lad. Much reading of 
 poetry inevitably leads to the writing of it, and Philip 
 wrote the words " Sprigs of Laurel " on the title-page of 
 a blank volume 'v hich it was his intention to fill with lyrics 
 of his own. lie achieved a "Song to Poland," some scrip- 
 tural pieces ins[)ired by Byron, a blank-verse address to 
 Spring, a 1 ' then the laurel grove withered uj) and budded 
 no more. His genius was not for poetry. Music followed 
 in the wake of verse ; afitiorc for making musical instru- 
 ments seized the clerks. Under the tuition of a Mr. 
 Tvvohig, a carpenter, my father constructed in iSji an 
 yl'^olian harp and a violin, neither of which was unsatisfac- 
 tory. In the same summer he taught himself to swim. 
 
 \]\) to this time the record of my father's life has been 
 the chronicle of a child, although by the close of the season 
 he was actually well advanced in his twenty-second year. 
 In reality, howevi r, lie was extremely young, unformed, 
 without definition of character, without distinct aim of any 
 kind, and lacking, too, the ordinary buoyancy of early man- 
 hood. He was suspended, as it were, between the artlessnes.s 
 of childhood and the finished shape which his maturity was 
 to i.dopt. This is probably no rare phenomenon in the 
 youth of men born to be remarkable, and >Lt placed in 
 circumstances which arrest rather than advance their de- 
 velopment. In glancing over my father's diaries and notes, 
 
 I 
 
'li 
 
 70 
 
 rilE LIFE OF nil LIP IIEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 I find no difficulty in pcrceivin^T that the year 1832 was in 
 several respects the most remarkable in his life. In it he 
 commenced that serious and decisive devoticMi to scientific 
 natural history which henceforward was his central occu- 
 pation. In it he first, as he himself put it forty years later, 
 "definitely and solemnly yielded himself to God ; and 
 bc;^an that course heavenward, which, throuj^h many devia- 
 tions and inan\' haltincjs and nian\- falls, I have been 
 enabled to ])ursue, on the whole steadfiistb', until now." 
 It was in this year also that, after Cwc years' absence in 
 Newfoundland, he once more visited his parents and his 
 native countr\'. This, however, was but a tritlinij matter 
 in comparison with the i^n'eat imi)ortance of the change 
 which turnetl the soft and molluscous temperament of the 
 youth into the vertebrate character of the man. In iS:;2 
 I'hilip Gosse, suddenly and consciously, became a naturalist 
 antl a Christian. On the former subject he must now speak 
 for himself: — 
 
 "The 5th of May was one of the main pivots of life 
 " to me. The Wesleyan minister. Rev. Richard Knight. 
 " was selling some of his spare books by auction. I was 
 " there, and bought Kaumachcr's edition of Adams's 
 " /:ss<tj'S ON the Microscope, a quarto whicli I still 
 " possess. The plan of this work had led the author to 
 " treat largely of insects, and to give minute instructions 
 "for tlieir collection and iireservation. I was delighted 
 "with in\- prize; it just condensed and focussed the 
 " wandering rays of science that were kindling in m\- 
 " mind, aiul I enthusiastically rcsoKed forthwith to collect 
 "insects. \\. first I proposed onl)- to include the more 
 "liandsome butterflies and moths and the larger beetles, of 
 '■ which barren Newfoundland yielded a poor store indeed ; 
 " but not knowing how to make a limit, I presently 
 "enlarged my plan, and connnenced as an entomologist 
 
Xf.irrOUXDLA.VD. 
 
 71 
 
 " in earnest. Tlie .S"/>('.r ,i^i^i^(js, which I hid taken in 
 " 1829, was still lying on the sash of the parlour window ; 
 "with this I bec^fan m>- collection. On the Ci\.\\ of June 
 " I took, on a currant hush in the garden, a very fwie 
 ''specimen of a Xi^vy fine butterfl}', the Caniherwell 
 " ]5eauty {Vaiiissa .liifiopa), of which, strange to sav, I 
 "never saw another example while I remained in the 
 " i si a nil. 
 
 "Owing to the long continuance of the Arctic ice o\^ 
 "the coast, the spring of \'^},2 was unprecedcntcdly late ; 
 "so that my collection liad not gone he}-ond a icw 
 "minute and inconspicuous insects, before i .->iiled for 
 " I'^ngland. 
 
 "The preface to m\' J'.iifonioloi^ici/ Jouni 1I, fr(Mn which 
 " I gather the above particulars, ends with these pro- 
 '" photic sentences: 'I cannot conchule . . . without 
 "'noticing the superintending Providence, that, without 
 "'our forethought, often causes the most imi)ortant 
 "'events of our life to originate in some trilling and 
 '■ ' ap[)arently accidental circumstance — to be, like our 
 '"own huge globe, "hung upon nothing"! After )-ears 
 ■"'only can decide how much of that happiness which 
 "'chequers my earth!)" existence may have depended 
 " 'on the laying out of ten shillings at a book sale.' " 
 The arrival of the s[)ring \-essels from Poole hail an- 
 noimced the serious illness of Philip's onl\- sister, ICli/abeiii, 
 l)Ut he had not felt any special alarm, until in the begin- 
 ning of June news came that her life was in danger, and 
 that she wished to see her absent brothers once more. 
 Philip Gosse immediately took in the letter to Mr. I'.lson, 
 who, in the kindest manner, s.iid that he should go home 
 b}- the next ship, which was to sail in a few weeks. It 
 had been distinctly stipulated that this privilege should 
 be given to the lad during his apprenticeship, and five out 
 
72 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HEiVKY GOSSE. 
 
 of the six years had now expired. The anticipation of the 
 death of one so beloved as Eli/.abeth, and the tedium f)f 
 waiting for the opportunity to visit her, produced a pccuHar 
 effect on the youncr man's tnind. As has already been 
 shown, he was by temperament grave and somewhat 
 Puritanical. His giddiest flights of spirit had not raised 
 liim to the customary altitude of innocent youthful be- 
 haviour, and nothing was lacking but such an incident as 
 the illness of Elizabeth to develop in him the sternest 
 forms of religious self-devotion. lie shall himself describe 
 the course of events in his spiritual nature, and I am the 
 more ready to print his exact words, because their tcnour 
 is very unusual, and far enough removed from the co' cn- 
 tional language of modern religious life: — 
 
 " My prominent thought in this crisis was legal. I 
 "wanted the Almighty to be my Friend ; to go to Him 
 "in my need. I knew He required me to be holy. He 
 "had said, 'My son, give Me thy heart.' I closed with 
 " Him, not h}-pocritically, but sincerely ; intending 
 "henceforth to live a new, a holy life; to please and 
 " serve God. I knew nothing of my own weakness, or 
 " of the power of sin. I cannot say that I was born 
 "again as yet; but a work was commenced which was 
 "preparatory to, and which culminated in, regeneration. 
 " I came at once to God, with much confidence, as a 
 " hearer of prayer, and He graciously honoured my faith, 
 " imperfect as it was. 
 
 "As illustrating the tenderness of conscience then 
 " induced, I recollect the following incident : — The use of 
 " profane language, so common around mc, I had always 
 " avoided, until the last twelvemonth or so, when I had 
 "been gradually sliding into it. One day, some week 
 "or two after my exercise with God, I was alone in the 
 "office, when some agreeable occupation or other was 
 
NE WFO UNDLA XD. 
 
 73 
 
 "suddenly interrupted by work sent down from Mr. 
 " Elson. In the irritntion of the moment, I muttered 
 "'Damn it!' not audibly, but to myself. Instantly my 
 "conscience was smitten; I confessed my sin before 
 "God, and never aj^ain fell into that transt^ression." 
 On July lo, 1S33, he sailed from Carbonear, in the hx'vj. 
 Convivial, for Poole. The ski[)pcr. Captain Compton, was 
 the most gentleman-like of the Elson ca[)tains, a man of 
 immense bulk, t^enial and agreeable in manners, and ic 
 made the vojai^c a very pleasing one. Piiilip kept a 
 journal of this expedition, which still exists and be^rs 
 witness to his increased power oi observation and descrip- 
 tion. On August 6 the young naturalist, who w.is now 
 within sight of the coasts of Devon and Dorset, had ihe 
 satisfaction of observing one of the rarest visitors to our 
 shores, the white whale, or lu!ui;a. Late in the evening 
 of the same day he stepped uu Toole Quay, and rive 
 minutes brought him to the tamiliar house in Skinner 
 Street. y\s he knocked at the door, his heart was in his 
 mouth, for he knew not what tidings awaited him. His 
 brother answered his knock. " Oh," Philip said, as he 
 grasped his hand, "is all well.'" for he could not speak 
 the name of I'^lizabeth. " Yes," was the rei)ly, " very well ! " 
 and the new-comer felt a load lifted from him. Though 
 still weak, I'Llizabeth was fast recovering, and had been 
 removed to lodgings at Parlcstone, in company with her 
 mother, for purer air. 
 
 Little did Philip sleep diat night. Awake in conversa- 
 tion until past midnight, he was up at four o'clock next 
 morning, and sallied forth, armed with pill-boxes, ready 
 for the capture of any unlucky insect desirous to experience 
 the benefits of early rising. During the voyage home his 
 dreams had been nightly running in the pursuit of insects 
 over the flowery meadows of Dorset. At length it was .1 
 
 
74 
 
 THE HIT. OF nriLir henry cosse. 
 
 fl'*' 
 
 reality. He was in a luiinour to he pleased with evcry- 
 thin^f ; hut even if it had not hcen so, the morning was so 
 fresh and bracin;^, the hedj:jcs so thickly green, and the 
 flowers so sweet after the harsh uplands of Newfoundland, 
 that he coukl not fail of an ecstasy. In later life my father 
 constantly recalled tliat delightful morning, which appears 
 to have singularly and deeply movetl liini u ilh il.-. beauty 
 " I was brimful of happiness," he said in a letter of a }.'car 
 later (November i6, 1.S53). "']"he beautiful and luxuriant 
 hedgerows; tlie moss\', gnarled oaks; the fields; the flowers; 
 the pretty warbling birds ; the blue sky and brigiit sun ; the 
 dancing butterflies ; but, above all, the unwonted freedom 
 from a load of anxiety; — altogether it seemed to xwy en- 
 chanted senses, just come from dreary Newfouiulland, that 
 I was ill Paradise. I low I lo\e to recall every little 
 incident connected with that fust morning excursion ! — the 
 poor brown cranefl)', which was the first luiglish insect I 
 caught ; the little grey moth under the oaks at the end of 
 the last field ; the meadow where the SatyriifiC were sport- 
 ing on the sunny bank ; the heavy fat Miisca in lleckford- 
 fit.'ld hedge, which I in my ignorance called a llombyliiis, 
 and the conscuucnt display of entomological lore mani- 
 fested all that ilay by the famil}-, who frequently repeated 
 the soimding words ']iomb}'lius bee-fl}-.' " 
 
 The mother ami sister soon returned from Parkstonc, 
 and the circle around the table in Skinner .Street was once 
 more complete. Philip did not stray three miles from 
 J'oole during the whole of his visit. Jle found little 
 changed in I'ooic during his 'iwc years' absence. "Our 
 lane," which iiad been a cul-dc-sac, was now a thoroughfare, 
 by the turning of the old gardens at the end into new- 
 streets, and there was a new Public Library built at the 
 bottom of High Street. Of this Philip was made free, and 
 there he read a good deal. His time was largely spent in 
 
XEWFOUXDLAXD. 
 
 75 
 
 entomological excursions, and he threw himself into scien- 
 tific study with extreme ardour ami singleness of purpose, 
 lie found an occasional companion in his cousin, Tom 
 Salter, an ardent youiii,' botanist, and he discovered that, 
 in a youn^; man named Samuel Harrison, Poole now pos- 
 sessed a local entomoloL^ist. With this latter Gosse a^^rced 
 to correspond and exchanc,^e dui)licates when he returned 
 to Newfoundland, and these pledL^es were faithfully kept. 
 Harrison was the son of the most influential member of 
 the firm, and probabK- his friendship with I'hilip (lossc 
 jT^ave the latter a sort of status with Mr. ICls(;n ami the 
 captains, and invented his pursuit of insects with a certain 
 consideration, h'rom this time forth, my father's zoological 
 proclivities were matters of notoriet)', but he does not seem 
 to have met with any of the ridicule which so unusual an 
 em[)lo\-ment of his leisure mii^ht be presumed to bring 
 upon him in a society like that r)f Carbonear. 
 
 On September 20, 1S3J ("the day l)cfore Sir Walter 
 Scott died," as he notes in his diary), my father's brief 
 but pleasant sojourn in iMigland ended. lie sailed with 
 the Convivial, on her return to Carbonear. 1 fc kept no 
 notes of this vo}-agc, which was both tempestuous and 
 long, for they did not arrive until the ist of November. 
 Late as it was in the season, and the Arctic winter already 
 setting in, he did what he could in collection and in study. 
 Of course, he met with many difficulties, of which his 
 personal isolation from all scientific sympathy was perhaps 
 the greatest, but by degrees man)- of them were sur- 
 mountetl, and he learned much in the be^t and hardest 
 school, that of actual observation. lie carefully recorded 
 every fact which ajjpearcd to be of importance, a habit 
 which proved of the highest value, lie thus became, not 
 mcrel}- an assiduous collected- of insects, but a scientific 
 naturalist. Immediately after his return from I'oole he 
 
 tins! 
 
 !i i' 
 
76 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 m 
 
 
 bcfjan to keep a methodical mcteoroloj^ical journal ; rccord- 
 injj the temperature thrice a day by a thermometer hunt,' 
 outside the office window, and, after a few months, rccordins^ 
 the weather also. These records were ret;ularly published 
 every week in llu- Conception Inxy Mercury, and were the 
 earliest meteorolojj[ical notes which were issued by any 
 N e w f ( ) u n d 1 a n d n e w s [) a p e r . 
 
 I'hilip Gosse now held the second place in the office. 
 His standinc:^ duty was to take a duplicate copy of tlie 
 Icdf^er, in three volumes, for transmission to tlie firm at 
 I'oole. This was easy work, for he estimated that he 
 could have completed it, in a steady effort, within three 
 months, and that without any distressing fatigue. There 
 was additional work, such as occasional copying of letters 
 and routine jobs ; ami in the times of pressure — as in the 
 outfits for the ice and for Labrador, and in the settlement 
 of accounts — he bore his part. None the less, he enjoyed 
 an easy time and plent}' of leisure. Marly in 1S33, under 
 the influence of the then much-admired apocal)-ptical 
 romances of the Rev. George Croly, IMiilip Gosse achieved 
 rather a long poem, The Restoration of Israel, which is 
 scarcely likely ever to be printed. His main and most 
 absorbing occupation, however, was from this time forth 
 natural history, and, for the present, entomology in par- 
 ticular. I have before me a large collection of letters 
 written by Philip Gosse at this periotl, to his family and to 
 Samuel Harrison in Poole, and to W. C. St. John in Har- 
 bour Grace. They breathe the full professional ardour of 
 the collector ; they sujiply scarcely any facts concerning the 
 life of the writer, but chronicle with an almost passionate 
 eagerness the daily history of his discoveries and experi- 
 ments. With the sudden development of intellect and 
 conscience which I have described as taking place in 1832, 
 there came the conscious pleasure in perception, and the 
 
A'E IVFO UXDLAND. 
 
 77 
 
 conscious power to j^ivc it literary expression. I'^rom the 
 letters before mc I will ^ivc one or two examples. On 
 January 12, 1.S33, he describes to Sam Harrison an incident 
 of his late return voyage to NewfountUand : — 
 
 " Our passage to this country was long and rough, 
 " and towards the latter part very cold and uncomfort- 
 "able. An odd circumstance happened while I was on 
 "board; one of the men coming up horn the half-deck 
 "found sticking on to his trousers a living animal, which 
 "the mate brought down to mc, that it mi;,;ht have the 
 "benefit of m\' scientific lore. The crew, not l)CM'ng much 
 "versed in zoology, could not tell what to make of it, he 
 "said, for ' it did not seem to be a jackass, nor a tomtit, 
 " ' nor, in short, any of that specie.* After sagely gazing 
 " at the creature awhile, I pronounced it to be a scorpion. 
 " It was about two inches long, of a light-brown colour; 
 " when we would touch it, it would instantly turn the 
 " point of its sting towards the place, as if in tlefence, 
 " but ditl not attempt to run. Ib/wever, we soon put an 
 "end to its career by popping it into a little (iro[) of 
 "Jamaica, and the fellow is now in the possession of 
 "your humble servant, snugly lying at the bottom of a 
 "phial bottle. The wonder is where or how it could 
 "have come on board, for thc\- are never found in ICng- 
 " land. 1 think it must have been in the ship ever since 
 "she took a cargo of bark in Italy last winter." 
 To the same correspondent he sa\-s, on May 25 — and 
 in this passage I seem to detect for the first time the 
 complete accent of that peculiar felicity in description 
 which was eventually to make him iamous : — 
 
 "Of all the sights I liave witnessed since I began the 
 ".study of this delightful science, none has charmed me 
 " more than one I observed this morning. On opening 
 " my breeding-box, I saw a small fly with four wings 
 
 III 
 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 /. 
 
 // 
 
 4- Mj^ 
 
 '9/ ^W c-^ "% M ' 
 
 :/. 
 
 i/i 
 
 *^ 
 
 f/x 
 
 ^ 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 I. 
 
 IIM 
 
 Ilia 
 
 IM 
 
 [ 2.2 
 
 M 
 
 U IIIIM.6 
 
 V] 
 
 <9 
 
 //, 
 
 o 
 
 e-A 
 
 e. 
 
 ^A 
 
 a,. 
 
 o 
 
 ^/, 
 
 
 7 
 
 
 PhotogTdpliic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 # 
 
 ^<^ 
 ^ 
 
 V 
 
 #> 
 
 :\ 
 
 'C^^^ 
 
 \ 
 
 «^ 
 
 
 6^ 
 
 *!. 
 
 V 
 
 r^^ 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTFS'N.Y 14580 
 
 (716) 872-.fd03 
 
 ri? 
 

 
 i/l 
 
 ■^ 
 
1)11,1. ■n'lKinmw'^^^s^nmtmm^mmimmmmm 
 
 I' 1 
 
 78 
 
 T/JE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "just at the moment it cleared itself of the pnpariiun. 
 "The wings were white, thick, and rumpled ; the body 
 "slender, and about three-eis/hths of an inch in length. 
 "I took it gently out and watched its proceedings. It 
 " Hrst bent its long antennai under the breast, and then 
 "curved the abdomen, in which position it remained. It 
 " was some time before I could perceive any change in 
 "the wings, but at last they began to increase, and in 
 "about an hour they were at the full size, though they 
 "did not attain their markings and spots till two or 
 "three hours. I now discovered that it is a lace-winged 
 " fly {Hanerobiiis), the first of the genus I have ever seen ; 
 "and I cannot sufficiently admire the beauty and delicacy 
 " of the ample wings, the gracefulness of the little head, 
 " and the lady-like appearance of the whole insect. I 
 " know not from what pupa it could have come (for 
 "though it was evolved the moment I first saw it, yet I 
 "was so taken up with the fly that I neglected to observe 
 "the pupa-case, and afterwards I could not find it), unless, 
 "wlixh I think probable, it was from one of those little 
 "silky cocoons, on the inner surface of willow bark, which 
 "I found on the 19th of March, and which I took for 
 " weevils ! However, I shall soon ascertain, for I hive 
 " more of them." 
 
 Another fragment of this copious correspondence may 
 be given, from a letter of June 21, 1833, as an example of 
 Newfoundland landscape : — 
 
 "Before six this morning, I was on the shore of Little 
 " Beaver Pond, where I stood for a few moments in mere 
 "admiration of the day and quiet beauty of the scene. 
 " The black, calm pond was sleeping below me, reflecting 
 " from its unruffled surface every tree and bush of the 
 " towering hill above, as in a perfect mirror. Stretching 
 " away to the east were other ponds, embosomed in the 
 
NE IVFO UNDLA XD. 
 
 79 
 
 " mountains, while further on in the same direction, 
 
 " between two distant peaks, the ocean, with the golden 
 
 " sun above it, (lashed forth in dazzHng splendour. The 
 
 " low, unvarying, somewhat mournful note of the snipes 
 
 "on the opposite hill, and, as one would occasionally fly 
 
 "across the water, the short, quick flapping of his wings, 
 
 "seemed rather to increase than to diminish the general 
 
 "feeling of repose. The air seemed (perhaps from its 
 
 "extreme calmness) to have an extraordinary power of 
 
 " conveying sounds, for I could with perfect ease keep up 
 
 "a conversation with Sprague on the other side (not less 
 
 "than one-eighth of a mile off), without raising the voice 
 
 "above the pitch used in ordinary discourse." 
 
 The entomological work done in 1833 and the personal 
 
 record of it are so profuse, that the biographer is inclined 
 
 to wonder where the duties of the counting-house came in. 
 
 But I\Ir. Elson was spending the summer in England, 
 
 which gave a little more leisure than usual, and the 
 
 young man became a kind of interesting local celebrity. 
 
 The sons of IMr. Elson had a pleasure-boat of their own, 
 
 the Red Rover, and she was placed at l'hili[) (josse's 
 
 service for visiting the islands. One of the captains, 
 
 Mr. Hampton, became an enthusiastic pupil of the young 
 
 naturalist, and collected ardently for him in southern ports 
 
 of Europe and Africa. ICvcn the townspeople vied with 
 
 one another to be on the watch for strange-looking insects 
 
 " for Gosse's collection." His desk in the counting-house 
 
 stood against one of the windows, and in the window-sill, 
 
 close to his right hand, he kept his card-covered tumblers, 
 
 in which he watched the development and transformation 
 
 of many species while at his work. Mr. I'^lson never made 
 
 the slightest objection to this, and from these simple 
 
 apparatus many a fact was learned. In the summer of 
 
 1.S33 he began, under the title of Entoinologia Tevrce-uovu-', 
 
 V 
 
Hi 
 
 80 
 
 TI/i: LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 to fill a volume with drawings of great scientific accuracy. 
 Some of the figures were magnified, and for this purpose 
 he had brought with him from Poole two lenses, \v'hich 
 he contrived to mount very decently in bone, securing 
 the substance from the dinner-table, and grinding and 
 shaping it wholly by himself. The lens itself was 
 neatly set in puttv ; and this rough but sufficient instru- 
 ment was the only microscope which he was able to 
 procure for many years. It rendered him an immense 
 amount of service in his investigations. He also made a 
 scale for his own use, out of an old tooth-brush handle ; 
 graduating it on one side to tenths, and on the other side to 
 twelfths, of an inch ; and this, in contempt of all modern 
 improvements, he continued to use until the year of his 
 death. His journal for 1833 closes with the following 
 remarks : — 
 
 ^^ December 31. — One year of my entomological 
 " researches in this country has passed away. It has 
 " been to me a pleasant and a profitable one ; for, though 
 " I have not been so successful as I anticipated in the 
 " capture of insects, I have gained a good stock of 
 " valuable scientific information, as well from books as 
 " from my own observations. The season has been, from 
 " its shortness and the general coldness of the weather, 
 "particularly unfavourable to the pursuits of the cnto- 
 " mologist ; several species of insects which I have 
 " noticed in former years have been cither very scarce 
 " or altogether wanting. I have not seen a single 
 "specimen of the large swallow-tailed butterfiics this 
 " year, nor heard of one, though some years I have 
 " observed one yellow species in considerable numbers. 
 " The Camberwcll Beauty, too, I have not met with. 
 " The claims of business, moreover, have prevented me 
 " from giving so much time and attention to science as 
 
NE WFO UNDLA ND. 
 
 8i 
 
 " I could have wished, so that, considering my oppor- 
 " tunities, I have no reason to complain of want of 
 " success. Besides the specimens which I have already 
 " sent, and those which I have to send, to England, I 
 " have collected in the different orders as follows : — 
 " Coleoptcra, 102 species ; Hciniptera, 29 ; Lcpidoptera, Jo 
 "(15 butterflies and 55 moths) ; Nenroptcra, ^^i ; Hy))icii- 
 '' flptcra, 69; and Diptcrn, 75, making a total of 3S8 
 " species, not including the foreign insects received from 
 " Spain. ... I enter upon the coming year with un- 
 " abated ardour, and with sanguine expectations, trusting 
 " that, if I am spared, it will prove still more successful 
 " and profitable than the past." 
 
 The year 1833 closed socially for Newfoundland in 
 ominous thunders. Ever since the colonial legislation had 
 been granted, the Irish party had been striving to gain a 
 monopoly of political power. Party spirit ran high ; 
 Protestants went in mortal fear, for the Irish everywhere 
 vastly outnumbered them, and threatening glances and 
 muttering words beset the minority. One St. John's 
 newspaper, llic Public Ledger, was on the Protestant side, 
 and was edited by a young man of much spirit, Henry 
 Winton, a friend of my father's. He advocated the 
 colonial cause with wit and courage, and was in con- 
 sequence greatly hated. He was, in the course of this 
 winter, round in the Hay, collecting his accounts, when one 
 night, walking alone from Carbonear to Harbour Grace, 
 he was suddenly seized in a lonely spot by a set of fellows, 
 who pinioned him, while one of their party cut off both 
 his ears. This outrage created an immense sensation, and 
 caused a sort of terror among the loyalists. A perfunctory 
 inquiry was made, but the Irish influence prevented it from 
 being carried far. It was soon known that the mutilation 
 was the act of a Dr. Molloy, a surgeon of Carbonear, with 
 
82 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHI I. IP IIEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 i 
 
 r. 
 
 whom the clerks at I'Llson's were well .ictjualntcd ; but he 
 escaped all punishment. The s^ite of things which pre- 
 vailed at that time in Newfoundland was a direct reflection 
 of the condition oi' Ireland, at that moment swayed by the 
 oratory of Daniel O'Connell. Large contributions were 
 being sent home from the colony to swell "the O'Connell 
 thribbit," as it was cnlled ; and Newfoundland was fast 
 becoming a most unpleasant [lace to live in. 
 
 The year 1834 passed, almost without incident, in 
 absorbing attention to nacural history. To understand, 
 the difficulties under which I'hilip Gosse laboured, it must 
 be borne in mind that no one in Newfoundland had ever 
 attempted to study its entomology before ; that there 
 were no museums, no cabinets to refer to for identification, 
 in the whole colony — no list of native insects ; that the 
 )-oung man was entirely self-taught ; that he was poor, and 
 could not buy what, in fact, did not exist if he had had the 
 money. In October, i<S34, Captain Hampton brought 
 back for him, from Hamburg, a cabinet for insects which 
 had been made there b)- Gosse's order and strictly accord- 
 ing to his written directions. This was three feet high, 
 three feet long, two feet wide, with twelve drawers, and 
 folding doors. It was ill planned ; the drawers were not 
 corketl, and therefore the specimens had to be pinned 
 into the wood, which was deal throughout ; the substance 
 was but slight, and when he came to travel, he found it 
 very unsatisfactory. However, it served its turn, and 
 Gosse was too good a workman to grumble at his tools. 
 His only written guide was the system of terse, highly 
 condensed, intensely technical generic characters out of 
 Linnxus's Sysfona Nat/me, as printed in the article "luito- 
 mology " in Tegg's London Encyclopwdia. These characters 
 he coi)icd out, antl they were of great value. He studied 
 them most intently ; was often puzzled, discouraged, but 
 
ii'j'i 'im»''imi!m'm nnm i " 
 
 NE WFO UNDLA XD. 
 
 83 
 
 ever returned to tlic attack. He made many mistakes, 
 which experience gradually corrected. The want of books 
 cast liim the more upon nature, and so lie struggled on, 
 constantly increasing his accjuaintance with actual facts, 
 and laying a solid basis for book-knowledge whenever it 
 might fall in his path. 
 
 All this time, the religious fervour to which allusion has 
 already been made continued to keep pace with the 
 scientific. I'hilip Gosse joined the W'cslej-an .Society, being 
 led in that particular direction mainl}' by two new friends, 
 G. E. Jaques and his wife, the former a colonist settled 
 in the town of Carbonear, the latter an luiglish hul}-. 1 le 
 presently became very intimate with them, speneliiig his 
 Sundays at their house, and frequently his week evenings. 
 This friendship, to which reference will often be made in 
 these pages, lasted more than forty years, and it should be 
 noted here that it was mainly owing to the influence of 
 this estimable couple that my father adopted a view oi his 
 duty to his fellows which henceforward, though in a fluctu- 
 ating degree, never left him, and which tfiwards the close of 
 his life became paramount, namely, his belief that it was 
 proper to exclude from his companionship all those whose 
 opinions on religious matters did not coincide with his own. 
 That I know this to have been the result of intense 
 conscientiousness and a cmiviction that his dut}' lay in 
 such isolation, must not induce me to pretend that the 
 effects of it were not in many ways deplorable, or that it 
 did not narrow, more than any other of his characteristics, 
 the range of his sympathy and usefulness. lie, however, 
 of course, thought otherwise. lie wrote, long afterwards, 
 " My friendship with the Jaquescs was very helpful to ni)' 
 spiritual life. It alienated me more and more from the 
 companionship of the unconverteil x-oung me-n of the 
 place ; it was a marked commencement of that course of 
 
 \^ 
 
84 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 decided separateness from the world, which I have sought 
 to maintain ever :;ince." 
 
 Although hi.s religious practice then, as ever afterwards, 
 was rigid and Puritanic to an unusual degree, he had a 
 seventeenth-century freshness in mingling the human mood 
 with the Divine. In letters of this period I find, side by 
 side with outpourings of devotion and aspirations after 
 godliness, quaint passages of simple humour. Philip Gossc 
 took his place in the singing gallery at the Wesleyan 
 Chapel, where his brother William led the instrumental 
 part with the first violin. " Other chaps," he remarks, 
 " and a few ladies swell the choir." One evening in the 
 week they met to practise in the gallery, and on a single 
 occasion, at least, he records that they all walked to Har- 
 bour Rock, a commanding eminence overlooking the port 
 of Carbonear, and clustering there, sang a hymn under the 
 summer stars before they separated. Two other of Elson's 
 clerks, who had become " serious," in like manner attached 
 themselves to the choir of the Established Church, and 
 practised there in the evenings. Gosse would often join 
 them, and the party would go home together. The old 
 parish clerk, one Loader, was a character. He kept a 
 school, but was quite illiterate. His office, of course, made 
 incumbent upon him a zealous Protestantism. He would 
 come to the counting-house, and glancing up at the Roman 
 Catholic chapel, with a patronising smile on the clerks, 
 would talk of " the misguided papishes, ye know ! " One 
 stormy Sunday the clergyman had not ventured over from 
 Harbour Grace, and Loader thought it a fine chance for 
 his own ministrations. He ran over to his house, close by, 
 and returning with a book, mounted the pulpit, and read a 
 flaring red-hot sermon of denunciatory character against 
 popery: "Then there was Ilildcbrand, or, more properly 
 speaking. Firebrand," etc., etc. — the whole read out in a 
 
NE IVFOUNDLAND. 
 
 85 
 
 miserable, limping style, hut with thumping; emphasis on 
 the more incisive passages. Sad to say, in spite of his 
 orthodoxy, poor Loader was a confirmed drunkard. One 
 Saturday night, as my father and his colleagues were 
 coming home from their several choir-practice, the snow 
 being deep, they saw a dark object lying across the ditch. 
 They went to it, and, behold ! it was Loader, fallen help- 
 lessly on his front, happily in such a manner that his face 
 hung over the ditch. " Why, Mr. Loader, is this you ? 
 What's the matter?" "Let me alone!" "Can we help 
 you, Mr. Loader? You mustn't lie here, you know, Mr. 
 Loader ! " " Go along, ye imperdent fellers ! Can't you 
 see Lm a — looking — for — something? G'long ! " They 
 managed, however, to drag him to his own door, much 
 against his will, he protesting to the very last that he had 
 been " looking for something." 
 
 Philip Gosse's indentured engagement with the firm had 
 expired in the spring of 1833. Since then he had remained 
 on, with no expressed agreement, as copyer, receiving 
 a small salary, besides board and lodging. Hitherto he 
 had formed no plans for the future. In the autumn of 
 1S34, his friends Mr. and Mrs. Jaques, their mercantile 
 business in Carbonear not being very successful, were 
 turning their eyes towards Upper Canada as a residence. 
 They had met with some flaming accounts of the fertility 
 of the regions around Lake Huron, and of the certainty 
 of success being attained in agriculture by emigrants 
 settling there. They determined to remove thither and 
 begin life anew as farmers in a W^estcrn forest, Philip 
 Gosse's intimacy with them had by this time become very 
 close. He could not support the notion of parting with 
 them ; and, moreover, the social gloom which hung over 
 Newfoundland in consequence of the ever-increasing ran- 
 cour of the L'ish, was making the colony extremely 
 
 n 
 
 1.1 
 
 ii: 
 
86 
 
 THE J.] IE OE rillLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 distasteful to liim. lie, also, was fired by the hic^hly 
 coloured reports of the cinij^ration advertisements, and 
 thought that, as he was j-ouiil;- and strcjii;.;, he was sure to 
 make a capable farmer. Then, too, there was the charm 
 of the unknown; of life under totally new conditi(jns ; 
 the romance of what was then the Far West, of the bound- 
 less primeval forests. 
 
 These are the only motives confessed in his letters of the 
 time, but under and behind all these there was another 
 unuttcred even to himself, but stronj^er than all. He had 
 pretty well exhausted the entomology of Ncwfoumlland. 
 It was a cold, barren, unproductive region. He ItMiged to 
 try a new field. One of the numerous works they read 
 that winter — for they all three eagerly devoured everything 
 about Canada that they could find — was a pleasant volume 
 of gossip by a lady, in which she enthusiastically and in 
 much detail, although unscientifically, described the insects 
 and familiar fiowers of Upper Canada. The account was 
 attractive enough to fire the young naturalist's imagination, 
 and thenceforth the time seemed long till he could wield 
 his buttcrfiy-net in the forests (;f Acadia. 
 
 The vigorous faith with which, he calculated on success 
 may be gathered from an extract from a letter to his 
 younger brother, dated December i, i(S34:— 
 
 " Now I have a serious proposal to make to you, which 
 " I hope and ardently trust will meet not only your 
 " a[)proval, but your warm co-operation. I ask by this 
 " opportunity mother, father, and Elizabeth to come out 
 " to me at Canada, not iminediatdy, but /// a year or tivo, 
 " when I have, by God's blessing, got up a home on my 
 " estate for them to come to. My plans I detail in my 
 " letters to them, and if they accede to my requests 
 " you must stay and bring them out. But if they think 
 " the undertaking too great, please let me know whether 
 
T 
 
 ■■ 
 
 NE WFOUNDLAND. 
 
 87 
 
 "you will be willin;^ to cast in your lot with us. \Vc 
 " would have all thin_L;s coniinoii ; we could cntomolo^izc 
 " tof^cther in the noble forest, and, in the peaceful and 
 " happy pursuits of aj^riculturc, forget tlie toils and 
 "anxieties of commerce.* Not that (nir lives will be 
 " idle, for we shall liave to work with our own hands, 
 " but there will be the i)leasing and stirring consciousness 
 "that our labour is for ourselves, and not for an unkind. 
 " ungrateful master. The land where I go is e.Kceeding 
 " fertile and productive, and, with little more than half 
 " the toil necessary on an Mnglish farm, it will yield tKjt 
 " only the neces.saries, but even the luxuries of life. I 
 " want )-ou to bring no money with you ; yourself \ 
 " desire. ... I shall not leave this country until the 
 " middle of May. I take for granted that you will join 
 " me ; do not let me be disappointed. Well then, this 
 "ensuing summer do all )-ou can in procuring insects for 
 " your cabinet, even of those which you have already, as 
 " it will probably be your last opportunity of ever get- 
 " ting English insects. If you have not time to set 
 " them, never mind, only pin them ; it is not of the least 
 "consequence, as I can do them again at any length of 
 " time, and however dry they may have got, . . . Mr. 
 "and Airs. Jaques know that I am inviting you to jcjin 
 " us, and they earnestly desire you to come. I have 
 " learned to stuff birds, and there are beauties in Canada. 
 " We could make a nice museum." 
 
 It was the old story, the familiar and pathetic optimism 
 of the emigrant, but that they had to comprehend from 
 sad experience. For the moment, everything favoured the 
 
 * All this unconscious Fourierism curiously foreshadows the coming co-opera- 
 tive projects in America, ^^'hat my father proposed in 1S34 was attempted 
 at Fniitlauds by Alcott in 1S39, and carried out, after a fasliion, at Hrook I'arni 
 in 1S40. 
 
 fl .1 
 
 I ,. 
 
 11 
 
II; 
 
 88 
 
 Tiir. LIFE OF rniLiP henry gossf. 
 
 scliemc. Ill the sprinjr of iS:?5 I'hilip Gossc received 
 replies. I lis brother ardently responded ; but the rest of 
 the family had no such enthusiasm, and -lOt only refused 
 to join the farm colony, but sought stront^ly to dissuade 
 Plnli[j from what they did not scruple to stii^matize as 
 madness. lie was not dissuaded, however, and continued 
 to elaborate the plans by which, with his slender savings, 
 he meant to buy a hundred acres of virgin soil. He spent 
 pretty nearly all his evenings with the Jatiueses, eagerly 
 reading every scrap of information about Canada, forming 
 plans, and discussing prospects. One evening, on coming 
 home, as Mr. Elson had not quitted the parlour, I'hilip 
 Gosse went in and abruptly announced his intention of 
 leaving. It happened to be a severely cold night, the 
 effect of \\'.'>h was to benumb his organs of speech, and 
 he spoke ;.b'-i.ptly, with a stumbling thickness of pronun- 
 ciation. l\Ir I .\:0\\ made no remark, received the notice 
 with cold 1 ..MS, offered no remonstrance, and expressed no 
 sorrow at parting, nor any allusion to his eight years' 
 service. It is possible that, from Mr. Elson's point of view, 
 Gosse, with all his foreign interests, had ceased to be a 
 valuable or even an endurable occupant of the counting- 
 house, conscientious as he intended to be. After the 
 friendly relations which had existed between them, it was 
 none the less unfortunate that master and man should part 
 on terms so far from coruial on either side. But Philip 
 Gosse had unconsciously grown too large a bird for the 
 little nest at Carbonear. 
 
 'I 
 
( 89 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAN ADA, 
 
 iS3s-i;^3>^. 
 
 ■ Ml itiilir^wwt 
 
 ON Midsummer Day, 1835, I'hilip Gossc took a final 
 farewell of the little tow 1 .vhich had been his home 
 for eight years and set of" "ull of sanf:;-i.i.ic anticipation.-, 
 for a new life of liberty and enterprise. He walked from 
 Carbonear to Harbour Grace, v hcie the Camilla was lyin;jf, 
 and went on board of her to sleep that nii^ht, to be joined 
 next morning by Mr. and Mrs. Jac[ues. Tn the course of 
 this, his last walk in Newfoundland, he saw in iu'glit what 
 all those years he had been looking for in vain — a specimen 
 of the large yellow swallow-tail butterfly. He gave chase 
 to it at once, and, after a long run, succeeded in capturing it 
 easily with his hat, for it was very fearless. In the evening 
 a boy brought out to the vessel for liim a large cockroach, 
 of a kind not native to North America, which he liad 
 picked up in the streets, dropped perhaps out of some 
 cargo of sugar. This quaint species of tribute was his last 
 gift from Newfoundland, a country in which he was destined 
 never to set foot again. He took on board a variety of 
 chrysalides, caterpillars, and eggs, the premature transfor- 
 mation of some of which gave him a great deal of anxiety. 
 How completely he was absorbed in his duties as the nurse 
 of these insects mti/ be amusingly gathered from his diary, 
 in which, for instance, in turning for some information 
 
 f! ■ -r 
 
/ 
 
 90 
 
 rilE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 !i 
 
 !-i! 
 
 § 
 
 rcgardinr^ thuc important clay on which he landed in the 
 new country of his adoption, I find these words and no 
 others : — 
 
 ''July 15. — As I this day arrived at Quebec, I pro- 
 " cured some lettuce for my caterpillars, which they ate 
 " greedily." 
 
 The voyage from Harbour (irace to Quebec, a com- 
 paratively short distance on the map, proved an intolerably 
 tedious one, from lack of wind. In the St. Lawrence the 
 strong ebb tide continually carried them back during the 
 night, running down with such force that it was impossible 
 to stem it without a strong breeze up. The only resource 
 was to cast anchor during the ebb and take advantage of 
 the flood tide, which runs upward five hours in every 
 twelve. The}' suffered from want of fresh food, and it was 
 annoying to their appetites to pass close to little wooded 
 islands stocked with ostentatious rabbits, and have no 
 chance of rabbit-pie. On the nineteenth day the)- landed 
 for ten minutes on Grosse Island, where the iiuarantine 
 establishment was, and this was an agreeable refreshment. 
 At length their impatience was rewarded, and they pene- 
 trated to the very heart of that land of promise from which 
 they anticipated so much. The}' saw it in a golden light, 
 and in these words, which betray his enthusiasm, Philip 
 Gossc described his a[)i)roach in a letter home : — 
 
 " On Wednesday last, as we were favoured with a fair 
 " wind, we weighed and set sail very early, proceeding 
 " along the fertile and well-cultivated Isle of Orleans, 
 "which, as well as the south bank of the river, was 
 "smiling in luxuriance and loveliness. When we had 
 " passed the end of Orleans we opened the noble 
 "Cataract of Montmorcnci, a vast volume of foaming 
 "waters rushing over a cliff of immense height. Wc 
 "now came in sight of the cit}- of Quebec, which being 
 
CANADA. 
 
 91 
 
 "on the side of a hill, and gradually rising, like the scats 
 "ot a theatre, from the lower town on the water-side to 
 "the upper town, and on to the lofty heights of Abra- 
 " ham, far exceeded in grandeur even my raised antici- 
 " pations. When the officers of cjuarantine had visited 
 " us we went on shore and took lodgings. In the 
 "evening we enjoyed a pleasant walk to the Heights." 
 The}' had intended to settle, as has alread)- been said, in 
 the London district of Canada, on the shores of Lake 
 Huron. ]kit already, at their first arri\-al, their hopes 
 were dashed. Those in Quebec Vv-ho knew the interior, 
 and who were sympathetic with their inexperience, gave 
 an account of that country which was \er)- different from 
 the roseate descriptions of the advertisements. At all 
 events, said these new friends, decide TiOthing until you 
 have at least seen the eastern townships of the Lower 
 Province. Thither accordingly, after four days spent in 
 Quebec, they all proceeded in an open carriage, and visited 
 a partially cleared farm in the township of Compton. 
 This they agreed to buy, and ten days later they all came 
 back to Quebec. This excursion, taken in the height of 
 summer and when everything looked its very best, was 
 admirably fitted to confirm the party of settlers in their 
 conviction that they had found a land flowing with the 
 milk and honey of prosperity. The profusion of butter- 
 flies, which of course he could not stop to catch, dazzled 
 Philip Gosse's imagination, so that the important matter 
 of selecting a scene of residence and occupation for life, 
 since that was their intention, never once arrested his 
 serious thought. He wrote long afterwards, in reference 
 to this settlement at Compton, " 1 felt and acted as if 
 butterfly-catching had been the one great business of life." 
 They immediately removed from Quebec, with their 
 slender store of goods, \.o Coin[)ton, and took' possession of 
 
/ 
 
 i 
 
 ^1:1 
 
 92 
 
 THE LIFE GF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 their farm. The village was on the river Coatacook, a 
 tributary of the St. Francis, in the county of Sherbrooke, 
 very near the angle formed by a line drawn south from 
 Quebec and one drawn cast from Montreal. It was 
 thirteen miles distant from the town of Sherbrooke, and 
 about twenty from the frontier of the state of Vermont, 
 U.S.A. What the farm consisted of, and wliat their labour 
 in it, may be plainly seen, though still through somewhat 
 rose-coloured spectacles, in the following extract from a 
 letter written November 4, 1835, to his friend, Dr. P. E. 
 Molloy, in Montreal : — 
 
 " I like my location here very much ; it seems the 
 "general opinion that our farm was a bargain: — one 
 " hundred and ten acres of land (forty-five cleared), a 
 "frame-house, a log-house, a frame-barn, young orchard, 
 "four tons of hay, etc., for £\o<:i — .^^50 in hand, the 
 "remainder in two annual instalments. It is a pic- 
 " turcsque-looking place, containing hill and dale, hard 
 " and soft wood, and streams of water. The first thing 
 " I did was to cut the hay which was on /;/(' allotment. 
 "This I did by hired labour; I made it chiefly myself. 
 " I then ploughed a field of about six acres, except 
 "three-quarters of an acre, which was done by hired 
 " labour. I found ploughing rather different from book- 
 "keeping, but not near so difficult nor so laborious as 
 " I had expected. Since then I have been collecting 
 " stones from the fields, which arc very numerous in 
 " some parts, and dragging them off. I have had about 
 " six acres of wild land (from which the heavy timber 
 " had been cut before) cleared of logs and bushes, and 
 " am getting them ploughed ; though I intend trying to 
 " do part of this myself. My intended next year's crops 
 " will be as follows : — Three acres wheat ; three acres oats ; 
 " one acre peas ; two acres turnips ; three acres potatoes ; 
 
 Ij:** 
 
 
/ 
 
 *.*»_*ww«.^»«'»'-vaiWfl«>*W*»*i»»*«W*«' 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 93 
 
 1 
 
 
 perhaps one acre buckwheat ; eight acres grass ; and 
 four acres pasture. Sometimes at first, when weary 
 with labour, and finding things rather awkward, I was 
 incHned to discontent ; but that soon wore off: the 
 thought of projected improvements and anticipated 
 returns, together with the beauty of the country and 
 freedom from the bustle of the counting-house, have 
 dispelled the gloom, and I am now as merry as a 
 cricket all day long. I have made successful applica- 
 tion for the conducting of one of the Government 
 schools through the winter, say four months, at the 
 rate of ^3 per month, besides board. This will help 
 my finances, though 1 am not compelled to have recourse 
 to it, having still a few pounds in my pocket-book. 
 " You ask if we have to work severely : I think I may 
 say no ; our labour is occasionally Jiard, but not severe— 
 not nearly so hard to learn as I anticipated. As our 
 minds were set on the Upper Province, it is hard to 
 draw a comparison between our expectations and the 
 realization, as it is so different from our anticipations ; 
 but I think I may say we are not disappointed. On 
 no account would I change my acres for my place at 
 Slade, Elson, and Co.'s desk. Society here is almost 
 wholly ' Yankee.' Their manners are far too forward 
 and intruding for our English notions, still cdl are not 
 so ; there are some very agreeable and good neighbours. 
 I much regret that you did not come here to reside the 
 winter. Pardon me tor saying you could have boarded 
 much more cheaply in the village than I take for 
 granted you would in a city like Montreal, and perhaps 
 realize nearly as much practice. We shall eagerly look 
 forward to the promised pleasure of seeing you in the 
 spring, if all be well. I think you will find it advan- 
 tageous to cultivate a small farm in addition to your 
 
 
v-a 
 
 94 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF PHILIP HE.VRY GOSSE. 
 
 
 i'i 
 
 ■y 
 
 "professional pursuits: suppose it were only twenty 
 " acres, it would materially aid your domestic economy. 
 
 "And now, as you have 'drawn me out' by asking 
 "about entomology, pardon me if I mount my hobby 
 " for a few moments. Since my arrival, I have enriched 
 "my cabinet with a great number of new and splendid 
 " insects ; indeed, to a naturalist, this country holds out 
 "a charming field of exploration in all branches of 
 " natural history. My agricultural labours are not so 
 " severe or so engrossing as to prevent my having some 
 "time to devote to the pursuit of my interesting science, 
 " of which I do not fail to avail myself When I was 
 "in Quebec, I made the acquaintance of one or two 
 "members of the Literary and Historical Society, who 
 "introduced me to their museum, and promised to pro- 
 " pose me as a corresponding member. (A correspond- 
 "ing member must be a non-resident, 'a\\^\ pays )io fees.) 
 " I have written to Quebec since I have been here, but 
 " have received no answer, so I suppose the promise has 
 " been forgotten. Perhaps you have become acquainted 
 "with some of the members of tlie Natural History 
 " Society of Montreal ; if so, would you be kind enough 
 "to inquire if a person residing here could be admitted 
 " as a corresponding member, and if so, what qualifica- 
 "tions would be required, what fees, etc. .' I have col- 
 " lectcd many duplicate specimens of insects which I 
 "had intended for the museum at Quebec, but if tliey 
 "would be received at Montreal, I should prefer sending 
 "them there. Perhaps it would not be troubling you 
 " too much, to ask if there are at present any entomo- 
 " logical members, and whether they are scientific. I 
 "should like very much to have some scientilic friend 
 " in this country, with w hoin I could correspond. I 
 " hope )ou will excuse my boldness in asking so many 
 
wuu 
 
 HH 
 
 I'mm- ■ 
 
 Itt^ 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 95 
 
 "favours at once, especially as I have not had the hap- 
 
 " piness of bcinjj able to confer any." 
 
 In addition to what is said above, it may be explained 
 that the hundred and ten acres which formed the farm 
 were divided by the high-road into two portions. The one 
 consisting of fifty acres, but having a frame dwelling-house 
 and barn, fell to Mr. Jaques ; the western section, of sixty 
 acres, having a log-hut, an ai)ple-orchard, a young maple- 
 sugary, and four tons of hay, Philip Gosse took for his. 
 This statement, however, gives mucli too favourable a 
 notion of the enterprise. Only about a third of the acreage 
 was cleared and in cultivation, and the whole farm, 
 although originally of good land, was sadly neglected and 
 exhausted by the miserable husbandry of its former pos- 
 sessors. The new tenant bought a horse and a cow, 
 stabling them in the log-hut. His first labour was to get 
 in his hay, and then he undertook to plough about five 
 acres, himself both holding and driving. He got three 
 acres more cleared of bushes and underwood, and ploughed, 
 by hired labour. These eight acres were all his tillage 
 land at first, and he divided them, as he had proposed, 
 between wheat, barley, peas, and potatoes. In all the 
 farm work he was ciuite unaided by the Jaqucscs, the 
 notion of all toiling together, in an atmosphere of refined 
 intelligence, fi)r a common purse, having broken down at 
 the first moment. The two laborious little farms had to 
 be worked independently, and Philip Gosse paid a modest 
 sum as a boarded lodger. In August they got into their 
 house, and one of Gossc's earliest acts was to paint the 
 outside of it with a mixture of skim milk and powdered lime. 
 
 The Jaqucscs, in particular, were soon disillusioned. Mrs. 
 Jaques, who had been brought up as a lady, and who was 
 then nursing a baby, found it almost intolerably irksome 
 to carry out the entire labour of the house herself, but the\- 
 
 :"' ' >i^ 
 
 ft*. 
 
w 
 
 lit 
 
 ?: i 
 
 96 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 could afford no servant. The two men, also, found the 
 practical drud^^cry of the farm work very different from 
 the idyllic occupation which it had seemed in fancy, and 
 through the pleasant telescopes of hope and romance. 
 Their hands grew blistered with the axe and the plough ; 
 their backs ached with the unwonted stooping and strain- 
 ing ; no intellectual companionships brightened their 
 evening hours ; their neighbours, few and far between, were 
 vulgar and sordid, sharp and mean ; they saw no books, 
 save those they had brought with them. So far as my 
 father was concerned, this painful isolation from the outer 
 world of man, though disagreeable, was not harmful. It 
 thrust him more and more on the society of nature. 
 Entomology had been his pastime ; it was now his only 
 resource, and what had been a condiment and the salt of 
 life grew now to be its very pabulum. The toil at the 
 plough was harsh and exhausting, but not nearly enough 
 so to dim his intellectual curiosity. I lis mind, the tendency 
 of which was always to flow in a deep and narrow channel, 
 concentrated all its forces in the prosecution cf zoological 
 research. In summer, as soon as his labour in the fields 
 was over, he would instantly sally back to the margins of 
 the forest, insect-net in hand, all fatigue forgotten in one 
 flapping of a purple wing. His entomological journals, 
 continued throughout the whole of his residence in Canada, 
 are a memorial of his unflagging industry and success in 
 the pursuit of science. It was these journals which later 
 on formed the basis of his first published volume, The 
 Canadian Naturalist of 1 840. 
 
 The toil would have been less difficult to endure, if the 
 returns had been commensurate. But in these, as in almost 
 everything else (except the butterflies), the emigrants were 
 grievously disappointed. Their neighbours described their 
 first season as abnormally unpropitious ; frosts came un- 
 
 f/ 
 
CAXADA. 
 
 97 
 
 usually early in 1.S3'"), so that the unripe corn-crops were 
 frozen antl spoiled. From \vhate\er cause it might bo, and 
 penuriously as they lived, the)- presently found that they 
 were not making botli ends meet. ICxisting as they did in 
 wretched poverty, it was depressing to find that, even so, 
 their toil was insufficient to maintain them. They soon 
 became convinced that they had made a serious mistake 
 in swerving from their original mtention (^f choosing the 
 Upper Province, but still more in buying a wasted and 
 exhausted farm. It is true that about half of IMiilip 
 Gosse's acres were as yet virgin forest, which he might 
 have reclaimed antl cultivated. Ikit they consisted, for 
 the most part, of " black timber" — that is to say, the species 
 of pine, sjiruce, mid fir which indicate low and swampy 
 soil, unfit for ploughing. I'crhaps if he had inore i)er- 
 severance, or a little capital, lie might have turned this into 
 meadow. Ikit his personal strength and skill were not 
 equal to the huge effort of clearing forest-land, and he soon 
 ceased to have the power to hire even the pt)orest labour. 
 He was accustomed, long afterwards, to reflect with 
 bitternes.s on what he might have done if they had kci)t to 
 their plans, and struck for the shores of Lake Huron. Ikit 
 bearing in mind the conditions of the experiment, I cannot 
 feel that the result wcnild have been much better. No 
 doubt the land they could have bought in the North-west 
 would have been far more fertile than at Compton, but it 
 was clothed w ith heavier timber, which they would have 
 been obliged to fell even before they could build a hut to 
 cover their heads. The labour would have been fir more 
 severe, the life even more recluse and savage. But the 
 real fact is that my father had no natural gift for agricul- 
 ture ; he was not one of l->merson's " doctors of lainl, 
 skilled in turning a swamp or a sandbank into a fruitful 
 field." The thoughts that came to him at the plough w ere 
 
 li 
 
 ^1 % 
 
98 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 I! 
 
 dry thouc^hts ; there was no fresh flavour of the cp.rth about 
 them. If it had not been for the blessed insects he must 
 have died of ennui. 
 
 It was not, however, for a loncf while that Philip Gossc 
 realized his disappointment. The rose-colour was in no 
 hurry to rub off. In September, I. S3 5, he writes home to a 
 friend in I'oolc, relapsing into the old familiar vernacular, 
 " I am now become such a farmer that I believe I could 
 smack a whip with ere a chap in the county o' Dorset." 
 ITe was full of enthusiasm for the natural beauties of the 
 Canadian autumn. In the same letter he writes : " The 
 trees arc now beginninj:^ to fade in leaf, which causes the 
 forest to assume a most splendid appearance. The foHaL,^c 
 is of the most gorgeous hues ; the brilliant rich crimson of 
 the maple, the yellow of the elm, the orange and scarlet of 
 other trees, set off by the fine dark green of the beech and 
 the nearly black of the cedars and pines, give a beauty, a 
 splendour, to the landscape which cannot be conceived by 
 those who have not seen it." The following extract is 
 from a letter to his father, dated June i 1, 1836 : — 
 
 " I have to work with my own hands. To be sure, I 
 "have not felled many trees yet, except for fuel ; nor is 
 "it necessary, as I have several large fields which have 
 " been many years in cultivation. However, if you could 
 " peep at me, you would haply see me at the tail of the 
 " plough, bawling at the top of my vcjice to the horses ; 
 "or casting the seed into the ground ; or mowing the 
 " seedy grass ; or pitching the sun-dried ha\- to the top 
 " of the cart. The country is a lovely one, especially 
 "at this most charming season — -foniiosissimiis annus — 
 "when the ground is covered with grass and flowers, and 
 " the woods adorned with masses of the richest foliage, 
 "enlivened by birds of sweet song and gay plumage. I 
 "have seen the beautiful Tanagra rubra, with his coat 
 
CANADA. 
 
 90 
 
 "of brilliant scarlet and dccp-bluish wings and tail. The 
 " riiby-throatcd humming-bird, too, begins to appear, 
 " with its loud luim as it sucks the nectar of some 
 "syngenesious flower, its fine eyes darting hither and 
 " thither, its wings invisible from their rapid vibration, 
 "and its throat glowing in the sun like a flame of fire. 
 "Then the woodpeckers, with their caps of deep scarlet ; 
 " the pine grosbeak, with its pink and crimson plumage ; 
 " and others, qiios nunc, etc. You asked me if I had shot 
 " any turkeys or deer ; )-ou know not how good a shot 
 " I am. I have shot at ascpiirrcl three times successively, 
 "without doing him any 'bodily harm,' without even 
 " the satisfaction of the Irish sportsman who made the 
 " bird ' lave that, any way ; ' for the squirrel would not 
 " leave the tree, but continued chattering and scolding 
 "me all the time. However, wild turkey is not found 
 "east of Lake Eric. Deer come round in the winter, 
 "and sometimes get into our fields, and cat the standing 
 " corn in autumn ; I have seen some that were shot by 
 "a neighbour, but they were does and liad no horns. 
 " They looked much like our fallow deer, but larger. 
 "The reindeer or caribou, as it is called, and the moose 
 "occasionally, but rarely, are taken. I have seen a few 
 " Indians, belonging to the .St. Francis tribe : some of 
 "them encamped within a few miles of us last winter ; 
 "but they are a poor, debased, broken, half-civilized 
 " people, not the lordly savage, the red man of the far 
 "West ; not such as Logan or Metacom of I'okanoket." 
 He was not, however, entirely thrown upon nature for 
 intellectual resources at Compton. Teachers of the town- 
 ship schools, which were held in the winter, were in demand, 
 and he found no difficulty in obtaining an engagement fur 
 the dead months of each of the three seasons he resided 
 in Canada. The teacher rcceixed free boartl and £io for 
 
 4 
 
ion 
 
 THE r.iFE or ririfip hf.xry gosse. 
 
 I ! 
 
 tlic season of twelve weeks, which Philip Gossc found a 
 very timely alleviation of Iiis expenses, thouc^h the occu- 
 pation was unplcasing to his taste and irksome to his rapid 
 habit of mind. Hut the ever-present stimulus of scientific 
 investigation ke])t up his spirits, and there began to grow 
 up within him a new sensation, the definite ambition to 
 gain scientific and literary distinction. The first en- 
 couragement from without which came to him in his 
 career, the earliest welcome from the acailemic world, 
 arrived in the early spring of 1S36, in the modest sha[)c of 
 a corresponding membership of the Literary and Historical 
 Society of Quebec. This was quickly followed by a 
 similar complim.cnt from the Natural History Society of 
 Montreal. These elections, indeed, conferred in themselves 
 no great honour, for these institutions, in those early 
 colonial days, were still in their bo}'hood, and too inex- 
 perienced to be critic.'i.l in their selection. It was none the 
 less a great gratification to the young man. 1 le contributed 
 papers to the Transactions of either society, sending to 
 Montreal a Lcpidoptera Comptoiiicitsa and to Quebec an 
 essay on The Tciiipcyatitrc of Nczcfoniic/iaiid and Xotcs on 
 the Comparative Forzvardncss of the Spring in Xeivfonndland 
 (•i.nd Canada. He also sent to the new museum at 
 JMontreal a collection of the lcpidoptera of Compton. 
 All the while lie was keeping his copious daily journal of 
 observations, a diary which lies before me now, and from 
 which I extract one day's record as a sample of the rest : — 
 " Angnst TO, [1835]. — I took a walk before breakfast 
 " to a maple-wood, where I spent a few hours very 
 " pleasantly. There \\as one large but quite decayed 
 " tree, whose trunk was pierced with very many holes, 
 " and in almost every hole were the remains of a Sirex, 
 " almost gone to dust — a large species somewhat 
 " resembling Sircx gigas. There were also remnants of 
 
CAXADA. 
 
 loi 
 
 "many hectics, amoncj which was a Biipirstis, Hkc on^.- I 
 
 " cau^dit at Three Rivers, and several hri^i^ht red beetles 
 
 "new to me, which h.ave some characters of Liicaiiiis. 
 
 " There were many oval cases, as larj;e as pi;^eons' c^j^s, 
 
 "containin^tj cxii-i'iu'' of some beetle, and in one I found a 
 
 " Scaralxciis, as that of Sth inst., complete thou!:;h decayed. 
 
 " In another rotten tree I found several /////, some of 
 
 "which were of j^n<;antic size. While in the wood, I 
 
 "heard a loud hum, ami lookinrj round saw what I took 
 
 " to be a h'U\q,"e insect, but viewin;^ it more intently, I 
 
 "saw it was a luunminL^f-bird of an olive coloiu', poisinj.^ 
 
 'itself before some tubular flowers, and inserting" its bill 
 
 '■ for an instant, then whisking to another like lij^htnini; ; 
 
 " while I stood motionless, it came and sucked (lowers 
 
 " within a )'ard of me, but on the least motion was off 
 
 " to a distance, I saw the star crane-fly of Newfound- 
 
 " land. On cominc^ home I found to my sorrow that, 
 
 " havinfT put the larj^je chafer of x'cstcrday into my store- 
 
 " box, pinned but not dead, he had f^ot his pin out of 
 
 "the cork, and had been amusinL^ himself during my 
 
 "absence, carrying his pin about the box and biting 
 
 " other insects. He has spoiled a pearl-border fritillary, 
 
 " a tiger-moth, and, what I regret most of all, he has bitten 
 
 " two of the wings off the great Ifcincrobiiis of 30th ult." 
 
 During the winter of 1835-3C, he made his first serious 
 
 attempt at book-making, T/ie Ii)itoi)iology of Nezvfoiuid- 
 
 laiid. The manuscript is still in existence, for, though he 
 
 completed it, he made no attempt to find a publisher for it. 
 
 Indeed, his lack of systematic knowledge, and of the then 
 
 present condition of zoology, rendered it probably -what 
 
 would have been considered by London savants as unfit 
 
 for publication, although the amount of actual observation 
 
 recorded at first hand, occasional anecdotes, and descriptions 
 
 of habitats around Carboncar constitute a store from 
 
? ? 
 
 1 n 
 
 103 
 
 r///r L/FE OF piriup hemry cosse. 
 
 which, to this day, a more orderly work on the insects of 
 Newfoundland niij^ht, no doubt, with j.n-eat propriety be 
 enriched. The main value of this lengthy i)roduction was 
 the familiarity with the use of the pen which it supplied. 
 It is a main feat for an unfledged author when he succeeds 
 in setting Explicit at the bottom of a body of manuscript, 
 lie has learned the lesson of literary life, not to grow 
 weary of well-doing. The unlucky Rntovioloi^y of AVa-- 
 foitiiiiland was a mere preamble to a far more im[)ortant 
 occupation, that cjf collecting materials for a work, the 
 pecuniary success of which was to be an ci)och in my 
 father's life, and to make him an author by profession. 
 This was his Canadian Naturalist, " The whole plan of 
 this work occurred to me," he says in a letter of 1S40, " and 
 was at once sketched in my mind, one day as I was 
 walking up to Tilden's, the road that led along from \wy 
 maple grove westward through the woods. It was a lovel) 
 spring day, the iith of May, 1H37, the day before my 
 brother arrived. I had a large amount of material 
 already in my entomological journal, and thenceforward 1 
 kept my eyes always wide open for every other branch 
 of natural history. It was Sir Humphrey Davy's 
 Sahnonia ; or Days of Fly-FisJdng, that formed my model 
 for the dialogue. The work remains a vivid picture of 
 what chiefly engaged my thoughts during my three 
 Canadian years." lie ceased, with this wider ambition, to 
 be merely an entomologist ; he became a naturalist in the 
 broader and fuller sense. 
 
 During the first eighteen months his letters home were 
 still sanguine, and, despite tue discomforts and limitations 
 of the life at Compton, he continued to urge the members 
 of his family to join him. In May, 1837, in fact, his younger 
 brother came, but stayed only six months, and returned, 
 bitterly disenchanted, to England. I do not, indeed, find it 
 
C^tNADA. 
 
 103 
 
 quite easy to comprehend my father's condition oi mind 
 throuijfhout this year, lie CDiitiiuies, in spite of all dis- 
 appointment, to importune his father, mother, and sister 
 to "be ready to come out and live under the protection of 
 my \vinL,%" and talks, so late as the autumn of iS^;, of 
 having "some idea of j^ettincj^ out the materials of a house 
 in the follo\vin,ej winter, U) be erected in the south-west 
 corner of my Let^horn l-'icld." \'cl he had already, in July 
 of the same \ear, advertised his farm at Compton for sale, 
 not failiuL; to mention in the terms his "garden of rare 
 exotic flowers ; " for he hati enclosed a corner opposite the 
 house, and had cultivated with success the seeds and plants 
 which his brother had brought from I'oole. and others that 
 he had collected from friends around. As this season closed 
 in, and his crops, which he had sanguinely persuaded 
 himself were better than those of his neighbours, proved 
 to be lamentable failures, his thoughts, unwillingly a* first, 
 but soon more and more, began to turn to some other 
 scene and some other occupation for the living which 
 seemed to be obstinately denied to him in Canada. The 
 disastrous visit of his brother was the last straw, and the 
 back of his optimism was broken at length. During the 
 autumn he was vexed and disturbed by having to appear 
 in court to give evidence in a criminal case ag.iinst one of 
 his few neighbours ; and for some weeks he was laid up 
 with acute rheumatism. On November 4, 1837, he wrote 
 a very melancholy letter to his sister Elizabeth, and, 
 after upbraiding and yet excusing Jiimsclf for having in- 
 duced his brother to make so untoward an expedition, he 
 continues — 
 
 "For myself, I have lately been somewhat brought 
 " down by sickness : nothing very alarming, but sufficient 
 "to disable me in a great degree from labour; in conse- 
 " quence of which I have become very backward in my 
 
 I i 
 
 4 
 
f 
 
 I 
 
 :i 
 
 'iU 
 
 104 
 
 T/f/i LIFE OF nil LIP IIE.VRY GOSSE. 
 
 " work, such as getting^ in my crops and ploughing. I 
 " bcHcvc my complaint to be an attack of rheumatism, 
 " brought on by a chill taken during a daj-'s work in the 
 "field amidst heavy rain. ]k\sidcs this, however, wiiich 
 "was trifling, thf)ugh painful, I have sulTcrcd from a 
 "general debility of body, with a depression of mind, 
 "from which I am not yet freed, though I am recovering. 
 " Could any employment be obtainctl at home ? I am 
 " tired of more than ten years' exile, far from friends and 
 "kindred. I have been thinking that I might do well 
 "by establishing a school in Poole, or in some of the 
 "neighbouring towns. Is there any opening? Would 
 "a school at Parkstone do? I should be very glad if 
 " you would let me know by the first spring vessel. If 
 " y*^^' t^'^^ ^^^ '^"y encouragement, I will endeavour to 
 '• sell my farm, and, please God. embark for Poole next 
 " fall. I believe I am competent to take a respectable 
 " academy, teaching all the ordinary branches of 
 " education, mathematics, book-keeping, Latin, and the 
 "rudiments of Greek and navigation. I should be glad 
 "of a change of fond, for I live on buckwheat and pig's- 
 "mcat." 
 
 About the same tiinc he urged a former Newfound- 
 land companion, who had just got a clerk's situation in 
 i'hiladclphia, to inquire what chances there were for 
 him in that cit\% either mercantile or scholastic. And 
 in the ensuing winter he had made up his mind ; for he 
 wrote to this same friend on February 5. 183S, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " My i)urpose is to sell m)' fiirm at an)- sacrifice, and 
 " take the first opportunity of the Hudson navigation to 
 "proceed south. My eye is towards Georgia or South 
 "Carolina, as I understand persons of education arc in 
 " demand there, both in mercantile and academical 
 
 w 
 
 !'J 
 
 I 
 
CANADA. 
 
 105 
 
 "situations. I believe, however, that I shall take 
 
 "Philadelphia in my course, and if anythin^^ can be 
 
 "done there, I shall not proceed further." 
 
 This scheme soon ripened into accom[)lishment, antl on 
 March 22, 1S3S, ha\in[4' realized the farm and stock as 
 best he could, he left Canada for the United States, his 
 friend Jaques driving- him in his waggon as far as Bur- 
 lington, on Lake Champlain. 
 
 This is the moment, perhaps, briefly to recapitulate the 
 results of the three years which had elapsed since he left 
 Newfoundland. As a tnonetary speculation, he had df)ne 
 deplorably. He was twcnt\--ei;^ht years of ai;c, and he was 
 not pcjssessed, when all his property was told, of so many 
 pounds, hy his change from C'arbonear he had greatly 
 increased his toil ; he IkuI lived much mcjn; meanly ;r.ul on 
 a coarser fare, had been mt)re poorly clad, and had suffered 
 in general health. To set against all these losses there 
 were two or three considerations. The mercantile house 
 which he had left in Newfoundland had, during th.ese three 
 years, nipidl}' fallen into grave difficulties, and had broken 
 up, the clerks being dispersed to seek fresh employment. 
 The state of society in the colony had by this time, through 
 the ever-increasing turbulence and lawlessness of the Irish 
 population, become almost unbearable for I'rotestants. 
 But the great, the onl)', counterbalance to the wretched 
 disappointments and privations of these yccU's in Canada 
 was the constant adxance in scientific knowletlgc and range 
 of mental vision, wli'di was checked, if at all, only during 
 the physical trouble of the last si.x months. 
 
 From the distressing correspondence of this period, with 
 its patient record of poverty, fatigue, and deferred hope, 
 I turn gladly to the professional journals, with their 
 unflagging note of triumph, and I permit mj-self one more 
 extract. It is no: thrilling, perhaps, but I take it as an 
 
 f ;• 
 
 I 
 
^ 
 / 
 
 1 06 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 v. 
 
 ••A 
 
 1 
 
 ^:\ 
 
 I 
 
 '1 
 
 example of that extraordinary power of retaining the results 
 of minute observation which made my father unique 
 among the naturalists of his time, and to find a parallel to 
 which it was then necessary to go back to Gilbert White of 
 Selborne : — 
 
 " On September 5, 1S37, I and my brother visited the 
 " Bois Brule. We went up by Bradley's Brook, and on 
 "the bank I found a new thistle, with crcnated leaves. 
 "The first quarter of a mile lay through a very rough 
 " slash, where we had to climb over the fallen trees and 
 " through the limbs ; and, to make it worse, these were 
 " concealed by the tall wickup * plants with which the 
 "ground was absolutely covered, and as the seed-pods were 
 " just bursting, every movement dispersed clouds of the 
 " light cottony down, which getting into our mouths and 
 " nostrils, caused us great inconvenience. Presently we 
 " descended the stee^) bank, and walked, or rather 
 "scrambled, up the rocky bed of the stream by means 
 " of the stones which were above water, though, as they 
 " were wet and slimy, we occasionally wetted our feet. 
 " Thus we went on, sometimes in the stream, sometimes 
 " among the alders and underwood on the banks, for 
 " about a mile and a half. I met with many specimens of 
 " fruits and seeds which I had not [found] before, espe- 
 " cially the orange cup-flower, the handsome scarlet fruits 
 " of the white and the red death, bright blue berries, etc. 
 " In pressing through the brush, I got my ch^thes be- 
 " daubed with a nasty substance, which I discovered to 
 "proceed from thouNands of the Aphis la)iii^cra, which 
 " I had crushed. They were so thickly clustered round 
 "the alder branches as to make a solid mass, half an 
 " inch thick, covered with ragged filaments of white 
 
 * Or " wickaliy," tho Icatlier-plant (Diira f'alKsln's], a sliriib common in 
 the Canadian woods, and cuvcrcd in spiin;^ with .sniall yellow blussonij. 
 
 \ 
 
lippppiiillii 
 
 « 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 107 
 
 "down. The insects were much larger than most of the 
 " genus, and of a Icad-grcv colour. 
 
 " We were getting nearly tired of the ruggedness of 
 "our path, when we suddenly came upon a new and 
 " very good bridge across the brook, made of sound logs, 
 " which connected a good broad bridle-path, from which 
 "the fallen logs, etc., had been cleared away, and which 
 "had been used for the purpose of drawing out mill logs. 
 "As its course seemed to be nearly parallel with that of 
 "the brook (about south-west), we preferred pursuing it, 
 " as being much more pleasant and more easy of travel. 
 "The sides of the road were lined with the stumps of 
 "large spruces and hemlocks which had been felled the 
 "previous winter, and the road itself was strewn with 
 " the chips of the axe-men. The course lying through 
 " a cedar swamp, the ground was mossy, and in some 
 " places wet ; here the scarlet stoneberry {Coriins 
 " Canadensis) was abundant, as well as the berries 
 " mentioned before. The former was ripe, and we ate 
 " very many ; they arc farinaceous and rather agreeable. 
 "We followed this path till it appeared almost intermi- 
 " nable, though its tedious uniformity made it seem 
 "longer than it really was, as I suppose we ditl not walk 
 " more than a mile and a half (jn it, when I saw by the 
 " increasing light that we were approaching a large 
 " opening. 
 
 " We now pressed on and found that we had reached 
 " the Hrule, which was not a clearing, as I had expected, 
 " but covered with stunted and ragged s[)ruce, from 
 "eight to twelve feet high, exactly resembling the small 
 "woods of Newfoundland on the borders of the large 
 " marshes. I found also the same plants, which I now 
 " saw for the hrst time in Canada. The ground was 
 "covered with the same spongy moss, with shiubs of 
 
 
 .a 
 
 "\'^^ 
 
 ICJ 
 
Pi 
 
 I ; ' ' 
 
 ic8 
 
 T/J£ LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " Indian tea {Lediiui latif.), gould {Kabiiia r!r.'(ca and 
 "/C aiigiistif.), and other Newfoundland plants, and, above 
 "all, numbers of that curious plant, the indian cup or 
 " pitcher plant {Sarracciiia), in flower, the leaves beiuLj 
 "all full of water. I brought L miic specimens as well 
 " of other curious flowcs. The road merely touched 
 " the edge of the l^rule, and went straight on, entering 
 " the tall woods on the other side, emerging as I under- 
 " stand on the Hatley road, about a mile or two further. 
 "We went a little way into the Brule to sec if there was 
 " any clearing, but could perceive no change in the 
 " ugl}^ dead, lialf-burnt spruce, and therefore returned. 
 " This singular piece of ground con.sists of some 
 " thousands of acres, and is said to owe its origin to the 
 " beavers, which were formerly numerous, damming up 
 " the streams, which, spreading over the flat land, killed 
 "tlie growing timber. It is a resort of wolves and other 
 "wild animals, though wc perceived no sign of life in 
 "the stillness which pervaded the solitude; nor indeed 
 "in all the journey, with the exception of one or two 
 " little birds which were not near enough to identify, and 
 " a few insignificant insects in the forest. 
 
 " Having satisfied our curiosit)', we began to return as 
 "we came, until we arrived at the bridge, when, instead of 
 " retracing the course of the stream, we crossed the bridge, 
 "and continued to pursue the road, which for some dis- 
 " tance led us through towering spruces and hemlocks 
 " as before. On a sudden we found the sides lined with 
 "young maple, birch, beech, etc., which met overhead 
 " at the height of about twelve feet, forming a very 
 " perfect continued Gothic arch, or rather a long series of 
 "arches. This long green avenue was the most pleasant 
 "part of our walk, and the more so as it was quite 
 " unexpected. Wc presently opened upon a large field 
 
 i 
 
CANADA. 
 
 109 
 
 "which had been just mown, but which I had never 
 " before seen, nor could I recognize any of tlic objects 
 " which 1 saw. Tlicre appeared to be no outlet thrf)u,L^h 
 " the woods by which it seemed to be environed. There 
 " was the skeleton of an old locj-housc, without a njof in 
 "one part, and a fDortion of the ficUl was planted with 
 " potatoes. W'c at len_c,^th saw a path throui^h these 
 " potatoes, and we walked on till, coming to the brow of 
 "a hill, we [)erccived the river, with Smith's mills, and 
 " the rest of that neighbourhood. Tlie road ai)pearcd to 
 " lead out towards Mr. Bostwick's, but we took a short 
 "cut, and came by the back of Webster's barn, ami so 
 " by Bradley's mill, and home. I forgot to observe that 
 " we were much surprised in going up the brook, about 
 " a mile up, at coming upon a ruined building, which had 
 "been erected over the stream, of whicli the timbers were 
 " fallen down, and some of them carried some distance 
 "downwards by the freshets. I supposed it must have 
 "been a mill, but wondered at its situation so far from 
 " any road. I have since been informed that it was a 
 " sawmill, which was built by Messrs. S. and I). Spafford, 
 " and that there was a good road to it, which went 
 "through P. (). Barker's south-west fiekl ; but being now 
 "overrun with bushes, it escaped our notice. The mill 
 " has been disused near twenty years." 
 
 :;, .ii 
 
 
mim 
 
 mm 
 
 «Mi 
 
 ( no ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 fi 
 
 
 ICS38. 
 
 THE only piece of valuable property which Philip 
 Gossc took with him from Canada was the cabinet 
 of insects which he had had made years before in Hamburg, 
 and which was now tightly stocked with the selected species 
 of six years' incessant labour. The space in it was so 
 limited that he had been fain to use not merely the usual 
 floor of each drawer, but the tops as well, and even the 
 sides. As has been said, the thing had been a cheap affair 
 at first, and none of the drawers being lined with cork, the 
 pins which fastened the insects had to be insecurely thrust 
 into the deal wood itself He had scarcely started from 
 Compton on Mr. Jaques's light travelling waggon when he 
 began to suffer from a mental agony which can scarcely be 
 exaggerated. His poor shaky cabinet, with its frail con- 
 tents, jolting over the hard-frozen roads, rough and desti- 
 tute of snow, began more and more to give forth a rustling 
 and faintly metallic sound which told him onl}- too clearly 
 that the pins were coming loose ; and soon he sat there, 
 in a condition of misery bej'ond speech or tears, the witness 
 of a catastrophe which he was absolutely powerless to 
 avert, watching in a wretched patience the cabinet, in which 
 the delicate ca|)turcs of his last years were being ground to 
 dust. 
 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 His was a temperament whicli couUl not, however, for 
 any length of time be depressed. After three years of 
 confinement to a dreary Canadian township, he was now 
 seeing the world again, and, what was important, going 
 southwards, to warmth and sunlight. As they drove 
 through the numerous villages of Vermont, he was capti- 
 vated by the pretty, neat, and trim houses of wood, brightly 
 painted, and as different as possible from the gaunt log- 
 houses of Compton. In the woods he saw for the first 
 time glades full of the paper-birch (Mr. Lowell's "birch, 
 most shy and lad\-likc of trees "), with its dead-white bark, 
 so unlike the gloss)' and silky surface of the common 
 birch. One nitdit they heard "from the most sombre and 
 gloomy recess s of the black-timbered forest the tinkle of 
 the saw-whctter. The unexpectedness of the sound struck 
 me forcibly, .'Mid, cold as it was, I stopped the horse for 
 some time '.o listen to it. In the darkness and silence of 
 midnight the regularly recurring sound, proceeding too 
 from so gloomy a spot, had an effect on my mind, 
 solemn and almost unearthly, yet not unmi.xed with 
 pleasure. Perhaps the mystery hanging about the origin 
 of the sound tended to increase the effect. It is like the 
 measured tinkle of a cow-bell, or regular strokes upon a 
 piece of iron c]uickly repeated." It is su[)posed that the 
 saw-whctter is a bird, but I believe that the author of this 
 sound, familiar to New ICngland woodsmen, has never been 
 positively identified. 
 
 Late on the third day the travellers reached Burlington. 
 The vast and frozen lake, a huge expanse of snow, crossed 
 in every direction by dirt)- sledge and sleigh tracks, was 
 dreary and uninteresting. Jaques immediately returned, 
 and Philip Gosse was left in this remote Yankee town, 
 without a single acquaintance in the wide world, and 
 utterly depressed in spirits. The same night, since there 
 
 11 
 
 li 
 
 1 
 
I ..Hi I l^ffiWI 
 
 112 
 
 77//? ///•■/? C/^ PHILli HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 % I 
 
 1:, 
 
 was nothinj^ to tcm[)t liim to stay at lUirlington, he took 
 his place in the stage-coach, a rou^^^^h sort of leathern 
 diligence, which carried a third seat hung transversely 
 between the front and back seats. A middle-aged woman 
 occupied one seat, and Gosse the other, and thus they 
 spent the night, swinging dully along the frozen road with- 
 out a word passing between them. In the middle of the 
 night, at some village where the concern changed horses, 
 riiilip Gosse got out for some refreshment ; dizzy with 
 broken sleep, he laid his purse down on the bar counter, 
 with seven dollars in it, and stumbled back to the coach 
 without perceiving his loss. The uncouth stage-coach dis- 
 gorged him at Albany in the ciuiet of an early Sunday 
 morning. He instantly embarked on the steamer, and was 
 running all that day down the beautiful ranges of the 
 Hudson. Jiut curiosity was almost as dead in hini as hope. 
 He spoke to no one on board, he formed no plans and 
 took no observations ; onl)- at the Palisades he woke up to 
 some perception of the noble precii)iccs under which they 
 were passing. He had not even the wretched excitement 
 of examining the shattered contents of his insect cabinet, 
 for the stage-coach had peremptorily refused to take that 
 piece of furniture on board, and it had been left at 
 liurlington. 
 
 In the evening he reached New York, landed on a 
 crowded wharf, and in Liberty Street, the nearest thorough- 
 fare, sought out a sordid hole, in which he took one night's 
 lodging and shelter for his boxes. lie made no attempt 
 to explore New York. His slender pittance was fast melt- 
 ing away, and he had many a league to traverse yet 
 before he could hope, in ever so slight a measure, to recruit 
 it. In the morning, therefore, without going up a single 
 street, he steamed across the broad Hudson, and took the 
 railway, the first he had ever seen, across the flat sands 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 in 
 
 of New Jersey. Before noon on March 26, he had crossed 
 tlic Delaware and had set foot in Philadelphia. 
 
 In the Quaker city he had an old friend, one of his 
 former fellow-clerks at Carbonear, Mr. W. V. Lush, settled 
 in the office of the American Colonization Societ\'. This 
 \-ounL,f man carried him off to his own l)oardin_i,''-house, 
 where Gosse also took lod^i^nngs, and .staj-ed ver\' pleasantly 
 for above three weeks. In this establishment were several 
 other younc; fellows, comrades of Lush's, who received the 
 new-comer acrreeablv. Tiic loncf solitary \-ears in Canada, 
 however, had set an indelible mark on the face and 
 manners of the naturalist. He found it impossible to join 
 in their gaiety of conversation, and they asked Lush 
 privately if " Gosse was a minister," beint; struck with his 
 fluent f^ravity in monologue and lack of capacity for small- 
 talk. It was in Philadelphia that lie first enjoyed the 
 sympathy and help of genuine men of science. At tlie 
 museum in Chestnut Street, he met Mr. Titian R. I'eale, 
 a local zoological artist of considerable eminence, who 
 charmed him at once, and sur[)rised him by his deferential 
 civility and his instinctive recognition of tliis grim-featured, 
 unknown youth as one destined to be '"somebody." Mr. 
 Peale was just then starting as the artist of an exploring 
 expedition to the South Seas, under Lieutenant Charles 
 Wilkes, and he was particularly interested in the exquisite 
 drawings of insects which Philip Gosse had brought frf)m 
 Canada. A more distinguished man of science was Pro- 
 fes.sor Thoma.s Nuttal, the botanist, whom he discovered 
 in the herbarium of the Academy of Natural Science. In 
 his diary my father calls him "venerable," although he was 
 little more than fifty at the time. By Professor Nuttal's 
 invitation, he attended an evening meeting of the society, 
 and met many of the American savaufs. The distinguished 
 Philadelphian zoologist, Dr. Joseph Leidy, then a boy of 
 
 I 
 
 
 :ii 
 
f 
 
 114 
 
 IIIE LIFE OF nil UP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 i:. i 
 ii \ ■ 
 
 'if 
 
 M 
 
 sixteen, tells nic that he recollects my father on one of 
 these occasions — a proof that his personality, unknown as 
 he had IjeL-n, awakened some general attention. The 
 society and its visitors sat aroiunl a table in the great hall 
 of the museum, candles dimly and ineffectually lighting up 
 the space. In the gallery, just above their heads, sat the 
 skeleton of a inurdercr, riding the skeleton of a horse, the 
 steed galloping, and the ghastly rider flourishing his up- 
 lifted hand with an air of great hilaritx'. I'art of the social 
 entertainment consisted in looking over some fine coloured 
 plates of American fishes, just out ; among which Gossc 
 recognized, with interest, the large, richly coloured sculpen 
 {Cottiis), so common in the clear water round the wharves 
 of Carbonear. 
 
 It seems to have been suggested to him by one of the 
 savants of Philadelphia that he would find a useful field 
 for his energy in the state of Alabama; and this gentle- 
 man — ]\Ir. Timothy A. Conrad, the conchologist — was so 
 kind as to give him an introduction to a friend of his at 
 Claiborne, which afterwards prov^ed useful. On Sundays, 
 while he was in Philadelphia, he went to the Dutch 
 Reformed Church, in Sassafras and Crown Streets. There 
 was no pulpit there, but a wide raised platform with chairs. 
 The Rev. George Washington Bethune, an eloquent and 
 genial man, who died much lamented in 1S62, walked to 
 and fro as he discoursed, in the manner since adopted by 
 Mr. Spurgeon. Put Gosse's thoughts in Philadelphia were 
 almost exclusively occupied with the memories of Alex- 
 ander Wilson, that greatest of ornithologists. Wilson was 
 at that time his main object of enthusiastic admiration, 
 and he occupied himself in visiting every spot which bore 
 reminiscences of the noble naturalist. Here was his 
 residence ; in yonder house he " kept school ; " here were 
 the birds which his own hands had shot and skinned ; 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 I '5 
 
 here were the very scenes described in his delightful 
 volumes ; and the younj,^ man made conscientious pili^rini- 
 aj^cs to the meadows below the city, to the marshy flats 
 of the Schuylkill, to the rushy and half-submerged islets of 
 the Delaware, to Thompson's Pcjint, the former residence 
 of the night-heron or qua-bird, and to the notorious Pea 
 I'atch, resort of crows in multitudes. lie found an old 
 man who had personally known the ornithologist, although 
 Wilson had at that tunc been tlead twenty-three years ; 
 but although Wilson had been a constant visitor at 
 his house, the old man could relate little about him that 
 was characteristic. One thing he said was sufficiently 
 memorable. "Wilson and I," he said, "were ah.vays 
 disputing about the sparrows. lie would have it that the 
 sparrows here were different from those in the old country. 
 I knew well enough they were just the same, but I coidd 
 not persuade him of it." It is scarcely necessary to say 
 that the American si)arrow is wholly distinct from the 
 English. 
 
 The delay in the hospitable city of l'hiladeli)hia was, 
 however, not altogether the result of his admiration for the 
 museums or pleasure in the associations of the past. It 
 was due to the difficulty he found in obtaining transit to 
 the South. At length he engaged a passage in the lV/ii(e 
 Oak, a small schooner bound to the port of Mobile. He 
 sailed on April i8, and the vo)-agc, a very picturesque and 
 interesting one, occupied nearly a month. They were two 
 da)'s getting down to the Delaware l^ay, for they were 
 constantly running aground on the spits and banks which 
 lay under the mirror-like surface of the river. At last, 
 after loitering in the mean fishing village of Delaware City, 
 they were off down to the oceati. It was exceedingly 
 cold, although they were in the latitude of Lisbon, and 
 ice a quarter of an inch thick formed on deck. At first, 
 
 m 
 
 % 
 
 
I 
 
 Ii6 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil UP IlEXRY GOSSF.. 
 
 % 
 
 I::.- 
 
 \ ,1 
 
 ■ .'I 
 ■, ( 
 
 riiilip Gosse was very miserable. lie was the only pas- 
 serifjcr, and the skipper was a churlish, illiterate fellow, 
 with a crew of the same stamp as himself The fact that 
 Gosse was a " Britisher " was (piite enou'^^h to warrant 
 them in the perpetration of a score of petty incivilities, just 
 short of actual insult. "The conversation," he saj's, "was 
 of the lowest sort, and it was not the smallest infliction 
 tjiat every nic^ht I was compelled to hear, as I lay in 
 my wretched berth, the interchancje of obscene narratives 
 between the skipper and his mate, before I could close my 
 eyes in sleep. Dirt, dirt, was the rule everywhere ; dirt in 
 the cabin, dirt in the caboose, dirt in tlie water-cask ; dirt 
 doubly begrimed on the tablecloth, on the cups and 
 t^lasses, the dishes and plates that served the food ; while 
 the boy who fulcd the double office of cook and waiter 
 was the very impersonation of dirt." The cal)in was a 
 filthy hole, hardly large enough to stand up in, redolent 
 of tar, grease, fusty clothes, mouldy biscuit, and a score of 
 other unendurable odours combined, sucli as only those 
 can imagine who have been the tenants of a small trading 
 craft. The single berth on cither side " in dimensions and 
 appearance resem.bled a dog-kennel more than anything 
 else, the state of the blankets being, thanks to the grave- 
 like darkness of the hole, but partially revealed, to sight at 
 least." The only resource was to cat with as little thought 
 as possible, to see as little as possible, and to be on deck- 
 as much as possi!)lc, and this last habit was furthered b\- 
 the glorious weather which set in soon after they were 
 well out to sea. 
 
 For the first {aw days he was horribly sick, and spent 
 the time in his little, close, dirty cabin, with nothing to 
 relieve the tcdivun of the voyage, But on the 24th lie 
 came on deck to find that they were in the latitude of 
 Savannah, and had entered the Gulf Stream. He fished 
 
I 
 
 BR 
 
 mem 
 
 ^■1 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 117 
 
 < . 
 
 up some of the gulf-uccd and amused himself with 
 examininjf it : — 
 
 " Many of the stems and berries were covered with, a 
 " thin tissue of coral, like a ver)- minute network ; many 
 " mall barnacles (Lc/as) were about it ; sonic shrimps 
 " t^f an olive colour with bric^ht violet spots ; small crabs, 
 "about half an inch wide, j-ellow, with dark-hrDwn spots 
 " and ^nottlin[,^s, one with the fcjre-half of the sliell white ; 
 "some small univalve shells, and some curious, soft, 
 " leather}' thin;^^s, almost shapeless. I put all the animals 
 " I could collect into water, and watched their motions. 
 " One of the small shrimps swam near a crab, which 
 '■ instantly seized it willi his claw. With this he held it 
 " firmly, while with the other claw he proceeded very 
 "deliberately to pick off small portions of the shrimp, 
 " beginning at the head, which he put into his mouth. 
 " lie continued to do this, maugre the struggles of the 
 " shrimp, sometimes shifting it from one claw to the 
 " other, until he had finished ; he picked off all tin- 
 " members of the head, and the legs, before he began t(j 
 " cat the body, chewing every morsel very slowly, and 
 " seeming to enjoy it with great gusto ; when only the 
 " tail was left, he examined it carefully, then rejected it, 
 " throwing it from him with a sudden jerk." 
 Within a week after the sharp frosts already mentioned, 
 the vertical rays of the sun were making the deck almost 
 too hot to touch. But to one who had languished so long 
 in sub- arctic climates, this was a blessed change. On they 
 swept through the meadow-like Gulf Stream, ploughing 
 their noiseless way through the yellow strings of sargasso- 
 weed, or accompanied by splendid creatures unknown to 
 the colder waters of the North. Rudder-fish, with pale 
 spots, would pass in and out beneath the stern ; a shoal of 
 porpoises would come leaping round the bows, in the cool- 
 
 i 
 
 ; ;,? 
 
m 
 
 I 
 
 1 i 
 
 'i^ 
 
 iiS 
 
 T//E LIFE OF ririLlP IFENRY GOSSE. 
 
 iiL'ss of the moonli^fht, and start off again togctlicr into 
 the darkness. A sliark would play about the ship, with its 
 beautiful little attendant, the purple-bodied pilot-fish. The 
 exquisite coryphencs, or sailor's dolphins, were the ship's 
 constant companions, their backs now of the deepest azure, 
 almost black, and then suddenly, with a writhe, flashi'ig 
 with silver or gleaming with mother-of-pearl, lounging 
 through the water with so indolent an air that to harpoon 
 them seemed child's play. One of the crew, however, 
 trying this easy task, fell off the taffrail with a splash. 
 
 On Alay i they caught the welcome trade-wind blow- 
 ing from the cast, and this fresh breeze carried them 
 cheerily in sight of the West Indies. They rapidly passed 
 the southern ptjint of Abaco, one of the Bahamas, and 
 Gossc saw for the first time on its precipitous shores the 
 fan-like leaves of the palm tree. While in sight of Abaco 
 two beautiful sl(joi)s of war passed them, beating out, anil 
 a little schooner, all of which hoisted the British flag at 
 the gaff-end. It was three years since the exile had seen 
 this pleasant sight, and he hailed with deep emotion the 
 colours of that " meteor Hag " which has " braved a thou- 
 sand years the battle and the breeze." Next ^.'xy the 
 White Oak had an excellent run, and rushing before the 
 freshening trade, threaded an archipelago of th(;se count- 
 less " kays," or inlets, which animate the I'lorida Reef 
 " The water on this reef," says the journal, "is very shoal, 
 which is strongly indicated by its colour ; instead of the 
 deep-blue tint which marks the ocean, the water here is of 
 a bright pea-green, and the shallower the water, the paler 
 is the tint. To me it is very pleasing to peer down into 
 the depths below, especially in the clear water of these 
 southern seas, and look at the many-coloured bottom, — 
 sometimes a bright pearly sand, spotted with shells and 
 corals, then a large patch of brown rock, whose gaping 
 
ALABAJ/.l. 
 
 no 
 
 clefts and fissures are but half hidden by the wavint;- 
 tangles of purple weed, where multitudes of shapeless 
 creatures revel and riot undisturbed." Almost through 
 one day their course bore them through a fleet of " Portu- 
 guese men-of-war," those exquisite mimic vessels, with 
 their sapphire hulls and pale pink sails, whose magic navi- 
 g;\tion seems made to conduct some fairy queen of the 
 tropics through the foam of perilous seas to her haven in 
 an island of pearl. 
 
 All these "lorious sights in halcyon weather did not, 
 liowever, last long. The ship was already within sight of 
 the last kay of the long reef, when a violent storm of rain 
 and a westerly gale came on. They were gkul to drop 
 anchor at once between Cayo l^oca and Cayo Marcpicss, 
 two green little islands of i)alm trees and .sand. The crew 
 set themselves to fish in the rain, and soon pulled out of 
 the water plentiful fishes of the most e.xtracM'dinar}- harle- 
 quin colours, vermilion-gilled, ainbcr-banded, striped like 
 a zebra but with vio'et, or streaked with fanta.stic forked 
 liLihtnings of i)ink and silver. Next morning, May 5, broke 
 in radiant sunshine, and as the wind continued foul, the 
 captain proposed to go ashore and take a peep at Cayo 
 15oca, a suggestion which Philip (}os.sc warmly seconded. 
 The sailors rowed for a long white spit of sand, and the 
 naturalist leaped ashore, and rushed into the bushes 
 brandishii'g his insect-net. lie expected U) hnil this fust 
 specimen of West Indian vegetation studded w itb. brilliant 
 tropical irisects, but he was disappoint '. The bushes had 
 thick salme leaves, and insects were vet, rare. Gosse pre- 
 .sently turiicd back to the >hore, and fou'.d the corals and 
 madrepores more interesting than the entomology. But 
 the wind had veered, and he was forced, reluctantly, tcj 
 humour the captain's impatience to return to the ship. A 
 little white butterfly danced away to sea with them, flat- 
 
mmm 
 
 ■^ 
 
 mmm 
 
 
 1 20 
 
 7y/£ Z/F£ OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 lU 
 
 tcred a moment up the side of the vessel, and tlien flew 
 gaily back to her home in Cayo li(jca. 
 
 When they were fairly '\x\ the Gulf of Alexico, creeping- 
 past the Tortugas, numbers of sharks were swimrr.lng 
 round and under the vessel, at-csap inied by a multitude 
 of what they at first supposed to be y'JUiv^^ ones of the 
 same species. As one or two rose to the surface, however, 
 they turned out to be rcmoras, or sucking-fish. The men 
 struck first one and then another of these curicnis creatures 
 with a barbed spear, and secured them alive. These 
 specimens my father thus describes : — 
 
 "They are ab(nit two feet in length, very slender, 
 "slippery, not covered with scales, but a sort of long flat 
 " prickles, concealed under the skin, but causing a rough- 
 " ncss when rubbed against the grain. The colour is blue- 
 "grey above, and whitish beneath ; the tii)s or edges of 
 "all the fins, and of the tail, light blue. The tail is not 
 "wedge-shaped, but slightly forked. The mider li[) 
 "projects beyond the upper, so that the mouth opens on 
 " the upper surface, as that of the shark does on the 
 "lower. The sucker is a long oval, slightly narrower in 
 " front, having a central, longitudinal ridge and twenty- 
 " four transverse ones, which can either be made to 
 "lie down flat, or be erected, not however perpendicu- 
 " larl}-, but inclined backward ; the pectoral and ventr.d 
 " fins are of the same shape and size, as are the dorsal 
 " and anal. . . . While at liberty they were in close 
 " attendance on the shark, one or two on each side, 
 "generally just over his pectoral fins, and keeping their 
 " relative position, turning as he turned ; sometimes they 
 " ai)peared belly upward, adhering to the fin of the 
 "shark, at others they seemed loose. Numbers, how- 
 " ever, were in their company without so closely follow- 
 ' ing them. Now, in captivity the sucker adheres to 
 
 
 1 
 

 ALABAMA. 
 
 121 
 
 ; I, 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 "everything it touches, provided tlic surface will cover 
 "the orc;an, apparently without the volition of tlie 
 "animal, and so strongly as to resist one's endeavours 
 " to drag the fish up, without inserting something under 
 " the sucker. I have cut off the sucker of one for 
 " preservation." 
 
 Next morning the captain speared a dolphin {Corypliaiia 
 psittacns), and Gossc eagerly watched for those changes of 
 colour which are popularly supposed to attend the death 
 of these creatures. lie was not disappointed. When the 
 expiring animal was first brought on board, it was silver)^ 
 white, with pearly refiections ; the back suddenly became 
 of a brilliant green, while the belly turned to gold, with 
 blue spots. This was the only change, except that all 
 these hues became dusky after death. They cooked tin: 
 fish, and found it firm and [lalatable. Little occurretl in 
 the last tedious days of the voj-age, beyond a terrific 
 tropical storm. Once a sailor hooked a king-fish, three 
 feet long, silvery blue, with opaline changes, and had just 
 dragged it in, when a shark leaped at it, like a dog, and 
 drew his fangs through the body. They were happy at 
 last when, on the morning of May 14, after a voyage 
 of four weeks, a long, low tongue of land, with a light- 
 house at the end of it, announced their arrival at Mobile 
 i^oint. The bay is a dilTicult one to enter ; at last, about 
 thirty miles up from the gulf, on turning a sandy cape, 
 covered with pine trees, the city of Mobile came into sight. 
 Philip Gosse's last entry in the diary of his voyage is thus 
 worded ; — 
 
 " Drawing so near to the time on which hangs my 
 " fate, my means nearly exhausted, and uncertain what 
 "success I may meet with, I have been all to-day 
 "oppressed with that strange faintncss, a sickness of 
 " heart, which always comes over me on the eve of any 
 

 i 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
 il 
 
 
 1 
 
 'I 
 
 ,,lt 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 
 I 22 
 
 THE LIFE OF Fill LIP IIENKY GOSSE. 
 
 "expected conjunction. The pilot left us when \vc got 
 
 "within the bay, up which wc arc rapidly sailing with a 
 
 " fair breeze, .'n delightful weather." 
 
 I Ic was conscious of great depression of spirits as he 
 walked thai; evening through the streets of the city of 
 Mobile. TliC experiment, indeed, which had brought him 
 so far from all his associations was a bold one. lie had no 
 certainty of any welcome in the strange, crude country 
 into which he was about to penetrate, and it came upon 
 him wi*:h a sliock that he liad but one letter f)f introduction, 
 in his ', jlet, and that given to him by a stranger. Next 
 morninj. distressing feeling had worn off. lie was 
 
 glad to be o\< ore again, and he spent the grcuter part of 
 the ihiy in roaming abcjut the woods in the vicinity of 
 Mobile, where he found great numbers of interesting in- 
 sects. Near the shiM'e he met with impenetrable hedges 
 of prickly pear, studded with its handsome flowers and 
 purple fruit. The latter he rashly tasted, to find his 
 mouth fillf'il wiHi an agony of fine spines, which gave him 
 infinite toil and pain to tear out. 
 
 There was nothing to detain him in Mobile, and that 
 same evening he took passage in the Juin/Ztr, one of the fine 
 high-pressure steamers which thronged the Mobile wharves, 
 fifty years ago, far more abundantly than they do now, since 
 at that time the commerce of the cit\' almost promised to 
 rival that of New Orleans. After ;i voyage of two nights 
 ami a day spent in foi owing the interminable windings of 
 the Alabama river, a voyage through a country which had 
 no towns or villages, and scarcely a sign of life, except at 
 the occasional wood-}'ards in the forest, the vessel arrived 
 at King's Landing. It so happened that a fellow-passenger 
 on board the Fanner was the Hon. Chief Justice Reuben 
 Safifold, a jurist then of great eminence in the South, who 
 had done good service in the Indian troubles, and had for 
 
 I 
 
i! 
 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 12- 
 
 many years been a member of the Ici^islaturc of the terri- 
 tory of Mississippi. Now, in advancinLj life, he was scttlini;- 
 in that estate at Dallas, Alabama, which was henceforward 
 to be his residence, and the place of his death in 1847. To 
 this dignified and agreeable personage, whose polished 
 manners formed a charming contrast to the rough tones he 
 had lately been accustomed to, Philip Gosse showed his 
 open letter of introduction to the planter at Claiborne, 
 which Air. Conrad had given him. It fortanaiely hap[)ened 
 that Judge SaffoUl was seeking a master for a school com- 
 posed of the sons of his neighbour proprietors and him- 
 self He instantly engaged Philip Gosse, and when the 
 steamer reached King's Landing, which was the nearest 
 point on the river to Dallas, the latter stopped there ; Mr. 
 Saffold proceeding a liicle further on business, and pro- 
 mising to meet him at his own house ne.xt da\'. 
 
 An hour before dawn he was landed at the foot of a 
 long flight of steps which descended from a large cotton 
 warehouse. His trunks were thrown to him, and the 
 steamer wheeled awa)- in the darkness. Mr. Satfold's house 
 was ten miles distant, and how to find it he knew not. lie 
 groped along a path up into the forest, and presently came 
 to a clearing with several houses in it. He made his way to 
 the door of one, where a rascally cur kept up a pertinacious 
 barking, and he knocked and shouted to no purpose. .At 
 length, at another house, the cracked voice of a negro 
 woman replied. He told her he was on his way to Pleasant 
 Hill, and asked her t(j get him some breakfast. All sound 
 within the house died awa>', till he knocked and shouted 
 again, always to receive the same answer, " Sah .'' Iss, 
 sail ! " At last, when patience was wearing away, the old 
 woman appeared, went to another house, and began to 
 shout, " Mas' James ! Mas' James ! " But Master James was 
 even more impassive than she had been herself, and made 
 
124 
 
 THE LIFE CF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 tt^ 
 
 i I 
 
 no answer at all. At length, after a prodigious waste of 
 
 time, and as the soft daylight began to flood the air, a 
 
 little white boy of twelve years of age appeared at the 
 
 door. This was Master James, the son of the manager, 
 
 who rubbed his eves, stated that the negro woman and 
 
 himself were the only persons on the premises, and 
 
 tumbled back into bed. The woman then raked in the 
 
 ashes and prepared Gosse some breakfast, his luggage all 
 
 this while remaining on the lowest step at the margin of 
 
 the river, l^ut before the meal was over, Master James 
 
 strolled to the threshold, blew a long blast upon a conch, 
 
 and, on the simultaneous appearance of a dozen negroes 
 
 out of the woods, sent some of them down for the visitor's 
 
 trun.cs. While Philip Gosse waited for them to reappear, 
 
 in the balni)- air of the wood-yard, several fox-squirrels 
 
 dc.->:^ .ulcii and chased one another from bough to bough 
 
 of the nearest oaks, a pair of summer redbirds {Tanagra 
 
 <cstiva) were flirting almost within reach of his hand, and a 
 
 flock of those delicate butterflies, the hairstrcaks {77u:c/(f), 
 
 came dancing to him down a glade in the forest. Under 
 
 these picturesque conditions he gained his flrst impressions 
 
 of Southern life. 
 
 At the pace of one mile an hour he spent the remainder 
 of the day in reaching Dallas. The road lay through 
 the romantic forest, descended into cool glens, where 
 hidden rivulets ran brawling under bowers of the profuse 
 scarlet woodbine, emerged in high clearings where brilliant 
 flowers, in veritable bouquets, thronged the angles of the 
 fences. lie passed fields where negro slaves, the first he 
 had seen at work, were ploughing between rows of cotton ; 
 he hurried through neglected pastures where turkey 
 buzzards were performing, none too soon, their scaven- 
 ger's duty on a too-odorous carcase ; he feasted upon wild 
 raspberries and luscious Virginian strawberries ; and, at 
 
 r 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 12: 
 
 last, late in the afternoon, arrived at Dallas, where he was 
 hospitably welcomed by the family of Judge Saffold, 
 and in particular by his son, Reuben Saffold, junior, who 
 was to be his pupil. Tliis \-outh, who was of a charming 
 modesty and courtesy, had been at college, and had 
 learned the rudiments of Greek. 
 
 At Dallas Philip Gosse spent several agreeable days while 
 arrangements were being made for his school to be opened. 
 This house was large, but rudely built, and furnished with 
 an elegance which conirastcd with its rough architecture. In 
 this respect, no doulit, it was not distinguislicd from other 
 residences of wealth}- planters at the time. What more par- 
 ticularly struck Philip Gosse was the gorgeous furniture 
 which Nature itself, in the rich June weather, had provided 
 for the front of it. The wide passage, with rooms on either 
 side, which ran through the house, was completely em- 
 bowered with the lovely Southern creepers ; the twisted 
 cables of Glycine friitescciis flu ng their heavy branches of 1 ilac 
 blossom about the walls, antl wherever space was left 
 it was filled with more delicate forms of prf)fuse bloom, 
 with the long pendulous trumpets of the scarlet cypress- 
 vine and of the intensely crimson quamoclit, sweet-briar 
 that made the hot air ache with perfume, and dc-c]) 
 Vermillion tubes of the Southern honeysuckle, in which 
 great hawkmoths hung all through the twilight, waving 
 their loud-humming fans, ami gorging themselves on 
 sweetness. " Here," he says, in a letter from Dallas, "par- 
 ticularly at th(; close of evening, when the sunbeams 
 twinkle obliquely through the transparent foliage, aiul the 
 cool breeze comes loaded with fragrance, the family may 
 usually be seen, each (ladies as well as gentlemen) in that 
 very elegant position in which an ;\merican delights to sit, 
 the chair poised upon the two hind feet, or leaning back 
 against the wall, at an angle of forty-tive degrees, the feet 
 
 iff 
 
125 
 
 THE LIFE OF FHlLir I/EXRV GOSSE. 
 
 11' 
 
 upon tlic hic;hcst bar, the knees near the chin, the head 
 pressing against tlie wall so as now and then to push the 
 chair a few inches from it, the hands (but not of the 
 ladies) engaged in fashioning with a pocket-knife a piece 
 of pine-wood into some uncouth and fantastic form." 
 
 He was not, however, to spend his time lolling and 
 whittling on the verandah of Dallas. The neighbouring 
 village of Mount Pleasant was chosen as the site of his 
 school, and lodgings were found for him in the h.ousc of a 
 planter, a Mr. J^ohanan, in the hamlet itself. It was a 
 rough frame-house, standing in the middle of a large 
 yard, which, with the combined screaming of stark-naked 
 little black children at play, the squealing of pigs, the 
 gobbling of turkeys, the quacking of Muscovy ducks, and 
 the cackling of guinea-fowls, was scarcely an abode of 
 peace. It possessed a splendid example of that flowering 
 tree of the South, the Pride of China, and a wild cherry, 
 the fruit of which was so tempting that all the noises were 
 not able to scare away from it the persistent attentions of 
 the red-headed woodpeckers. The school-house was a little 
 further off, a couple of miles outside the limits of the village. 
 It was a queer little shanty, built of round, unhewn logs, 
 notched at the ends to receive each other, and the inter- 
 stices filled with clay. There was no window, but as the 
 clay had become dry it had been punched out of several of 
 these spaces, and the light and air admitted. The wooden 
 door stood open night and day. The desks were merely 
 split and unsawn pine boards, unfashioned and unplaned, 
 sloping from the walls and fastened with brackets. The 
 forms were split logs, and the only exceptions to the ex- 
 treme rudeness of all the fittings were a neat desk and 
 decent chair for the schoolmaster. The pupils were as rude 
 as the building. Most of them, he writes, " handle the long 
 rifle w'th much more ease and dexterity than the goose- 
 
 1 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 127 
 
 quill, and arc incomparably more at home in ' twisting' a 
 rabbit or treeing a 'possum, than in conjugating a verb." 
 But they proved to be decent latls, and a great affection 
 sprang up in time between them and their strange, insect- 
 collecting, animal-loving master. They grew in time to 
 form a volunteer corps of collectors, and their sharp eyes 
 to be most useful to the naturalist. 
 
 The school-house was situated in a very romantic spot. 
 A space of about a hundred \-ards square had been cleared, 
 with the exception of one or two noble oaks, which had 
 been preserved for shade. "On every side we are shut in 
 by a dense wall of towering forest trees, rising to the 
 height of a hundred feet or more. Oaks, hickories, and 
 pines of different species extend for miles on every hand, 
 for this little clearing is made two or three miles from 
 any human habitation, with the exception of one house 
 about three-quarters of a mile distant. Its loneliness, 
 however," Philip Gosse writes, " is no objection with me, 
 as it necessarily throws me mc^-e into the presence of 
 free and wild nature. At one corner a narrow bridle- 
 path leads out of this 'yard,' and winds through the 
 sombre forest to the distant high-road. A nice spring, 
 cool in the hottest of these summer days, rises in another 
 corner, and is protected and accumulated by being en- 
 closed in four sides of a box, over the edges of which the 
 superfluous water escapes, and, running off in a gurgling 
 brook, is lost in the shade of the woods. To this ' lodge 
 in the vast wilderness,' this ' boundless contiguity of shade,' 
 I wend my lonely way every morning, rising to an early 
 breakfast, and arriving in time to open school by eight 
 o'clock." 
 
 It is possible to recover something of a record of his 
 typical day in Alabama. It opens with breakfast at six 
 o'clock ; the " nigger wenches " bringing in the grilled 
 
 m 
 
 )■ I I 
 
 ■ W 
 
I2S 
 
 THE LIFE OF riTILir IfEyRY GOSSE. 
 
 I 
 
 cliickcn and the fried pork, tlie boiled rice and the 
 hominy, the buttered waffles and the Indian bread. A 
 httle nc;;ro-b(5y is continually waving a hir^c fan of 
 peacock's feathers over the food and over every part of 
 the table, Breakfast once over, Philip Gossc seizes the 
 butterfly-net which stands in the corner of the room, and 
 wliich lie always carries, as other sportsmen do their .i;un, 
 and he sallies forth, startlint^ the mocking-bird that is 
 hopping and bobbing on the rail.s of the fence. He 
 gives himself plenty of time t(^ chase the zebra swallow- 
 tails across the broatl discs of the passion-flowers, to lie in 
 wait for hairstreaks fin the odorous beds of blossoming 
 horehound, or to watch the scarlet cardinal grosbeak, with 
 his negro face and his inountain crest, leap whistling up 
 and up in the branches of the ]:)incs like an ascending 
 flame of fire. He reaches school, however, in time to open 
 that " a/jua niatcv" as he laughingly stx'les it, by eight 
 o'clock ; and for no less than nine hours of desultory 
 education, mingled with plaj- and idleness, he is responsible 
 for the troop of urchins. 
 
 l^ut five o'clock comes at last, even in the soundless 
 depths of an Alabama forest, and he dismisses his wild 
 covey of shouting boys, following more sedately in their 
 wake. Twilight falls apace, and in a little hollow where 
 the oaks and hickories meet overhead, a barred owl flits 
 like a ghost across the path, and the air begins to ring 
 with the long mellow resounding whoops of the negroes 
 on the plantations, calling home the hogs at sunset. It 
 may be that two or three of these pachydermatous grey- 
 hounds, with their thin backs and tall legs, are rooting 
 and grazing close to the path. From a mile off will be 
 faintly heard the continual unbroken shout of the distant 
 negro. Each hog will instantly pause, snout in air, and 
 then all is bustle ; and, each anxious to be first at home. 
 
 4 
 
r 
 
 1^ 
 
 fmm 
 
 ;< I- 
 
 AL.4B.lv. I. 
 
 I2g 
 
 they scamper off on a bee-line for the villacjc. And so 
 I'liilip Gosse, too, ;^ocs home to sup|)er, and to bed hi a 
 room with ever\- window open, but hitticed to kee[) out the 
 bats and birds. Ik'fore i^'oinL,^ to sleep, perhaps, he will ^it 
 a few minutes at the window, while the chuck-will's-widows 
 call and answer (vom all tlirections in the woods, with their 
 mysterious and extraordinary notes clearly enunciated in 
 the deep silence of the ni_L,dit. Gosse tried on many occa- 
 sions to see these stran^^e birds, but they are extremely 
 shy, althou;^di so neiLjhbourly and familiar ; nor was he 
 ever successful, althouijh he wearied himself in the 
 search. 
 
 Mount Pleasant proved to be an excellent centre for 
 entomolot^izing, and in particular there was a little prairie- 
 knoll, about a mile from Bohanan's house, which was one 
 mass of blue larkspurs and oran-^e milkweetl, and a 
 marvellous haunt of butterflies. I-'rom this small hill the 
 summit of an apparently entllcss fcjrest could be seen in all 
 directions, broken only by curls of white smoke arising 
 here and there from unseen dwellinj.,^s. Here he would 
 find the blue swallowtail (yPnpilio phanor), with its shot 
 winj^s of black and azure, vibrating on the flowers of the 
 milkweed ; the black swallowtail {Papilio astcriiis), an old 
 friend from Newfoundland ; the orange tawny Archippus ; 
 the American Painted Jieauty {Cynthia ilnntcra), with its 
 embroidery of silver lines and pearly eyes ; and, most 
 gorgeous of all, the green-clouded swallowtail {Papilio 
 Troiliis), over whose long black wings is dispersed a milky 
 way of grass-green dots and oraT^To crescents. The 
 abundance of these large species ■■ jk him with ever- 
 recurring wonder In a letter of July he says: "An eye 
 accustomed only to the small and generally inconspicuous 
 butterflies of jur own country, the Pontiic, Vanesscc, and 
 IIij)J?archicE, can hardly picture to itself the gaiety of the air 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP /fEVRV GOSSF 
 
 licrc, where it swarms witli larc;c and brilliant-hucd swallow- 
 tails and other patrician tribes, some of which, in the extent 
 and volume of their wings, may be compareil to large bats. 
 These occur, too, not by straggling solitary individuals ; in 
 glancing over a blossomed field or my [)r;'irie-knoll, you 
 may sec hundreds, including, I think, more than a dozen 
 species, besides (Jthcr butterflies, moths, and '"■• ■< " There 
 reinains, as the principal memento of these .ths in the 
 
 south, still unpublished, a (juarto volume entitled Iliitouio- 
 logia Alabamensis, containing two hundred and thirt)'-threc 
 figures of insects, excjuisitely tlrawn and coloured, the 
 delightful amusement of his leisure hours in the school- 
 house and at home. J lis powers as a zoological artist were 
 now at their height. He had been trained in the school of 
 the miniature jjainters, and he developed and adapted to 
 the portraiture of insects the procedure of these artists. 
 His figures arc accurate reproductions, in size, colour, and 
 form, to the minutest band and speck, of what he saw 
 before him, the effect being gained by a lab is process 
 i>f stippling with pure and brilliant pigm It has 
 
 always been acknowledged, by naturalists who have seen 
 the originals of his coloured figures, that he has had no 
 rival in the exactitude of his illustrations. They lost a 
 great deal whenever they came to be published, from the 
 imperfection of such reproducing processes as were known 
 in riiilip Gosse's day. The Eiitoinologia Alalniiiih'iisis, 
 however, is one of those collections of his paintings which 
 remain unissued, and it is possible tliat it may )'ct be pre- 
 sented to the scientific world by one of the brilliant methods 
 of reproduction recently invented. 
 
 When he first [)rocecded to Canada, he had described 
 himself as a very bad shot ; but practice had improved him, 
 and he was now by no means unskilful. He exercised his 
 rifle considerabl\- in Alabama, in forming a collection of 
 
 1 
 
 
xl swallow- 
 tlic extent 
 lari;e bats. 
 ^■icluaIs ; in 
 -knoll, \'()u 
 n a dozen 
 ^.•' There 
 .ihs in tlie 
 d Eutouio- 
 hirt}--thi'ee 
 oiired, the 
 he school- 
 artist were 
 e school of 
 adapted to 
 se artists. 
 :olour, and 
 at he saw- 
 is process 
 It has 
 have seen 
 as had no 
 \iQy lost a 
 1, from the 
 ere known 
 \xbaiiiciisis, 
 ings which 
 -et be pre- 
 t methods 
 
 described 
 ■Qvcd him, 
 jrcised his 
 [lection of 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 - •{ 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 i;,i 
 
 birds, and particularly of woodpeckers. He lest himself in 
 the forest oiu' day in June, and in a dense part of the 
 woodland, from tin; midst of a tall clump of dead pines, 
 he heard a note i)roceedinjr like the clan;.^ of a trumj>et, 
 rcsoundiufr in tlie deep silence and wakin;.^' all the forest 
 echoes. These extraordinary souiuls came fiom a pair ol 
 ivorj'-billed wood[)eckers, the larc^est and most s[)lendid of 
 all the ricus tribe. ricits principalis is a huge fellow, 
 nearly two feet long, glossy black and white, with a tower- 
 ing conical crest of biight crimson, and. what is the main 
 distinction of the sjiecies, a polished and lluled beak, four 
 inches long, which looks as though it were carved out of 
 the purest ivory. With this pickaxe of shell-white bone, 
 the bird hews away the dead wood as it hangs openly on 
 the perpendicular trunk of a tree, its head thrown back 
 and its golclen-\-ellow eyes alert for insects. It is far from 
 being comiiKjii, and ■ i)' father was glad to secure these 
 specimens, which were in fine plumage. Other wood- 
 peckers were nearer to his daily haunts. One evening a 
 boy came to him aiul told him of a gold-winged wood- 
 pecker {PichS an r, it us) nt his very door. The schoolboy 
 had found a deep and coiiimodious chamber dug out in the 
 decaying trunk of a pine-tree in ^\v. Bohanan's peach- 
 orchard. In the Lwilight the pair of marauders set forth, 
 carrying a ladder with them. /\fter throwing uj) a few- 
 stones to frighten out the old bird, she sudtlenly rushed 
 out, and left the coast clear. "The boy," I'hilip Gosse 
 writes, " pulleil out one of the callow young, whicli I gently 
 examined. It was nearl}- fledged ; the )-oung feathers of 
 the wings being very cons[)icuous from their bright golden 
 colour. It was not pretty — young birds scklom are. I 
 soon put it back again, and then, whether the rest were 
 congratulating it (mi its return, or what, 1 don't know, but 
 if \-ou had heard the odd snoring or hissing that the family 
 
 V 
 
1' . 
 
 !' 
 
 I.; 
 
 ! 
 
 '. 
 
 132 
 
 THE LIFE OF FHILIP HESRY GOSSE. 
 
 Vq \)\ up for some lime, you would have thought the whole 
 nation of snakes had been there in parliament assembled. 
 The anxious mother soon flew in again when we had 
 removed our ladder, gratified, no doubt, to find no murder 
 done." 
 
 He had r.o opportunity for making many excursions 
 while he was at Mount Pleasant, and, iiideeil, the general 
 monotony of the thinly peopled country did not greatly 
 invite a traveller. On one occasion (June 2) he rode to 
 Cahawba and back, and saw something of the central dis- 
 trict of Alabama. Cahawba had then until lately been the 
 capital of the rjtatc and the scat of government ; it had, 
 hovvever, decayed so rapidly, that the legislature had 
 removed to Tuscaloosa, Montgomery being as yet a little 
 place of no importance. The town of Cahawba stands on 
 a point of land between the Alabama river and the 
 Cahawba river ; it was, even then, a very desolate looking 
 collection of a few stores, a lawyer's office or so, and 
 two or three houses of business. Even the "groceries," as 
 the rum-shops were called, seemed, as the visitor went by, 
 to spread the hospitality of their verandahs almost in vain. 
 To reach Cahawba from Mount Pleasant had involved a 
 long riile through the dense pine forest, with hardly a 
 bri\ak save where the path dipped down, thnjugh a glade 
 of thickly blossomed hydrangea, to some deep and treacher- 
 ous "cn^ek" or rivulet. The road led at last to the shore 
 of the broad Alabama, and there seemed no way to cross. 
 A shout, however, soon brought two old " nigger fellows " 
 into sight, slowly pushirig a flat ferry-boat across. There 
 was no inn or house near by to put up his horse so the 
 traveller took him into a littl*" \','ood, accorthng to the prac- 
 tice of the country, and tied him to a tree. 
 
 The squirrels form, a proininc:nt feature of forest-life in 
 the Southern States. Deep in the woodlands they are not 
 

 mill ■i iuwiJw.i i ii i wmBHg»» i » ^ 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 133 
 
 to be observed, but they abound close to the liouses of the 
 planters, seeming to prefer the neit^hbourhood of man. .Vt 
 Mount Pleasant, the larc,'e fox-scjuirrel vas most abundant, 
 chatterin:^, barkin[(, and grunting impatiently all day long, 
 until a shot from tb.e riile brings hini " i)rotractcd repose," 
 and prepares him to appear on the planter's dinner-table. 
 A little further away, in the s\vam[>s, and hidden under the 
 pale and ragged tufts of Spanish moss that stream from 
 the branches, is the sleepier and less attractive Caroline 
 scjtu'rrel, also excellent in the form of pie. While my 
 father was in .\labama the squirrel question was one of 
 great importance in local politics. These delightfully 
 amusing anim.als are, unfortunately, wasters of the first 
 order; they are in the cornfield morning, noon, and e^^, 
 from the time that the grain is forming in the sheath to 
 the moment wiicn what remains of it is housed in the barn. 
 While riiilip Gosse was at Mount Pleasant, a fellow from 
 the North sent round an announcement that he would 
 lecture in a neighbouring village, and that the subject of 
 his discourse would be to reveal an infallible [ireventive for 
 the thefts of the squirrels. The announcement attractetl 
 great curiosity, and planters assembled from all sides. A 
 deputation started from Mount Pleasant itself, and Phili]) 
 Gosse, thinking to hear what would be of interest to a 
 naturalist, was of the j)arty. A considerable entrance-fee 
 was charged, but verj- willirgly [)aid. .Vt last the room 
 was full, the doors were closed, and the orator ai)peared on 
 the platform. lie began by describing the depredations 
 of the squirrels, the difficulty of coping with them, and 
 \arious other circumstances with which his audience was 
 familiar. He was a plausible fellow and seemed to have 
 mastered his subject. At last he a[)proaehed the real 
 kernel of his oration. " You wish," he said, " to hear my 
 infallible preventive, the absolute success -f which I am 
 
 I 
 
 Hi 
 
 ! I; 
 
 '■' ■'ll 
 
i^f 
 
 134 
 
 THE LIFE OF FlIlLlP IIE.XRV GOSSE. 
 
 11 I 
 
 
 \. 
 
 % 
 
 1 i 
 
 able to guarantee. Gentlemen, 1 have observed that the 
 squirrels invariably begin their attacks o/i the oittsidc nnv 
 of corn in the field. Omit the (nitsidc roi^>, and they 
 won't know wk.cre to Ixgin ! " The money was in his 
 pocket ; he bowed ami vanished by the platform door ; his 
 horse was tied to the post, ne leaped into the saddle and 
 was seen no more in that credulous settlement. The act 
 was one of extreme courage ;is well as impudence in that 
 land of ready lynching ; but \ny hi^ner was wont to say 
 that, after the first murmur of stupefactic- ntl roar of 
 anger, the disappointed auilience dissolved ito the most 
 good-humoured laughter at themselves. 
 
 Ar>other serious depredator, and one of a more sporting 
 size, was the bear. Orie night in August, a negro boy 
 rushed breathless into Mr. Hohanan's house, inarticulate 
 with importance, and managed to splutter out, " Oh, mas'r, 
 mas'r ! big bear in corn-patch ; I see 'im get over." All 
 at once was bustle ; bullets were cast — " a job," says my 
 father in the letter describing this event, " that always has 
 to be done at the moment they ar(> wanted" — and the 
 planter and his overseer erei)t out with their rilles <:o the 
 field. Ihit it was too late. The prints of Bruin's paws were 
 all (wer the place, but he iiad prudently retired. Bears are 
 very scldon. seen in the woods, being shy and nocturnal in 
 their movements. A curious case happened, however, while 
 Philip Gosse was in Mount Pleasant, of a planter who was 
 riding into the forest to search for strayed cattle, and who, 
 suddenly seeing a huge bear start up before him, could 
 not refrain from giving it a lash with his cow-whip of raw 
 hide. To his dismay, the beast showed a disposition to 
 fight, but turned tail at last, when the thought struck the 
 I)lantcr that )ie might possibly drive it home, like a re- 
 fractory bullock. He actually succeeded in doing this- 
 whipping the bewildered bear for six miles along one of 
 

 ALABAMA. 
 
 the cattlc-[)aths, till lie came close to his own house, when 
 his son came out and put the weary bruin out of its miser)^ 
 \ !*h a rifle. M\' father was not an e\'e-witness of this 
 rcl venture, which I record with all reserve. 
 
 On August 14 he was, however, persona!l\' en;^a_ged in 
 a sportini,^ affair, which it may be amusini^^ to read, de- 
 scribed in his own words, in a letter dated the next 
 mornini;. There had been t,n'eat complaints of the rob- 
 beries committed on the estate of a neighbourinL,^ planter, 
 Major Kcndrick, by the opossums, and I'hilip (josse was 
 courteously invited to stay at the house and takx' part in 
 the nocturnal expedition : — 
 
 "About half-past nine wc set (Uit, a goodly and 
 " picturcs(}uc cavalcade. There was, first, my worth}- 
 " host, Major Kcndrick, a stout sun-burat fellow of six 
 " feet two, as erect as a sundial, grizzled a little with 
 " the labours of some sixty years in the backwoods of 
 " Georgia, but still hale and strong, with as keen an eje 
 " for a wild cat or a 'coon as the stalwart nephews by his 
 "side. His attire would be deemed peculiar with you, 
 "though here it is the approved thing. A Panama hat. 
 " made of the leaves of the i)almetto, split fine, low in the 
 "crown, and very broad in the llap ; a ' hunting shirt,' or 
 "frock, (^f pink'-striped gingham, open all down the 
 "front, but girded with a belt of the same; the neck, 
 "which is wide and open, is bordered with a frill, which 
 "lies upon the shoulders; loose trousers, of no describ- 
 "able colour, pattern, or material; short cotton socks, 
 "and stout half-boots, of domestic manufacture. Such 
 "is the costume of our 'king of men,' and all the rest of 
 " us approach as near to it as we may. 
 
 " But who are ' the rest of us ' ? \\ h\-, the two strap- 
 " P'"S yc'Uths who call the planter uncle, Zachariah and 
 " Bill, each emulous of his patron's stature and accom- 
 
 \\^ 
 
136 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " plishmcnts ; Jones, the overseer, a wiry fellow, ori^nn- 
 " ally from the far cast (Connecticut, I believe), but 
 "grown a Southerner by a dozen )'cars' experience in 
 " negro-driving ; and the humble individual who pens 
 "these lines, who begins at length to be known by his 
 " proper name, instead of ' the stranger.' We five were 
 " mounted on very capital steeds, and behind and around 
 "us marched on foot (jur sable ministers. 
 
 " It was a lovely night. The sky, almost cloudless, had 
 " a depth of tint that was rather i)urple than blue, and 
 "the moon, near the full, was already approaching the 
 " zenith. A gentle breeze, warm and balmy, breathed in 
 " the summits of the trees, and wafted us the delicate 
 " perfumes from leaf flower, and fruit, from gum and 
 "balsam, with which the night air is commonly loaded. 
 " Bright as was the night, however, it was thought requi- 
 " site to have artificial light, especially as wc should have 
 " to explore some tall woods, whose gloomy recesses the 
 " moon's beams were quite insufficient to illuminate. The 
 " knots of the pitch-pine answer admirably for torches, 
 " being full of resin, and maintaining a brilliant flame for 
 "an hour or more. The cdare of broad red light which 
 "these flambeaux cast on the leafy walls along which we 
 "rode, and the beautiful effect produced on the sur- 
 " rounding shrubs and intervening trees when the torch- 
 " bearers passed through some narrow belt of wood, or 
 "explored some little grove, was highly novel and 
 " picturesque ; the flames, seen through the chequering 
 " leaves, played and twinkled, and ever and anon 
 " frightened a troop of little birds from their roost, and 
 " illuminated their plumage a.s they fluttered by. 
 
 " At length we reached the melon-patch, and having 
 " dismounted and tied <3ur horses to the iianging twigs 
 " of the roadside trees, we crossed the rail-fence to beat 
 
 % 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 ir, 
 
 ^ 
 
 "the ground on foot. It was a large field, entirely 
 "covered with melons, the long stems of which trailed 
 "over the soft earth, concealing it with the coarse foliage 
 " and the great yellow flowers of the plant ; while the 
 " fruit, of all sizes, lay about in boundless piofusion, from 
 " the berry just formed, to the fully matured and already 
 " rotten-ripe melon, as large as a butter firkin. Abundant 
 "evidences were visible of the depredations of our game, 
 " for numbers of fine ripe melons la}' about with large 
 "cavities scooped out of them, some showing b)- their 
 " freshness and cleanness that thcv' had been only just 
 " attacked, while others were partial!}- dried and dis- 
 '' coloured by the burning sun. Moths of various species 
 "were collected around the wounded fruit, some of them 
 "(which I should have prized for my cabinet, if I had 
 " had time and means to capture and bring them home) 
 "inert and bloated with the juices which they had been 
 " sucking ; others fluttering by scores around, or attracted 
 "by the light to dance round the torches. 
 
 " The party had dispersed. I accompanied the planter 
 " to the edge of a wood at one side of the patch, while 
 "the young men took up similar stations at some 
 "distance. The object was to intercept the vermin in 
 "their retreat, as, on being alarmed from their repast, 
 "they at once make for their fastnesses in the loft\^ trees. 
 "A negro, with his pine-knot, stood at each station, 
 " illuminating the hoar)' trunks of the great trees. 
 
 " Meanwhile the f)ther servants were sc(juring the fieki 
 " with the dogs, shouting and making as much noise as 
 "possible. Again the twinkling lights looked beautiful, 
 "and the sound of the negroes' sonorous voices, raised 
 " in prolonged shouts with musical cadences, and now 
 "and then a snatch of a rattling song, the favourite 
 " burden being how a ' big racoon ' was seen — 
 
s 
 
 I3S 
 
 5 it 
 
 ': I, 
 El, 
 
 m- 
 
 i' ! 
 
 I < : 
 
 i;l 
 
 7//£ LIFE OF PI 1 1 [.IP IlEXRY GOSSE. 
 " ' a-sittin' on a rail,' 
 
 " fell very pleasantly on the car. Occasionally the bark- 
 " ing of the curs L;'a\'c token that game was started ; and, 
 " presentl}-, the approach of the sound towards us was 
 "followed by what looketl to be a white cat scani[)crin;4- 
 "towards the very chestnut-tree before us, closely pur- 
 "sued by one of the mongrel curs. AI)' friend's fatal 
 '' rille turned the creature over as soon as seen ; but the 
 " very next instant another appeared, and scrambling up 
 "the fissured trunk, made good its retreat among the 
 " branches. 
 
 " In the course of an hour another was shot, one was 
 " caught and worried by the dogs, and some half a dozen 
 " others were just glimpsed as they scuttled past us, the 
 " light fra- an instant revealing their grey bodies, but too 
 " briefly to allow an aim. We heard, by the reports of 
 "our distant friends' rifles, that they had their share of 
 " success ; and when we assembled at the edge of the 
 " field, half a dozen opossums and a racoon were thrown 
 " across the crupper of one of the beasts. The appear- 
 " ance of the latter had been curiously in accordance 
 " with the negroes' song ; for one of the young men, 
 " creeping quietly along the fence, had seen the furry 
 " gentleman ' sittin' on a rail,' and looking with out- 
 " stretched neck and absorbed atte:Uion into the field, 
 "wondering, doubtless, what all the uproar was about. 
 " His senses were not so locked, however, as not to be 
 " aroused by the gentle footfall of our )-oung friend ; 
 " before he could raise his rifle, the racoon had leaped 
 " from the fence, and scoured up an immense sycamore. 
 " It seemed a hopeless case ; but young Zachariah, 
 " ve.xed at being done by a 'coon, continued to peer up 
 " into the tree, hoping that he might get another glance 
 " of the animal. Familiar with the habits of the wild 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 139 
 
 "denizens of the woods, the youth directed his patient 
 " seaixhing gaze to the bases of tiie great boughs, well 
 " knowing that in the fork of one of these the wily crea- 
 " ture would seek shelter. At last, lie saw against the 
 " light of the moon, what seemed the head of the racoon 
 "projecting from one of the greater forks, and steadily 
 "watching it, distinctl\- saw it move. The fatal ball 
 " instantly sped, and down came the creature, heavily 
 " i)lumping on the ground. 
 
 " I had seen racot)ns before, )et I looked at the car- 
 " ease with interest. \'ou probably are aware that it is 
 "an animal about as large as a fox, to which it liears 
 "some resemblance. It seems, however, larger, from the 
 " fulness of its thick and soft fur, and is more heavy- 
 " bodied. Its gre)' coat, black and white face, and bushy 
 "tail, alternately banded with black and light grey, 
 "entitle it to admiraticjil ; while the opossum, clothed in 
 " rough wiry hair, of a dirty greyish-white hue, with a 
 " long rat-like tail, is an\'thing but prepossessing. 
 
 " The torches were extinguisluxl, and we sauntered 
 "slowly home. The opossum which had been worried 
 " by the curs was not by any means dead when we 
 "reached the house, and I had an opportum't)- of wit- 
 " nessing the curious dissimulation which has made the 
 " name of this animal proverbial. Though, if left alone 
 " for a few moments, the attention of the bystanders 
 " apparently diverted from it, it would get on its legs 
 "and begin to creej) slily away ; >et no sooner was an. 
 "eye turned towards it, than it would crouch up, lie 
 "along motionless, with all its limbs supple, as if just 
 "dead; nor would any kicks, cuffs, or handlings avail 
 "to produce the least token of life— not the (jpening of 
 " an eyelid, or the moving of a foot. There it was, dead 
 " evidently, )'ou would say, if you had not detected it 
 
 i\y 
 
If 
 
 4 
 
 I^O 
 
 77/£ LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 r 
 
 n 
 
 ■k 
 
 •i \ 
 
 t !J| 
 
 " the moment before in the act of steah'ng off. The 
 " initiated, however, can tell a real dead 'possum from 
 " one that is shamming, and the overseer directed iii)- 
 " attention to the last jcjints of the tail. This, during 
 " life, is prehensile, used to catch and hold the twigs like 
 "a fifth hand; and even in the hj'pocritical state in 
 " which I saw it, the coil of the tail-tip was maintained. 
 " whereas in absolute death this would be relaxed per- 
 " manently. The propriety of correct classification was 
 " impressed on me during my examination. I inadver- 
 " tcntly spoke of it as ' a singular creature ; ' but creature, 
 "or rather 'critter,' is much too honourable a term for 
 " such an animal, being appropriated to cattle. The 
 " overseer promptly corrected ni)- mistake. 'A 'possum, 
 " sir, is not a critter, but a varmint.' " 
 This letter is written, as will be observed, in capital 
 spirits. It is evident that his first months in Ahibama 
 were very happy ones, and yet there were elements of dis- 
 conifort which did not fail to become accentuated. He 
 had not been reccivetl ungenerously ; on the contrary, a 
 rough a'.vJ tolerant hospitality had desired to make "the 
 stranger " feel at home. Wvx Philip Gosse was not emi- 
 nently pliable to social jx'culiarities. lie was proud of his 
 pure enunciation, and was careful not to adopt an American 
 accent— his " I^ritish brogue " was in consequence brought 
 up as a cliarge against him ; nor could he throw aside a 
 latent jingoism, as v/c should call it to-day, a patriotism 
 that was apt to become truculent because it was in exile. 
 In Alabama the jealousy of the " British " was almost 
 humorously prominent ; the expression of contempt for 
 luiglish opinion was so constant as to suggest an extreme 
 sensitiveness to that opinion. But I'hilip Gosse was almost 
 as thin-skinned on this point as the planters themselves, 
 and he found the continual dro[)ping of ignorant prejudice 
 
tssss 
 
 i iiiUiiiMiWiiIJ i » ! iw.i. i iijj. ' -fi ii > -^ i 
 
 
 AL.IBA.VA. 
 
 141 
 
 very trxin^. On one occasion, when the [)apci-s announced 
 some trifling factory row in Paisley or Ghisgow, a wealthy 
 neii^hbour hastened to condole with liim on the fact that 
 " the Scotch were throwing off the l^ritish yoke," for the 
 ignorance of lun-opean life was such as to make the picture 
 in Martin Chuzz'cwit, twelve years later, seem in no degree 
 whatever a caricature. " The universal notion here," says 
 my father in July, 1838, "of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, 
 is that they are conquered provinces, on a par with Poland, 
 kept in a state of galling servitude by the presence of a 
 powerful 'P cish ' army." Nor was it ever supposed that 
 the confident prophecy that America would shortly "whip 
 the British " could be otlier than pleasant to the young 
 English schoolmaster. Let those who are ready to con- 
 demn such crudity reflect how often, even to the present 
 day, well-bred Americans in this country have to endure 
 with silent politeness sentiments from ourselves which are 
 scarcely less crude in their lorant misconception. 
 
 There was, however, a much more serious reason for 
 discomfort. The population was gallant, cordial, easy- 
 going, and hospitable ; but underneath the agreeable sur- 
 face of life there was an element of lawlessness which 
 created in a stranger a painful sense of insecurity, livery 
 man was a law to himself, and to curb the j)assions was not 
 understood to be a part of the science of life. What first 
 opened my father's ej-es to the conditions of .Alabaman 
 society was a little circumstance which occurred after he 
 had been a UKMith or two at Ahnmt IMcasant, in tlic ne.xt 
 village. A travelling menagerie hail airix'cd there ; but, in 
 some way or other, its proprietor contrived to offend an 
 overseer, who, without scruple, called some of his com- 
 panions together, and rolled the caravans over the edge of 
 a steep ravine into the creek below. The}' were broken 
 before they reached the water, and the iron cages, full of 
 
 1 \ 
 
 ii li- 
 
142 
 
 7//A LIFE OF PHILIP IfEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 \ j I 
 
 
 w. 
 
 M 
 
 If M 
 
 M 
 
 beasts, were scattered on ever)' hand. I^'ortunatcl)- tlic)- 
 were too stronij to burst, but the houlincjs and roarings of 
 tlic lions and tii^crs were sonielliini; horrible to listen to. 
 The loss of property was ver\' serious ; the aimless cruelty 
 thus passionate!)' inflicted on a cjuantity <jf innocent 
 animals was more serious still. lUit the proprietor of the 
 menaj^erie knew that he had tio redress, and he soui^dit 
 none. ScarceK' less dauntiuLT than this occurrence, was a 
 duel in the neiLjhbourhood, in which the combatants 
 almost literally hacked each other to pieces with bowie- 
 knives ; and in many cases of vendetta, what the bowie- 
 knife spared, the rifle devoured. 
 
 Closely connected with these discjuieting elements in 
 society was that central fact in Southern life, the institution 
 of slavery. Philip Gossc was not a humanitarian. The 
 subject of slavery was one which had not troubled his 
 thou'dits in coming t(j the South ; he had been aware of its 
 existence, of course, and he supposed that he hrul dis- 
 counted it. lUit he found it more horrible, and the discus- 
 sion of it more dangerous, than he had in the least degree 
 imagined. He was looked upon, as an luiglishman, with 
 a peculiar jealousy, as a person predisposed to question 
 "our domestic institution," as it was called. He soon had 
 unt[uestionable i)roofs that his trunks were surreptitiously 
 opened and his letters examinetl, obviously to ascertain 
 whether his correspondence touched upon this tenderest 
 of themes. 1 le had, howev^^r, warned his friends, and lie was 
 careful himself to be most guarded upon this subject. It 
 was not until he was in act of leaving the country that he 
 dared to put pen to paper on this theme. " What will be 
 the end of American slaver)' .•" " he asks, and the cjuery was 
 one to v.hich in 1838 there seemed no answer. "There 
 are men here," he proceeds, " wIkj dare not entertain this 
 question. They tremble when the)' look at the future. It 
 
 J 
 
ALAIiAMA. 
 
 M: 
 
 is like .1 Inline deadly serpent, which is kept down I)\ 
 incessant vigilance, and by the strain of every nerve and 
 muscle ; while the dreadful feelini; is ever prcsmt that, 
 some day or other, it will burst the wei;.;ht that binds it, 
 and take a fearful retribution." 
 
 It was in September, however, when the bustle of cottoii- 
 jiickiuL; made an unusual strain upon the native laziness of 
 the neL,n-i), that (josse was niaile physically ill b\- the ruth- 
 Ics.: punishments which were openly intlicted on all siiles 
 (jf him. The shrieks of women under the cow-hide whip, 
 cynically plied in the very court}-ard beneath his windows 
 at night, would make him almost sick w ith distress and 
 impotent anger, and I have heard him describe how he 
 had tried to <.i\.\i^ up his ears to deaden the sound of the 
 agonizing cries which marked the conventional [)rogrcss 
 of this ver}- peculiar " d(jmestic institution." With the 
 Mctliodist preachers and other pious peo[)le with whom he 
 specially fraternized, he would occasionall)- attemjjt, very 
 timidly, to discuss the ethics of slavery, but alwa\-s to find 
 in these ministers and professors of the gosi)el exactl)- the 
 same jealous)' of criticism and determination to ajjplaud 
 existing conditions, that could characterize the most dis- 
 solute and savage overseer, as he sat aiul flicked his boots 
 with his cow-hide on the verandah of a rum-shop. Aly 
 father saw no escape from this condition of things. He 
 was obliged to admit that skives seemed indispensable in 
 Alabama, and that "free labour is out of the cpiestion." 
 J^ut it sickened him, and it had much to do with his abrupt 
 departure. 
 
 From the day of his arrival he had kei)t a copious 
 scientific journal, but in September this begins to fall <:iff, 
 and early in October it ceases altogether. I'^)r the last 
 three months of his sta\- in iMabania there scarcely exists 
 any record, except a private diary which is painful reading. 
 
 11^ 
 
 \^ 
 
 11 k 
 
144 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ■ 
 
 i I 
 
 
 ^f| 
 
 
 
 
 ^ a 
 
 , 
 
 f w 
 
 ! 
 
 } 
 j 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 li 
 
 At no time was I'luli'i) (iossc ready to admit that connec- 
 tion between the pliysical and the spiritual well-bein<^ of a 
 man, tlic rehition between bodil)' health and mental health, 
 which to man\' of us may seem one of the finest lessons 
 which life has to i^ive. It was very strant^e that one of 
 such infinitely delicate and accurate pcrcei)tions in observa- 
 tion of animals and plants, one to whom the movements 
 of a butterfly and the conscience of an orchid were almost 
 prcternaturally obvious, should be unable to adai)t the 
 same habit of observation to humanity and to himself. 
 l>ut it must be said that he was never a very subtle judj^'c 
 of man, and always a very bad critic of himself There 
 were many conditions of his life in Alabama which pre- 
 disposed him to melancholy and physical depression, and 
 against which he should have been upon his guard. This 
 social isolation, the repressed indignations of his patriotism 
 and of his humanity, his narrow resources and hopelessness 
 of improvement, were enough to cast him down in spirits. 
 But in addition, the autumn in those hot, damp countries 
 is exceedingly distressing to a stranger ; the neighbourhood 
 of the swamp is deadly, and the decay of the monstrous 
 body of vegetation almost fatal to organic elasticity. Un- 
 happily, however, in a manner I need not dwell upon at 
 distressing length, my father, who would have hit with 
 luminous directness on the cause of such symptoms in an 
 insect or a bird, saw in his own condition nothing less 
 serious than the chastisement of God on one who was 
 sinning against light. The more wretched he felt, the 
 more certain was he of the Divine displeasure, and the 
 more did he lash his fainting sfiirit t thi ask oi icligious 
 exercises. His diary is full of se .idings, penitential 
 
 cries, vows of greater watchfulnc • the future ; id it is 
 downright pathetic to read these cnasioi .^, and to know 
 that it was quinine that the poor sou; wanted in its 
 
ALABAAfA. 
 
 '4=; 
 
 innocent darkness. He bcii^an to wish to return to Eiit;l.uul, 
 but put the thout^ht behind him, as evidently a temptation 
 of the devil, because it would please him to return, h'or 
 the first time in his life, he was in a ihoroui^hly morbid 
 condition of mind. 
 
 Towards the middle of November his apathy and 
 j;loom deepened into positive illness. lie Ijct^aii to suffer 
 from a very violent and almost unceasintj headache. On 
 December i he writes — 
 
 " Hy medicine and care my headache is at len,c;th 
 "relieved, though not yet removed. It has been ac- 
 "companietl by great prostration of mind and body, 
 "but though I have not been capable of much 
 "devotional exercise, I have been enabled to fix my 
 "mind with filial confidence on God. ... I have seen 
 "the absurdity of deferring the work of re[)entance and 
 "conversion to a sick bed, which is very ill adapted 
 " for such work. ]\Iy school has closed, anrjther geutlc- 
 " man having beer engaged to succeed me ; in this, too, 
 " I see the hand of God." 
 
 From this last statement it would almost seem as 
 though, in consequence of Philip Gossc's failing health, ho 
 had been arbitrarily superseded, but of this I find no other 
 record. Vov the next fortnight the entries in liis journal 
 are tinged with the deepest melancholia. On December 
 1 6 he says — 
 
 " From the representations of Brother Mearnc (the 
 "presiding l^lder of this district) and Brother Nose- 
 " worthy, and their persuasions, I have given up the 
 "thought of going to England, believing it to be my 
 "duty to labour here. I am not convinced by their 
 "reasons, but I fear that my will stands opposed to the 
 "will of God." 
 
 But a few dajs later he was persuaded to go off for a 
 
 L 
 
 ■'I'i 
 
TT 
 
 'E 
 
 i 
 
 ) 
 
 1 i^ 
 
 1 
 
 *•: > 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 : 
 
 
 In 
 
 146 
 
 77/E LIFE OF nil LIT HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 visit to Ikothcr Nosewortliy at the town of Sclma. The 
 riJc did liim good, ..":nd the ch;inge of air also. He was 
 bustled up by the activity of Quarterly Meeting. On the 
 25th he writes, "The Methodist Society at Selma is in a 
 much livelier state than ours, and I have had some profit- 
 able sca-ons, though I find too much of a narrow bigotry 
 with all." He came bad: to Mount Pleasant persuaded 
 that he had a c;dl to be a Wcsleyan minister in Alaoama, 
 and convinced that he was to spend his life there preaching 
 and visiting. 
 
 What happened lext I know not, but T suppose that 
 the visit to Sclma had quickened !n's s'^'ses, and showed 
 him that life in iVIount Pleasant -.vas impossible, since 
 exactly four days after this conclusion to stay in Alabam.a 
 for ever, he is fiumd to have packed up all his boxes and 
 cabinets, if) ha\e been up to Dallas to say farewell to 
 the Saffolds, and to be positivel)' on board a steamer on 
 the Alabama river, in the highest [)ossible spirits, and 
 bound merrily for Mobile. He ate part of a splendid 
 turkey for his Christmas dinner on board the steamer, his 
 curious objection to everything which in any way sug- 
 gested the keeping of Christmas as a festival not having as 
 yet occurred to him. The voyagu down the river from the 
 upper countr}' occu])ied two days and a night, considerable 
 dela}- being caused by frequent stoppages to t.d<e in cargo, 
 until the vessel was laden almost to the water's edge with 
 l)ales of cotton. " I looked with pleasu'-e on the magnificent 
 scenery of the heights. There is something," he writes, 
 "very romantic in sailing, or nithcr sliooting, along 
 between lofty precipices of rock, crowned with woods at 
 the summit. Owq such strait we pas.^^ed through to-day 
 (December 30) just at sunrise ; the glassy water, our 
 vessel, and ever}'thing near still involved in deepest 
 shadov/ ; the grey, discoloured limestone towering up on 
 
 \ 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 M7 
 
 each side ; while the trees, and just a streak on tlie toj)- 
 most edge of one cliff, were bathed in golden light from 
 the newly risen sun." 
 
 He was greatly amused by the way in which the crew 
 stowed the cargo. The cotton had Leen already screwed 
 into bales so tightly that further compression might seem 
 impossible. Ikit ulieii the stowed bales in the hold ueri' 
 in contact wilh the upper deck, another la)'cr had to be 
 forced in by jjowerful jack-screws, worked by four men. 
 When the end of the bale was seen set against a crevice 
 into which a thin board could scarcely be pushed, it might 
 api:)car impossible that it should ever get in ; but the screw 
 was continually turned, and though the process was a slow 
 one, the bale would gradually insinuate itself The men 
 kept the most perfect time by iiicans of their songs. 
 " These ditties," — says the curious " chiel " who hung above 
 the cotton-bales "making notes," — "though nearly meaning- 
 less, have much music in them ; and as all join in the 
 perpetually recurring chori.s, a rough harmony i.-^ pro- 
 duced, by no means unpleasing. I think the leader im- 
 provises the words, of which I have taken down tlie 
 following specimen ; he singing one line alone, and the 
 whole then giving th.e chorus, which is repeated without 
 change at every line, till the general chorus includes the 
 stanza : — 
 
 " ' 1 think I iie;ir the black-cock say, 
 
 J'i<\- tlw rini^(> ! fur meay ! 
 They shot so hard, I could not stay \ 
 
 Fire the rini^o ! fire away ! 
 So I spread my wings, and llcw away ; 
 
 J'ire the rins^v^ etc. 
 I took my llight, and ran away; 
 
 J'ire, etc. 
 All the way to Canaday, 
 
 ///■f, etc. 
 
 >! M 
 
 il % 
 
 i -ft 
 
 i ! 
 
'Jh 
 
 I 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 - ■ 
 
 1 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 
 \, 
 
 K- 
 
 li ^ 
 
 J 
 
 i 1 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 1 48 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 To Canad.iy, to Canaday, 
 
 All tlie way to Canaday. 
 
 Oin'ral Jackson gain'd the day; 
 
 At New Orleans he gain'd the day ; 
 Kini::;o ! riiv^o ! hlazc mvay I 
 Fire the rin,i:;o ! fin away ! ' " 
 
 Later on the last evenin^^ of the year 1838, he entered 
 
 Mobile, where lie liad to stay a week before proceeding to 
 
 Enc^land. At Mobile he found his noor shattered insect 
 
 cabinet from Canada, lying in a warehouse in a shocking 
 
 condition, but with the contents not so hopelessly destroyed 
 
 as he had every reason to fear that he should find them. 
 
 It was pleasant to gaze on his captures, after having been 
 
 parted from them for nearly a year, h'lom Alabama he 
 
 carried home about twenty specimens of the skins of rare 
 
 birds, and a few fur-pelts. In cash he Anmd that he was, 
 
 when lie had paid his passage to luigland, even poorer 
 
 than when he left Canada. So poor was he that he wa.-i 
 
 obliged, immediately on his arrival in Liverpool, to part 
 
 with his furs and skins hastily, and therefore at a wretched 
 
 price. His entomological collection he sold, for a fair 
 
 sum, to the well-known insect-buyer. Mr. Melly. As a 
 
 matter of fact, however, the rolling stone returned to 
 
 England, after an exile of eleven j-ears, with practically no 
 
 m.oss whatever on its surface. He was completing his 
 
 twenty-ninth year, and life still seemed wholly inhospitable 
 
 to him. He had not chanced yet on the employment for 
 
 which alone he was fitted, but he had Ui consciously gone 
 
 through an excellent apprenticeship for it. It was on his 
 
 return voyage to England in Januarj', 1839, that Philip 
 
 Gossc began to be a professional author. 
 
 
 DH 
 
msmsmm^-i 
 
 ( 149 ) 
 
 CHArTER VI. 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 1839-1844. 
 
 TN his diary of January 4, 1839, Thilip Gossc has rc- 
 J- corded : " I spent an hour or two in walking through 
 the pubh'c burial-ground of Mobile. Many of the epitaphs 
 were ridiculous, but some very touching. I felt my sjjirit 
 softened and melted by some of the testimonials of affec- 
 tion, and I could not refrain from tears. Then I went on 
 board the ship /sane Xriutoii, lying in the bay, and so bade 
 adieu to American land, probably for ever." This melan- 
 choly note is not inappropriate to mark what was in fact a 
 great crisis in his career, while the prophec>' in the last 
 words was actually fuMUed, since though his activity in the 
 Nc\V World was by no means at an end, he was never to 
 set foot on the American continent again. 
 
 Asa part of the fresh religious zeal which he had roused 
 in him.self during his latest weeks in Alabama, he be-Mii 
 on board the Isaac Xcicton the practice of speaking on 
 the condition of their souls to those into whose company 
 he was thrown. This habit he preservetl, with varying 
 intensity, till the end of his life, and in process of time it 
 became easy and natural to him to exhort and to ex- 
 amine. But it was difficult enough at first, and nothing 
 but an overwhelming conviction that it was his duty would 
 have enabled him to overcome his reluctance. He was 
 
 
 i m 
 
 'Ih, 
 
' 
 
 •so 
 
 T//E LIFE OF rniLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 ¥ • 
 
 \ 
 
 m 
 
 shy, and disliked addressing strangers ; he was sensitive, 
 and hated to take a liberty. But he had convinced him- 
 self that it was his duty to God to speak of sacred matters 
 " in season and out of season," and he persevered in the 
 same indomitable spirit which forced Charles Darwin, in 
 spite of sea-sickness, to continue his experiments on board 
 the Beagle. In later years, I remember once quoting to 
 my father, in self-defence under his spiritual cross-ex- 
 amination, Clough's — 
 
 " () let mc love my love unto myself alone 
 And know my knowledge to the world unknown ! 
 No witness to tlic vision call, 
 Ikholding, unhehcld of all ; 
 And worship thee, with thee withdrawn, apart, 
 Whoe'er, whate'er thou art, 
 Within the closest veil of mine own inmost heart." 
 
 " MclUnuous lines, enough ! " he replied, "but that is not 
 what God a':ks from a converted man. It is not the luxurv 
 of meditaticni and the cloister, but the unwelcome effort to 
 spread a knowledge of the truth." 
 
 The entries in his journal of the voyage of Januar\-, 
 1839, arc naive and pathetic ; — 
 
 " We have had much rough, cold, wet, and uncomfort- 
 "able weather, but I have called the crew together, oi'' 
 " Sabbath d^ys (but not so often as I ought, having 
 "suffered from extreme reluctance to disturb them), to 
 " hear the w ay of salvation. They listen with decorum 
 " and attention, and perhaps fruit may s[)ring up after 
 "many days; and if not, I have not failed to be well 
 " paid even in a present blessing. ... I made an 
 " opportunity of speaking to tlic captain ^>w the subject 
 "of religion. He is an amiable and well-informed man, 
 "a [irofane swearer, and one who seems to entertain 
 "considerable contempt for godliness. . . . The captain 
 
 \ 
 
 J 
 
WR 
 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 lit 
 
 '"continues to profess infidel sentiments, but kindly pei- 
 
 " mits his people to be assembled, .'ind himself listens 
 
 "respectfully." 
 
 The voyaL,fe to luii^land occupied five weeks, and during 
 that time Gosse worked hard at the manuscript of his Cana- 
 dian Natnralist, contriving to finish it, so far as it could 
 be finished, before the ship entered the Mersey. In some 
 respects the voyage was [)leasant, but the whole vessel was 
 stuffed witii cargo, cotton-bales being piled even in tin; 
 cabin, leaving scarcely room to creep in and out. lie used 
 to recline on the top of these soft bales, reading natural 
 histor\^ and in particular Walsh's Ih-azil, which he had 
 found on board, and which fascinated him. At last luig- 
 land was again his home, after twelve years' e.xile. He was 
 furnished with ample and fervid introductions from his 
 dear friends the Jaqueses in Canada to their relatives in 
 Liverpool, and by them he was hospitably entertained for 
 a fortnight. These kind people became sufficiently in- 
 terested in him to perceive his talents and to deplore his 
 poverty. They set themselves, with such slight means as 
 lay at their hands, to find suitable occupation for him. A 
 letter addressed to Mr. William Clarke, k^{ I,iver[)ooI, wJio 
 had obtained for I'hilip Gosse the refusal of the office of 
 curator at some museum, — I know not what or where — 
 may here be cpioted in full. It is a very characteristic 
 document. 
 
 ^1^; 
 
 ! i 
 
 ! :: 
 1' I 
 
 \ 
 
 To Mr. William Clarke, Liverpool. 
 
 " Wimborne, April 25, 1S39 
 "Mv DKAR Sir, 
 
 "I know not in what terms to express, in an 
 "ade(|uate manner, my sense of your most undeserved 
 " kindness ; it really oppresses me. As if it were not 
 "enough that you loaded me with the kindest atten- 
 
 II K. 
 
I ; I 
 
 1 12 
 
 Tirn LIFE OF Fin LIP IIFXRY GOSSE. 
 
 ^■m 
 
 " tions during m)- pleasant sojourn in your fricndl}' 
 " family, )-ou arc still caring for \wy welfare, and devising 
 •'schemes for my benefit, now I am far a\va\'. It is 
 "pleasing to know that though out of sight, I am not 
 " out of mind. Do not think me ungrateful if I cannot 
 "avail myself of j'our very obliging proposal. I am 
 "pained that your goodness should be thrown away ; 
 "but I am really not qualified for the situation of 
 "curator. I do not know the art of stuffing birds and 
 " beasts ; and, though I have some acquaintance with 
 " natural history, I am totally ignorant of mineralog}-. 
 " which, I observe by the advertisement, is rccjuired. 
 "Attendance, too, is recjuired from 8 a.m. till 9 p.m. — 
 "thirteen hours a day ; and the whole time to be devoted 
 " to the duties. 
 
 " There arc other reasons why I should hesitate to 
 " fill suchi an office as that. I should fear that I should 
 " be thrown into sit'iations in which I might find it diffi 
 "cult to keep that purity of intention which I value 
 "more than life ; and likewise, that my opportunities of 
 " being useful to my fellow-men, especially to their 
 "souls, would be much curtailed. I view this transient 
 " state as a dressing-room to a theatre; a brief, almost 
 " momentary visit, during which i^reparation is to be 
 " made for the real business and end of existence. 
 "Eternity is our theatre: time our dressing-room. So 
 " that I must make every arrangement with a view to 
 "its bearing on this one point. 
 
 " .Again I repeat m\' gratitude for your kindness ; ami 
 "pray God to reward you a thousand-fokl, for I am 
 " utterly unable. Should it ever be my lot to revisit 
 " Liverpool, I shall gratefully renew my acquaintance 
 "with you ami your dear family. I have heard nothing 
 "from Mr. Jaques since I iiave been here — have you? 
 
 
T 
 
 -—Wi wpw .,..,,..^, 
 |i!iiiijiLii«iyuu.,'j<i""pj<»»i. 
 
 J 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 153 
 
 "M)- kindest wishes and most respectful rct^ards wait on 
 " Mrs. Clarke, and my love to the dear young folks — espe- 
 "cially dear Henrietta, and William, and Charley; and 
 " indeed I'^inily, too. There, I have named all ; for I 
 " can make no exception. May every happiness be 
 " yours and theirs ! 
 
 " Believe me to be, dear .Sir, 
 
 " Kindly and sincerely )'ours, 
 
 "P. II. GOSSE." 
 
 The excuse for not accepting seems, even from his own 
 point of view, curiously inadequate. The position of curator 
 at a j)rovincial museum is not commonly looked upon as 
 one of peculiar temptation to worldliness, and the writer 
 was, besides, reduced to a poverty so extreme, that one might 
 suppose an independent spirit, such as his, would leap at 
 any honest way of getting a Ivelihood. Hut the fact 
 appears to be that he believed himself called to the 
 ministry, and that his full intention was to become, if 
 possible, a Wesleyan preacher. His efforts in this direc- 
 tion also, however, were met with disappointment. The 
 rough discourses wliich iiad :ervcd in Alabama were not to 
 the taste of the Methodists of Liverpool, 1 le wrote : " The 
 large antl fine Wesleyan chapels of Liverpool, the fashion- 
 able attire of the audiences, and the studied refinement of 
 the discourses, so thoroughly out of keeping with ni)- own 
 fresh and ardent feelings, distress me. I mourn over the 
 degeneracy of .Methodism." And Methodism, in her turn, 
 looked very coldly at this vehement colonial critic of her 
 manners. 
 
 Early in March, 1S39, he went by railway and coach to 
 Wimborne, in Dorset, where his mother was now re.-.iding 
 with a younger son. Here Philip remained for three 
 months, taking at first a prominent place as a local 
 
 ( ,; 
 
 
 ■I 
 
 
 il l 
 
154 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I i ' 
 
 
 -;s 
 '1 J 
 
 81 
 
 prcaclicr in Wimbornc itself aiul in the ncii,'hbourin^f vil- 
 lages, and frequently sui»i)lyini^ the pulj)it of the minister 
 at the Cc)ngregational c'.iapel of the town. The fervour of 
 religious zeal with which he had left Alabama now, how- 
 ever, began to abate. Many little things had occurred 
 which tended to diminish his ardour. His purpose was 
 still to seek acceptance from the Methodist Conference as 
 a travelling preacher. Hut much of the enthusiasm which 
 had prompted him to undertake this ftnm of employment 
 had evaporated by the summer, and, to his surprise, he 
 was conscious of not being disapjiointed when, on applica- 
 tion, he found that he was past the limit of age at which 
 candidates for the regular ministry are received. He was 
 not destined to be a Wesleyan preacher after all. 
 
 Why he lingered so long at Wimborne it is not easy to 
 say. Perhaps it was connected with an episode which must 
 be recounted in the exact form in which he has chosen to 
 preserve it among his notes : — 
 
 " The widow of a deceased Wesleyan minister, residing 
 " in Wimbornc, Mrs. Button, had two unmarried 
 "daughters, to the elder of whom, .Amelia, an acconi- 
 " plished, pious, and winning lady, older th.m I, and 
 " much pitted with the small-pox, I at once formed a 
 "very tender attachment. It was as tenderly returned ; 
 "but \.\\z prudent mother made her sanction contingent 
 " on my obtaining some permanent sdurce of income, 
 " which at present was wholl}- /// niibibiis. This was not 
 "readdy obtained. Amelia's years could not well brook 
 "delay: another suitor interposetl, a Wesleyan minister 
 " in full employ ; she accepted him, and I was left to 
 " mourn. And mourn I did, sadly and deefily ; for my 
 " love for her was very earnest. I could not, however, 
 " blame her decision." 
 The conduct of Amelia Button was as proper as that of 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 »33 
 
 I^dmund Gibbon under similar circumstances. She sighed 
 as a lover, but she obeyed as a daui^liter. 
 
 It was no time, however, for Pliiiip Gosse to be dallying 
 with the tender passion. His fortunes were at their lowest 
 ebb, and the summer of 1839 inarks the ilarkest point of 
 his whole career. It was a hai)py thought that niatle him 
 turn, at last, to what should long ago have engrossed his 
 attention, the field of literature. In the fervid and unwhole- 
 some condition of his mind, he had set on one side th<-- 
 manuscri[)t of his Canadian Naturalist. It was only by a 
 fortunate accident that, in his full tide of Puritanism, he had 
 not destroNX'd it. It was now his one and only chance for 
 the future, and London was the sole field into which he 
 couKI, with hope of a harvest, drop the solitary seed. A 
 constitutional timidity and that fear of Lontlon which is 
 sometimes so strong in a sensitive countryman, held him 
 shivering on the brink. At last, on June 7, i!^;-,*;), he set 
 ovit on a coach for the metropolis. While he had been 
 in Dorsetshire he had earned just enough to prevent his 
 being a positive burden u[)on his people, partly by preach- 
 ing for absent ministers, partly by teaching the elements of 
 flower-painting. 1 le thought to continue the second branch 
 as a lucrative profession in London, his own drawings 
 being, as his Canadian and Alabaman specimens showed, 
 of an exquisite merit. But his ignorance of London and of 
 lif(^ were c[uitc extraordinary. His first lodging in the 
 town was cpiaintly chosen, since, in consequence of some 
 literary reminiscence or another, he selected Drury Lane 
 as the scene of his operations, and took a chcaj) but 
 infinitely sordid lodging on the east side of that noisy 
 and malodorous street. His room was an attic, a few 
 doors north of Great Queen .Street, and the [)resent writer 
 vividly remembers how, in his own boyhood, his father, 
 walking briskly towards the Hritish Museum with Charles 
 
 H 
 
 11^ 
 
 ii- 
 
] 
 
 w- 
 
 11 ' 
 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 1, 
 
 
 t i 
 
 IS6 
 
 r//E LIFE OF Fill LIP HE.VRY GOSSE. 
 
 Kingslcy, stopped to point out to his friend and to the 
 boy the grimy window from which, in the dreariest hour 
 of his h'fe, he had looked down upon the roaring midnight 
 debauchery of the Drury Lane of fifty years ago. 
 
 l'hih'[) Gossc's resources were now reduced to a few 
 sliilh'ngs. Driven by dirt and noise out of the Drury Lane 
 attic, he took refuge in another, a little quieter and cleaner, 
 in Farringdon Street, at the summit of the house then 
 devoted, in its lower part, to the sale of Morrison's pills. 
 The young man's only friend in London was the cousin 
 mentioned in an earlier chapter, Mr. Thomas Bell, a dentist 
 already eminent in the profession, a naturalist, the publi- 
 cation of whose British Qiiadnipeds in 1S37 had given him 
 considerable reputation, and a prominent member of the 
 Royal Society. On June 15, 1S39, I'hilip Gosse writes to 
 his sister, I'^lizabcth Green : — 
 
 " Mr. Bell has very kindly offered to read my manuscript 
 "and give his opinion ; he is going to sliow it to his own 
 " publisher, but thinks that it will need some alteration 
 " before being i)ublishcd. I want to get some permanent 
 "means of subsistence, and one object of my writing 
 '' now is to ask what you think my prospects would be of 
 "teaching drawing (the fuier branches, such as flower- 
 " painting, etc. — }-ou know my manner) among the 
 " aristocracy and gentry of .Sherborne, and whether you 
 "think there would be sufilcient chance of success to 
 " make it worth my while to come down and canvass the 
 " neighbourhood } . . . If you write home, give my 
 " love. I do not like to write there until I know what 
 " my chance is here. Things look dark at present and 
 " hopeless enough, but they may brighten. Do not fail 
 " to write immediately; but rather put it oft" a day, than 
 "go about it in such haste as not to make half a letter. 
 " Adieu ! " 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 »57 
 
 The manuscript here mentioned was Tlic CiviaJian 
 Naturalist, which pleased Mr. liell so much that he 
 recommended it stron;^Iy to Mr, Van Voorst, tlic dis- 
 tinguished i)uIjHsher of scientific wt^rks. I'hilip Gossc's 
 j)ride made him conceal his real state from Thomas Hell, 
 and though tlie latter knew his cousin to he in neeil of 
 employment, he diil not suspect that he was in such bitter 
 straits. Mr. Van Voorst ai)pointed a day for the young 
 author to call on iiim. Meanwhile the shillings, nursed 
 as they might be, were slipping, sli[)ping away. Tlie 
 practice of going once a day to a small eating-house had 
 to be abandoned, and instead of it a herring was eaten as 
 slowl)' as possible in the dingy attic ir. h^arringdon Street. 
 Meanwhile, the response about the " aristocracy atul gentry 
 of Sherborne" had been discouraging in the extreme. 
 " Nothing to be done in Sherborne," was the answer ; 
 "better staj- where you are." At last the day broke on 
 which Mr. Van Voorst's answer was to be given, and with as 
 much of the gentleman about him as he could recover, the 
 proud and starving author presented himself in Paternoster 
 Row. He was ushered in to the cortlial and courteous 
 Mr. Van Voorst. He was no longer feeling .xny hope, but 
 merely the extremity of dejection and disgust. The wish 
 to be out again in the street, with his miserable roll of 
 manuscript in his hands, was the emotion upi^ermost in 
 his mind. The i)ublisher began slowly: "I like your 
 book ; I shall be pleased to publish it ; I will give you one 
 hundred guineas for it." One hundred guineas ! It was 
 Peru and half the Indies ! The reaction was so violent 
 that the demure and ministerial-looking jouth, closely 
 buttoned up in his worn broadcloth, broke dcnvn utterly 
 into hy.sterical sob upon sob, while Mr. Van Voorst, 
 murmuring, "My dear young man! my dear j-oung 
 man ! " hastened out to fetch wine and minibter to wants 
 
' 
 
 ^' ! ' 
 
 \ I 
 
 11 
 
 I! 
 
 
 i-:t\ r • 
 
 «58 
 
 7//E LIFE OF Pin LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 which it was beyond the power of pride to conceal an)- 
 longer. 
 
 Mr. Van Voorst, in venerable ap^e, is still living as I write 
 these words. I trust that I may be permitted the pleasure 
 of assuring him of the gratitude which the family of his 
 old friend feel and must ever continue to feel towards him. 
 Since Otway dedicated his Soldier's Fortune to Richard 
 Ik'ntley in i6Si, many things have been said by authors 
 about publishers, and sometimes not in so amicable a spirit 
 as that of Otwa}'. Tlic relations of the two professions 
 have even, at times, so it is whispered, become i)ositively 
 strained. But between John Van Voorst and Philip Henry 
 Gosse there was sealed, under the circumstances I have just 
 described, a bond of business friendship which held them 
 together for nearly fifty years, without a single misunder- 
 standing or even momentary disagreement. 
 
 From this time forward, Phili[) Gosse had an aim in life. 
 The form of literary work wnich he had adopted, or, rather, 
 which had at last furced him to recognize its claims, was 
 not a very lucrative one, and he was still, as will be seen, 
 curiously unready in taking to literary work. Nevertheless, 
 he had now 'nade a successful start, and there was Mr. Van 
 Voorst in Paternoster Row always ready to listen to a 
 reasonable suggestion. Mr. George Loddiges, the once 
 famous florist, was also a useful acquaintance gained through 
 Thomas Bell. He w.is charmed with Philip Gosse's draw- 
 ings of American flowers, made him free of his own admired 
 series of orchid-houses and nurseries, and recommended 
 iiim to seek employment in ladies' schools, as a teacher of 
 flower-painting. In the winter of 1^39 I find that Gosse has 
 removed into the suburbs, to a lodging at Hackney. He 
 writes, with his customary cheerfulness — for these letters 
 never show the slightest petulance or ill-humour under 
 failure — " Day by day, I trudge wearily through the streets. 
 
 % \ 
 
zszs^. 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 >50 
 
 willi m\- t)rirt folio uiulcr tnv arm, scck-inc: to show in\- 
 drawings of flowers and insects. I f^et many praises, but 
 little cmplo)-ment. I have, however, obtained several 
 civ^af^ements, in private schools and families. I make 
 frequent visits to the Hritish Museum, and am especial!)- 
 studyin^j the lari^'e mammals. I have matle careful draw- 
 ings of the giraffe on the '^Id staircase, and the hippopota- 
 mus and rhinoceros at its f(H)t. The other day I met a 
 Chinaman offering a glazed box of C'iu'nese insects, stuffetl 
 as full as it could hold. I could not resist the extravagance 
 of buying it, as he wanted but a small sum for it. I have 
 thrown away all but a few of the choice lepidoptcra, and 
 have made it quite air-tight." This treasure accompanied 
 him in all subse([uent wamlerings to the very end. 
 
 On I'Y'bruary 2^j, 1840, The Canadian Naturalist was 
 jHiblished, the first of the long series of m\' father's works. 
 It was very favourably received, aiu! sold firmly, though 
 rather slowlx*. Tlie fc;rm in which it was written was 
 somewhat unfortunate, for it consisted of a series of con- 
 versations between an imaginary father and son, '"during 
 successive walks, taken at the various seasons <.^{ the year, 
 so that it may be considered as in some degree a kind of 
 Canadian Naturalist's Cahiidar." The presentment of 
 facts was by no means helped by the snii)-snap of the 
 dialogue, and the supposed father was found most enter- 
 taining when he talked with least interruption from the 
 \'oung intpiirer. The book was adorned by a large number 
 of illustrations, engraved in a vcrj' refined and finished 
 manner on blocks drawn in most cases by the author 
 himself, and in all designed by him. In T/ic Canadian 
 Naturalist, imperfect as it was as a final expression of 
 his peculiar genius, Philip Gosse opened out a new field of 
 literature. In the eighteenth century, amid the careless 
 pedantry of such zoologists as I'cnnant, had been heard 
 
 I ) 
 
 h 
 
 4 iWl 
 
 ''»' 
 
 t 
 
 Hi 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 1 60 
 
 7//£ Z/i^iT O/^ nilLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 m: 
 
 I 
 
 I i 
 
 ! i 
 1 ' ' 
 
 H 
 
 the clear note of Gilbert White. Twenty years later, 
 Alexander Wilson had begun to issue the eight volumes of 
 his magnificent Aiucrican Ornitliology. In 1825 Charles 
 Watcrton had published his sensational Wanderings. 
 These three works are the only ones which can fairly be 
 said to have preceded 'f/h! Canadian Naturalist in its own 
 peculiar province, and of these Waterton's, at least, had 
 little but a superficial resemblance to the new departure in 
 natural liistory. It was from Wilson that Philip Gossc 
 had learned most of the zoological art of his book, but it 
 was his chief advantage to have oecn held long away from 
 masters and teachers (-{ all kinds, and to have been forced 
 to stutly nature for himself In his preface he said, 
 modestly enough, that "the author is fully aware how very 
 limited is his accjuaintance with this boundless science [of 
 zoology]; having lived in the fu'-off wilds of the West, 
 where s\'stems, books, and museums are almost unknown, 
 he has been compelled to draw water from Nature's own 
 well, and his knowledge of her is almost confined to h.er 
 appearance in the forest and the field." 
 
 lie very soon made himself fully familiar with all that 
 systematic zoologists had arranged and tlecided. 1 le 
 became a learned as well as a practised n.iturali^t. ]!ut 
 the unacademic freshness of his earl)- habit of mind 
 remained, and gave its pleasant tincture to all his subse- 
 quent work I lis function continued to bo, as it had 
 begun by being, that of one who calls his contemporaries 
 out of their cabinets and their tlissecting-rooms into the 
 woods and seashore, and biiis (hrm observe tlv" living 
 heart of Xa'aue. Since iu's time, such ap[)eals ha\e grown 
 more and more frequent, until they have begun to seem 
 commonplace. All can raise this particular flower now, but 
 it was Philip Gosse, in a very marki d degree, who first found, 
 or at least first popularized, the seed. The moment was 
 
 f;->*'^»?ii 
 
r¥m*m-~^ 
 
 1. 1 TERA R Y S TR L'G G L ES. 
 
 ir,r 
 
 one in wliich, throuf,'hout tlie world, a fresher air was bciivj^ 
 blown across the fields of bioloL^y and natural history. 
 Captain Fit/roy had just published that account of the 
 cruise of the /n'ai^/r in which the t,n-eatest of all bioloLjists. 
 Charles Darwin (my father's senior by one year\ made 
 his first public appearance ; while in '''«ew ]MV_,dand one 
 whom, from a purely literary point of \'iew, it is more 
 natural to compare with Philip Gosse, Henry Thoreau, 
 had just made that weeks \-oya;^e on the Concord and 
 Merrimac rivers which he was to describe some ten j'ears 
 later. The j^rcmis of ali ti-at made Gosse for a i^eneration 
 one of the most pupular ami useful writers of his time are 
 to be found in 77/(' Caitadi(XU Natiir'ilist,~-\.\\c picturesque 
 enthusiasm, the scru[)uious attention to truth in detail, the 
 quick e}e and the respmisive brain, the happy _!_;ift in direct 
 description. The pa,L;es devoted to the red s<juirre!, "that 
 fantastic little i;entleman, willi as man}- tricks as a mon- 
 key ; " the disqui.s.tion yM\ tiic h.ird-wootls of Lower 
 Canada ; the episode of the skunk, — these may be taken 
 as tsq)ical exanq^les of the felicitous characier of the best 
 pa.s.sai;es, minified, it is only fair to say, with much that, 
 from wiiut of literary exqx.rience, was put toi;ether without 
 skill. C^ne passai^e may be cpioted here — a lirief descrip- 
 tion of the phenomena of a Canadian winter tempest :~ 
 ■ lirk to the wind ! how it liowls and whistles throu.i^h 
 " tln^ tops of the trees, like a close-reef •j;a\c throu_L;h 
 " the shrouds and ropes of a ship at sea. Now it sinks 
 " to a hollow mo. in, then sii^^^s a^^ain, utterin;.;' sounds 
 "which one nii;;ht fancy those of an J'lolian har[). The 
 "leaves fly from those few trees which still retain any, 
 " autl the lon;4 !.;re)- moss streams from the t()[)S of the 
 "scathed liemlw':k'., stretchuiL; far (jUi upon the blast, 
 "like sis^Mials of distress. Do j-ou hear that crashin.,^ 
 " roar .' Soni'; mighty tree lui^ bowed tt) its deslin\ . 
 
 ir 
 
 ,ii 
 W 
 
 i 
 
-■■" .[ 
 
 n 
 
 ■\ I 
 
 f. 
 
 i6: 
 
 7///i LIFE OF PHILIP LIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 " VVc are in dan^^cr uiitil we can get out (jf the [)fnxiniit>' 
 " of the forest. Yonder is one prostrate across the road, 
 " which has faUen since we passed an liour a^o : sec how 
 " it has crushed tlie fence, and torn uj) the ground of 
 '• t'lc field on the opposite side! There tluinders 
 "another! They arc falling now on every side; and 
 " the air is thronged with pieces of bark, shreds r)f 
 " trce-inoss, and I)roken branches, descending. It is 
 "appalling to hear the sluieking of the gusts, ami the 
 "groaning of the trees as they rock and cliafe against 
 " each other, while they toss their naked arms about, as 
 " if in agony.'' 
 
 The record < f the next two years is a very slight one. 
 
 It was a period of obseiu-ity ami povert}', borne with an 
 
 almost stoic patience. I'liilip Gosse was still, what indeed 
 
 lie never wholly ceased to be, timid, reserved, little disposed 
 
 to fo'in new acquaintances or to cultivate old ones. Th(> 
 
 success of his C<vi!hii<m Naturalist made a rip'ple in 
 
 scientific society, and a more ambitious man would have 
 
 fell that his foot was on the ladder and have made his 
 
 ov.'ii ascent secure. Hut that was not rhilii) (jossc's way. 
 
 He was not easily to l.)e persuaded (jf his powers, and, 
 
 without making the .smallest effort to secure work of a 
 
 serial or journalistic kind, such work as would have been 
 
 easily within rcacli of his elegant and active pen, he fell 
 
 back on his flower-drawing and his el-mentary teaching. 
 
 He was not, at tliis time, in good heath. The miasma 
 
 of A.abania was prolnibly still hanging about his sj-stem. 
 
 His rare letters of this epoch, though always resolute and 
 
 patient, have a melancholy tone. He says to his sister 
 
 Elizabeth, early in 1840, after a brief visit to Dorsetshire : 
 
 " Now I am in London again, lonely and depressed, and 
 
 almost without a friend — at least, without cicar friends. 
 
 What a sad word is 'farcvveH'l Hut, by-and-by, there 
 
 T 
 
 w 
 
' 
 
 mm 
 
 li 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 If':. 
 
 will he a state wlierc the sound of farewell, n )\v familiar a> 
 a household word, sh.dl be alto;^cther unheard of and 
 altogether unknown. May wc meet there ! " 
 
 In his drear)' lotlc^inp^s, his thou,ghts went back to the 
 haunts of his boyhood in Newfoundland, "the beautiful 
 little silver lakes that sleep amonj^ the spruce-covered 
 mountains, — I mean a mile or two in from shore. I should 
 like c\'cecdin,c^ly." he writes (April 25, 1840) to his brother 
 William at St. John's, "that you should transfer some views 
 to paper for me, if they were but sketches ; the very lovely 
 one from Pack's farm in Carl)onear, and the same from 
 Elson's flagstaff down Little Heaver Pond, Black Duck 
 Pond, etc., with the hills of h^-eshwater in the distance, 
 and the sea peeping out between the peaks. Another 
 from that high round hill on the left haiul of the Harbour 
 Grace Road, looking in towards Lady Pond, ruid o\'<:r 
 many other ponds. I-'rom Mosquito Point there is a nobh' 
 coast view — Carboncar Islaiul in the foregroimd, jjrec!i 
 and woody; behind, the gradually receding headlands of 
 the north shore, becoming more dimly blue until Boccalao 
 is almost invisible. Give my love to all my Hay friends, if 
 you have the opportunity, and don't forget my request to 
 gather flowers, sprigs of bushes, etc. ; it is very little 
 trouble, when you are walking, to gatiicr what you see, 
 and when you come home, just shut them into a book. I 
 flatter myself you will do it." 
 
 In the summer he was himself applied to to take some 
 views of the neighbourhood of .Sherborne, to be lithographed 
 for a history of that town, but was not a liUle incensed, on 
 the publication of the book-, to find the name of a better- 
 known artist appended to them, instead cf his own. He 
 complained to the publisher, but obtaineti neither reply nor 
 redress. He was still staying close to Slicrbornc, when 
 his only sister, Elizabeth Green, after a brief illness, diet! 
 
 M: 
 
 f 
 
il 
 
 1 54 
 
 THE Lir-L OF I HI LIP HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 on July 2^), 1840. The loss of Mrs. Gicen loft liim 
 more lonely than ever, for .she was one of the few persons 
 to whoni he was attached. In the course of this summer 
 he was once more reduced to such straits that he had 
 almost determined to "ac^^ain cross the Atlantic, either 
 back to the Southern States, or to the West Indies ; for," 
 he says, " I cannot live thus. I c^et no new pui)ils, and am 
 losing money. In the States I can be sure of ^200 or 
 ;{i'350 a year, but it is such an e.xile. I should seek a 
 school as before, and at my leisure L;et up the material of 
 another book." This idea of a school, either in I'-nj^land 
 or America, had long been haunting him, and early in 
 1840, as his own acquaintance with Greek was but 
 elementar}', he set himself to a close and earnest stud)-, 
 with grammar, lexicon, and Delectus, reading thirty pages 
 a da)', until he became, what he remained, a tair Greek 
 scholar. In June he ran down to Colchester, to incjuire 
 about a school advertised for sale, but with no result. In 
 September he arranged with a retiring schoolmaster in 
 London Lane, llackne)-, to take over his fixtures antl 
 three jiupils. His printed announccmcit to the gentry of 
 the neighbourhood now lies before me, a fadetl scrap of 
 elegant satin paper. It is worded so quaintly, and carries 
 alxjut it such an old-world air, that I cannot refrain from 
 reprinting it : — 
 
 ACAD KM V. 
 
 "Mr. p. H. G()S.SL: respectfully announces to the 
 " inhabitants of Hackney and its vicinity, that he intends 
 "to oi)en a Classical and Commercial School for Yountr 
 "Gentlemen, at the large and commodious .School-room 
 "in London Lane, in the rear of the Temperance 
 " Hotel ; where, by assiduous attention to the morals, 
 " comfort, and intellectual progress of the Pupils intrusted 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ir, 
 
 '5 
 
 "to his care, he hopes to merit a share of public 
 "patronage. The School will commence on Wednesda}-, 
 "the 30th September, 1840. 
 
 " N.B. — Mr. G's residence is at No. i, Retreat Cotta^-^es, 
 
 " Ilaekiievr 
 
 HBKE^SKT, 
 
 The school was not quite a com;ilcte failure ; indeed, it 
 enjoyed a mitigated degree of success. I'hilip Gosse's 
 ideas of education were as free as his science from 
 traditional rule. But in his wa\- of teaching there seems 
 to have been something of the freshness of his natural 
 observation. From a letter written at this time I extract 
 a passage which is not unworthy of prescr\ation as the 
 cfjntribution of an unbiassed inind to the problem of 
 education : — 
 
 " I am a friend to bo}-s' getting their lessons (the 
 " mere words of them) well fixed in the memory ; I 
 " once thought it enough if the sense were secured, but 
 " on considering how little boys in general reflect on the 
 "meaning of what they learn, and how often the 
 " verbatim words stick indelibl)' to the memory in after 
 " years, I attach a great value to the mere learning of 
 "words — that is, learning them thorougiily (not hamn^er- 
 " ing and stammering, and fingering the buttonhole, with 
 "'Stop a minute, sir!' 'I could say it, just now, sir! ' 
 " and so forth) — to say nothing of the vast incrca.sc of 
 "the powers of memory, as of every other intellectual 
 " faculty, by its habitual exercise. Consider, too, how 
 "very much of school learning is a matter of mere 
 " abstract memory — conjugations, declensions, lists of 
 " heteroclites and exceptions, conjunctions, prepositions, 
 " adverbs, in grammar ; names of places, distances, and 
 " bearing.s, in geography ; dates in history ; tables in 
 "arithmetic; in all which, and many others, no assist- 
 
 y: 
 
i 
 
 ■ll 
 
 ' I 1 ^ 
 
 ii ll 
 
 1 66 
 
 7//E LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 " ance wlialcvcr is derived from tlic uiulerstatuliii;.^ : 
 " tluy arc matlers of mere memory, and if ^ot at all, 
 "must be got by heart, and that thoroughly. With 
 " respect to spelling, you argue against yourself. You 
 " ' have known lads of tolerable cai)acityspell wretchedly;' 
 "so have 1, and men and women too, hundreds of them ; 
 "and what does that prove, but the total inefficiency of 
 " the mode by which they \\c\(i preicndtd io be taught — 
 "the common mode of columns ? Did }'ou e\er knt)\\ 
 "one who had been trained (not for half a >c,ir, but 
 " through iu's education) by writing from dictation, to 
 " spell wretchedly ? I ha\e found in spelling that the 
 "great antl most common difficulty consists in not 
 "knowing how to elect a words of every moment's use, 
 " which superficially sound alike but differ in import : ' as 
 " ' — has ; ' ' which — witch ; ' ' were — where ; ' ' weal — 
 ■"wheel ; ' ' air — are — hair — hare — hear — here — ear — e'er 
 "' — ere,' etc., etc. Now dictation, by showing the rcla- 
 " tion and connection of words, shows when one form 
 "should be adopted, and when another. I allow this 
 " knowledge is very commonly gained without dictation, 
 " but how is it gained .' Not by learning from a spelling 
 " book, /;/ no single instance, but by what is cciuivalent 
 "to dictation, by observation in [jrivate reading, till the 
 " individual acquires a practised, an educated eye. That 
 "there may be an advantage in learning the definitions 
 "of words, I am not [jrcparcd to deu), but that is an 
 "exercise quite distinct from spelling." 
 I le had the habit of teaching the elements of geography 
 by making his boys draw the pattern of a piece of the 
 carpet, then a ground-plan of the school-rooiu, with all its 
 furniture, then the garden, with the relative portions of 
 house and road, until the notion of the principle on which 
 a map is made was insensibly gained, and then, and not 
 

 LITER AK Y S TR UGGL ES. 
 
 ir,7 
 
 till then, lie would proceed to the gcot;ra[)hy of larj^e areas. 
 Whether this idea, which proved exceedingly efficacious in 
 the case of his own pupils, has been often carried out in 
 schemes of education, I am not aware. So far as ni\- 
 father knew, it was orii^inal to him. In the summer of 
 1S41, as he was growing ver)' weary of solitary lodgings, he 
 took a small house, called W'ootlhine Cottage, close to the 
 school, ami brought his mother uj) from Dorsetshire to 
 keep it for him. It stood surrounded by a pretty little 
 garden, full of perennials in geometric beds, with thick 
 box edges, h'lom this house he would frequently, in the 
 warmer months, start with all his bo}'s on cntomologizing 
 excursions, commonly to the borders of h'pping Forest, 
 .ind he began a collection of I'jiglish butterflies which 
 ^oon comprised most of the local species. All this while 
 he was busy enough, since he still had a few j)upils in 
 tlower-painting, and exercised his leisure to the full in 
 scii'iitific and literary sfuily. These )-ears make little show 
 in the record of his life, but they were full of intellectual 
 energy. He was making up R)r time lost in Canada and 
 Alabama ; he was fitting himself to compete on equal 
 terms with men who had been better equii)pcd than he in 
 starting. 
 
 More than anything else, however, he was training antl 
 cultivating b\- ceaseless miscellaneous notes his powers of 
 observing and recording natural facts. To print the 
 multitudinous records of small scientific observations which 
 he accumulated fi)r his own use would be tedious ami 
 useless to the general reader. Vet some example ought, 
 perhaps, to be given here as a specimen of his process of 
 self-education. I select at random, and transcribe from the 
 almost microsco[)ic writing in faded ink, owe little scries of 
 consecutive notes, one brick out of the immense edifice 
 of his records : — 
 
 : I, 
 
 

 \i 
 
 i : 
 
 m I 
 
 i68 
 
 7//£ LIFE OF nil LI r HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 '^ February \S. — Ilavinj^cauj^ht some water insects, and 
 "put them into water with a little duckweed, I found a 
 " few Cyclopidac among them. One was a largish plump 
 "fellow, which under the lens presented a very pretty 
 " a[)pearancc, being of a pellucid white, brightly shining 
 " in the light, like a polished egg. On the i6th I put 
 " this, with two little ones, into a clear phial, with water 
 "and a little duckweed; neither had eggs. The next 
 •'day I could sec no more of one of the little ones ; but 
 "to-day the remaining little one has a capsule of eggs 
 " on each side the tail, projecting. 
 
 ''February 19. — This morning, while I was looking at 
 "the C>clopid;e, the large one suddenly darted at the 
 "little one, and they had a tussle; immediately I per- 
 " ceived that nearly the whole of one capsule of egg.s was 
 " gone from the little one, about five eggs only remaining 
 "on the right side, attached to a portion of the ovary. 
 "1 dare say the former one was devoured. In the after- 
 "noon, on looking again, I sec the large one has got 
 " two projecting ovaries attached. 
 
 *' February Jo. — To-day the small Cyclops was desti- 
 " tutc of eggs, and with a lens I found many little 
 " creatures, e.xceedingl)' minute, darting hither and 
 "thither, nothing in form like the parent, but much like 
 " mites, with four projecting feet and two antenn;t. 
 
 " February 22. — The larger Cyclops still carries her 
 " egg.s, but the smaller has accjuired another double 
 " series. I fancy them to be of a i)aler grey, when first 
 " extruded. 
 
 " February 24. — This afternoon I see the large Cyclops 
 
 "is divested of her ovaries, and the water now swarms 
 
 "with the little quadrupedal young." 
 
 It is noticeable, in dealing with these scientific diaries, 
 
 that although they were not intended for publication, 
 
 ,' 
 
 1 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ir,9 
 
 \ 
 
 literary furni is never ncjijlectcd in tlicm. The extrcino 
 clearness of obsLTvatioii found its natural expression in 
 perfect lucidity of lauL^uage. The consequence was that 
 if, in future years, the naturalist had need to transfer to a 
 manuscript In's old notes on any particular species, lie 
 could do it almost without revision, and thus save a great 
 deal of labour. 
 
 All this time he had continued to act as a class-leader 
 and local preacher among tlic \\'esle)-.in Methodists. 
 There still exists a manuscript book of skeleton sermons 
 j-reached b)' him in tiie chapels around London, from 
 1839 to 1S4J. He has attached to it a note, written forty 
 jears later: — "This vcjlume possesses some interest, as 
 showing how very poor and crude ni)' theology was at that 
 time." He was, in fact, approaching a great crisis in his 
 religious life, to be marked, in the first place, by his formally 
 severing his connection, early in 1843, with the Wesleyan 
 Societ)-. The present writer is entirely without competence 
 to deal with this particular phase of religious conviction, 
 which, however, he does not feel at liberty to ignore. T(j 
 misrepresent it would be even worse than to neglect it, 
 and a succinct account of it will be found printed, in 
 J'hilil) Gossc's own words, in an ai)pendix.* We may return 
 to the more external features of his career. The school, 
 which had for awhile promised well, began to fall off; 
 several of the elder and more interesting pupils ceased to 
 attend, and were not replaced by others ; so that, by the 
 end of 1843, the number of scholars was reduced to eight. 
 A far more lucrative and interesting source of income 
 was, however, opening up to Philip Gosse at last. In the 
 spring of 1843 the Society for I'romoting Christian Know- 
 ledge wanted an Introduction to Zoology. Professor 
 
 I ' 
 
 I : ; 
 
 Appendix II. 
 

 ^ 'i 
 
 \, 
 
 l-o 
 
 7 //A ///•/; Of- rniijp hexry gos.se. 
 
 '1 lioinas Hell, who was on the cotiiiiiittcc, \v;is dcimtcd to 
 ask Mr. Van \'(jorst who would l)c a suitable person to 
 write such a book. " Why not your cousin, Mr. Gossc ? " 
 was the rei)l)', and IVll at once assented. With his 
 ordinary diffidence, however, Philip Gosse was far from 
 ready lo believe that he was competent to \\\\\'\\ the task, 
 and it was with diuiculty that he could be [jcrsuaded to 
 undertake it. 
 
 At this point Philip Gosse's career as a man of letters 
 may properly be said to open. He had reached his thirty- 
 fourth year not only without distinction, but without 
 t,MininLj any confidence in his own powers. Ills practical 
 trainin;^ had been excellent, but he needed to be pusheil 
 into active literary work. At last the impetus had been 
 ,^iven, and henceforwanl to write fcjr the public became 
 the natural and obvicnis thint;' for him to do. lie had no 
 sooner acce[)ted the commission which the Society offered 
 him, than the plan of his work assumed form in his mind, 
 lie entered upon it with a timidity which soon .L;ave wa)' 
 to enthusiasm, and he [jursued it expeditiously with cver- 
 incrcasiiiL^r zeal and interest. In this and future relations 
 with the Society my father invariably met with great 
 consideration and courtesy. lie had scrupulously felt 
 obliged to let the committee know that he was a noncon- 
 formist, but they desircil that that matter might never 
 again be alluded to. For the two volumes of the Intro- 
 liuction to Zoology., the Society paid him £A70. It 
 was composed in less than a year, without interfering in 
 au}- wa\' with the author's other pursuits. It was therefore 
 the cause of valuable augmentation to his small niL ns of 
 subsistence. 
 
 The preparation of these volumes took Gossc a great 
 deal to the Natural History Department of the British 
 Museum, and he began to form acciuaintanceships which 
 
"•wr" 
 
 i.rri.RARY strlggi.es. 
 
 i:i 
 
 ripened into v.'iluablc friendships, lulward Newman had 
 been one of the first to \\cIconie with enthusiastic appre- 
 ciation the pecuUar qualities of the new writer, and he hail 
 not only reviewed 'J'/ir Canadian Xatnraiist, but had souL;hl 
 out its author as a contributor to his own perioth'eal, 'J'/ic 
 llntoniohv^ist. 1 le was introduced by Xrunian in 1^4^ to 
 Edward 1 )i)ublcda)-, a naturah'st of _L;reat promise, a httle 
 youn;^^er than I'hiHp Gossc, and these two formed a frieml- 
 ship eminently profitable to each of them, which oidy 
 terminated with the premature death of the entomolo;^'ist 
 in 1S49. luluard Doubleday, like his new friend, had 
 travelled in .Xnuiica as a collectiiiL; naturalist, havin;,,' 
 returned laden with treasures in \'^^'/. in iSv; he had 
 obtained the position of assistant at the 15ritish Museum, 
 and was put in chari^e of the lepiiloptera. When I'hilip 
 Gossc first became intimate wi:h him, he had just arraiu,^ed 
 the national collections of moths and butterflies in iin 
 admirable manner. In company with lulward, Gosse made 
 frequent pilj^aimages to the home of the Doubleda} s at 
 I'-pping, where the widowed mother and the more eminent 
 ami tiic elder of the two brothers, lleni'v Doubledav — 
 probabl)' the t^reatest cntomolot^ist whom I'.iv^dand has 
 produced — involved a demure and noiseless Ouaker home 
 in an atmosphere of camphor. ]5ut Gtjsse never came to 
 know Henry Doubleday, whom he found reser\ed and 
 ilispiritiuLj, so well as the mercurial Mdward, with whom he 
 formed one of the warmest and mo>t easy friendships of 
 his life. It was throui;h the Doubledays, if I mistake not. 
 that Philip Gossc was encouraged to become a contributor 
 to the Proceedings of the Roj'al Society. The fu'st of liis 
 lengthy series of papers read before that body was a Note 
 on an Electric Centipede, published in this year, 1843. 
 
 Other associates of tliis period were Haird, Whympcr, 
 Wcstwood, Adam White, and the Grays. Dr. William 
 
 ,■1 ■ 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 // 
 
 
 
 
 £>< 
 
 W.r 
 
 y. 
 
 Va 
 
 fA 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 f m 
 
 *Z li 
 
 36 
 
 IM 
 
 IM 
 
 1.8 
 
 LL 11 1.6 
 
 v: 
 
 (^ 
 
 /}. 
 
 'c5. 
 
 e. 
 
 ^1 
 
 '^i/ j%' 
 
 
 .^ 
 
 o 
 
 /, 
 
 7 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTEP ;V.Y 'J580 
 
 (716) 872-4i03 
 

 £>< 
 
 tr*^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
J WfM P 
 
 I 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 
 1! 
 
 
 ;- , 
 
 \. 
 
 I- 
 
 [; 
 
 h 
 
 ■A " ' 
 
 1' 1 
 
 ji ! .; 
 
 
 172 
 
 77//r Z//'.^ (O/r FHILIP HENRY COSSE. 
 
 l^.iird, a bioloc^ist of some distinction in his time, had been 
 an assistant in the British Museum since 1S41 ; Whymper, 
 the jM-incipal water-colour painter and en_L,n-avcr of scientific 
 illustrations in that generation, was an habitnc of the 
 scientific departments of the Museum, in which John 
 Edward Gray and George Richard Gray already held posi- 
 tions of considerable influence. Of the brilliant, affec- 
 tionate, and eccentric Adam White, little now remains in 
 memor}', but if he was the least distinguished, he was far 
 from being the least beloved. Of the whole group of 
 }'Oung naturalists, then all full of ardour, and already either 
 famous or on the road to fame, the only one who survives 
 is the venerable John Obadiah Westwood, now in his 
 eighty-sixth year, but still Hope Professor of Zoology at 
 Oxford, who in 1843 was already eminent for his Ento- 
 mologists Text-Book of 1838 and his British Butterflies of 
 1 841. 
 
 Association with those and other scientific friends 
 effected a rather sudden expansion in Gosse's social nature. 
 The resc'Ved and saturnine young man, absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, developed into the enthusiastic companion 
 in and sympathizer with the studies of others. The 
 journc}' from Hackney to the lirilish Museum began t( 
 l)rove a tedious waste of time, and towards the close of 
 1843 he moved further into London, renting a small house 
 in Kentish Town, No. "Ji, Gloucester Place, the last, at that 
 time, on the northern side of the street, recently built, 
 having beliind it a long "garden " of heavy clay soil, mere 
 broken meadow not yet subdued. Hither he and his 
 mother removed, and soon he invited his aged father — who 
 was now quite an invalid, and in his seventy-eighth year — 
 to come up from the West of England and join them. 
 Behind the garden of this house, there stretched away 
 waste fields to the north, and here, one night in the early 
 
 \ 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 «73 
 
 summer of 1S44, Philip Gossc, for the first and last time in 
 his life, was "run in" by the police, lie had fastened a 
 buU's-cye lantern to a tree, and was anxiously watching for 
 the advent of insects, when the would-be capturer was 
 himself suddenly captured, on suspicion, by a couple of 
 active constables. He had no great difficulty in explaining 
 that his conduct, if eccentric, proffered no real danger to 
 society. 
 
 A little before Christmas, 1843, \Vh\-nipcr suggested to 
 him that he should write a book about the ocean. There 
 was a sudden access of public interest in the new and 
 mysterious theories of deep-sea fauna. Sir James Ross 
 had just returned from his epoch-making voyage in the 
 Pacific Ocean, and had brought up li\ing shell-lisli from 
 what then seemed the astounding depth of a thousand 
 fathoms. It ai)i)eared that a general treatise on tlu; 
 I)opular zoology of the deep sea might be acceptable, ami 
 i'hilip Gosse proposed to write one for the Societ\' for 
 Promoting Christian Knowledge. The committee were 
 delighted with the idea, and asked him to prepare a sample 
 of his method. He did so, and wrote a little essay of 
 which onl\' half a dozen copies v/erc printed for the use of 
 the committee. The work, as it finally appeared, did not 
 contain this fragment, which has never been published. I 
 print it here as a characteristic specimen of the st)le of 
 the author at this period : — 
 
 "Waiving our privilege of breathing the thin and 
 " elastic air, let us descend in imagination to the tleplhs 
 " of ocean, and explore the gorgeous treasures that 
 "adorn tiie world of the mermaids. We will choose for 
 "our descent one of those lovel>' little grtnips which 
 "speckle the Pacific, the wondrous labour of an insig- 
 " nificant polj-p. The sun is no longer visible through 
 " the depth of the incumbent sea ; but a subdued 
 
.it 
 
 \ I 
 
 m^ 
 
 17\- 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 grccnisli lii^ht, soft and uniform, sufficiently reveals the 
 wonders of the scene. We find ourselves at the foot of 
 a vast i)erpendicular cliff, the base of a coral island, 
 entirely composed, to all appearance, of glistcnin^r 
 madrepore, of snowy whiteness, but, in reality, perhaps 
 only encased by it. Every part of its surface is seen, 
 on close examination, to be studded with minute 
 orifices, from each of which projects a little fleshy 
 polyp, which spreads its six green arms, like the rays of 
 a star, waiting for prey. On touching one, though ever 
 so slightly, it contracts its arms and withdraws. Many 
 other corals rise around us, most of them assuming thi; 
 form of stony trees or shrubs, of singular variety and 
 beauty, some crimson, some grey, some white, some 
 black, while the rocks at our feet are almost covered 
 with brainstones of vast size, mushroom-corals, and 
 other madrepores, of the most grotcscpie forms. 
 Enormous sea - fans wave their netted expansions 
 slowly to and fro in the long heavy swell of the sea, 
 embraced here and there by the slender branches of 
 the jointed corallines. The beauty of form and colour 
 displayed by these productions is contrasted with the 
 sober hue of the sponges, which, in endless diversity, 
 overspread the bottom of the sea. Their forms are no 
 less fantastic than those of the corals, and resemble 
 vases, or tables, or horns, or tubes, or globes, or many- 
 fingered hands ; while from the larger orifices on their 
 surface, as from so many mouths, they pour forth 
 incessant streams of water with untiring activity. The 
 vegetable productions, however, display little of the 
 variety which marks their sisters of the upper world ; 
 but the dull yellow bladder-weed and other fuci creep 
 among the rocks, and the brown sea-thong and fea- 
 thery conferva wave amidst the coral branches. 
 
V 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 '/3 
 
 "All this forms the scenery, as it were, of our novel 
 "position. Ikit these dim reeesses are not solitudes; 
 " the water teems with life to an extent utterly unknown 
 "to the sunny earth above. Minute crustaccous animals 
 "swarm in every part, and t,a-latinous animalcules so 
 " abound as almost to touch each other. Beautiful 
 "shells, whose loveliness, however, is partly concealed 
 "by their leathery skin, i;lide slowly over the rocks; 
 "the paper nautilus darts by in its graceful but fragile 
 " habitation , and the giant cla.m oi)ens its immense 
 "valves to feed in security in the shelter of yonder 
 "cavern. The loggerhead turtle, however, explores tlie 
 "caverns for his prey, within whose formidable jaws 
 "even the stony shells of the great conchs are crushed 
 " like a walnut ; nor is the depth of ocean inaccessible to 
 " him who urges his arrowy course through the waters 
 " with the swiftness of a bird upon the wing. We are 
 "tempted at Hrst sight to believe that these slimy rocks 
 " give birth to the most brilliant flowers ; so close is the 
 " resemblance borne by the expanded actini;e to these 
 " lovely productions of the garden. W'c can almost 
 " identify the aster, the anemone, ihe sunflower, the 
 " daisy, the cactus, the carnation, and other favourites of 
 '' the parterre, in these fleshy animal-flowers that 
 
 " 'The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear.' 
 
 " The water is now become our atmosphere ; in which 
 "the place of the feathered tribes is supplied by the no 
 " less varied tribes (jf fishes, which cleave the waters 
 " with a flectness emulating that of the most favoured 
 " inhabitants of the ujipcr air. The gemmed and glitter- 
 " ing mail in which many of these tenants of the deep 
 " are arrayed, rivals the hues of the parrots or the 
 " iiumming-birds. The labrus, which has just shot past 
 
•^■'■JP 
 
 ' 
 
 i 1 
 
 mw 
 
 V ' i 
 
 m 
 
 176 
 
 r//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " US, is a notable example ; possessing- in its silver}- 
 " body, yellow head, and crimson tail, an undoubted 
 "claim to beauty of decoration ; nor are the gleamin;:^ 
 " hues that flash from the pearly sides of that troop of 
 "coryphenes, as they play in the changin^r light, less 
 " channinjT. Now they have caught si<^dit of j-onder 
 "shoal of timid little flying-fishes which are making 
 " their way to surface, to seek a momentary refuge in 
 "another element, — and away tiicy dart, pursuing and 
 " pursued. And here comes stealing by, the fellest 
 "tyrant of the deep, the ^rim shark, attended by his 
 " fidiis Achates, the little pilot-fish, in a livery of brown 
 "and purple. The very countenance of this grisl}- 
 " monster, the expression of settled malice in his eye, 
 " inspires an involuntary horror, scarcely increased by 
 " a glimpse of the serried lancet-like teeth which arm 
 " those fatal jaws. 
 
 " It is night. Yet darkness has not fallen upon the 
 scene, for the wliolc mass of the sea is become imbued 
 with light. A milky whiteness pervades every part, 
 slightly varying in intensity, arising from inconceivably 
 numerous animalcules, so small as to be separately 
 undistinguishable, but in their aggregation illuminating 
 :;he boundless deep. Among them are numerous 
 swimming creatures, of perceptible si7x and greater 
 luminousncss, which glitter like little brilliant sparks ; 
 and when a fish swims along, its path becomes a bed 
 of living light, and we may trace it many flithoms by 
 its luminous wake. Some of the larger creatures also 
 are vividly illuminated ; the medusae, which by day 
 appear like circular masses of transparent jelly, now 
 assume the appearance of cannon-balls heated to 
 
LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 177 
 
 "whiteness; and yonder sun-fish seems like a threat 
 
 " ^dobe of living- fire." 
 
 The composition of the book of which tliis little essay 
 was intended to be a specimen was the principal occu])ation 
 of 1844. He was paid ^"120 for the copyright of The 
 Ocean, which was published early in 1845, while the author 
 was away in Jamaica. The success of this volume was 
 surprising, and first opened the eyes of Philip Gosse to the 
 fact that he had in him the making of a popular author. 
 Edition after edition was sold out, and of all his subsequent 
 works few showed a more steady vitality than The Ocean. 
 It was the jjopularity of this book, and regret that he had 
 parted with the copyright, which set him meditating on 
 schemes of publication which should be more lastingly, if 
 less immediately, lucrative ; but some j-ears passed before 
 Philip Gosse took the management of his books into his 
 own hands. 
 
 TJie Occn)i is a volume which has probably reached a 
 more varied circle of readers than any of my father's 
 books. It is not the most read or best liked of them, but 
 is the one which has perhaps enjoj-ed the widest cir- 
 culation. It is eloquently written, and in freedom of 
 style marks an immense advance on The Canadian 
 Naturalist. The opening chapter deals with the general 
 features of ocean, treated poetically and sentimentally; the 
 writer then turns to the subject of which he as yet knew 
 little at first hand, but which was presently to absorb 
 him entirely, the fauna and flora of the shores of (jreat 
 Britain. The succeeding chapters deal successively with 
 the Arctic seas, the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Indian 
 Oceans. The book is copiously illustrated by Whymper 
 and by the naturalist himself; the natural history subjects 
 being drawn on the block by Gosse and cut b)- Whymper 
 in a way \v'hich often does great credit to each artist. The 
 
 N 
 
 'Is i 
 
 vi;: 
 
m^ 
 
 I7S 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 drawing of the wliitc shark, on p. 2S4, is a capital instance 
 of this double skill. With the warm reception of T/w 
 Ocean, in 1845, Gossc may be said to have begun to be 
 distinguished ; but wlien fame f(nind him, he was far away 
 in the tropics. A new chapter of his career had opened. 
 
 Early in 1S44, while he was chatting one da)- with his 
 friends in the insect-room of the British Museum, lulward 
 Doublcday suggested that I'hilip Gosse would do well a.s 
 an insect-collector in the tropics. Demerara was origin- 
 ally proposed ; then Jamaica, as being less known to 
 naturalists, and, entomologically, absolute virgin ground. 
 The British INIuscum had almost nothing from Jamaica, 
 nor was anything known of the natural history of the 
 island since the days of Sloanc and 15rowne. Gosse 
 jumped eagerly at the suggested proposal. He had 
 already had some experience in Newfoundland, in Canada, 
 and in Alabama, and the prospect appeared to him delight- 
 ful in the extreme. He immediately began to prepare. 
 He read up all works which touched upon the zoology ot 
 the West Indies, made drawings of desiderata, especially 
 of orchids, butterflies, and humming-birds, constructed 
 collecting-boxes, and gradually bought the necessary 
 materials. 
 
 Doubleday introduced him to Hugh Cuming, of Gower 
 Street, as an agent for selling the collections to be 
 made, and this gentleman, himself a successful collector, 
 gave Gossc some useful instructions. He also took him 
 down to Kew Gardens, where he began that life-long 
 acquaintance with Sir William Hooker, which was to be 
 of such lasting profit and pleasure to him. His latest 
 occupation of a purely literary nature, before starting, was 
 to write for Messrs. Harvey and Darton a Christmas 
 annual, which appeared the ensuing winter under the title 
 of Glimpses of the Wonderful. This little volume, gaily 
 
 :, r 
 
f^mmmim 
 
 LITERARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 >79 
 
 illustrated in the taste of the time, was a "pot-boiler," if 
 ever tliere was one, and the author, thou-h he had not 
 scamped liis perfunctory task, dechncd to allow his name 
 to appear on the title-pa^t,a\ In the autumn the elder 
 Mr. and Airs. Gosse were removed from Kentish Town 
 to a little house at the Oval, Hackney. On October 
 20, 1844, their son sailed from the Thames on board 
 a vessel bound for Jamaica. Just about the same time 
 two other youn^i^r naturalists set out on collectiuL,^ expe- 
 ditions, Hugh Low for Borneo, and David Dyson for 
 Honduras, both having made like agreements with Cumin--- 
 
 to be their sole agent. 
 
( i8o ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 T 844- 1 846. 
 
 % i 
 
 I1 ^i 
 
 i! 
 
 IN 1770 Gilbert W'liitc of Sclbornc wrote to Daincs 
 Barrincton : " A siijht of the JiiriDuiincs of that hot 
 and distant island of Jamaica would be a great entertain- 
 ment to me." Seventy-four years later the ornithology of 
 that ancient colony remained, as Bell has said, scarcel>- 
 better known than it was in White's time. It was now 
 to be carefully and indeed exhaustively investigated, with 
 the result that since Gosse's visit but few new facts of any 
 importance have been added to knowledge. He spent 
 eighteen months in Jamaica, during which time his atten- 
 tion was mainly, though not exclusively, directed to the 
 birds of the island. When he arrived, the ornithology of 
 Jamaica was in a chaotic state ; when he left, nearly two 
 hundred species of birds were clearly ascertained to belong 
 to the island fauna. Of mammalia, reptiles, and fishes 
 he was able to add twenty-four new species to science. 
 
 The voyage out was not a remarkable one. From the 
 zoological point of view its interest culminated in the 
 observation, in mid Atlantic, of a very rare, if not absolutely 
 undcscribed, cetacean. There seems to be very little 
 doubt that the troop of large dolphin-like whales which 
 sported about the vessel for nearly seventeen hours, on 
 November 22 and 23, was identical with the toothless 
 
JAMAICA. 
 
 iSi 
 
 whale of Havre {DclpJiinorJiytKhus niicroptcrus), of wliich 
 at that time a solitary specimen, washed vi[) at the mouth 
 of the Seine, was the only one ilcscribcd by an\- naturalist. 
 A little further on, off the west extremity of Puerto Rico, 
 a shoal of the other species of this rare genus, Delphino- 
 rliyntcJiiis rostratns, or the rosy-bellied dolphin, fell uiuler 
 Philip Gossc's observation, and he thus had the opportu- 
 nity, in the course of the same voyai^e, of seeing two 
 cetaceans, closely allied, neither of which had, probably, 
 been observed alive by any existing zoologist. After 
 entering the West Indian seas, the flying-fishes became 
 abundant, and he had the opportunity of closely examining 
 their habits. 1 le writes at last, under date of December 4, 
 as follows : — 
 
 " I\Iy first sight of Jamaica was one that I can never 
 " forget. . . . During the forenoon the mountains of 
 "Jamajca were seen, and gradually grew more distinct 
 " as we neared the island. Yet the cloudiness of the day 
 "prevented my having any satisfactory view of it until 
 " evening. About sunset, I was standing forward, when 
 " one by my side said, ' Look at the Peak ! ' I looked 
 " intently, directing my gaze to the neighbourhood of the 
 "horizon, where I supposed it was to be seen ; but nothing 
 " but the dull white clouds met my eye. ' Up there ! ' 
 "said my informant ; and his finger pointed up into the 
 " sky ; and there indeed was its noble head (perhaps 
 "elevated by refraction), a conical mass, darkly blue, 
 "above the dense bed of clouds that hung around its 
 "sides, and enveloped all beneath its towering elevation. 
 "Yet it is situated far inland, and was then full f(;rty 
 "miles distant from our ship. l)ut night soon fell, and, 
 " as we were somewhat anxiously watching for the light 
 " on Point Morant, I had the pleasure of first seeing it 
 " from the main rigging. We were soon abreast of it, and 
 
 ;;:;! 
 
 Hi 
 
 
B 
 
 I'l 
 
 ^t 
 
 K 
 
 * i 
 
 \m 
 
 
 Ife 
 
 i8a 
 
 77//-; L//-E O/' nil LIP IIEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 " as wc passed on before an incrcasini^r breeze, that 
 
 "tempered tlie tropical heat with its refreshing brcatli, 
 
 "we saw the coast dark and high only a few miles off. 
 
 "Many lights were seen in the scattered cottages, and 
 
 "here and there a hre blazed up from the beach, or a 
 
 "torch in the hand of some fishermen was carried from 
 
 "place to i)Iace. My mind was full of Columbus, and of 
 
 "his feelings on that eventful night when the coast of 
 
 "Guanahani lay spread out before him, with its moving 
 
 " lights and proud anticipations. With curiosity and 
 
 " hope, somewhat analogous (parva coii/poiicre iiingiiis), did 
 
 "I contemplate the troi)ical island before me, its romance 
 
 "heightened by the indefmitencss and obscurity in which 
 
 " it lay. 1 was on deck several times during the night, 
 
 "and in the interv.ls was still engaged, in dreams, in 
 
 "endeavouring to :>. uf rate the darkness of the shore." 
 
 At daybreak ncxi mo"', "'ng they were off Port Royal, 
 
 but becalmed ; th( , "in i .eisure to enjoy one of the most 
 
 brilliant views in the world, the blue crystal sea, the white 
 
 city of Kingston, the majestic Peak, towering eight 
 
 thousand feet into the azure sky, and contrasting, in its 
 
 uniform tone of blue, with the purple ridges of the lower 
 
 mountain ranges. Three black pilots boarded the vessel 
 
 about nine, but it was noon before a gradual breeze sprang 
 
 up and carried them in to Port Royal. Gosse was put 
 
 ashore at the wharf, and walked of ^o the I'alisades, the 
 
 long sandy spit which makes a sea-lake of the ample 
 
 harbour of Kingston. 
 
 " I found it barren enough ; but it all was strange, and 
 " to feet which for nearly two months had not felt the 
 "firm earth, even a run along the beach was exhilarating. 
 " The graceful cocoa-nut palm sprang up in groups from 
 " the water's edge, waving its feathery fronds over the 
 " rippling waves that dashed about its fibrous foot. 
 
y.LVA/CA. 
 
 183 
 
 "Great bushes of prick!)' pcrir and other cacti were 
 "t,rro\vin^ on the low suinniit of the bank, coverin;:^ lar^^e 
 "spaces of ground with their impenetrable masses, 
 "presenting a formidable arra)- of s[)ines ; as ilid also a 
 "species of acacia that grew in thickets and single trees. 
 "All along the line of high water la)- heaps of seaweeds, 
 "drying in the sun, among which was particularly 
 "abundant a species of !\idliia, closely resembling the 
 " pretty ' peacock's-tail ' of our own shore, though less 
 "regularly beautiful. Sponges of various forms, and 
 "large fan corals, with the gelatinous flesh dried on the 
 "horny skeleton, were also thrown up ')n the higher 
 "beach ; and I found in some abundance a coralline of 
 "a soft consistence, and of a bright , vass-green hu". . . . 
 " Shells were very scarce on thi- sea-bear^' Several 
 :>pecimens of a brilliant little fish, the ckfctodeii, were 
 "swimming and darting about t^ie nnrrow but deep 
 "pools; they were not more than an i uh in length, 
 " marked with alternate bands of black and golden->eIlow. 
 " In the vertical position in which they > wim, with the 
 " e)'e of the observer looking down upon them, they 
 " appear to bear the slender proportions of ordinary fishes ; 
 " and it is only by accident, as in turning, or on capturing 
 " one, that we detect the peculiar form, high and vertically 
 "flattened, of this curious genus." 
 
 Next day (December 7), they got under way at daybreak, 
 and, avoiding Kingston altogether, sailed for Alligator 
 Pond, a dreary little settlement surrounded by heav)' 
 drifts of sand, where Gosse became first personally intro- 
 duced to the exquisite //W/Vt^/z/Vi' butterllies, and to a mango 
 humming-bird {Laiiipornis porpl-yrunis), flashing his ruby 
 gorget in the sun while probing the sulphur-coloured 
 blossoms of the prickly pear. The vessel stayed several 
 days in the neighbourhood of Alligator Pond, and the 
 
 'm 
 
 h ■ 
 
 !l 
 
 , 
 
 
^ 
 
 184 
 
 THE LIFE or Pin LIP I/E.VRY GOSSE. 
 
 i 1:1 
 
 i 
 
 ■ I 
 
 ■ ! 
 
 
 \->-i 
 
 m 
 
 I ;! 
 
 
 \'(Hing natur.'ilis*- took advantage of this fact to make every 
 (lay a fresh excursion inland with his net. A planter, ]\Ir. 
 llalTcnden, of Xcw l'"orest, hearincf of the arrival of an 
 English savant, hospitably invited him to dine and sleep 
 at his house, and sent a horse for him. The estate was 
 some miles up the valle)-, and the hf)use one in the most 
 splendid colonial st\-le. The balcony offered a view of 
 great breadth and iTiagnificence ; the eye rf)amed over 
 many miles of open savannah. " Ikit the most striking 
 feature was an enormous mountain rising immediately in 
 front of the house, covered to the summit with dark woods ; 
 so steep and towering that, as I la}' in bed in a lofty room, 
 I could but just see a little i)ortion of the sky in the upper 
 corner of the window." The top of this mountain was Mr. 
 Haffcnden's coffee-plantation. While Gosse was staying 
 at New Forest, he occupied himself in collecting specimen 
 blossoms of the various exquisite orchids, especially 
 Ih'oiightonia and Brasavola, which grew about the rocks in 
 the forest. The negro groom who had been sent to 
 accompany him was bewildered at this behaviour, and 
 at'terwards confided to Mr. llaffenden that the "strange 
 buckra had taken ihe trouble to 'g^ct parcels of bush ! " 
 
 The Caroline had landed her mails and principal pas- 
 sengers for Kingston at Tort Royal, and was now ver\' 
 leisurely, chielly at night, creeping from port to port round 
 the south-western coast of Jamaica. It was not until 
 December 19 that she reached the point at which Philip 
 Gossc had determined to leave her, that port of Savannah- 
 le-Mar which lives hi literature in a most brilliant and 
 paradoxical fragment of l)e Ouincey. In entering the 
 harbour, the ship suddenly struck upon the reef that 
 divides the former fn)m the expanse of Blueficlds Bay. 
 This might have proved a fatal accident, but she did not 
 strike heavily, and, after two hours' arduous exertion, the 
 
; 
 
 9 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 I8s 
 
 ship was off a^c,Min. When inorning broke, they were 
 runnhig into Savannah-le-AIar through a very narrow- 
 channel, the coral reef almost touching them on either 
 side. Gosse mounted a little way up the shrouds, and saw 
 the beautiful bay beneath him, so calm, pure, and trans- 
 parent that it seemed simply like gazing down through a 
 broad sheet of plate glass. After some days in the 
 deplorably dead-and-alive town of Savannah-le-Mar, the 
 captain of the Caroline lent Gossc the cutter to Bluefickl.^, 
 the house of a ]\Ir. ami Mrs. Coleman, Moravian mis- 
 sionaries, with whom he had made arrangements to lodge. 
 Several kindly faces were waiting to welcome him on the 
 beach, and the good-natured negroes compe-ted for the 
 honour of taking his boxes and cases up to the mansion. 
 
 Bluefields, which was now to be his home for eighteen 
 months, is marked on the maps as if it were a town of some 
 importance on the coast-road froin Savannah-le-Mar to 
 Black river, on the south-west shore of Jamaica. In point 
 of fact it is, or was, but a solitary house ; one of the 
 oldest and largest of the planters' mansions in the pros- 
 [)crous times, but already, in 1844, fallen into partial decay 
 in the midst of what was called a "ruinate" plantation. 
 It figures in literature in the pages of that very spirited 
 and entertaining novel. Ten/ Crii/i^/es Lo^, which gives an 
 unsurpassed picture of what Jamaica was in the opening 
 years of the century. The gaiety and opulence of Michael 
 Scott's Jamaica had, however, given pi ace to commercial 
 dejection within the forty years that preceded Philip 
 Gossc's visit. In 1844 the beautiful sugar estates through- 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 
 i 
 
 !■ i',1 
 
 
 \ out the island were half desolate, and the planters had 
 
 > 
 
 
 cither ceased to resiilc in their mansions, or had pitifully 
 
 i 
 
 
 retrenched their expenses. With all this had come a spirit 
 
 
 of pietism, and Bluefields, in particular, seems to have been 
 
 ! 
 
 
 the centre of a missionary activity, in the hands of the 
 
 ^^1 
 
 1 
 
 
 f ' ' 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 y 
 
mmmmmmm 
 
 iS') 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I'! 
 
 II: 
 
 ■ f 
 
 Moravians, which radiated into all parts of the county of 
 Westmoreland. 
 
 On board the Caroline Philip Gossc had made the 
 acquaintance of a Mr. and Mrs. Plessing, German 
 Moravians, who were coming out to Jamaica to be em- 
 ployed as missionaries. Their account of Blucficlds had 
 struck him as singularly attractive to the naturalist, while 
 the religious views of the Moravians, which were quite 
 novel to him, exercised a fascination over his religious 
 curiosity. On arriving at Alligator Pond, therefore, the 
 Plessings had written to know whether he could be received 
 at Bluefields as a tenant, and without waiting for a reply — 
 since Plucficlds was large enough to admit a regiment of 
 tenants — they proceeded on their leisurely voyage thither. 
 Had they waited for an answer, the rei)ly would ha\'e been 
 in the negative ; for Mr. Coleman and his wife were both 
 dangerously ill, and in no position to receive a guest. In 
 that climate, however, in a very large house, and sur- 
 rounded by willing negroes, the responsibility of a hostess 
 may be minimized, and Philip Gosse took up his abode in 
 a suite of lightly fin'nished rooms without disturbing the 
 Colcmans. 
 
 The i^osition of Bluefields was one not only of excep- 
 tional beauty, but of singular convenience to a collecting 
 zoologist. It lies a little above the sea, on a gentle sloj^e, 
 with steep woods rising to the back of it, and a noisy 
 rivulet, always exquisitely fresh, brawling under its bam- 
 boos and guava trees down to the sea through the heart of 
 the estate. Behind the house, a ride of four or five miles 
 leads to the summit of the lofty Bluefields Mountain, from 
 which the south-western coast of Jamaica is seen as in a 
 map from South Ncgril to Grand Pedro Bluff, with " the 
 sparkling Caribbean Sea stretching away to the far, far 
 distant horizon " in the direction of Cuba. On his first 
 
 
 \ I 
 
 bL A-, 
 
. 
 
 y.Lif.i/c.1. 
 
 I87 
 
 ascent, tlic naturalist was charmed with an unexpected 
 scene on the very brow of the mountain, for this is culti- 
 vated as a garden of allspice, and around each tree a 
 group of negro children were plucking the aromatic twigs 
 in clusters, while flocks of green parrots and parroc^uets 
 were shooting from bough to bough, and screaming dis- 
 cordantly as they went. The very I'cak itself is densely 
 covered with primal forest, "all," as he sa}-s, "in the rude 
 luxuriant wildness thai it bore in the days when the glories 
 of Hiese Hesperides first broke upon the astonished 
 e)-es of luu'opeans." 
 
 In every direction the neighbourhood of Dlueficlds 
 proved to be a rich field for zoological investigation. The 
 mountain-forest rose on one hand ; the seashore, with its 
 wall of mangroves, was stretched upon the other ; while 
 close around the house the grove of avocado-pear trees, a 
 dozen acres of open pasture, the low walls festooned with 
 creepers, the valley of the rivulet, the orchid-nurseries on 
 the trunks of the straggling calabash trees, all formed so 
 many happy hunting grounds at the very threshold of 
 home. Gosse's first anxiety was to send something of 
 value back by the Caroline, on her return voyage. Without, 
 therefore, settling down to any very systematic labour, he 
 hastily set about forming a small collection of the Oiici- 
 dinuis, Aiigrccaiiiis, aiul other orchids wliich he found 
 growing in the angles of the calabashes, and in gathering 
 land-shells, of which he sent back a cabinet of seven 
 hundred and fifty specimens. These, with the addition of 
 a few birds, sponges, and ferns, being desiKitched, he had 
 time to turn round and consider himself at home. 
 
 He found himself unable to take the whole trouble of 
 collecting without much loss of time, and therefore, on 
 January i, 1845, he engaged a negro lad of eighteen, 
 Samuel Campbell by baptism and Sam by name, to give 
 
 i 
 
 ]. ; 
 
 1 » 
 
 > 5 -'' i 
 
 's! 
 
 
 ^ 
 
iSS 
 
 THE LIFE OF PIIIIJP HEXRY GOSSE 
 
 '.'.\ 
 
 Vi 
 
 him his entire services for a salary of four dollars a 
 month. This arrangement continued until the naturalist 
 returned to England, and proved eminently successful. 
 He says : — 
 
 " Sam soon approved himself a most useful assistant 
 " by his faithfulness, his tact in learning, and then his 
 " .'.kill in practising the art of preparing natural subjects, 
 " his patience in pursuing animals, his powers of obser- 
 " vation of facts, and the truthfulness with which he 
 " reported them, as well as by the accuracy of his 
 " memory with respect to species. Often and often, 
 " when a thing has appeared to me new, I have appealed 
 " to Sam, who on a moment's examination would reply, 
 " ' No, we took this in such a" place, or on such a day,' 
 " and I invariably found on my return home that his 
 " memory was correct. I never knew him in the slightest 
 " degree attempt to embellish a fact, or report more than 
 " he had actually seen." 
 
 Sam became so intelligent and serviceable, that, at length, 
 he could be trusted upon expeditions of his own, and he 
 added not a few specimens, and some of them unique, to 
 the general collection. 
 
 I'or a long time, almost the only breaks in the tranquil 
 life at IMueficlds were occasional visits to Savannah-le- 
 Mar. i\{lQ.x the silence of the week, Saturday would 
 present a scene of unusual bustle, and not less than one 
 hundred persons would assemble at sunrise on the beach 
 at IMuefields, a population drained from many square 
 miles of the interior. Three or four canoes, laden with 
 fruit and vegetables, are slowly packed for the market of 
 Savannah-le-Mar, and but little room is left for the legs of 
 any would-be passengers : 
 
 " The jabber is immense ; a hundred negroes, many of 
 " them women, all talking at once, make no small noise ; 
 
 M. 
 
mir 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 iSg 
 
 " and the wliitc teeth are perpetually shininj; out in the 
 " sable faces, as the merry laugh — the negro's own 
 "laugh — rises continually. The figures of the women, 
 " many of them nc^t ungraceful, though plump and 
 "muscular, are picturesque, clad in short gowns of 
 "showy colours, and wearing the peculiarly set handker- 
 " cliicf for a head-dress, in form of a turban, often also 
 "of bright hues, though in most cases white as snow. 
 " They move about amongst the bustle, crowding up to 
 " the canoes to stow their ware ; tucking up their frocks 
 "still higher as the depth of water increases, regardless 
 "of displa>-ing their bronzed legs. At the edge of the 
 " water, on whose mirror-like surface the mounting sun 
 "begins to pour torridl}-, the little children sit, sucking 
 " cane or oranges, while the elder ones play about them, 
 " helping to augment the noise. " 
 
 It was during one of these occasional visits to Savannah- 
 le-Mar that he received the news of his father's death. 
 Almost immediately after Philip's departure for Jamaica, 
 the old gentleman had been seized with an ailment which 
 defied medical skill ; it proved fatal on November 26, 1S44, 
 while his son was crossing the Atlantic. Mr. Thomas Gosse 
 was serene in mind to the last, and died api)arently without 
 pain, and almost without a sigh, conscious, but entirely 
 tranquil. He would, in eight months more, have com- 
 pleted his eightieth year. The onl}' thing which fluttered 
 in the calm of his resigned cheerfulness was the memory 
 of one of those hopeless works in prose and verse which 
 ho had so vainly urged upon the publishers for more than 
 h;df a century. His latest words referred to an epic poem, 
 The Impious Rebellion, that he thought he had, on one of the 
 last occasions upon which he walked out, left for inspection 
 with Messrs. Blackwood, at their London agents'. He was 
 doomed, however, to live and die ineditcd, and when his 
 
 \ 
 
 
 {,4 ' i 
 
190 
 
 THE LIFE OF PirH.ir JIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 \\ 
 
 Ir. 
 
 ' 1 '■ 
 
 heirs inquired for The Iii/pions Rcbdlion, behold ! as rare 
 thinq's will, it liad \aiiishcd. 
 
 IMiilip (if)s.sc's Hfe at Hlucficlds now took an ahnost 
 meclianical uniformity. The house was, as lias been said, 
 a well-built mansion ; it was raised, in the colonial fashion, 
 high above the ground, so that its dwelling-rooms were 
 reached by climbing an exterior staircase. The naturalist 
 had no return of those malarial symptoms which had 
 troubled him in Alabama. His health in Jamaica was 
 very good, at all events during the first year, and his 
 spirits excellent. He attributed his good health in great 
 measure to the tonic watc s of the Paradise River, the 
 foaming and brawling rivulet which danced through the 
 estate on its way to the ocean. In a hollow of the lime- 
 stone rock, under a little cascade, he was in the habit of 
 taking a long cool bath every day at noon, under the 
 shadow of the bamboos, lounging here for half an hour at 
 a time. On one occasion, he was 'lying motionless, just 
 beneath the surface, when he observed that a vulture v.-as 
 beginning "to descend in circles, swooping over me, nearer 
 and nearer at every turn, until at length the shadow of 
 his gaunt form swept close between my face and the light, 
 and the rushing of his wide-spread wings fanned my body 
 as he passed. It was evident that he had mistaken me for 
 a drowned corpse ; and probably it wa. the motion of 
 my open e)-es, as I followed his course, that told him all 
 was not quite right, and kept him sailing round in' low 
 circles, instead of alighting." Mere, too, in languid passages 
 of the day, I'hilip Gosse would sit and fish for mullet with 
 pieces of avocado pear, or grope for crayfish with a fish-pot. 
 
 These, however, were his idler moments, and in such he 
 did not very often indulge. He would commonly set forth, 
 about daybreak, in company with Sam, riding into the 
 forest, alighting to gather shells, orchids, or insects, and 
 
 
 il'i' 
 
 hL..*- 
 
m 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 191 
 
 ^ 
 
 pausiiif; to shoot birds. .\t first, lie was fain to borrow a 
 i^nin when he could, but after a month or two, as he saw 
 the paramount importance of makini; a special study of 
 the birds of the island, he bought himself a L,nm, and was 
 never without 't. lie was disappointed in the insects, and 
 especially in the butterflies, which he found, at all seasons 
 of the year, to be far less numerous than he had antici- 
 pated. Ikittcrflics could be obtained but casually, and 
 moths were still mcjre rare. He had brouj^ht with him, on 
 purpose, a bull's-eye lantern, so useful an instrument in 
 the hands of northern entomolo<;ists, but allhou;_;h he 
 repeatedly tool: it out after niL;htfall, searchinc,^ in every 
 direction, he never made a single capture in Jamaica by 
 this means. There were one or two local exceptions 
 to this general scarcity ; a certain mile on the road above 
 Content was alive with insects, and most of the specimens 
 Go.sse secured were captured in this one locality, which did 
 not appear to differ in an)- other way from all neighbtjuring 
 places where no beetles or butterflies could be found. 
 When he was at home, or during the periods of troi)ical 
 rain, he was actively engaged in dr^-ing and packing his 
 plants, preparing his birds, wrapping u]) his orchids, cleans- 
 ing his shells, and putting all these captures into a proper 
 condition to be sent off to his sale agent in London. He 
 made seven successive shipments to JCngland during his 
 stay in the island, and all of these arrived in favourable 
 condition. He had become very atlroit in the preparation 
 of specimens for transit by .sea, and, except in orchids, 
 suffered few and inconsiderable losses. 
 
 It might be supposed that a missionar)' station was not 
 a favourable centre for the pursuit of scientific enterprise. 
 But this was not the case. Gossc's .sympathies were with 
 the Moravians, and their gentle manners won his affections. 
 To collect " bush " and " vermin " was, no doubt, eccentric ; 
 
 .],:• 
 
 
 I fu- 
 ll n 
 
 % 
 
 1 
 
I! 
 
 192 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 but, then, the whole habit of life at the Moravian settlement 
 was averse to rule and tradition of every kind. In this 
 collection of odd, pietistic, and irregular white men, sur- 
 rounded by an emotional crowd of affectionate and half- 
 converted blacks, nothing was considered irregular, except 
 regularity. They were exceedingly averse to anything 
 which savoured of formality, even in their religion, and one 
 or two of the leaders, after the lengthy Sunday services, 
 would go out with their guns on horseback for the purpose 
 of " testifying " against any supposed sanctity in the Lord's 
 Day as a day. If on their side they never criticized or 
 disturbed the naturalist, he on his was much interested in 
 their form of Christianity. It is true that some of their 
 oddities puzzled him. He notes in his journal, after the 
 first meeting at which he was present, which lasted six 
 mortal hours, "the great weariness of body which so long 
 a sitting induced prevented me from enjoying the occasion 
 nearly so much as I had anticipated." Ikit he soon fell 
 into their ways, and consented to help them in their 
 services. It was presently proposed that he should preach 
 each alternate Sunday at a coffee plantation called Content, 
 fifteen miles east of Bluefields, high up in the mountains. 
 
 This proposal fell in well with his scientific projects, for 
 the fauna and flora of Content differed very considerably 
 from those of Bluefields, and represented a less marine atmo- 
 sphere and a higher altitude. There was a little cottage 
 at Content, romantically perched on a mass of bare rock 
 under the shadow of the mountain, and here he made it a 
 practice to lodge for three or four days every fortnight, 
 shooting and collecting in the vicinity. In this way he 
 would ride far into the interior, sometimes staying all night 
 at a hospitable planter's house, and becoming thoroughly 
 acquainted with the aspect and the products of this part of 
 the colony — never before or since, perhaps, visited by any 
 
 
 mm 
 
JAMAICA. 
 
 19' 
 
 one accustomed to express his observations in words. His 
 Natwalisfs Sojourn in Jamaica is full of exquisite descrip- 
 tions of the varied and picturesque scenery of the interior 
 of the island. 
 
 His most dclicjhtful memories in later years were asso- 
 ciated with one particular series of scenes, which he visited, 
 perhaps, more often than any other. A lonely road led 
 over the shoulder of Blucfields Mountain to a half-de- 
 serted coffee plantation called Rotherhithe. Philip Gosse 
 was frequently accustomed to rise two hours before dawn, 
 and, sitting loosely in the saddle, to ride slowly up this 
 romantic ascent by the light of the stars, " listening," as 
 he says, "to the rich melodies poured forth by dozens 
 of mocking-birds from the fruit trees and groves of the 
 lower hills," managing to arrive at the brow of the moun- 
 tain at sunrise. Then he would leave his horse, and, 
 " throwing the bridle over his neck, allow him to graze on 
 a little open pasture until my return," while he would 
 pursue on foot the road towards Rotherhithe which has 
 been mentioned. This was the haunt of several rare birds 
 of peculiar interest — of the eccentric jabbering crow, of the 
 solitaire, and of the long-tailed humming-bird. It was 
 fascinating, in intervals of labour, "to sit on a fallen log 
 in the cool shadow, surrounded by beauty and fragrance, 
 listening to the broken hymns of the solitaires, and watch- 
 ing the humming-birds that sip fearlessly around your 
 head, and ever and anon come and peep close under the 
 brim of your broad Panama hat, — as if to say, ' Who are 
 you that come intruding into our peculiar domain ?'" 
 
 One great difficulty which Philip Gosse met with was 
 the absence of all scientific sympathy in Jamaica. He 
 could not hear of any other naturalist, native or imported, 
 who was working in earnest at the fauna of the island. 
 At length, however, his inquiries were rewarded by news of 
 
 O 
 
 f 
 
n 
 
 I: 
 
 f 
 
 194 
 
 r//E LIFE OF nil LIT HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 a gentleman at Spanish Town, a magistrate and leading 
 planter of the name of Richard Hill, who was understood 
 to shoot birds and to preserve their skins. To him, then, 
 wholly without introduction, Philip Gosse had the happy 
 inspiration to write in the autumn of 1845, and the result 
 was such as to make him wish that he had written a year 
 earlier. The following was the very agreeable reply which 
 he received : — 
 
 " Spanish Town, November 6, 1845. 
 
 "Dear Sir, 
 
 " On the receipt of your letter, I took down from 
 " my bookshelves TJie Canadian Naturalist, and finding 
 "the same 'P. H, ' preceding your name there, as in 
 " your letter, I perceived that you were already known 
 " to me. 1 acknowledge with pleasure the receipt of 
 "your communication, and, as an earnest of my desire 
 "to assist in turning your time to profit during your 
 " sojourn among us, I send you a list of the birds of this 
 " country, both migratory and stationary, which are 
 "common to us with Central and Northern America. 
 "As I have set them down from the list of the prints of 
 " Musignano, you will be in no uncertainty as to the 
 "objects to which I direct your attention. The advan- 
 "tage of this list to you will consist in the number of 
 "birds with which j'our North American experience 
 "will make }'ou intimately acquainted. I have added 
 "another list containing what may be considered our 
 " peculiar ornithology. I have given with this such of 
 " the scientific names as I can determine with cer- 
 " tainty. 
 
 " My peculiar walk in natural history has been con- 
 " fined to birds, with the view of illustrating that branch 
 " of our local history ; in other departments my ac- 
 
 1^4 £ 
 
 1^ 
 
 te! 
 
T 
 
 I 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 I9S 
 
 "quaintancc is only general. Our vertebrate animals 
 " consist but of the agouti, Dasyprocta ; and the aleo, 
 " a dog now extinct, but common as a domestic coin- 
 "panion of the Indians at the tiine of the discovery. 
 " You will find that it was a curly-haired, brown variety 
 " of the Mexican terrier, now so generally known as 
 " the favourite lap-dog called the Mexican mopsy, the 
 " Mexican being the white woolly variety. Our reptiles 
 "are not numerous, but they arc new to the naturalist ; 
 "the alligator and the pretty changeable anolis, with the 
 "dilatable gorge, being almost the only ones yet de- 
 " scribed to TZuropean readers. Our fishes have scarcely 
 "been made the subject of investigation. Dr. Parnell, 
 "of the British Museum, who was in this island some 
 " four years ago, attended, however, exclusively to this 
 "field of inquiry, in conjunction with the reptiles. On 
 "your return to Europe, you will be able to determine 
 "from your own observations in these two departments 
 " of vertebrata by the ascertained species in the British 
 " Museum. 
 
 " I have nearly completed a scries of papers on the 
 "migratory instincts of birds, with a view of illus- 
 " trating our ornithology, intending, after the manner of 
 " Alfred de Malherbc in his Fanne Oniithfllogiqiic de la 
 " Sicile, to describe what was particularly our own, and 
 " to direct attention to the published descriptions already 
 "known of those that were common to us and the 
 " neighbouring continent. 
 
 " In onv Jamaica Almanac, from 1840 to 1843 inclusive, 
 "you will see all that I have published on our local 
 " natural history, if I except some few papers on 
 "insects in the Royal Agricultural Society's Reporter. 
 " I write you hurriedly, having our quarter sessions 
 " sitting, and with little time at my disposal ; but I 
 
 : H 
 
 i 
 
: t 
 
 I'/j 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHI LIP IfEXPY GOSSE. 
 
 "sliall not fail to renew my intercourse with you, if 
 "you should in any further communication desire it. 
 
 " With much respect, pray believe me to be, dear sir, 
 "Very faithfully yours, 
 
 "Richard Hill." 
 
 This was the opening passage in one of the warmest 
 and most intimate friendships of my father's life, assidu- 
 ously cultivated long after his departure from Jamaica, 
 and not wholly interrupted until the death of Mr. Mill. In 
 1 85 1, when sending the preface of his Naiiinxlist's Sojourn 
 ill Jamaica to the press, Philip Gosse wrote that he con- 
 sidered it " one of the happiest reminiscences of a visit 
 unusually pleasant, that it gave him the acquaintance of a 
 gentleman whose talents and acquirements would have 
 done honour to any country, but whose excellences as a 
 man of science, as a gentleman, and as a Christian, shine 
 with peculiar lustre in the comparative seclusion of his 
 native island ; " and he insisted, in the face of his friend's 
 modest entreaties, in appending the words " assisted by 
 Richard Hill " to the title-page of each of his own Jamaica 
 volumes. They did not meet till 1846, on an occasion 
 which shall presently be described. 
 
 In October, 1845, Gosse had occasion to visit the north 
 coast of the island of Jamaica, his friend Mr. Deleon 
 offering him a seat in his gig. lie had thus the oppor- 
 tunity of crossing the country twice, and of seeing the 
 interior to advantage ; but he found it, from the scientific 
 point of view, disappointing. They pa..:ed, among otiier 
 things, the remote plantation of Shuttlewood, remarkable 
 from the circumstance that it was here that a bag of grass 
 seed, brought from Africa to be the food for a cage of 
 finches, was emptied out upon the fertile soil, and in due 
 time became the nucleus from which guinea-grass, one of 
 
 ■■) t- . 
 
JAAtAICA. 
 
 n? 
 
 the best pastures in th? West Indies, spread to all parts of 
 Jamaica. The approach to the town of Monte^^o liay was 
 very fine, and so clear was the atmosphere that tlic high- 
 lands of Cuba, ninety miles away, were seen faintly on the 
 north-western horizon. Philip Gosse was the guest while 
 at Montego Hay of !\Ir. and Mrs. J. L. Lewin. With this 
 gentleman he had already correspontled on zoological ques- 
 tions, and had obtained useful notes from him. The 
 naturalist's experience in the north of Jamaica was sufficient 
 to persuade him that he had done perfectly right to settle 
 in the southern district of the island. He found the fauna 
 and flora in the country of St. James distinctly more scanty 
 .ind le ^ >aluablc than in his own Westmoreland and St. 
 Elizabeth. This was the most extensive of many excur- 
 sions which he took from the central stations of Hluefields 
 and Content, sometimes riding out until nightfall, and 
 trusting to the never-failing Jamaica hospitality to supply 
 him with a bed. 
 
 For a whole year his health was excellent, and even 
 when Sam got the fever in consequence of their explora- 
 tions m damp hot hollows of the forest, his master escaped 
 scot-free. Towards the end of December, 1845, however, 
 after stalking yellow bitterns for a day or two in the 
 morass, and ending up with several hours spent knee-deep 
 in the deep mud of the fcetid creek, getting pot-shots at 
 pelicans and kingfishers, both the white naturalist and the 
 black one were laid up with a very sharp attack of fever. 
 Four days later, they were both down in the creek morass 
 again, shooting snipe and ground-doves, but from this time 
 forth Philip Gosse was liable to violent headaches and 
 sickness at quickly recurring intcvals. He consequently 
 began to put his house in order, cataloguing his captures 
 and preparing to leave the country. 
 
 On March 3, 1S46, he rode with Sam to Savannah-le- 
 
 i 
 
 
 A 
 
 ;( 1 
 
w 
 
 i 
 
 .J .1 
 
 1 
 
 198 
 
 T//-E LIFE OF nilLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 Mar, and took berth on board the steamer Earl of Elgin, 
 which was coasting eastwards. After a day's pleasant 
 steaming along the south shore of Jamaica, they got into 
 Kingston Harbour at nightfall. The tossing of the Ca- 
 ribbean Sea was exchanged for the smooth surface of the 
 land-locked harbour, over which a flock of gulls were 
 flying and hovering. He proceeded to a noisy hot hotel, 
 where the contrast with the still cool nights of Blueficlds, 
 scarcely broken by the note of a bird or a bat, kept him 
 awake till near morning, or at least till long after a riotous 
 party of billiard-players had finally decided to break up. 
 He rose early and walked about the dirty and unattractive 
 capital of Jamaica. Having despatched a note to Mr. 
 Richard Hill, in Spanish Town, to announce his arrival, 
 he paid some calls, and drove out a little way into the 
 country, to find, on his return to the hotel, that Mr. Hill 
 had instantly responded to his summons, and was in the 
 parlour waiting to welcome him. This was the first meet- 
 ing of the brother ornithologists. The next day Mr. Hill 
 did the honours of Kingston, and in particular took Gosse 
 to the rooms of the Jamaica Society, where they examined 
 together Dr. Anthony Robinson's drawings of birds and 
 plants. The specimens in the town museum were S.<:.\\ anil 
 in wretched preservation, yet the objects in themselves 
 mostly good. l?y the afternoon train the friends left 
 Kingston for Spanish Town, and spent the evening in 
 examining a large collection of drawings of birds, made 
 by Richard Hill himself 
 
 Philip Gossc's brief stay at Spanish Town was made 
 extremely pleasant to him by the assiduous hospitalities 
 of Richard Hill. On the loth, in company with Mr. Hill 
 and a young collector, Mr. Osborne, who had been invited 
 to meet the English naturalist, Sam and the latter 
 ascended Highgatc, a peak of the Liguanca Mountains, 
 
mmmmm^mag^m^''''SFsmgssssssars!S3SS. 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 199 
 
 about three thousand feet above the sea. From this point 
 there is a famous view, which has several times been 
 described ; not only does the sinuous southern coast of 
 Jamaica He spread out before tlie spectator, but the 
 northern sea, near Annotto Bay, can also be seen shining 
 between the peaks. The ascent occupied six hours, and 
 when another hour had been spent in searchinj^^ for shells 
 and insects, it was time to take shelter for the night in a 
 house under the brow of the mountains. Here the tem- 
 perature was delightfully cold, and the travellers were even 
 glad to roll blankets around them in their beds. Ne.Kt 
 morning they gazed again on the magnificence of the 
 unrivalled prospect at their feet, but soon after sumisc it 
 was necessary to start for Spanish Town. He thus 
 describes the drive back in his journal (March i i, 1846) : — 
 " We returned by a different route, skirting the sum- 
 " mits of the Liguanea Mountains, and passing through 
 " smiling plantations, in order to descend into the 
 " romantic parish of St. Thomas in the Vale. After a 
 " while, \vc crossed and rccrossed, many times, the 
 " winding Rio d'Oro, and at length entered the magnifi- 
 " cent gorge called the Bog Walk (i.e. bocaca.z, a sluice), 
 ■'through which runs the Cobre, formed by the union of 
 "the ISegro and the D'Oro. The road lay for four 
 " miles through this deep gorge, by the side of the river, 
 "e.'.id afforded at every turn fr^sh scenes of surpassing 
 ' wildness, grandeur, and beauty. The r&ck often rose 
 " to a great height on ,ach side, leaving only room for 
 " the rushing stream which seemed to have cleft its 
 "course, and the narrow pathway at its side. Somc- 
 " times, across the river, the side of the ravine receded 
 "in the form of a very steep but sloping mountain, 
 " covered with a forest of large timber, and so clear of 
 " underwood, that tne eye could peer far up into its 
 
 ' V \ 
 
200 
 
 THE LIFE OF FIIILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 \ A. 
 
 "gloomy recesses. Here and tlierc the course of the 
 " river was dammed up by islets ; some of them mere 
 " masses of dark rock, others adorned with the elegant 
 " waving plumes of the graceful bamboo. But the most 
 " remarkable object was the immense rock called 
 " Gibraltar, which rises on the opposite bank of the 
 " river, from the water's edge, absolutely perpendicular, 
 " to the height of five or six hundred feet ; a broad mass 
 "of limestone, twice as high as St. Paul's." 
 At nightfall the same day, their carriage drove into the 
 streets of Spanish Town. Two or three days later, the 
 friends began a revised list of the birds of Jamaica, the 
 discoveries of each being able to fill up gaps in the expe- 
 rience of the other ; and this was the occupation of each 
 successive evening. On the 17th they finished their list, 
 making out 184 species of birds more or less clearly. Sam 
 was all this time actively engaged on daily excursions, 
 usually alone, and he rarely failed to bring hoir.e at night 
 at least one interesting rarity. The next day the fri'jnds 
 betook themselves to Kingston, and in the rooms of the 
 Jamaica Society carefully compared their list of birds witli 
 that in Robinson's manuscripts. It should here be ex- 
 plained that Dr. Anthony Robinson, a surgeon practising 
 in Jamaica in the middle of the eighteenth century, had 
 left behind him a very valuable mass of information on 
 the zoology and botany of the island, )\hich had been 
 preserved, in five folio volumes, in the archives of the 
 Jamaica Society in Kingston. " The specific descriptions, 
 admeasurements, and details of colouring," Philip Gosse 
 wrote in reference to these collections, " are executed with 
 an elaborate accuracy worthy of a period of science far 
 in advance of that \\\ which Robinson lived, and accom- 
 panying the manuscripts are several volumes of carefully 
 executed drawings, mostly coloured." On March 23, 
 
 '^ 
 
 ^i 
 
 W}\ 
 
mmmsasim 
 
 Sfc- \ ' 
 
 
 
 yAM.l/CA. 
 
 201 
 
 P]iilip Gossc, accompanied by the ever-faithful Sam, 
 took leave of his hospitable friend, and started from 
 Kingston in the coasting steamer T/w ITave. An 
 easterly breeze from Port Royal carried them roughly 
 but swiftly back to Blucfields, the captain making a 
 special exception in the naturalist's favour by dropping 
 the two passengers at Blucfields, instead of carrying thcin 
 on to Savannah-le-Mar. No one had ever enjoyed this 
 privilege before, and the wanderers were welcomed with 
 as much bewilderment as delight. They had been exactly 
 three weeks away from home, three weeks which formed 
 a delightful oasis of intellectual excitement in I'lulip 
 Gosse's monotonous existence. He had left Blucfields 
 dispirited and poor))- ; he returned in buoyant health and 
 spirits. 
 
 He once more fell into the regular and monotonous life 
 of the collector, riding out to shoot every day, sending 
 Sam, and other lads whom he had trained, into the forest 
 for plants and insects, and spending his evenings in pre- 
 paring his captives for the transit to England. On 
 June 1 8, 1846, he rather suddenly determined to bring 
 his stay at Blucfields to a close, and sent to the bay to 
 engage a passage for himself and Sam on board a sloop, or 
 drogger, which was just starting for Kingston. Mis parting 
 with the kind and faithful Colemans was a pathetic one, 
 and when he set foot on the vessel, he turned "to gaze for 
 the last time at a place where I have spent so many 
 pleasant months." The voj-age occupied seven dreary 
 days, mitigated by a daj' agreeably spent on shore, at 
 lilack River, with some friends. He had the pleasant 
 consciousness, while knocking about under Bedro Bluff, 
 that the English packet, which he had hoped to catch, must 
 be then just leaving Kingston. On the morning of the last 
 day (June 26) he had a curious and very embarrassing 
 
 1:1 
 
 ni 
 
 s% 
 
?02 
 
 THE LIFE OF rillLIF HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ^ 
 
 t\ 
 
 I ;! 
 
 t 
 
 V:r. 
 
 V 
 
 |l ' 
 
 \'M : 
 
 ^:l 
 
 ex[icriencc. While lyinc^ in the berth of the h'ttle clo^'^ 
 cabin, he was awakened by a severe twinc^c in the sidj of 
 his neck ; on putting his hand to tlie place, he took hold 
 of some object which was so firmly fastened to the flesh 
 that it required a sharp tug to make it et go. By the 
 dim light of the cabin-lamp he discovered that he had 
 caught, fortunately by the tail, a large scorpion. The 
 pain was sharp, but perhaps not greater than that of a 
 wasp-sting ; the wound swelled rapidly, but, being rubbed 
 with rum by the old skipper, speedily healed. " One of 
 the most curious of the results was a numbness of some of 
 the nerves of the tongue, perceptible in the papillce of the 
 surface, which felt as if dead." 
 
 They entered Kingston Harbour that night, and finding 
 that, as he anticipated, he had missed the packet, Philip 
 Gosse took lodgings in the town, not altogether displeased 
 to be forced to see something more of the capital of 
 Jamaica. Next day he engaged a berth on board the 
 steamer Avon, which was to sail on July 9. Me met 
 Richard Hill, b)' a fortunate, accident, that same afternoon, 
 and received from him the welcome news that the Jamaica 
 Society had resolved to entrust him with the Anthony- 
 Robinson manuscripts to take with him to Europe. 
 He went up then and there to the society's rooms, and 
 secured these valuable papers. After a fortnight, divided 
 between Spanish Town and Kingston, and much spoiled 
 by the distress of an ulcerated leg, he at length said fare- 
 well to his friends and to Jamaica, Richard Hill waving 
 adieu to him froai the quay at Kingston, and another 
 friend. Dr. Fairbank, kindly accompanying him, for com- 
 pany's sake, so far as Port Royal. His last glimpse of 
 Jamaica was the twinkling of the lighthouse on Point 
 Morant. Next day, at daj'break, the mountains of Hayti 
 were visible, and " during the whole day we ran along the 
 
 • 
 
 . 
 
 l^ 
 

 «-^.r 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 203 
 
 i,n-cat promontory of Tiburon, the ancient province of 
 Xavagna, once the happy domain of the beautiful antl 
 unfortunate Princess Anacaona." On the following morn- 
 ing, when lie came on deck, the Avoti was putting off mails 
 in the land-locked harbour of Jacmel, in Ilayti. "There 
 had been rain in the night, and the shaggy hill-tops were 
 partially robed in fragments of cloud, undefined and 
 changing, which contrasted finely with the dark surface (jf 
 the forest. Inland the mountains in the morning sun 
 looked inviting ; and I noticed that they displayed the 
 same singular resemblance to crumpled paper, as those in 
 the eastern part of Jamaica." 
 
 The Avon steamed across to Puerto Rico, and ran, all 
 through the 13th, along the northern shore of that island, 
 " the land thickly strewn with cultivated estates, spotted 
 with clumps of trees, and presenting a very beautiful 
 appearance, contrasting in this respect with both Jamaica 
 and Hayti, whose forest coasts display little trace of culti- 
 vation, and look rude and uninviting." Soon after noon, 
 the Moro, or fortification which protects the town of San 
 Juaii, \\as in sight, like a white wall projecting into the sea, 
 and four hours later the steamer moored under it. 
 
 " The town, walled and strongly fortified, reminded 
 " me, with its turret-like houses, and little balconies to 
 " each window, of engravings of Spanish cities ; and 
 "when I went ashore and wandered through the streets, 
 " ladies in black mantillas, opening and shutting their 
 " fans as they walked, solemn priests in black robes and 
 " shovel hats, the children, the men, X\\c posadas (taverns), 
 " everything had such a novel character as I had never 
 " before seen. P^or, in all my travels, I have never before 
 " set foot in any other country than such as are inha- 
 " bited by the Anglo-Saxon race. After partaking of a 
 " little nicety in a posada, and seeing the paved parts of 
 
 it 
 
 t;il 
 
 \v 
 
 
 I'! 
 it* 
 
 ! "'1 *1 
 
 1 " 
 
204 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY COSSE. 
 
 '\ 
 
 " the town, I and a single companion who had separated 
 
 " from the main party found that we could not ^et a 
 
 " boat for less than four dollars, for about fifteen minutes' 
 
 " rowing. The steamer, however, was under way, and 
 
 " we had no alternative but to pay it, and I found that 
 
 " my afternoon's stroll had cost mc half a guinea." 
 
 The reason of his separation from the others was that 
 
 they had all trooped into the cathedral, where Philip 
 
 Gosse's strong conscientious objection to the Roman 
 
 Catholic forms of worship made it impossible for him to 
 
 follow them. To the end of his days he never, on one 
 
 single occasion, entered what it was his uncompromising 
 
 habit to call a "popish mass-house." 
 
 A little before daybreak next morning, the steamer got 
 into the Danish harbour of St. Thomas. Though it 
 rained hard until after sunrise, and the mist enveloped the 
 hills, yet the beauty of the town, rising from the sea on 
 the sides of three conical mountains, could not be con- 
 cealed. Gossc walked a little way into the bush, and 
 captured fifty-two insects, almost all of them new to him, 
 among which were some fine and curious Ctircu/ionidie 
 and Lotigicorns. In the evening he took another pleasant, 
 though rather fatiguing walk, and saw the Slip, "a noble 
 work on which the largest ships can be hauled up and 
 repaired." Next morning he again cntomologizcd in the 
 bush, and captured fifty-four insects. He saw all the 
 sights of St. Thomas, visited the Moravian mission, " called 
 on Mr. Nathan, the Chief Rabbi, a very friendly and gen- 
 tleman-like man," and went back to the steamer to sleep. 
 At sunrise on the iCth, they quitted the beautiful harbour 
 of St. Thomas, having received many new passengers, and 
 steamed north for Bermuda. These two slight excursions, 
 at San Juan and St. Thomas, were the only occasions, 
 during the whole of my father's life, when he stepped on 
 land that was not Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 • 
 
 ? 
 
 't; 
 
f 
 
 yA.VAICA. 
 
 20q 
 
 • 
 
 On the 20th the Avon arrived at Bcnnuda, where the 
 traveller "admired the Ene^lish-lookin^ beauty of the 
 islands, divided into fields and strewn with pretty white 
 houses." Off the small island of Ireland, the goods and 
 passengers were transferred to the steamer Clyde, and the 
 Avcvt made her way back to Ilavannah. Scarcely had the 
 former vessel started eastward on the following day, than 
 Philip Gossc was attacked with violent headache. The 
 symptoms of brain fever rapidly dis[)layed themselves, and 
 for a fortnight he was very dangerously ill. On August 
 4 he was permitted by the ship's doctor to creep up on 
 deck for the first time, and to enjoy the pleasing sight of 
 the Land's End, dimly visible at a distance of twenty-five 
 miles. Next day, still very weak and wretched, yet 
 steadily gaining strength, he was put on shore at South- 
 ampton, and enjoyed a long sleep in an hotel bed. Xc.\t 
 morning (August 6, 1846) he took an early train for 
 London, reached his mother to find her well, and had the 
 satisfaction, in unpacking his specimens, to discover all 
 uninjured. Moreover his living birds, which some kind 
 person on board the steamer had attended to during his 
 brain fever, were in good health, only two, the blue pigeon 
 and the mountain witch, having died. 
 
 My father's single episode of tro^iical life had now closed. 
 It had been in ever)'' respect a signally successful one. 
 Those theoretical zoologists who had encouraged him to 
 go out to Jamaica were satisfied, and far more than satis- 
 fied, with the practical result of his labours. Tlie chronicle 
 of his life in Jamaica is monotonous, because it was so 
 crowded with scientific incident. lie stuck to his work, 
 and not a single week-day passed in which he did not add 
 something to his experience. 
 
 i 
 
 
( 206 ) 
 
 T 
 
 3'-f 
 
 \ I 
 
 [i 5 ' 
 
 
 'l i 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LITERARY "V.VORK IN LONDON. 
 1846— 1 85 I. 
 
 THE record of the next two years is scanty. They 
 were spent in close retirement and in almost incessant 
 literary labour. Philip Gossc came back from Jamaica 
 considerably altered and matured ; from a belated youth 
 he had slipped rather suddenly into premature middle age. 
 The climate of the West Indies, his solitary conditions 
 there, coinciding with a period of life which is often critical, 
 liad their effect upon his person and his temperament. It 
 may be well, at this point, to give some description of the 
 former, which underwent no further perceptible change for 
 many years. He was under middle size ; slight, and almost 
 slim, when he had left England, he returned from Jamaica 
 thick-set and heavy- limbed, troubled with a corpulence that 
 was not quite healthy. His face was large and massive, 
 extremely pallid, with great strength in the chin, and long, 
 tightly compressed lips ; decidedly grim in expression, but 
 lighted up by hazel eyes of extraordinary size and fulness. 
 These eyes, which have been compared (I suppose more 
 with regard to their luminous character than their shape) 
 with the eyes of Lord Beaconsfield, were the most obvious 
 peculiarity of the face, which was, nevertheless, chiefly 
 remarkable, to a careful observer, for the tense and exalted 
 nature of the expression it habitually wore. Nothing was 
 
 IpV 
 

 LITERARY WORK IX I.OXDON. 
 
 207 
 
 
 more common, even among my father's own family, than 
 for a person who approached him with the design of asking 
 a question or making a remark, to hesitate, scared by his 
 apparent austerity. No one can doubt that, without in- 
 tending to be so, he was often not a little awe-inspiring. 
 This was partly caused by his introspective habit of mind, 
 self-contained in meditation ; partly also by his extreme 
 timidity, which found a shelter under this severe and 
 awful mien. \'ery often, when the person who approached 
 him wondered whether those oracular lips would fulminate, 
 the oracle himself was only speculating how soon he could 
 flee away into his study and be at rest. The air of 
 severity was increased by the habit of brushing his straight 
 black hair tightly away from the forehead ; it was occa- 
 sionally removed by a cluud of immeasurable tenderness 
 passing across the great brown lustrous orbs of his eyes. 
 His smile was rare, but when it came it was exquisite.* 
 
 That his standard, both for himself and others, was high, 
 and that his manner towards an offender could be formi- 
 dable, it would be easy to prove. At this juncture one 
 striking example may suffice. One of the difficulties of 
 the Moravian mission at Bluefields had been the unalter- 
 able prejudice against treating the negroes as exact 
 equals with white men and women. It was especially 
 hard to overcome the feeling of shame and repulsion with 
 which West Indian society regarded the idea of niixetl 
 marriages between whites and blacks. To the Moravians, 
 however, it appeared that no difference should be made 
 when the Church had received members of the two races 
 
 * A very remarkable accidental portrait of my father, as he looked when he 
 was about sixty years of age, exists in the museum at Brussels. I'hilip (losse 
 might have sat for the man, holding a crimson missal, who kneels in the lelt- 
 hand wing of the triptych, by IJernard van Orley (No. 40 in the Catalogue), 
 except that the nose is too large and flat. The eyes and mouth, the general 
 form of the face, and the colour of the skin are marvellously identical. 
 
 II 
 
 it 
 
>'.w"rt«! 
 
 ) 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 It 
 
 i..f 
 
 208 
 
 THE LIFE OF rillLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 to a like communion, and a certain person, apparently to 
 gain prestige with the body, had expressed himself willing 
 to marry a converted negro girl, and had gone through the 
 ceremony of betrothal at liluefields. But on his returning 
 to England no more had been heard of him, and Philip 
 Gosse was commissioned to remind him of his promise. 
 He did so immediately on his own arrival in London, and 
 received a flippant reply. To this he returned the follow- 
 ing answer : — 
 
 "t have received your note of yesterday. I cannot 
 "say that it would give me any pleasure to see you, 
 " knowing as I do your behaviour to Sistei Stevens. I 
 " desire to write in a humiliating sense of my own failure, 
 "yet in faithfulness I must say that the whole affair, 
 "the breaking of a solemn engagement, the coolness 
 "with which you could crush a sister's happiness, and 
 " above all the insincerity, I had almost said the duplicity, 
 " which has marked your whole course in it, renders any 
 "communion with you out of the question. I cannot 
 "help believing, with almost a moral certainty, that even 
 " when you recorded your betrothal before the Church at 
 " Bluefields, you had not even the slightest intention of 
 "returning to fulfil it. And when the tenor of your 
 " letters began to intrude painful suspicions on our 
 " minds, and Coleman and myself felt constrained to- 
 " wards you, your replies (at least that to me) insinu- 
 "ated that you were still unchanged in intention, and 
 " that your health was the only obstacle. But when 
 " I read (I cannot help adding ivith indignation) in your 
 "late letters to Sister S. your heartless breach of 
 "promise, a breach which would evoke the scorn of 
 " every worldly man of honourable feeling, and which 
 " in a court of law would be visited with heavy damages, 
 
 m 
 
LHERAKY IVORK IN LOXDON: 
 
 809 
 
 I saw at once how cf^rc^iously our love and confidence 
 had been misplaced. I know not the nature of the 
 purification of which you speak, but if this is the fruit 
 of it, I desire not to know it. 
 
 " Perhaps you may think I am severe ; I write not in 
 bitterness, but in grief. To me the transaction seems 
 a very sliocking one ; and it is not the least painful 
 trait in it, that you can write of it so lightly, as if it were 
 an everyday matter. I trust the Lord may trouble 
 your conscience about it, which I had much rather see 
 than your present complacency ; to Ilim I leave you. 
 " Remaining 
 
 " Yours in much sorrow, 
 
 "P. H. GO.S.SE." 
 
 The conditions under which Philip Gossc had gone out 
 to Jamaica, and those under which he now returned, may 
 be gathered from the following letter addressed to the 
 well-known collector of natural objects, Mr. W. W. 
 Saunders : — 
 
 " Dalston, August 8, 1846. 
 "My dear Sir, 
 
 "Your favour of the i6th of April, acknow- 
 ledging the receipt of the first consignment of woods, 
 was received in due course. In May I shipped another 
 ' lot of specimens, and that vessel, I understand, has 
 been here some little time. That I did not write by 
 'her, giving you an account of the consignment, was 
 owing to the fact that I believed myself on the point 
 of sailing for England by the steamer ; and, fully ex- 
 pecting to be in England long before the specimens, 
 I intended to wa-itc to you from London. I was, how- 
 ever, strangely disappointed of two successive packets, 
 
 i. 
 
M 
 
 il ;; 
 
 I? I; 
 
 l! 
 
 i 
 
 i I 
 
 iV.i 
 
 p ' , 
 
 fii 
 
 2IU 
 
 y •///■; /.//'/; OF riiii.ip hexry gosse. 
 
 "and am now only just anivctl by the Clyde. I liavc 
 "taken some pains to ascertain the botanical names of 
 " the woods, but have not succeeded in all cases. Wliat- 
 "evcr little personal trouble I have been at in procuring 
 "these woods, I beg you to consider has been undertaken 
 ^^ con aniore. It is but a very small return for the kind- 
 "ncss you exhibited towards me in so very promptly 
 " advancing me aid when I was rather short of cash. 
 " Any allusion to pecuniary remuneration, direct or 
 " indirect, for this, will only grieve my feelings, so that 
 " you will permit me gratefully to decline it. The 
 " expenses ictually incurred I have no objection to your 
 "refunding, though it will be pleasing to me if you will 
 " accept this also. But as yo'i might fmd this disagree- 
 "ablc, I enclose a little note of the expenses incurred in 
 "procuring and shipping the specimens. Should you 
 "have an opportunity of seeing Mr. John A. Ilankey, 
 "I beg that you will present my compliments to him, 
 "with cordial thanks for his politeness in allowing niy 
 "specimens of natural history to pass freight free." 
 
 It appears from this letter, and from other documents, 
 that, eminently successful as the Jamaica trip had been, it 
 had not led to any definite addition to Gosse's means of 
 income. He had supported himself with independence in 
 the West Indies, and he had brought back, in addition to 
 his sales, a collection of miscellancou- objects for which he 
 slowly found purchasers; but Ik l-ad no security for the 
 future. The British Museum pnjposcd another excursion, 
 this time to the Azores, and he made some preliminaries 
 towards starting in the winter of 184G, bor.ght a Portu- 
 guese grammar, learned the mode of arriving at I'^iyal 
 from Madeira, and began a list of Azorean desiderata. 
 But the scheme fell through, mainly because an abundance 
 
 1 
 
V 
 
 LITERARY llORK /X I.OXDO.V. 
 
 311 
 
 of literary work immediately came in his way, and pro- 
 mised to be quite as lucrative as a tropical excursion and 
 much less laborious. He was very properly anxious, 
 moreover, to ^Mve due literary form t(j the ornithological 
 discoveries which he had made in the \\ \.'.t Indies, and 
 before he had been a month in London, he bcj^an to write 
 for Mr. Van Voorst his volume on The Birds of Jamaica, 
 which he completed in the foUowin^^ March. This was 
 one of the most important and compendious of his works, 
 and he temi)ered the strain of its composition by coin- 
 pilini(, at the same time, for his old friends the Society for 
 Promoting Christian Knowledge, a volume on The Monu- 
 ments of Ancient Et^ypt, which, however, was not published 
 until Novcinber, 1847. This book professes to be no more 
 than "a plain treatise for plain people," and Philip Gosse 
 had no first-hand knowledge of archieology. He was, 
 however, helped in writing it by two distinguished I'^gyi^to- 
 logists — Dr. Samuel Birch, of the British Museum, and 
 the Rev. G. C. Renouard, Rector of Swanscombe, in Kent. 
 It is, of course, long since obsolete, but it ran with esteem 
 through several editions. 
 
 The Birds of Jamaica was published on May i, 1847, 
 and was received with great respect by the world of 
 science. lie says, in one of his letters, speaking of this 
 book, " It sells rather slowly, but every one praises it, and 
 it has been well reviewed in Germany." The [)ublication 
 of The Birds of Jamaica raised I'hilii) Gosse's reputation 
 with a bound, and among those ornithologists who took 
 this opportunity of making his personal acquaintance, and 
 gave expression to their admiration, were prominent Sir 
 William Jardine, the Vicomtc du Bus, John Gould, and 
 D. W. Mitchell. The book filled a gap in the existing 
 records of science, and it contrived to please two classes of 
 readers, since, while its scientific definitions were accurate 
 
 
212 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I t' 
 
 If 
 
 \ 
 
 k 
 
 X 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 * i 
 
 f: ' 
 
 
 'W i 
 
 and detailed, no observation of habits and no characteristic 
 anecdote was omitted to fill up the portrait of each 
 successive bird. The only complaint which was made by 
 the reviewers was the entire lack of illustrations, the 
 absence of which was presently explained and removed, 
 as we shall see in due course. On the title-page of T/w 
 Birds of Jamaica the words "assisted by Richard Hill, 
 Esq., of Spanish Town," succeeded the name of the author, 
 although greatly against that modest gentleman's wish, 
 and the publication was delayed by the fact that every 
 sheet was sent out to Spanish Town to be read in proof by 
 Mr. Hill. The Birds of Jamaica once launched, Philip 
 Gossc innncdiately began, in a quiet way, that labour in 
 the popularization of science which was ultimately to form 
 so large a proportion of his life's work. Once more the 
 S.P.C.K. suggested to him that a series of small volumes, 
 strictly accurate from a scientific point of view, but giving 
 zoological facts in a form easily to be comprehended b)- 
 the public, would be of great service to the 'general reader. 
 Nothing of the kind existed, and he gladly undertook to 
 open such a series. He began the Mammalia in June, 
 1847, and it was published a )-car later, having occupied 
 but a small part of those months. It was copiously illus- 
 trated with woodcuts designed by the author and by 
 j. W. Whymper. 
 
 In the spri-ig of 1S47, while stooping to dig up gladiolus 
 bulbs from, the grass-plot of his friend, Mr. William 15ergcr, 
 my father was suddenly conscious of pain, apparently 
 caused by a strain to the liver, and from this time forth, 
 for fifteen years at least, he was more or less continuously- 
 subject to what was supposed to be dyspepsia, often very 
 acute in character, and causing great depression of spirits 
 The fact that he was constantly reading and writing, 
 and th.it he took no exercise of any kind, except a little 
 
 1 
 
 ,'iiIiL. 
 
■'•VI 
 
 1 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN LONDON. 
 
 213 
 
 work in his i;arden, did not improve matters. In the 
 record of his career at this time, his rolii,nous h'fe must not 
 he omitted. After hi.s return from Jamaica in 1S46, he 
 was for some time connected with no body of Christians, 
 Ijut in April of tlie following >'ear he joined a few other 
 persons, alm.ost all of them educated n-ien, in forming at 
 ]Iackne> a meeting of the communion then recently 
 united, throughout England, under the title of " Brethren," 
 or " Plymouth Pirethrcn," as the\' were usuall) called, 
 apparently from the circumstance that their central meet- 
 ing was at Bristol, which, likx- I'lj-mouth (where for some 
 time they did not exist), is in the west of ICngland. The 
 tenets of this body are perhaps well known. They may be 
 best described by a series of negations. The Brethren 
 liave no ritual, no appointed minister, no government, no 
 hierarchy of an\' kind ; they eschew all that is systematic 
 or vertebrate ; their manner of worshi[) is the most 
 socialistic hitherto invented. Their positive tc:nets are an 
 implicit following of the "---xt of Holy Scripture, the 
 enforcement of ailult baptism, subsequent upon conversion 
 and preliminary to the partaking of the Lord's Supper in 
 both kinds, the loaf of breatl and the cu[) of wine being 
 passed from hand to hand in silence, every Sunday 
 
 mornnig. 
 
 Whether this intercstmg sect still exists in an>'thing 
 like its early simplicity I cannot sa\-, but I think not. It 
 is at all events certain that it verv soon suffered from a 
 violent split in its own corporation, if such \ 'ord may be 
 used of a conglomeration of atoms, and that its obscure 
 meetings became a byword for bigotry and unlovely 
 prejudice. But in its beginning, and when Philip Gosse 
 and his friends first gathered round a deal table in a bare 
 room in Hackney, this Utopian dream of a Christian 
 socialisj7i, with all its simplicity, muvi^tt^ and earnest faith, 
 
 If*;! 
 
 
 ' ■ ■ 
 
 f 
 
n 
 
 
 : 
 
 t 
 
 \i 
 
 ill: 
 
 li 
 
 
 • ■ -1 
 
 214 
 
 7y//r z//rz;' c/^ philip iiexry gosse. 
 
 was one at wiiich those who knew human nature better 
 might smile, \mt wliich was neither ignoble nor unattractive. 
 These early IJrcthrcn had at least one strong poi :t. 
 The absence from their ritual of an^- other book thre\v 
 them upon the study of the ]?ible, and the tact that most 
 of the founders of the sect were educated and, perhaps it 
 may be added, somewhat eccentrically educated men, 
 made their exposition of the Scripture deep, ingenious, 
 and unconventional. 
 
 One result of these new religious ties was the formation 
 of fresh scruples with regard to any action of a worldly 
 kind. The Brethren held that it was the dut}' of the 
 Christian to le.ive all revenge to God, to bow to injury 
 and insult, and, above all, on no occasion to use any form 
 of words stronger than affirmation. In the autumn of 
 1847, while I'hilip Gosse was looking into the window of 
 a i)rint shop, at tiie C(jrner of Wellington Street, Strand, a 
 boy picked h's pocket (jf a silk handkerchief .\ i)olice- 
 man saw tlic tliief, caught him, and dragged him to liow 
 Street, where the victim of the theft was asked to prose- 
 ci'te ; "but I," says mj- father in a letter recording the 
 incident, " from lirethren's noticMis of grace, refused, and 
 they would not restore nu: the haiulkerchief" Soon after- 
 wards, while his mother, he, and the servant-maid were all 
 out at meeting one Sunda\- morning, the house was broken 
 open and robbed. .A watch, some niiwiatures, and other 
 x-aluables were stolen. The police came to make inquiries, 
 Ijut, for conscience' sake, the owner refused to take any 
 steps in pursuit. I should add that the extreme punctilio 
 of whicli these trifling occurrences are examples was after- 
 wards modified ; but my father always retained a great 
 repugnance to the i)rosccution of individual criminals, 
 though very severe on crime in the abstract. 
 
 Among tliose who met, with this austere siniplicit}-, at 
 
wm 
 
 LITERARY WORK LY LO.VDON, 
 
 215 
 
 the meeting-room at H:icl;ncy, was a lady of American 
 parentage, equally remarkable for her outward charms and 
 her inward accomplishments. Of this lady, destined to 
 take so large a part in the life t)f Philip Gosse, her only 
 son may be permitted to give at this point a more 
 particular account. Although Miss ICmily Bowes was 
 born in luigland, on November 10, iSof), both her father, 
 William ]5o\ves, and her mother, Hannah Troutbeck, were 
 iiostouians of pure Massachusetts descent. Iler people 
 had t.aken the ICnglish side in 1775. When "the lioston 
 teapot bub!)led," her father— who had been t!ul\- bai)tized, 
 as befitted a good Ikostonian, by Dr. Samuel Cooper, at 
 Brattle Street meeting-house — was hurried away by his 
 parents, whose ner\es the "tea-party" had shaken, to 
 North Wales, where the family settled in the neighbour- 
 hood o^ Sncjwdon. But William Innves, with his undilutetl 
 Massachusetts blood, had been forced to be a loyalist in 
 vain, for, once grown to man's estate, to JJoston he went 
 back for a wife, and secured a New ICnglander as true 
 as himself in Hannah, daughter of the Rev. J(jhn Troutbeck, 
 fornierl)- King's Chaplain in Boston, U.S.A. Mrs. Bowes 
 was born in i;6S, close to (lovernor Winthro^j's house in 
 South Street, Boston. She lived \.o be eight)'-three, and 
 the w-iter of these Knes has been seated in her arms. Jii 
 Dr. O. W. Holmes's words — 
 
 " Siie 'lad heard the muskets' rattle of the Ai)ril riiniuiii; battle ; 
 Lord IV'iv-y's hunted soldiers, she could see their red coats still,'' 
 
 and, when he thinks of her, her grandson thrills with .1 
 divided patriotism. 
 
 Through her father, Miss B)0wes was directly descended 
 from one oi the most distinguished families of New 
 luigland. Her great-grandfather, Nicholas Bowes, of 
 Boston, born in 1706, graduate of Harvard, and for twenty 
 years minister iif New Bedford, mariied Lucy Hancock, 
 
 I ; \ 
 
 it 
 
1 
 
 
 f 
 
 n6 
 
 THE LIFE OF PJIILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 aunt of the famous Governor John Hancock, wliosc sit^na- 
 ture stands so bit^ and boid on the Declaration of American 
 Independence. Succeeding liowcses liad intermarried into 
 good Massachusetts families — Whitneys and Stoddards 
 and Remingtons — and had thus preserved to an unusual 
 extent the purity of their local strain. 
 
 Miss Emily l^owes had suffered from severe vicissitudes 
 of fortune. Her infancy, and that of her two younger 
 brothers, had been spent in moderate circum.stanccs ; but 
 her father, who had a splendid capacity for the dispersion 
 of wealth, had ' >an\vhile inherited a large pri^perty and 
 spent it, ncarU le last penny. Almost the onl)- 
 
 advantages which \\.- .xcrucd to his daughter from the 
 few years of their opidence, were comprised in the very 
 complete and extensive education which .Mr. Howes, proud 
 of her intellectual gifts, had provided her. .She was not 
 onl\- taught all that girls at that tune were supposed 
 capable of learning, but, at her own desire, e.xcellcnt tutors 
 had been engaged to ground her in Latin, in Greek, and 
 even in Hebrew. She had great force of cl..iraeter and 
 rapidity of action. When the crash came, her brothers 
 were at that critical age when to i)ursue education a little 
 further is the only means by which what has been learned 
 can be made of any service in the future. Emily Bowes 
 imdertook the training of the boys, and when the time 
 came for the eldest to go to college, she devoted the 
 interest of her own small capi; vl to his maintenance there, 
 and went out as a governess iiiat she might adtl to that 
 scanty sum. A governess she remained until her brothers 
 — excellent young men, but with none of her force of 
 mind — were starteil in life, and then, with deep thankful- 
 ness, she retired from work to the irksomeness of which 
 she ])referred the most straitened independence. At the 
 time that my father became acquainted with her, she was 
 
 '^\ 
 
 ^ 
 
mmm 
 
 'A 
 
 LITERARY WORK IX LOXDOX. 
 
 217 
 
 livinj:^ in a very quiet way, keeping house in Clapton for 
 her aL,^ttl parents. 
 
 Emily Bowes was in her forty-third year when Philip 
 Gosse first met lier, but she retainetl a remarkable appear- 
 ance of youth. Her fic^ure was slim and tall, her neck of 
 singular length and grace ; her face small, with rather 
 large and regular features, clear blue eyes delicately set in 
 pink lids, untler arched and pencilled auburn evebrows ; 
 the mouth very sensitive, with something of the e.xpres.^i'm 
 of Sir Joshua's little "Child with tl.e Rat-Trap;" the 
 whole face surmounted by cc)i)ious rolls and loops, in the 
 fashion of the period, of orange-auburn hair. In earlier 
 life the complexion had been brilliant, but almo.st the only 
 sign of the passage of years, in 1X48, was the pallor of the 
 skin, which was, nKjreover, badly freckled. But for her 
 complexion she would still have been a \er\' prett\- woman, 
 of the type admired by the painters of to-day. She wa.s 
 painted several times, antl in particular there existed of lier 
 a very amusing full-length oil portrait, by G. V. Joseph, 
 A.R.A., which represented her in a pink satin dress, at tlie 
 age of six, bareheaded and barelegged, on the top of 
 Snowdon in a storm, with forked lightning playing behind 
 lier This was hung, in its da}', in the l<.cyal ^Academy, and 
 was stolen, alas ! a few years ago, by a person wIkj certainly 
 could obtain very little satisfaction from a theft which left 
 our family sensibly poorer. 
 
 Miss luiiily I'xiwes was one of those who had accepted 
 the views of the Plymouth lirethren, anil as there was '-io 
 meeting of these Christians in Clapton, she was in the 
 habit of walking over to Hackney on Sunday mornings, 
 usually lunching there, and returning home after the 
 evening meeting. In this manner she naturally formed 
 the acquaintance of Philip Gosse, who was immediately 
 attracted by her wide range of knowledge and by her 
 
 ' ,j 
 
 m 
 
 'A 
 
2lS 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HE SPY GOSSE. 
 
 : r- 
 
 i 
 
 !^« 
 
 i 
 
 1):; 
 
 literary tastes. She was the author of two Httlc volumes 
 of published poems of a religious cast ; she was almost as 
 great a lover of verse as he was himself. She was sympa- 
 thetic, gentle, quick, eminently intelligent. He, on the 
 other hand, little accustomed to the company of any 
 woman but his aged mother, felt himself awkward with 
 girls. lie had no small-talk, no common change of con- 
 versation. The charm of lunily licnvcs la}' in the maturity 
 of Iicr mind, the gravity of her tastes. Yet it was quite 
 abruptly, and without premeditation, that he took the step 
 of asking for her hand. It was on Sunday evening, 
 September 17, 1S4S, that the sudden resolution took him 
 as he was abi'i't to say farewell to her at her garden-gate. 
 When he rcllectcd that he had j)roposed marriage to her, 
 and that she '\. ! nc*- 1 ejected him, there was a moment of 
 intense remorse. lie was too poor, he reflected, too little 
 likely to make a pro[)er competence, to have the right to 
 link another life to his uwn. Ikit she was accustomed to 
 poverty, she Icjved him ahead}', she believed in his future, 
 and she was eminently careless about luxur}'. They were 
 betrothed, and, after a short dcla}-, the}' were married at 
 Tottenham, on November 22, 1S48, from the hcjuse of the 
 late Mr. Robert Howard, whose venerable and beloved 
 widow still survives as I write these line. 
 
 It is necessary, however, to go back a little to resume 
 an account of the literary activit}' of 184.S, winch was very 
 considerable. We ha\-e seen that the reviewers complained 
 of the want of hgures to accom[>any 77/6' /)/n/s of Jamaica. 
 In January, 1848, Philip Gosse sent out circulars [)roposing 
 to publish by subscription a folio v(^lume of lithographic 
 dia^' -igs, coloured by hand, if desired, of one hundred and 
 twenty species of Jamaica birds, very largely new to science. 
 This work was to be issued in monthly parts. The 
 response was so immediately favourable, that in March he 
 
 J 
 
 4 
 
LITERARY WORK I.V LOXDOX. 
 
 219 
 
 . 
 
 / 
 
 began to make the drawings on the stone, anc' he Laboured 
 away so assiduously-, in spite of other work, that the book, 
 an exquisite portfoHo of pkates, was given to the pubhc, as 
 Illustratio)is of the Birds of Jainalca, in April, 18.19. 
 Unhappily, however, the priee at which he had under- 
 taken t(j bring out the coloured illustrations was so low 
 that there was, through an error in his calculations, a 
 slight loss on every copy subscribed for, and if the 
 demand for the book in this condition had been great, 
 he would ha\'c been in dreadful straits. This \vas a 
 lesson for which he had hini.^elf alone to thar.k, and 
 he never made that particular error again. 
 
 In February, 1S4S, he began his I-irds, the second volume 
 of the popular series for the S.P.C. K., and being now more 
 prosperous, and secure of plenty of tolerably remunerative 
 work, he moved from the incomr.odious little lunise in 
 RichmcMid Terrace, to a plcasanter dwelling, No. 13, Tra- 
 falgar Terrace, iJe Heauvoir Square. At this time he was 
 greatl)' excited b)' the neu's of the Revolution in h'rauce, 
 and the rapid spread of revolutionary sentiment tlirough 
 Europe, with the Chartist demonstration in Lcjndon on 
 April 10. " \\\ this," he writes, "greatly excites our hopes 
 of the near Advent ; " and from this time forward, for nearlv 
 forty years, each political crisis in Ivurope reawakened in 
 his breast this vain hope of the sudden coming of the 
 Lord, and the rapture of believing Christendom into glor\- 
 without death. This minute and realistic observer of 
 natural objects possessed one facet of his soul on which 
 the rosy light of idealism never ceased to sparkle, lie 
 was a visionary on one side of his brain, though a 
 biologist on the other. 
 
 in June, 184S, he suggested to the S(Kiety for Pro- 
 moting Christian Knowledge that he should write them a 
 History of the Jews. They accepted the proposal, but he 
 
 •Hi 
 
 11 
 
"■HP 
 
 i' 
 
 II': 
 
 1 
 
 ' \ 
 
 V'' 
 
 220 
 
 77//-; L//-Ji OF Pin LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 found the task a more difficult one tlian he had antici- 
 pated. It hun;^ around his neck Hke a wcii^ht, and it 
 was not until 1850 that he published what is perhaps the 
 most perfuncton- of all his lon;_^ei- writings. Three, if not 
 f(jur, editions f)f this work were, ho\ve\er, exhausted. In 
 July the Maniinalia was issued ; and in September he was 
 already beginning, for another firm of publishers, his 
 J\^pular British Ornithology, a work intended as a sort of 
 bird-calendar for the instruction <)[ young naturalists, a 
 guide for use through the ICnglish bird-)-ear. This book, 
 which is illustrated by a variety of exquisite coloured 
 plates, drawn and lithographed hy the author, was pecu- 
 liarly the labour of his betrothal, since he wrote his first 
 page the day before he proposed to Miss lunily Bowes, 
 and the last on the night preceding his marriage. In 
 designing and colouring the illustrations, he mainly drew 
 from the specimens in the liritish Museum. Even in work 
 so modest as this was, he was unwilling to copy the 
 observations of others whenever it was in his power to 
 gi\'e an impression of his own, and he was in the habit 
 of remarking that, however hackneyed an animal may 
 seem to be, the labour of describing or copying it minutely 
 at first hand will reveal some characteristic in it which has 
 escaped previous observers. This is, no doubt, far less 
 true to -day, when the illustration of natural objects has 
 been carried to so great a pitch of perfection, than it was 
 fifty years ago, when all but the best illustrations were of a 
 very rough character. 
 
 From Tottenham, on November 22, 184S, he brought 
 home his bride to the little house in Trafalgar Terrace 
 witiiout so much as a single day's honeymoon. He 
 immediately took up again the suspended task of The 
 History of the Jews,\^\\\c\\\\o\\Q.v^x, occupied him for many 
 more months. The next year was one of extreme seclu- 
 
 
 I V ■ > ■ 
 
LITERARY WORK IN LONDON. 
 
 221 
 
 sion. To Pliilip Gossc, secure of tlic sytnpatlictic presence 
 of his wife, there was now no need of entertainment away 
 from home ; but to the new wife the strain of the change 
 was not a small one. ICmily Bowes had been of an emi- 
 nently modern temperament — lively, sociable, talkative, 
 accustomed to see movini^ around her a cloud of female 
 friends. She soon found that visitors were not welcome to 
 her husband, that fresh faces disturbed iiis itleas and 
 awakened his shyness. His ideal of life was to exist in an 
 even temperature of domestic solitude, absorbed in intel- 
 lectual work, buried in silence. For hours and hours Mrs. 
 Philip had no one to speak to but the servant-maid or her 
 formidable mother-in-law, who, possessini^ no intellectual 
 resources herself, looked with suspicion on those who did. 
 P2mily Gosse's only refuge was in her husband's stud}-, 
 which no one but herself might enter, and where she 
 would sit for hours and hours, fretted by the unwonted 
 restraint, in a silence broken only by the regular whisper 
 of the pen on the paper or of the pencil on the stone. 
 She possessed great command over her feelings, and she 
 was very intelligent and .sensible, liefore long, she had 
 the approach of other cares and busier interests to occupy 
 her ; but for the time being the strain was very real, the 
 sudden cloistered seclusion from the open world very 
 trying and distressing. She fell back upon her studies, 
 and began in an elegant Italian hand, in the bright blue 
 ink of the period, to annotate an interleaved copy of the 
 Hebrew Bible, which still exists to testify to her industry. 
 On February i, 1849, the /vVvA-, in the S.l'.C.K. series, 
 was published ; and on the 9th of that month the author 
 began the volume called Reptiles. In this same I'Y^bruary 
 the Popular British Ornithology was published, and on 
 May 9 Philip Gossc began to write his Text-Book of 
 Zoology for Schools. The composition of this volume 
 
 I 
 
 % 
 
mm 
 
 
 I 
 
 T i 
 
 m ' i 
 
 
 
 ir 
 
 222 
 
 77//^- /.7/'£ or rim. IP iikxry gosse. 
 
 not pulilishcd until iS^r.le'd to a very important crisis in 
 liis intellectual career. I Ic had hitherto taken but a super- 
 ficial interest in the lower forms of life. In order to write 
 the first chapters of his Text-Book, he found himself obliged 
 to study what was known of these form.s, and the fascina- 
 tion of invertebrate, and particularly of microscopic natural 
 history, suddenly took hold of him. He determined to 
 study these forms at first hand. Early in June he bought 
 a microscope, and this purchase revolutionized his whole 
 life. He instantly threw himself, with that fiery energy 
 which characterized him, into the literature of the subject, 
 and particularly into Pritchard's still classical History of 
 tlie Infusoria. 
 
 On June 1 1, 1849, he made his first independent exami- 
 nation of a rotifer under the microscope, and the date may 
 be worth noting as that of the opening of one of the most 
 important of all the branches of his labours. The extreme 
 ardour with which he took up subjects sometimes wore 
 itself out rather rapidly. He grew tired of birds ; after- 
 wards he grew tired of his once-beloved sea-anemones. 
 But in the rotifers, the exquisite little wheel-animalcules, 
 whose history he did so much to elucidate — in these he 
 never lost his zest, and they danced under his microscope 
 when he put his faded eye to the tube for the last time in 
 18S8. A \veek after June 11, he was already deep in 
 observation of Step/iaiioeeros, that strange and beautiful 
 creature, whose "small pear-shaped bod)% with rich green 
 and brown hues glowing beneath a glistening surface, is 
 lightly perched on a tapering stalk, and crowned with a 
 diadem of the daintiest plumes ; while the whole is set in 
 a clouded crystal vase of quaint shape and delicate texture." 
 He was seized with a determination to collect on a lar^e 
 scale. From a wholesale glass factory in Shoreditch he 
 bought an army of small clear phials, and rose at three 
 
 mi 
 I 1' 
 
I 
 
 
 i 
 
 LITERARY IVOR A' LV LONDON. 
 
 223 
 
 a.m. next inoniinc^, walkinc^ to the TTampstc.id Ponds for 
 dirty water which mic,fht prove to contain sp.irks of life, 
 Ic.'ipincj, twinkUn^^, and kickinjj, under the microscope. 
 
 Almost immediately he bei^an to correspond with the 
 leaders of microscopic science at that time, with John 
 Ouekett and with liowerbank, neither of whom, however, 
 had given any special attention to the Rot if era. lie pre- 
 sently fixed in his garden a set of stagnant open pans or 
 reservoirs for infusoria, which, from the i)revalence of 
 cholera at the time, were looked u[)on with great suspicion 
 by the neighbours. \\\ the midst of all this, and during the 
 very thrilling examination of three separate stagnations of 
 hempseed, poppy seed, and hollyhock seed, his wife pre- 
 sented him with a child, a helpless and imwclcome ap[)ari- 
 tion, wliose arrival is marked in the parental diary in the 
 following manner : — " E. delivered of a son. Received 
 green swallow from Jamaica." Two ephemeral vitalities, 
 indeed, and yet, strange to say, both exist ! The one 
 stands for ever behind a pane of glass in the Natural 
 History Museum at South Kensington ; the other, whom 
 the green swallow will doubtless survive, is he who now 
 puts together these deciduous pages. 
 
 The absorbing devotion to the microscope, which now 
 began to be the dominant passion of IMiilip Gosse's life 
 was distinctly unfavourable to the prosecution of paying 
 work. During the second half of 1849 he produced com- 
 paratively little of a marketable character, although at no 
 time of his life was he engaged more closely or on labour 
 which demanded more intellectual force. lUit w'iat he 
 was doing was noted with full appreciation in the .vie:itific 
 world, and he was regarded with greater seriousness than 
 ever before. On November 14, upon Ijowerbank's pro- 
 position, he was elected a .icmber of the Microscopical 
 Society, at whose meetings he forthwith became a regular 
 
 n 
 
 -U :. 
 
: 
 
 % 
 
 h 
 
 In 
 
 If 
 
 
 11 i- 
 
 2 24 
 
 r/r/-: LIFE OF ririLip [tESRv gossf. 
 
 attendant. This was a much-nccdcd rcfrcslimcnt and 
 stimulus in his monotonous life. lie was, meanwhile, 
 makinj^ very rapid progress in his investigation of the 
 Rotifcra, a class at that time, and for many years after- 
 wards, but little understood or studieil. In i<S49 the one 
 published authority on these creatures, the book which — 
 as Hudson and Gosse have put it in their great monograph 
 — "swallowed up, as it were, the very memory of its pre- 
 decessors," was the Die Infusionsthieichcn published at 
 Leipsic b\- Ehrenberg, in i<S3.S. Philip Gosse found it 
 impossible to proceed without knowing what Ehrenberg 
 had said, but unfortunately the Prussian savant wrote only 
 in (icrman, a language with which the English naturalist 
 was not acquainted. Emilj' Gosse, however, knew German 
 enough, and during the winter of" i(S49-5o he borrowed 
 the precious volume from the council of the Microscopical 
 Society, and they turned Ehrenberg into I'lnglish between 
 them, Gosse's feverish anxiety to know what Ehrenberg 
 wis saying acting on his language-sense, for the moment, 
 like a sort of clairvoyance. It was long his intention to 
 publish this translation of P^hrenberg, which his wife and 
 he soon completed, with illustrative notes and additions of 
 his own, but he did not find any opportunity of doing this, 
 and the version remains inedited. 
 
 It becomes necessary, however, to write when — 
 
 " A life your arms unfold 
 Whose crying i.s a cry for gold," 
 
 and with the opening of 1850 Philip Gosse so arranged his 
 days that the book-making should occupy the mornings, 
 and the afternoons and evenings only be given to the 
 microscope. The Handbook of Zoology was finished on 
 February 4, and the very next day Sacred Streams, a 
 volume describing the natural history and the antiquities 
 
I 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN LONDON: 
 
 225 
 
 f'f the rivers mentioned in the Bible, was begun. This 
 was com[)lctcd early in Auf^ust, and was instantly suc- 
 ceeded, without a day's interval, by the volume called 
 Fis/ics, in the S.P.C.K. series. The last three months of 
 the year were occupied in the composition of a work far 
 more important than all these, A A^itiiralisi's Sojourn in 
 Jamaica, which was a record of his stay in that island, 
 mainly printed from the copious manuscript journal which 
 he had preserved. Hitherto he had not known what it 
 was, since his first success, to have a book rejected ; but 
 this, which is certainly in the first rank amonf^ his orit^inal 
 volumes, was returned to him by Mr. John Murray, only 
 to be accepted, to their ultimate advantage, by Messrs. 
 Longmans. 
 
 The second year of married life was much more com- 
 fortable than the first had been. Mrs. Gosse was occupied 
 by the care of her child, and her husband was neither 
 so self-contained nor so isolated from outer sympathies 
 as he had been. In 1850 he was elected an Associate 
 of the Linn^ean Society, and he greatly enjoyed the 
 meetings of this, as of the Microscopical Suciety. He 
 was taken out of himself by being more and more sought 
 as an authority on zoological matters, and the life of 
 eremitical seclusion which he had chosen to adopt was 
 broken in upon by a variety of human interests. The 
 circumstances of the pair, moreover, were considerably less 
 straitened. His books were not ill paid for, and they 
 had become so numerous that the little sums mounted up. 
 In July, moreover, Mr. and Mrs. Gosse were called down to 
 Leamington to the death-bed of an aunt, who left them a 
 legacy. This was trifling in amount, but the interest of 
 it was enough to form a pleasant increase to an income 
 so small as theirs had been. The pinch of poverty was 
 now relaxed, for the first time in Philip Gossc's life, 
 
 Q 
 
 ^1! 
 
'i* 
 
 i. 
 
 I 
 
 ill 
 
 
 1 * i 
 
 i'^ I; 
 
 
 226 
 
 7///i Z//"/; 0/' rillLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 although industry and thrift were still necessary to insure 
 anything like comfort. 
 
 A laljour wliich belongs to the year 1850, and which 
 mvist not be left unrecoided in the chronicle of his career, 
 was his investigations inio the genus of Rotifcra called by 
 Ehrcnherg Noioiumata. The German savant had left 
 Notommata in an unwieldy and heterogenous condition ; 
 I'hilip Gosse now directed his particular attention to it, 
 and in a succession of papers, read before his two societies, 
 lie reduced it to well-defined proportion::.. These, and 
 his monograph, in the A)i)ials and Alagazinc of Natural 
 History, on the new genus Asplanchna^ which he flis- 
 covered in iiS50 in the Serpentine, attracted a great deal 
 of attention from specialists, and opened up a long series 
 of siiviilar contributions to exact knowledge. During the 
 latter part of the autumn he was once again in daily 
 attendance at the Natural Ilistory Departments of the 
 British IMuseum. On October 10 he was fortunate enough 
 to be leaving the central hall at the very moment when 
 the winged bull from Nineveh was being brought in. 
 Thirty years later m.y father met, for the first time, with 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti's striking poem, The Burden of 
 Ninevehy recording the same experience : — 
 
 " Sighing, I turned at last to win 
 Once more the London dirt and din ; 
 And as I made the swing-door spin 
 And issued, tliey were hoisting in 
 
 A winged beast from Nineveh." 
 
 It was interesting, and it greatly interested Philip Gosse 
 to think, that in the little crowd that watched the bull-god 
 enter his last temple, he had unconsciously stood shoulder 
 to shoulder witli the brilliant young poet, those two, 
 perhaps alone nmong the spectators, sharing the acute 
 sense of mystery and wonder at the apparition. 
 
 
 
LITERARY WORK uV LOXDOX. 
 
 227 
 
 ■ 
 
 In November much reading of Jamaica notes caused a 
 revival of intense desire to revisit the West Indies, resulting; 
 rather suddenly in a positive desit;n to visit the Virgin 
 Islands and Tortugas. ]5ut once more the scheme came to 
 nothing, Mrs. Gosse's health precluding the possibility^ of 
 her siiaring so painful a romantic ent(;rprise. Philip Gosse 
 was one of those people who find it exceedingly difficult to 
 speak of what li-^s closest to tlieir hearts, and he sometimes 
 preferred to convey his intentions in writing, even to those 
 who were around him. I find a letter addressed on this 
 occasion by my father to my mother, announcing to her 
 his final determination not to start for the West Indies ; 
 this letter being, apparently, handed to her in the house. 
 In it he begs her not to refer to the subject in conversation, 
 nor to midce the slightest effort to change his plans. The 
 letter is worded in terms of the most devDted affection, and 
 that he wrote it at all is a proof of the almost impassioned 
 loncring which had seized him to revisit those luminous 
 archipelagos. If Mrs. Gosse had been strong enough to 
 bear the journey, she could not have left her mother, who 
 was dying, and who passed away on January 14, 1851. 
 Mr. Bowes had preceded his wife by six months ; he died, 
 in his eightieth year, on June 10, 1850. 
 
 The year 185 1 was notable for the publication of no 
 fewer than four of Philip Gosse's works. In the month of 
 March his Text-Book of Zoology for Schools and his 
 Sacred Streams, the Ancient and Modern Hislory of the 
 Rivers of the Bible, were issued. In TY^bruary he began 
 Fishes, the fourth volume of his series of manuals of 
 zoology for the S.P.C.K., and this was published in 
 October of the same year. Moreover, on October 17, 
 appeared A Naturalist's Sojonni in Jamaica, a i)roduction 
 of far greater importance than any of these, a handsome 
 volume adorned with lithographic plates designed and 
 
 ri 
 
 
 1% 
 
 iv i * 
 
 • V,' , 
 
 .1; ! 
 
 M 
 
 \ > 
 
 U. 
 
, •am "■HI" 
 
 l! 
 
 ■.;■ 
 
 
 22.S 
 
 77/z," /.//-A o/" nriur henry gosse. 
 
 coloured by ilic author. In the preface to this work, Philip 
 Gosse took up a position which was new to the world of 
 zoologists. " Natural history," he boldly declared, "is far 
 too much a science of dead thinc;s ; a necrology. It is 
 mainly conversant with dry skins, furred or feathered, 
 blackened, shrivelled, and hay-stuffed ; with objects, some 
 admirably beautiful, some hideously ugly, impaled on pins, 
 and arranged in rows in cork drawers ; with • "couth forms, 
 disgusting to siglit and smell, bleached and shrunken, 
 suspended by threads and immersed in spirit (in c' Jice 
 uf the aphorism, that ' he who is born to be hanged will 
 never be drowned ') in glass bottles. These distorted 
 things are described ; their scales, plates, feathers counted ; 
 their forms copied, all shrivelled and stiffened as they 
 ;>.re ; . . . their limbs, members, and organs measured, and 
 the results recorded in thousandths of an inch ; two names 
 are given to every one ; the whole is enveloped in a 
 mystic cioud of Gra;co-Latino-English phraseology (often 
 barbaric enough) ; and this is natural history ! " 
 
 The tradition thus scornfully condemned was that which 
 it was the writer's peculiar function to break through. 
 Antl he was not, like so many reformers, ready to tear 
 down without having any fresh materials or the design for 
 a new edifice. This is how, in the elegant preface to the 
 Natnralisfs Sojourn, he describes the science of zoology as 
 he fain would see it conducted : — 
 
 "That alone is worthy to be calletl natural history 
 " which investigates and records the condition of living 
 "things, of things in a state of nature; if animals, of 
 "living animals: — which tells of their 'sayings and 
 " doings,' their varied notes and utterances, songs and 
 "cries; their actions in case, and under the pressure of 
 "circumstances; their affections and passions towards 
 "their young, towards each other, towards other animals, 
 
 
 
 JL 
 
^ 
 
 LITERARY WORK LV LONDON. 
 
 IZq 
 
 " towards man ; their various arts and devices to protect 
 "their progeny, to procure food, to escape from their 
 "eneir.'cs, to defend themselves from attacks; their 
 "ingenious resources for conceahnent ; their stratagems 
 " to overcome their victims ; their modes of bringing 
 "forth, of feeding, and of training their offspring, the 
 "relations of their structure to their wants and habits ; 
 "the countries in which they dwell; their connection 
 "with the inanimate world around them, mountain or 
 " plain, forest or field, barren heath or bushy dell, open 
 "savannah or wild hidden glen, river, lake or sea : — this 
 "would be indeed zoo/([i^y, viz. the science of /iviiii^ 
 " creatures," 
 
 At the time when these words were written many of 
 the animals of Europe, and, in the persons of Wilson and 
 Philip Gosse himself, the birds of America, had found 
 biographers, but little indeed was kriown of the mass of 
 species distributed throughout the rest of the world, and 
 of the lower orders of life, in their living state, practically 
 nothing. It was Gosse's privilege to inaugurate this 
 species of observation, .ind to live to see the actual study 
 of living forms take its place as one of the most important 
 branches of scientific investigation. The public was 
 instantly attracted by the freshness of this new manner 
 of writing. The books Philip Gosse had been composing 
 for the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge had, 
 in accordance with a strange whimsey that long prevailed 
 with the council of that Society, been sent to none of the 
 reviews. Their sale, accordingly, though it had been con- 
 siderable, had not been aided or gauged by the publicity 
 of the journals. . / Niitiira/ist's Sojourn iti Jamaica, of 
 course, was sent to the newspapers by Messrs. Longmans, 
 and it received a welcome from the press which was some- 
 thing (juitc new in Philip Gosse's experience. One of the 
 
 i^ 
 
 
 m 
 
s 
 
 
 I'll i 
 
 vM^' ; 
 
 
 I * 
 
 II 
 
 'j !1 
 
 if' ' I 
 
 j; 
 
 fr 1 
 
 l" 
 
 
 
 1 : 
 
 ^ 
 
 If 
 
 I :] 
 
 230 
 
 /-//Z: L/FE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 best notices was written, as the author had reason to 
 beh'eve, by the distinc^uished ornithologist, Dr. Stanley, 
 Bishop of Norwich, who sang the praises of the book 
 wherever he went. 
 
 In all quarters the freshness of the new mode of obser- 
 vation met with instant appreciation, nor were zoologists 
 less forward than the ireneral reader in commending the 
 novelty of attitude. Charles Darwin and Richard Owen 
 were among those who expressed their approval of this 
 bright, fresh, and electrical mode of throwing the window 
 of the dissecting-closet wide open to the light and air of 
 heaven. The latter wrote (November 29, I'^^SO" "Mr. 
 Gosse is a very true observer and a very beautiful de- 
 scriber of what he sees. His book, all about tilings I am 
 so very fond of — birds and fishes, crocodiles and lizards, 
 butterflies and crabs, both in and out of shells, to say 
 nothing of sea and sunshine — has made me quite long for 
 a holiday in Jamaica." .About the same time Philip Gosse 
 formed the accjuaintance of the amiable and charming 
 James Scott Bowerbank, who was then already at work 
 upon his great monograph on the sponges. He occasion- 
 ally attended those delightful gatherings which the hos- 
 pitality of Bowerbank collected around him, and the two 
 naturalists corresponded closely for several years. Philip 
 Gosse was not perturbed by the fame thus suddenly thrust 
 upon him, and he resisted the knnd attempts which were 
 made to " lionize " him. He was pleased at his success, 
 and grateful to those who assured it to him ; but he re- 
 mained at home. Save that he was elected to the council 
 of the Microscopical Society, and served in Lhis capacity, 
 he scarcely made the smallest change i*'. the even tenor 
 of his existence. 
 
 In the summer his views regarding the Roiifcrn received 
 momentary modification, and his interest in these animal- 
 
 r'if'' 
 
LITERARY WORK LV LONDO.V. 
 
 231 
 
 
 cules was increased, by his mcetiiif^ with Dujardin's 
 in^^cnious work on the Systolidcs, as the French savant 
 called the rotifers. Gosse studied Dujardin with groat 
 care, and was at first inclined to lay much stress on his 
 criticisms of Ehrenbcrg, but this view ultimately gave way 
 to a confirmation of his faith in the solidity and value of 
 the observations of the Prussian naturalist. In this year, 
 i(S5i, Philip Gosse published in the "Annals of Natural 
 History" his Catalogue of Rot if era found in Britain, a list 
 which extended f;ir beyond any previous cataloofue of the 
 kind, but yet looks meagre enough now in comparison with 
 the results of later investigations. By the side of these 
 apparently conflicting labours he was engaged, throughout 
 the year iS5i,on another and very distinct work. Since 
 the occasion when he had watched the winged bull of 
 Nineveh being brought into the British Museum, his 
 imagination had constantly been occupied in trying to 
 rebuild that mysterious and sinister Eastern civilization, 
 the character of which it is scarcely too much to say had 
 then recently been discovered by the excavations of Botta 
 and Layard at Nimroud. The splendid folios published, 
 in Paris and London respectively, by these intre[)id arch;e- 
 ologists, had excited, in conjunction with the discoveries t)f 
 Rawlinson, interest throughout Europe. To allay his own 
 curiosity, and with no idea of competing with these 
 masters of the field, Philip Gosse prepared at odd moments 
 throughout 1S51 what proved at last a bulky volume on 
 Assyria ; Iter Manners and Custojns, Art,s and Arms, which 
 the S.P.C.K. published early in 1852. 
 
 With the close of 1S51 we reach another critical point in 
 the career of the subject of this memoir, and we may 
 review for a moment the results of these five years of 
 incessant labour. Since Philip Gosse had returned from 
 Jamaica in the autumn of 1846, he had completed thirteen 
 
 
 ■1 ■ . S 
 
nmmrnum 
 
 mt 
 
 il 
 
 f I 
 
 m 
 
 i" 
 
 232 
 
 T//E LIFE OF Pirn. IP HESRY GOSSE. 
 
 distinct works, a row of volumes cnoui^h in themselves to 
 form the whole bagi^age of many a literary traveller. Of 
 these, four had been compilations of an historical and 
 archaioloj^ical cast, undertaken solely on account of their 
 semi-religious subject. Six others were handbooks of 
 zoological information — " pot-boilers," as they might be 
 called in the slang to-day — but all of them conscientiously, 
 minutely, and eloquently written, and brought up in every 
 case to the momentary limit of the ever-advancing tide of 
 the scientific knowledge of the age. There remain the 
 three Jamaica volumes, and if these alone had been 
 published during these five years, it may be that their 
 author's fame would have been quite as flourishing as it 
 was. These were genuine contributions, not only to 
 zoological knowledgj;, but to the new methods of natural 
 history, the methods which their author now so openl)- 
 defended. Then, of a less public character, there were 
 those technical monographs read at the Proceedings of the 
 Royal, and printed by the Linna^an and Microscopical 
 Societies, in which the new naturalist showed himself just 
 as competent and as accurate in measuring, defining, and 
 copying cabinet specimens as had been any of the old 
 closet savants whose exclusiveness he deprecated. On 
 all sides, the author of so many and so incongruous 
 writing.s, he had widened the field of his experience, and 
 he was now rapidly advancing along the pathway to dis- 
 tinction. A sudden event changed the entire current of 
 his being. 
 
 The life he had led for these last five years had been 
 cloistered and uniform in the extreme. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed the monotony of his daily existence. As he became 
 better known, social opportunities had not been lacking ; 
 invitations had reached him which, had they been accepted, 
 might have led to others. But he accepted none of them. 
 
IT 
 
 ^i ^' 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN LONDON. 
 
 223 
 
 lie was shy, he was poor, he <jrudgcd the time which such 
 visits would consume ; but above all these considerations 
 there was the inherent dislike, constantly on the increase, 
 of being compelled to adopt the artificial manner of general 
 conversation. During these five years his social exercises 
 were strictly limited to occasional visits, mainly in the 
 daytime, to a few scientific friends, such as Edward Double- 
 day and Adam White, and to such a limited circle of 
 religious companions as straitly shared his own peculiar 
 convictions. He stayed at home at his study-table, writing, 
 drawing, or observing, every week-day, and on Sunday he 
 took no rest from his labours, for he usually preached one, 
 if not two, extempore sermons. The monotony of this 
 round of life was perhaps even more deleterious than it.; 
 severity. He gave himself no holidays of any description. 
 With the exception of a few days in the summer of 1M50, 
 spent at Leamington in attendance u[)on the death-bed and 
 the funeral of a relative of Mrs. Gos.se's, he was not out of 
 the neighbourhood of London, even for one day, from 
 August, 1846, until December, 1S51. His most adven- 
 turous excursions had extended no further than Kew 
 Gardens, Hampstead Heath, and the Lsle of Dogs. 
 
 Such a strain could not be kept up indefinitely ; the 
 wonder was that his constitution sustained it so long. In 
 November he began to be the victim to persistent head- 
 ache, and early in December, after starting to go to the 
 13ritish Museum one morning, he became violently ill, 
 and returned home in a state of great depression antl 
 alarm. His brain seemed to have suddenly collapsed, and 
 he supposed, himself to be paralyzed ; but the doctors pro- 
 nounced the symptoms to be those of acute nervous 
 dyspepsia. They attributed the illness mainly to his seden- 
 tary existence, and they insisted that he should leave town 
 at once, and be much in the open air. He himself wrote ; 
 
 :;'»' 
 
 -r 
 
f :■ 1'! 
 
 if 
 
 
 1 
 
 i' * 
 
 234 
 
 r//£ LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " Sitting by the parlour fire, doing nothing, is dreary work ; 
 and it is not much mended by traversing the gravel walks 
 of the garden in my great-coat. There is nothing par- 
 ticularly refreshing in the sight of frost-bitten creepers and 
 chrysanthemums. To walk about the streets in the 
 suburbs, or even in the City, is dreary too, when there is 
 no object in view, nothing to do, in fact, but spend the 
 time. But, after all, the dreariness is in myself: I am 
 thoroughly unwell, overworked, and everybody says there 
 must be rustication." On December 15 his wife and he 
 started for five days' ramble in the Isle of Wight, hoping 
 that this modest excursion would meet the requirements 
 of the case. But the symptoms of congestion of the brain 
 returned. It was impossible for the patient to read or 
 write, and to put his eye to the microscope was agony. 
 The last day of the year 1851 raw the whole family in bed, 
 each distressingly ill in his or her v, ay. Old Mrs. Gosse had 
 before this gone into separate lodgings of her own. It 
 was determined that the establishment at Hackney should 
 be broken up, and that the invalids should go southward 
 and seaward. On January 27, 1852, they started for 
 South Devon. 
 
 'ii' 
 
( 235 ) 
 
 CHArXER IX. 
 
 WORK AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 ■f. 
 
 ,1 
 
 lis 
 
 1S52-1S56. 
 
 AT the present time, when the principle of the marine 
 aquarium has ioccome a commonplace, it is difficult 
 to realize that forty years ago it had occurred to no one 
 that it might be possible to preserve marine animals and 
 plants in a living state under artificial conditions. In 
 1850, when Philip Gosse was first engage J in the study of 
 the Rotifcra, he had noticed that by allowing aquatic weeds, 
 such as vallisncria and iiiyriophylliivd, to grow in the glass 
 vases of fresh water in which he kept his captures, both 
 Infusoria and Rotifera would live in captivity, and even 
 breed and multiply. This observation was the first germ 
 of the invention of the marine aquarium, and towards the 
 close of 185 1 it occurred to him to apply this principle— 
 the supply of oxygen from living plants under the stimulus 
 of light — to the preservation of animals in sea-water. lie 
 reflected that if seaweeds, alga:, in the more delicate 
 varieties, could be induced to live in vases of sea-water, 
 they might assimilate carbon and give out oxygen in such 
 proportions as to keep the water pure and fit for the support 
 of animal life. This proved in due time to be the case. To 
 carry out the scheme was a matter of experiment, but the 
 idea was already ripe before the Gosscs — " wife, self and 
 little naturalist in petticoats "—proceeded to Devonshire. 
 
 lii 
 
 t! 
 
 f 
 
236 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE, 
 
 f r 
 
 
 1 1 . 
 
 ti 
 
 His choice of that particular county was made partly 
 because of its warmth in winter, partly because of its geo- 
 graphical position at the gates of the populous Atlantic, 
 but also for a reason which would have occurred only to 
 a practical naturalist. The researches of a littoral zoolo- 
 gist are carried on with most success at spring tides. In 
 many parts of the English coast the lowest water occurs 
 at about six o'clock in the morning or evening, a time 
 inconvenient in many ways, and particularly to an invalid. 
 In Devonshire, on tht; days of new and full moon, the 
 lowest tide is near the middle of the day. After great 
 hesitation as lo a point at which to begin, Torquay was 
 finally chosen, although the doctors considered it too re- 
 laxing for a nervous disorder. On January 29, 1S52, the 
 family arrived there, and immediately proceeded to the 
 village of St. Marychurch, about a mile and a half to 
 north, an ancient but not picturesque assemblage of white- 
 washed cottages and small shops, close to the sea-cliff, but 
 out of sight of the sea. This place had the advantage of 
 a considerable altitude above Torquay, which slumbered 
 among its groves of arbutus, by the side of its land-locked 
 azure bay, as in a warm th, and had alarmed its feeble 
 visitors by the relaxing quality of its atmosphere. St. 
 Marychurch lay open to the east, on a level with the tops 
 of the cliffs, and enjoyed, on clear days, a refreshing view 
 of the purple tors of Dartmoor away in the west. It was 
 little in Philip Gosse's mind, when he first stepped up 
 the reddish-white street of St. Marychurch, that in this 
 village he would eventually spend more than thirty years 
 of his life, and would clo.se it there. For the present his 
 stay was transitory. They took lodgings at Bank Cottage, 
 a little detached villa in the main street. 
 
 After the long imprisonment within the gloom of 
 London, Philip Gosse's eyes were acutely sensitive to the 
 
 m 
 
WOKK' A T THE SEASHORE. 
 
 237 
 
 
 pleasure of country sights. The coast of South Devon is 
 I^ccuh'arly brilliant in colour ; the weather happened to be 
 superb, and the unex[)ected beauty of every object on 
 which the sun lighted was almost intoxicating. His 
 journal is full of rapturous ejaculations of delight. On 
 the very first afternoon he went down through the em- 
 bowered hamlet of ]5abbicombe " to see what promise the 
 beach might afford." That beach is now familiarized and 
 vulgarized ; carriage-roads wind down to it, where break- 
 neck paths used to descend ; it is all given up, with but 
 small trace of its ancient wildness, to the comffirt of 
 nursemaids and trippers. l?ut in those days no bathing- 
 machines had invaded its savage coves and creeks. De- 
 scending at Babbicombe, and climbing along the beautiful 
 arc of alternate rock and shingle to the further extremity 
 of the beach at Oddicombe, he discovered on that first 
 afternoon a feature of extraordinary charm, a natural 
 basin in the face of the rock, a veritable little bath where 
 one might conceive the Nereids indolently collecting to 
 gossip at high noon as they plashed the water with their 
 feet :— 
 
 " Climbing and crawling around the face of the rough 
 "cliff," he writes, "I found a delightful little reservoir, 
 " nearly circular, a basin about three feet wide and 
 " the same deep, full of pure sea-water, quite still, 
 " and as clear as crystal. From the rocky margin and 
 "sides, the puckered fronds of the sweet oar-weed 
 " {Laviinaria saccJiarma) sprang out, and gently droop- 
 " ing, like ferns upon a wall, nearly met in the centre ; 
 "while other more delicate seaweeds grew beneath their 
 " shadow. Several sea-anemones of a kind very different 
 " from the common species, more flat and blossom-like, 
 "with slenderer tentacles set round like a fringe, were 
 " scattered about the sides." 
 
 ■' ) 
 
 ! V 
 
 f 
 
\i 
 
 i 
 
 238 
 
 7V/£ LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 This tidal basin became one of the most constant of hi.s 
 haunts, and he nourished a jealous and almost whimsical 
 affection for it, sufferint^ from a constant fear that its 
 crystal beauty mit;ht be profaned. Every day the high 
 tide renewed its freshness, and then, retreating, left the 
 basin to settle into glassy calm. " Procul, o procul cstc ! " 
 my father used to murmur, affecting the airs of a lapwing 
 v/hen idle men or lads approachetl the scenes of his 
 devotion. Strangely enough, this exquisite little freak of 
 nature survived, untouched, for nearly twenty years after 
 its discovery. At last, one day when my father climbed 
 up to look into it, behold ! some thrice- wretched vandal 
 had chiselled a channel on the seaward side, not very 
 deep indeed, but enough to destroy its unique regularity 
 of form.. He never went to it again. 
 
 Early in February he began to feel a marked improve- 
 ment in health. He bought a hammer and chisel, and 
 spen.t many hours every day in chipping off fragments of 
 rock bearing fine seaweeds and delicate animal forms. 
 These he preserved in vases and open pans, and thus 
 began to carry out his dream of a marine vivarium. He 
 found the under surfaces of the pebbles on Babbicombe 
 beach singularly rich in those fantastic and gem-like 
 creatures, the nudibranch moUusca, of which he set about 
 forming a considerable collection, in correspondence with 
 Alder and Hancock, the historians of those graceful sea- 
 slugs. With the very first dawn of convalescence, he 
 returned to his literary work. He started in March a fifch 
 volume of the scries of handbooks for the S.P.C.K., t' 's 
 time on the Molliisca ; and before this he began to p' 
 daily observations into the shape which finally ash ^d 
 the dimensions oi A Natiiralisfs Rambles on the Devonsnu e 
 Coast. 
 
 It was singular that on wholly untrodden ground, and 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 IVORK AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 239 
 
 
 without previous experience, he immcch'atcly fell into 
 the ways of a collector of marine objects, discovering 
 almost by intuition wiiat species were and what were not 
 suited for artificial preservation, and how the sensitive 
 varieties of plants and fixed animals were to be transported 
 without injury. Nevertheless he was not entirely satisfied 
 with St. Marychurch as a centre ; it suited him zoologi- 
 cally, but not medically. His headaches returned, and the 
 soft luscious air seemed to leave him constantly weaker. 
 In March he tried Brixham, on the south side of the bay ; 
 but this was warmer still, and not so favourable for collect- 
 ing. At the end of April he determined to try the northern 
 coast of the county. The prevalence of a heavy surf upon 
 the shore below St. Trlarychurch, in consequence of an 
 undeviating wind from the east, had prevented him from 
 being as successful as he had hoped to be. Still he had 
 gained great experience, and had added many new species 
 to the English fauna. Among the sea-anemones, in par- 
 ticular, which had hitherto been greatly neglected, he had 
 already secured several novelties. Two beautiful species, 
 now widely known to zoologists, rosea and nivca, Philip 
 Gosse had the good fortune to discover on the same day, 
 April 20, the one on the south, the other on the north side 
 of the limestone headland called Petit Tor. These were 
 his latest trophies there, for in the course of the following 
 week the family transferred themselves to Ilfracombe, on 
 the Bristol Channel, then already a summer resort of some 
 local repute. 
 
 The change was instantly beneficial. The air of North 
 Devon proved much more exhilarating, and the rock-pools 
 even richer than those of the Oddicombe district. He 
 found the angular basins in the slaty coast densely fringed 
 with seaweeds, under whose lucent curtains lurked an 
 immense and luxuriant variety of zoophytes of every 
 
 ' :l 
 
 f I 
 
 r ; I 
 
 V 
 
 I'i 
 
 i 
 
ai^ 
 
 li! 
 
 i 
 
 m\ 
 
 i-'i 
 
 • i 
 
 m 
 
 h i 
 
 I' 
 
 ;! 
 
 
 240 
 
 77/y? L/FE OF riTILir IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 ilcacription. In the Dcvonshirr Coast he has given an 
 eloquent account of his successive discoveries, and of the 
 ardour with which he threw himself into the work of 
 exploration. The beautiful Devonshire cup-coral {Caiyo- 
 pJiyllia Sniithii) hail loni:; been known as a skelctoii in the 
 drawers of museums ; he was fortunate enough to find it 
 in profusion, throwing upwards its globose white tentacles, 
 and covering with its fawn-coloured fle.sh the granular plates 
 of its coral structure. In September he made a discovery 
 of cxtraordniary interest, an*^' ai a manner so characteristic 
 that I give hi.^- own account of the incident : — 
 
 " It was a spring tide, and the water had receded 
 " lower than I had seen it since I had been at the place. 
 " I was searching among the extremely rugged rocks 
 " that run out from the tunnels, forming walls and 
 '* pinnacles of dangerous abruptness, with deep, almost 
 "inaccessible cavities between. Into one of these, at 
 "the very verge of the water, I managed to scramble 
 "down; and found, round a corner, a sort of oblong 
 "basin, about ten feet long, in which the water remained, 
 "a tide-pool of three feet depth in the middle. The 
 "whole concavity of the interior was so smooth that I 
 "could find no resting-place for my foot in order to 
 "examine it; though the sides, all covered with the 
 " pink lichen-like coralline, and bristling with laminariic 
 " and zoophytes, looked so tempting that I walked round 
 "and rouml, reluctant to leave it. At last I fairly 
 "stripped, though it was blowing v.ry cold, and jumped 
 "in. I had examined a good many things, of which the 
 " onl}' novelty was the pretty narrow fronds of Fliistra 
 " c/iartacca in some abundance, and was just about to 
 " come out, when mj' eye rested on what I at once saw 
 "to be a madrepore, but of an unusual colour, a most 
 " refulgent orange." 
 
«wi-»T*^www 
 
 i 
 
 WORK' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 241 
 
 It proved to !)c InilanophyUia, a fossil coral, the exist- 
 ence of which, with ?a\ actinia-like body of richly coloured 
 livin<; flv\sh, had never been suspected. 
 
 This episode may be taken as an example, not merely 
 of the discoveries in science which Philip Gossc was now 
 cuiistantly makinj^, but of his manner of life. He was 
 accustomed every day at low tide, if the hour was at all 
 convenient, to go down to the shore, and for several hours 
 before and after the lowest moment to examine the weedy 
 rocks, the loose flat stones under which molluscs and crus- 
 taceans lurked, the shallow tidal pools, and the dripping 
 walls of the small fissures and caverns. It was extra- 
 ordinary how wide a range of anini.al life was included 
 within the tidal limits. After some hours of severe labour, 
 he would tram[) home with his treasures, arrange them in 
 dishes and vases with fresh sca-\vatcr, and then proceed 
 to a scientific examination of what n-as uni(iue or novel. 
 The notes taken in this wa)-, with the lens in one hand 
 and the pen in the other, were transferred bodily to the 
 pages of A Natiiyalisfs Raniblc on the Devo)isliire Ciast, 
 which was rapidly taking form. lie was particularly 
 ardent in his study of the sea-anemones, a group which 
 he was presently to take under his special patronage. lie 
 had no thought as yet of the generic distinctions which 
 he was to introduce later, and throughout 1H52, and for 
 some years to come, what were afterwards distinguished 
 as Siigaytia, Bnnodcs, and the rest, were classed in (-ne 
 vague genus, Actinia. The examination of the sea-anemone 
 was pushed, this summer, to the length of a gastronomical 
 test. A few specimens of the gross strawberry sj)ccics, 
 crassicornis, were boiled and catni. II is account of this 
 courageous experiment runs as follows : — 
 
 " I must confess that the first bit I essayed caused a 
 
 "sort of lumpy feeling in m)* throat, as if a sentinel tlicre 
 
 R 
 
 : I 
 
 I I 
 
ii 
 
 I'i 
 
 If > 
 
 
 '■■ 
 
 I ^ 
 
 
 :| 
 
 i ,; 
 
 t 1 
 1 1 
 
 •'i'' 
 
 ■. 1 ■; 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 242 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " guarded the way, and said, ' It slian't come here.' This 
 "sensation, however, I felt to be unworthy of a philo- 
 ' " sopher, for there was nothing really repugnant in the 
 "taste. As soon as I had got one that seemed well 
 " cooked, I invited Mrs. Gosse to share the feast ; she 
 " courageously attacked the morsel, but I am compelled 
 " to confess that it could not pass the vestibule ; the 
 "sentinel was too many for her. My little boy, however, 
 " voted that "tinny \actinia] was good,' and that he 'liked 
 '"'tinny;' and loudly demanded more, like another Oliver 
 " Twist. As for me, I proved the truth of the adage, 
 " ' II n'y a que le premier pas qui coute ; ' for my sentinel 
 " was cowed after the first defeat. I left little •'a the -lisli. 
 "In truth, the flavour and taste are agreeable, somewhat 
 " like those of the soft parts of crab (May 21, 1852)." 
 In July Ph'lip Gosse made an interesting excursion of 
 a wt'^k's duration to Lundy Island. The description he 
 presently wrote of this curious and remote fragment of 
 the Ik'tish empire ajipeared in sciial form in the peri- 
 odical called T/ic Home Friend, and was long afterwards 
 reprinted in Sea and Land (1865). For the Societ\- for 
 Promoting Christian Knowledge he wrote this time, in 
 conjunction with his wife, a little anonjMnous volume 
 called Seaside P/easiires, consisting, in reality, of four 
 essays on Ilfracombe, Capstone Hill, J^arricane, and the 
 Valley of Rocks, describing in a graceful manner the 
 antiquities and scientific attractions of the iieighbourhood. 
 Of these essa)-s the fourth was wholly written b)- l^nily 
 Gosse. Meanwhile, with her constant help, he was pre- 
 paring the Dcvonshiiy Const, and, in spite (jf all the exer- 
 cise in the open air, the ozone from the seaweeds, and 
 the exquisite freshness of the oceanic winds, both husband 
 and wife were overtaxing their nervous strength. In 
 August both of them were ill with iieadache, and able to 
 
 
 I 
 
;i I 
 
 IVOR A' AT 7 HE SEASHORE. 
 
 243 
 
 J 
 
 \ 
 
 
 t 
 
 0.0 little or nothing. He was soon well again, writing mono- 
 graphs for the Microscopical Society, corresponding about 
 his captures with Johnston, AKIer, Bowerbank, and Iv.lward 
 Forbes, drawing from specimens under the microscope, 
 and recording his discoveries in exact form. At last, in 
 November, the weather grew too cold for collecting on 
 the shore in comfort, and the health of neither husband 
 nor wife was what it should be. l"he\- determined to go 
 back to London for the winter, and, after an absence of 
 nearly ten months in Devonshire, they took lodgings at 
 16, Hampton Terrace, Camden ToAvn. 
 
 One reason for coming back to London was the desire 
 to carrv on a stage further the invention of marine vixaria, 
 which iiad been occupying the mind of Philip Gosse all 
 through the }ear. On May 3, after some slighter experi- 
 ments, he had i)ut about three pints of sea-water, with 
 some marine plants and animals, into a ctjnfectioner's 
 show-glass, which was aboiit ten inches deep b)- five and 
 a half inches wide. This was the first serious attemi)t 
 made to create a marine aquarium. Withviut changing 
 tliJ water otherwise than by adding a little to su[)pl}' loss 
 from evaporation, this vase was kept fresh, and its contents 
 health)', for more than two months ; when the experiment 
 came to a close, in conse([uence of lack of experience. 
 The [);inciple, however, upon which the preservation of 
 marine animals in captixity could be maintained was now 
 discovered, and it was merel}- a question how to bring it 
 to perfection in practice. Curious!)- enou^^h, another 
 naturalist, Mr. Robert W'.uinglon, of Apothecaries' Il.dl, 
 liatl, quite inde[)emlenll)-, been occui)ied with a similar 
 series of experiments. \n October, 1S32, my father heartl 
 of this, and inunediately corresponded with I\Ir. Warington. 
 This gentleman, it then a{)pearei.l, had carried the viv.uium 
 to a greater pitch of el.iboration, but had as yet onl)- 
 
 
 •ii " 
 
 / ' 
 
 [ 
 
244 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 applied himself to the preservation of fresh-water animals 
 by means of the exhalation of oxygen by living water- 
 plants. I'hilip Gossc at once supplied him with particulars 
 of his own experiments with marine forms, and when he 
 returned to London in November, he brought Mr. War- 
 ington a small collection of living seaweeds and animals 
 which were successfully ensconced in one of that gentle- 
 man's vivaria. There v/as no sort of rivalry between thes i 
 earnest and amiable investigators, but a little later on, 
 when the aquarium had become a fashionable thing, Philip 
 Gosse was accustomed to say that if it was needful to 
 dispute about an invention which was virtuall)- simul- 
 taneous, it might be said that W'arington had invented 
 the vivarium and he the marine aquarium. 
 
 Little time was lost in making a practical use of the 
 experience of the summer. Early in December, with the 
 active co-operation of the secretary, Mr. D. W. Mitchell, 
 a large glass tank was set up in the Zoological Gardens, 
 in Regent's Park, and stocked by Philip Gosse with about 
 two hundred specimens of marine animals and plants 
 brought up from Ilfracombe two months before, and still 
 in a perfectly healthy condition. The Zoological Society 
 soon found that this tank, in the new 1^'ish House then 
 just erected, was exceedingly popular, and they determined 
 to make the newly invented aquarium a feature of the 
 Gardens. They projected a series of seven tanks, and in 
 order to fill them they made a proposition that Gossc 
 should go down again to th.e seaside for the sole purpose 
 of collecting specimens. This suited him very well. He 
 found that it was absolutely needful for his health that 
 he should not work much indoors, but be out in the fresh 
 air for a great part ot each da)-, aiul he agreed that so 
 soon as the spring began he should go down to "he coaT^t 
 of Dorsetshire. 
 
 "i?::! 
 
IVOR A' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 245 
 
 By the last da\-.s of 1852 A N'atitralisfs Raviblc 011 the 
 Dnwnshirs Coast was finished. lie was determined that, 
 now that the pubh'c liad begun to denand his literary 
 work, he would get the profit of it himself. He there- 
 fore arranged to be his own publisher, and the book- 
 was accordingly set up for him by a firm of printers 
 in Bath. It was eventually sold, on :ommission, by Mr. 
 Van Voorst, whose name appeared on the titlepagc. The 
 volume was expensive to produce, for it contained a large 
 number of coloured plates ; the subject, the marine zoology 
 of an English county, treated in a desultory style, with a 
 mixture of antiquities, gossip, sentiment, and poetry, was 
 one entirely novel, the success of which might well be 
 dubious. My father, however, was willing to try the ex- 
 periment, and he was amply justified. In these da)-s, 
 when the business details of literature attract so much 
 popular curiosity, it may perhaps be of some interest \.o 
 mention that the net profits of The Dcvtuis/iin' Coast ex- 
 ceeded <^75o, no poor sum in those days for one small 
 volume to bring to the pocket of its author. The book 
 was published in May, 1S53. 
 
 In February of that year Phili[) Gosse was asked to 
 lecture. lie had never attempted such a thing, but he 
 said he would willingly make a few remarks about sponges, 
 the siliceous skeletons of whicli he was studying at that 
 moment in correspondence with Bowerbank. He accom- 
 panied the lecture with some large drawings in chalk on 
 the blackboard, and the success of the experiment, which 
 was novel at that time, was such, that he adopted lecturing 
 as a branch of his professional labours, and became a very 
 pop"lar lecturer during the next four or five years. On 
 April 8 the family once more left London, and settled in 
 lodgings at Weymouth, in Dorsetshire. Here they con- 
 tinued to reside until December of the same year, when, 
 
 i :i 
 
 II 
 
 «« 
 
w 
 
 246 
 
 77/E LIFE OF mi LIP IIEXRV GCSSE. 
 
 1!^ 
 
 as before, bad weather and exhaustion drove them back 
 to London. These were eight months of intense and con- 
 centrated activity out of doors, during which comparatively- 
 little purely literary work was done. The mode in which 
 these months were spent is fully described in that chatty 
 and delightful record, The Acjiiariiim. It was much less 
 desultory and amateurish than the way in which the pre- 
 vious year, in Devonshire, had been occupied. I'hilip 
 Gosse now clearly understood what objects he wished to 
 secure, and the way to secure them. Almost every evening 
 he sent off to the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Parle a 
 package of living creatures, the " bag " of the da}-, and 
 sometimes this would mean seventy or eighty specimens. 
 His first care was to secure seaweeds, carefully selecting 
 those which were in full health, and, by preference, the 
 finer ami cleaner varieties, firmly affixed to rocks. He 
 became an adept in chipping o," just as much of the rocky 
 support as the roots recjuired, and no more. To these he 
 would add such specimens of the littoral fauna, annelids, 
 sea-anemones, shells, nudibranchs, and crustaceans, as he 
 found, by experience, had the best chance of surviving 
 the journey, and these he packcJ, as a rule, not in water, 
 but swathed in wrappings of wet seaweed. 
 
 Mis principal exercise, however, at Weymouth, was 
 dredging in the bay. He declared that Ovid knew more 
 about the arts of dredging than any later naturalist, and 
 used to point, by way of [)roof, to a passage in the 
 lia/iiiitiioii, which he took the liberty of paraphrasing 
 thus : — 
 
 " When you the dredge would use, go not away 
 Far out lo sea. Mind that your haul be made 
 According to your liottoni. Where the ground 
 Is foul and ledgy, he content to fish 
 With hook and line, liut wIku upon the sea 
 
! 
 
 WORIC AT THE SEASHORE. 247 
 
 The mornin.iT sun casts shadows deep and long 
 From lofty W'hitenose, — over with your dredge ; 
 When 'nealh your keel the verd:uit sea-grass waves, 
 The keer-drag try for nudibranchs and wrasse." 
 
 The man with whom lie Jinbituaily sailed was a fisher- 
 man of the name of Jonas Fowler, who was glad to be 
 hired day after day, and who took a pride in association 
 with the naturalist. " Me and Mr. Gosse " were a pair 
 of knowing ones, in the eyes of Jonas, whose portrait has 
 been painted thus by his companicMi : — 
 
 •■ There is nobody else in \Ve)'mouth Harbour that 
 "knows anything about dredging (I have it from his 
 " own lips, so you may rel\' on it) ; but /w is familiar 
 "with the feel of almost e\ery yard of bottom from 
 "W'hitenose to Church Hope, and from Saint Aldhelm's 
 "Head to the l^ill. lie follows dredging with all the 
 "zest of a savaii/ ; and it reall}' does cue's heart good 
 "to hear how he pours }-ou out the crack-jaw, the 
 "sesquipedalian nomenclature. 'Now, sir, if you do 
 "'want a i^astivc/urna, I can just put down your dredge 
 '"upon a lot o' 'em ; we'l! bring i p three or four on a 
 "'stone.' ' I'm in ho[)es we shall have a good cribella or 
 "'two off this bank, if we don't get choked up with them 
 " ' 'ere ophiocovias' He tells me in confidence that he has 
 "been sore puzzled to find a name for his boat, but 
 "he has at length determined to appellate lier 'The 
 " Tiirritclla', — 'just to astonish the fishermen, )'ou know, 
 "'sir,' — with an accompanying wink and chuckle, and a 
 "patronizing nudge in iii)- ribs." 
 
 Every haul of the dredge was an excitement and a 
 delight. Its results were widcl\' different, according to 
 the nature of the bottom. Rcnigh stones, sand, shells, 
 even broken bottles, would form the base of the matter 
 dragged up — no fragment of all this to be lightly thrown 
 
 f 
 
 %. 
 
 \ ? 
 
 I . .l'!! 
 
 
 %f 
 
248 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY Co 3E. 
 
 
 away witliout examination, since it might contain star- 
 fishes, urchins, the tubes of serpiilic, dchcate nudibranchs 
 and ascidians, and many other attractive captives for the 
 aquarium. The univalve shells might be inhabited by 
 soldier-crabs, with their charming guardian, the crimson 
 Adainsia, or cloak-anemone. Skipping among the stones 
 might be tiny fishes and pretty painted shrimps and 
 prawns of various genera ; the long arms of spider-crabs 
 might wave mysteriously above the mass ; sometimes the 
 most gorgeous of the denizens of the British seas, the 
 sea-mouse, with its refulgent silk, would glimmer, like a 
 fragment of a fallen rainbow, through the mud. The keer- 
 drag on the sand would bring ground-fishes, weavers, soles, 
 and rays, rare sea-anemones, and the hump-backed yEsop 
 prawns, with their lovely clouded tones of green and 
 scarlet. The great advantage of dredging, for Philip 
 Gosse's purpose, was, not merely that it supplied him with 
 forms not attainable along the shore, but that it produced 
 the maximum of results, in the way of number of speci- 
 mens, with the minimum of labour. 
 
 His keen enjoyment of this healthy and invigorating 
 existence was suddenly interfered with in the month of 
 July by a deplorable misunderstanding with the Zoological 
 Society. He had succeeded in obtaining specimens in 
 much greater numbers than were necessary for Regent's 
 Park, and he was now sending them also to the Crystal 
 Palace and to other proprietors of aquaria in the neigh- 
 bourhood of London. In doing this he broke no pledge, 
 written or spoken. On the contrary, he was acting strictly 
 in accordance with the principles which he had always 
 maintained. When, in the Annals of A'atiiral History for 
 October, 1852, he had first mooted the question of marine 
 vivaria, he had suggested that " such collections should be 
 formed in London and other inland cities," and this desire 
 
VVORA' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 249 
 
 was repeated, with enlart^cd details, in the Devonshire 
 Coast. When ho submitted his phm to the Zooloijical 
 Society, in November of the same year, and offered to 
 supply living specimens at a fixed rate, not the least 
 stipulation that he should limit his supplies to that 
 society was made or hinted at. Indeed, so far was any 
 such thing from his intention, that he mentioned his plan 
 for bringing out a parlour aquarium for sale. He was not 
 the salaried servant of the Zoological Society, and its 
 council had no more right to forbid him to sell specimens 
 elsewhere than to prohibit the tradesman who glazed their 
 tanks from selling glass to any one else. Ikit the fact 
 indubitably was that the notion of the marine aquarium 
 having suddenly seized the public, the tank in the l'"ish 
 House had proved to be an exceedingly paying attraction. 
 It was, perhaps, not in human nature that the secretary 
 should with equanimity see the same advantages offered 
 to rival and imitative establishments. No doubt it would 
 have been possible to make an arrangement by which 
 Philip Gosse's services would have been exclusively 
 retained for the Zoological Society. But in default of 
 such an arrangement, to turn suddenly from blessing to 
 cursing, and angrily to denounce his want of consideravion 
 for the society, was scarcely wise and certainly unjust. 
 
 When, in 1852, the state of his health seemed to renc.er 
 precarious the continuance of that kind of work by which 
 Philip Gosse had hitherto maintained himself, he looked 
 with hope to the scheme of the marine aquarium, as to 
 a possible means by which he might obtain a livelihood 
 without much mental labour indoors, and when his pro- 
 posals were entertained by the Zoological Society, he 
 congratulated himself. But he never considered this en- 
 gagement as more than temporary, and he principally 
 looked forward to parlour aquaria, supplied by him with 
 
 
 
 t! 
 
250 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 \ i 
 
 
 ■■4W a.-f J 
 
 } :;r 
 
 animals in tlic hf)i)c that these inii^ht be extensively 
 patronized by wealthy amateurs. Hence it became an 
 object with him to be widely recognized as the man who 
 had been the first to give attention to the subject, and 
 who possessed unique experience in it. On his side, 
 from a business point of view, he was disa[)pointed that 
 the Zoological Society had not permitted some slight 
 allusion to his name to appear in connection with the 
 numerous descriptions of the new vivaria which were com- 
 municated to the public prints. Relations had certainly 
 become strained on both sides, and it is impossible, with 
 the correspondence before me, to exculpate the Zoological 
 Society from some lack of justice, as well as generosity, 
 in the matter. By the intervention of Professor Thomas 
 15ell, however, civilities were resumed, but Philip Gossc 
 ceased to supply the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park 
 with specimens ; nor was the dispute brought to a close 
 until fourteen months later. 
 
 Partly owing to the worry involved in this dispute, he 
 began in August to suffer again from violent pains in the 
 head. lie went on, however, very assiduously collecting 
 animals, the public having thoroughly awakened to the 
 interest which attached to the vivaria. In i)articular, the 
 Surrey Zoological Gardens, at the Crystal Palace, were 
 abundantly stocked by Philip Gosse. In September he 
 writes from Weymouth : " We have not at present any 
 thoughts of leaving this place. Perhaps we may remain 
 here all the winter." He was busily occupied in construct- 
 ing a small tank for himself, and this was set up, filled with 
 living creatures, and started as an article of drawing-room 
 furniture, in the Weymouth lodgings on September 5, 1853. 
 This, the first private marine aquarium ever made, still 
 exists in my possession. 
 
 The Devonshire Coast had been published, as wc have 
 
 •,i^ 
 
I r :' 
 
 f 
 
 WORK A T THE SEASHORE. 
 
 2U 
 
 seen, in May, and had enjoyed a brilliant success. Letters 
 of compliment, questions, and suf];[^estions poured in upon 
 the author, and amon^; the Hood of correspondence there 
 floated to his door one missive from a str.inL;er who was 
 dcstinetl to become a beloved and intimate friend. In 
 July, 1S53, Philip Gosse received his first letter from the 
 Rev. Charles Kingslc\-, a younc; poet and novelist already 
 distinguished, and full of enerj^y aiul intelligent curiosity-. 
 In his first letter, Kingslcy urged my father to try Chn-elly 
 as a hunting-ground, and suggested that tlic}' should 
 meet in Devonshire. To this Philip Gosse did not re- 
 spond in his habitually cautious tone, but warmed u[) into 
 an infectious enthusiasm. "How i)leasant it would be," 
 he wrote, "to have such a companion as }'ourself in 
 the investigation of those prolific shores!" He adds: 
 " I have sent up to London this summer nearly four 
 thousand living animals ami plant.s. Of course many 
 rarities and some novelties have occurred in such an 
 amount of dredging and trawling as this involved. Be 
 assured, my dear sir, I shall esteem it a favour and a 
 privilege to continue the correspondence you have com- 
 menced." Charles Kingsley became, almost immediately, 
 one of the most ardent, and certainly the m<jst active, of 
 his allies. 
 
 In September Philip Gosse began to write the volume 
 now known as The .Iqiiariinn, but entitled, until it was 
 actually in the press, 'J/ic Miinic Sea. This was a record 
 of his deep-sea adventures off Weymouth, and a full de- 
 scription of the theory and practice of the marine aquarium. 
 The confirmed ill-health, or rather feeble health, of Mrs. 
 Gosse, and a return of his own brain-trouble, combined 
 with the cold and gusty weather of December to disgust 
 them with Weymouth, and just about the time when it 
 had been proposed that they should join Kingslc)- in 
 
 
 >[ 
 
 ''!• 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 Is 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 ■Kn 
 
 'i 
 
 ■ill 
 !i! 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 1 i 
 
 1 
 
 M 
 
 
 35a 
 
 r//£ LIFE OF nil I. IP IIKXRY GOSSE. 
 
 North Devon, the latter proceeded to Tcjrquay, and the 
 Gosses came up to London. Tlicy took a small house in 
 Huntingdon Street, Islington, and this became their home 
 for some years. 
 
 There is not very much to record regarding the year 
 i(S54. Gosse worked much at the Rotifcra, and he estab- 
 lisiied several marine tanks, which he suijplied with animals 
 and plants from Torquay and Weymouth. ICdward h\)rbes, 
 C. Spencc Bate, and Charles Kingslcy were his most 
 constant correspondents, and the latter threw himself with 
 his customary splendid energy into the po[)ularization of 
 the marine aquarium. In December, 1S53, Kingsley had 
 written from Livermead, on Tor Bay, to know whether he 
 could be useful in sending "beasts" up to town. Gosse 
 replied with eager gratitude, and supi)lied him imme- 
 diately with a hamper of suitable wicker-covered jars. 
 These Kingsley promptly returned very successfully packed 
 with desirable specimens, and a brisk correspondence of 
 this na'".ure went on all through the first six months of 
 1854. On j\Iay 30 Gosse writes to Kingsley: "My most 
 charmirg tank is now thirteen weeks old, and contains 
 nearly a hundred species of animals, and perhaps twice 
 that nuMibcr of individuals, all in the highest health and 
 beauty. They include four fishes, viz. Lahnis Donovaiii, 
 Gobius miuutiis, Gobiiis iiuipinictaiits, and Syiigiiat/iits 
 angninois ; besides many of the treasures you have kindly 
 sent me, — our old friend the ' say-lachc ' among them, — 
 and the seaweeds which are the subject of my paper in 
 the Annals of Natural Hist^ory for the coming month." 
 
 In June the Gosses went down somewhat suddenly to 
 Tenby, in Pembrokeshire. The Aqnariuvi had just been 
 published, and was selling like wild-fire. This book, I 
 may mention, was the most successful of all my father's 
 literary adventures ; although the coloured plates with 
 
 
r 11 
 
 IWS^A- AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 253 
 
 which it was lavishly adorned were so costly that no 
 publisher would have faced the risk of their production, 
 the profit on the sale of the volume amounted, in pro- 
 cess of time, to more than /"(joo. I'rom Tenby Gosse 
 wrote as follows to Charles Kin<;sley (June 29, 1854) : — 
 "A most lovely place this is : I know not whether to 
 "admire most the inland scenery, the noble cliffs and 
 " headlands and caverns of the coast line, or the pro- 
 " fusion of marine animals which I meet with. It is by 
 "far the most prolific place for the naturalist that I have 
 "explored, and I expect to get soine treasures here. 
 "The ^XQ.\Xy Actinia uivca that I described from a speci- 
 "men found at Petit Tor is here the characteristic 
 "species, occurring by hundreds; and there is a most 
 "charming variety (if it be not indeed si)ecifically dis- 
 "tinct) which has the whole disc of a miniate or orange 
 "hue, ver}- brilliant, and the tentacles pure white." 
 The Aquarium was made the ])cg upon which, in No- 
 vember, 1854, Kingsley hung an article in the North 
 British Rcvieiu, afterwards (May, 1855) enlarged and pub- 
 lished as the charming little volume called Ghiucus ; or, the 
 WflJiders of the Shore, through the [)ages of which the 
 lilies of my father's praise are sprinkled from full hands. 
 
 l^owerbank had in 1852 assured Philip Gosse that he 
 would find Tenby "the prince of places for a naturah'st," 
 and Pembrokeshire, though now first visited, had never 
 been absent from his mind. The vcrv first evening, after 
 securing lodgings, the family strolled out at low tide to 
 the island of St. Catherine, and the naturalist saw enough 
 to assure him that "its honeycombed rocks and dark 
 weedy basins are full of promise for to-morrow." A few 
 days afterwards, he wrote to Bowcrbank that " the zoologi- 
 cal riches of these perforated caverns amply bear out your 
 laudatory testimony ; indeed, I have not met with any 
 
 r 
 
 V' 
 
 i 
 
 .' ■ I 
 
 ' ;' 
 
 1. 
 
^ ! 
 
 ■ > 
 
 '<!' 
 
 
 I! 
 
 PS 
 
 H' J ! 
 
 '5M 
 
 i i ■! 
 
 a 
 
 =54 
 
 77/i^ Z//-^ C/^ nilLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 })art of our coast which can compare with thcin in affonl- 
 \w<^ a treat to the inarinc naturalist." In liis volume called 
 Tcitby he has given an acc(uint, as minute as it is <;raphic, 
 of the experiences of these summer weeks, and of the 
 results to his aquarium collections. His very delic^htful 
 antl ahnost uniformly brilliant and successful visit to 
 Pembrokeshire came to a close on Auf;[ust iS. These 
 ci.t;ht weeks were among the most enjo}'able of his life. 
 His bodily condition was unusually good, and Mrs. Gosse 
 was in better health than she had been for twc joars past ; 
 while he was actively and constantly making additions of 
 a more or less important character to the existing know- 
 Ic Igc of seaside zoology. His important discoveries, lead- 
 ing to a redistribution of genera, and the naming of many 
 new species, of British sea-anemones, belong to this summer 
 of 1«S54, although they were not then published. 
 
 In the course of the sumi.ier, as he was exploring the 
 caverns of St. Catherine's Island, he was accosted by a 
 gentleman who introduced himself as the Bishop of Oxford, 
 anil who entered with great c^usto into the pleasures of the 
 seashore. The .acquaintance thus oddl\- formed ri[)ened 
 into a daily companionship as Inng as the}' were both at 
 Tenb)', and after the}- i)arted. Dr. W'ilberforce and my 
 father kept up a desultorj' correspijndencc for a while. 
 -Another and more permanent friendship formed at Tenb)- 
 was ih.it with Air. iMederick Dxster, the zooloijist ; from 
 whom he bought, for /.'jO, the microscope which he con- 
 tmucd, regardless of modern im[)rovemen;s, to use until 
 iie.ir the end of his life. I lis acipiaintance with Professor 
 Iluxle)', then a \-oung surgeon whose investigations into 
 the oceanic Ilydrozoa, on board \\Ps\S. Rattlcsitakr, hat! 
 recently given him scientific prominence, and whose 
 contributions to his own collection Gossc records in Tcnb}\ 
 began in this year ; but his princiiial scientific or literary 
 
 .ML 
 
WORK' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 ^%1> 
 
 correspondent continued to be Charles Kinji^sley, who in 
 June had taken a house at Northdown, near Bideford, and 
 was writing Wcstxi'ard llo! On Gosse's return from 
 Tenby he had found lulward Forbes in London, shrunken 
 to a pliantom of his former self, but still cheerful and brave. 
 lie was to die in November, and thus to terminate jjrema- 
 turely one of the most brilliant careers of the time. To 
 Edward Forbes my father was strongly attached by 
 fricndshi[) as \\z\\ as admiration, and his was in later )'ears 
 one of the names which he was w i l most affectionately 
 to recall. 
 
 The autumn and winter of 1854 were almost exclusively 
 occupied with tin.' stuily of the Rotifcra untler the 
 microscope, culminating in a treatise of great though 
 strictly technical imirjrtance, On the StnictitiC, Fiiiictioiis, 
 and llojnologics of the Minidncatory Organs in the Class 
 Rotifcra^ published eventual' \' in the Philosophical 
 Transactions of the Royal Society for 1.^36. This work 
 is illustrated with a great many drawings of the mastax 
 and trophi of various species, and "discusses uie changes 
 that the)' undergo, in passing from the t\-pica! to the most 
 aberrant forms. It is in this treatise that Air. Gossc 
 contends that the ilental organs of the rotifera are true 
 mandibuke iind .-raxilke, and that the mastarc is ,1 mouth ; 
 and assigns to the class a i)osition among the .Irlicnlata" 
 says Dr. Mu 'son, who gives this work a hiijh rank in the 
 literature concerning the rotifera. lla\ing sent this 
 monograph in to Ik.e council ol' the Uo\al Societ}', I'liilij) 
 Gosse immediately returned to the revision of his old 
 translation of l''hrenberg's J^ic Jnfnsionythiorchcn.. The 
 monograph was accc[)ted, anc' ieadi at tin.: Ko\al Soc -ty on 
 i'ebruary 22, 1S55, and on successive evenings. It began 
 to seen^ as though it were impossible for Philip Gcjsse, 
 however, to live in London, or bear the least social e.\cite- 
 
 
 '4 
 
 
 s 
 
 
 i 
 
 4 
 
 1 
 
 ■?i 
 
 /M 
 
 i 
 
 

 1 
 
 if J 
 
 •I -i 
 
 fl 
 
 t ,! 
 
 i 
 
 iii ; 
 
 2;6 
 
 r//E LIFE OF rniLiv itexry gjsse. 
 
 mcnt. Quiet as his winter wa.s, it was not quiet enough, 
 and he began again to suffer from ^-uch excruciating pains 
 in the he.'d, that he was forced to abandon ahnost wliolly 
 the exercise of writing. He discovered it possible, 
 although very irksome, to dictate, but having found a 
 rapid and symj^athetic amanuensis, he reconciled himself 
 to tliis mode of composition. It even exaggerated his 
 flowing and confidential style, the characteristics of which 
 are seen, almost to excess, in the p;iges of Tcnhy. 
 
 The year 1855 was not marked by any incidents of a 
 very uni(iue character. The manner of life of the Gosscs 
 remained almost unci, mgcd, my falher merely pushing 
 further and further along the various paths of scientific 
 investigation of which he heUl the threads. In I'ebruary 
 was published AbraJiani (vui his Chi/drcii, a volume on 
 religious education, the most ambitious work which limily 
 Gossc had hitherto produced ; and Philip Gosse began, at 
 the same time, a book called The Poitd-Raker, which was 
 to be a popular intioduction to th<j study of the Rotifera. 
 It proved difficult to poi)ularizc so abstruse a subject, and 
 77/<' Poiid-R<rk(T, in spite of enthusiastic encouragement 
 from Charles Kingslc)', soon quitted his pond and dropped 
 his rake, to be replaced by the Manual of Marine Zoology, 
 a work of reference of real importance. On March 20, 
 1855, Gosse read before the Liniuean .Society an "'mportant 
 paper on Peachia, a new genus of unattached, cylindrical 
 sea-anemones, buried in sand, which he had characterized 
 from specimens secured in Torba)-, and sent to him by 
 Charles Kingsley. This paper attracted a good ileal of 
 attention, and among those present on the occasion of its 
 reading was C'harles Darwin, to whom my father wa;3 that 
 evening presented for the first time. Gossc was captivated 
 at once, as all who met him were, b}- the simplicity, 
 frankness, and cordiality of this great ami charming man. 
 
WORK' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 257 
 
 Late in March the family proceeded ac^ain to Wcj'nKnitli 
 for a month, and Phihp Gossc immediately resumed his 
 work of collecting on the shore and drcdi^injjj in the bay, 
 encouraged and cheered through rather bad weather by 
 the unexpected comjianionship of Bowerbank. The text 
 of the first volume of the Jfaiinal \\',\^ finished in June and 
 published in Jul)-, upon which the Gosses, without delay, 
 started for a second visit to Ilfracombe. Vov some time 
 previously circulars had been sent out inviting persons 
 who desired to make themselves acquainted with the living 
 objects which the shore produced, and who wished to learn 
 at the same time how to col ect and how to determine the 
 names and the zoological relations of ilie specimens when 
 found, to join the writer on the shore of North Devon. 
 
 ]5ut, before these circulars were issued, in the spring 
 of 1855, Kingsley had alread\' committed a discreet indis- 
 cretion concerning the project, lie had written in Glaiiciis: 
 "That most pious and most learned naturalist, Mr. Gosse, 
 whose works will be so often ([uoted in these pages, 
 pro[)oses, it is understood, to establish this summer a 
 regular shore class, . . . and I advise an\- reader whose 
 fancy such a project pleases, to apply to him for details of 
 the scheme." The consequence was that Gosse was received 
 at Ilfracombe by a small party of ladies antl gentlemen, who 
 formed themselves into a class for the stuily of marine 
 natural histor\'. An hour or two was spent on the shore 
 every day on ui)ich the tide and the weather were suit- 
 able ; and when otherwise, the occupation was A-aricd by 
 an intloor lesion on the identification of tJK animals 
 obtained, the specimens themselves affording ilh:strations. 
 Ihit the weather was general!}' '^xw^i., and nut a {cw species 
 of iiiterest, with some rarities, came umler the ii;;tice of 
 the class, scatteretl as they were (jver tiie njcks, and [)eep- 
 ing into the pools, almost every day for a couple of months. 
 
 k 
 
w 
 
 ».' < ■' •'. 
 
 i 
 
 S' ■ 
 
 
 
 
 : : 
 
 
 V i 
 
 
 r ; ' 
 
 
 ; 1 
 
 
 ! 
 
 
 
 
 [ 
 
 
 ■ ; 1 
 ( 
 
 
 ' '. ■ 
 
 l\\ 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 fa 
 
 2-,8 
 
 77/y5: Z//7i 0/' PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 Then the prizes were brout^ht home, where each member 
 or group of the chiss Iiad a little aquarium for the study 
 of their Iiabits ; their beauties investigated by the pocket- 
 lens, and the minuter kinds examined under the microscope. 
 A little also was effected in the way of dredging the sea- 
 bottom and in surface-fishing ; but the chief attention of 
 the class was given to shore-collecting, antl very novel 
 and agreeable the amusement was unanimously voted. 
 
 Here for the first time 1 can trust my own recollection 
 for one or two of those tletachcil ini[)ressions which remain 
 imjjrinted here and there on the smoothed-out wax of a 
 child's memory. I recall a long desultory line of persons 
 on a beach of shells, — doubtless at Harricane. At the head 
 of the procession, like y\poll(j conducting the Muses, my 
 father strides ahead in an immense wide-awake, loose black 
 coat and trousers, and fisherman's boots, with a collecting- 
 basket ill one hantl, a staff (;r prod in the other. Then 
 follow gentlemen of e\er)- age, all seeming spectacled and 
 old to me, and many ladies in the balloon costume of I1S55, 
 with shawls falling in a point from between their shoulders 
 li) the edge of tlKir lloniiccd petticoats, each wearing a 
 mushroom hat will) streamers ; I myself am tenderly 
 conducted along the beach by one or more of these 
 enthusiastic nj-mphs, ami "jumped " over the perilous little 
 watercourses that meander to the sea, stooping every 
 moment to collect in the lap of ni)' pink frock the profuse 
 and lovely shells at my feet. This is one inemor}-, and 
 another is of my father standing at the mouth of a sort of 
 funnel in the rocks, through w'.iich came at intervals a 
 roaring sound, a coi)ious jet of exploding foam, and a 
 sudden licpiid rainbow against the dark wall of rock, 
 surrounding him in its fugitive radiance. Without question, 
 this is a reminiscence of the Capstone S[)out-lIolcs, to 
 which my f.ither would be certain to take the class, " the 
 
T 
 
 WORK A T THE SEASHORE. 
 
 259 
 
 ragfgcd rock-pools that lie in the deep shadow of the 
 precipice on this area " beinfj, as he says in the Devonshire 
 Coast, "tenanted with many fine kinds of algae, zoophytes, 
 Crustacea, and medusa;." 
 
 Of the members of the class, one of the most enthusiastic 
 was Sir Charles Lighton, with whom, on frequent occasions, 
 after sending the others home laden to their aquariums, 
 my father would start for a dredging excursion off Lee 
 or Smallmouth. In August the class dispersed, and on 
 vScptembcr 6 the Gosses returned to town, followed by 
 hampers of living creatures, most of which bore the journey 
 very successfully. Philip Gosse immediately took up the 
 composition of his Handbook to the Marine Aquarium, a 
 practical su[)plement to the work which he had lately 
 been engaged upon ; it was soon finished, and he resumed 
 the notes and observati(jns which he had made in 
 Pembrokeshire in 1S54, ami began activcl)' to rewrite the 
 volume eventuall}' published under the name of Tenby. 
 The Handbook was published early in October, and an 
 edition of no less than two thousand copies speedily 
 exhausted, so great was the interest and curiosity now 
 cxcitetl among the educal(-d classes b}' the invention of 
 the marine aciuarium. The jear closed uneventful))', except 
 that just before Christmas the pains in the head, which had 
 left him unattacked now for many months, set in again 
 w ith extreme severit\", and threatened to check his work. 
 
 Besides the first volume of the Manual of Afarine Zoology 
 and the Handbook to the Marine Aquarium, Philip Gosse 
 composed in 1S54 a little gui(le-l)ook to AVa' Carden's, 
 and wrote a number of technically scientific papers for the 
 Royal Society, the Linna-an Society, the Microscopical 
 Societ)', and the" Annals of Natural History." This may, 
 then, be ttU<en as one ot his fulkst years, for he was actively 
 lecturing at the same time on poi)ular invertebrate zoology 
 
 1^ 
 
 '^ 
 
26o 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HRXRY GOSSE. 
 
 fi i ! 
 
 i ' f! 
 
 I' 
 
 at a variety of institutes and public rooms. lie recovered 
 his usual condition f)f health before the close of the year, 
 and 1S56 seemed to dawn UfJon his wife and himself 
 with a more than common promise of hap[)iness and 
 peace. Emily Gosse had bej^aui to undertake a species of 
 reh'f^ious work, in which she was to achieve a sinq;ular 
 success. In the autumn of 1S55 was published the Yoiins^ 
 Gittxrdsnian of tJic Alma, a Gospel Tract issued in leaflet 
 form by the Weekly Tract Society, and founded on an 
 incident of the Crimean War personally known to the 
 writer. She had ahead}- printed six of these leaflets, and 
 ihe enormous demand for this particular one led her to 
 concentrate her attention, during; tlu brief remainder of her 
 life, upon this species of composition. Forty-one of these 
 tracts were jniblishcil in all, collected after her death in a 
 general volume. It has been stated that not less than 
 half a million copies of these Gospel Tracts of hers were 
 circulated, ami they have been spreatl to the remotest 
 corners of the i^lobe, effectiiii;', as one cannot cpiestion, no 
 small benefit by their pious candour and their direct 
 appeal to the unawakencd conscience. 
 
 My own memories of her durinc^ this winter of 1S55-56, 
 the last which we were to spend toi^ether in peace, are 
 vivid enough. I speciall}' recollect sitting on a Sunday 
 morning upon a cushion at her knees, one of her long, 
 veined hands resting upon mine, to learn a chapter of the 
 Gospel of St. Matthew by heart ; and, while her soft voice 
 read out the sacred verses, suddenly seeing something in 
 her large eyes and wasted features, which gave me a pre- 
 monition that I should lose her. Most clearly I recall the 
 terror of it, the unexpressed anguish. It is the more 
 strange, because I am sure that this was in the winter, 
 and before any one had guessed that she was stricken with 
 mortal disease. 
 
A 
 
 IVOKK AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 261 
 
 In March Philip Gosse read before the Royal Society an 
 important monograph on the Duccions Charactcy of the 
 Rotifcra, which attracted a great deal of attention, and 
 led to his election as F.R.S. on the next occasion, the 
 4th of June of that year, Dr. Lankester being his proposer. 
 In March also was published Tenby, the third of his 
 chatty, popular volumes, describing the zoological adven- 
 tures of a summer on the British shores, and adorned with 
 coloured plates. For some reason or another, in s[)ite of the 
 increased distinction of the author, this was not nearly so 
 successful as either of its immediate predecessors ; although 
 a book which brought in a net profit of over ;i{^500 can 
 only be spoken of as relatively, not positively, unsuccessful. 
 Tciihy had the disadvantage, as I have said, of being in 
 great part dictated, not written, by the author. The 
 gossipy and confidential manner, too — what 'I he Saturday 
 Reviczu called " Mr. Gosse's air of taking us upon his knee 
 like a grandpapa" — was carried in certain of its chapters 
 to some excess, and, what was after all probably the main 
 reason, the style itself and the matter were no longer s(^ 
 deliciously fresh and novel to the i)ublic as they had been 
 in 1S52. None the less, Tenby \^ a charming book, ami 
 must be read with A Naturalist's Ramble on the Devonshire 
 Coast 7s.x\(\ 'ThcA(]iiariuui,'ds giving the completest expression 
 of one most important branch of my father's literary work, 
 namely, his picturesijuc introduction of and apology for the 
 pleasures of collecting animals and plants on the seashore. 
 
 My father and mother had now been married between 
 seven and eight years. Their wedded life, which had 
 opened under circumstances which might have seemed 
 not wholly favourable to their happiness, had become year 
 by year a closer, a tenderer, and a more sympathetic 
 relation. As each had grown to know the other better, the 
 finer faculties of both had been drawn out. My father, 
 
 ' ■ ' t 
 
 l-l 
 
262 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRV GOSSE. 
 
 ills! I 
 
 im 
 
 formerly so stiff and self-reliant, had learned to repose more 
 and more easily on my mother's tact and wisdom ; she 
 had, by a ma^jnificent eff(jrt, trained herself in mature life 
 to take an interest in subjects and in a course of technical 
 study which had been foreii^n to her inclination. She was 
 now a part of his intellectual as well as his emotional life. 
 Not a rotifer was held captive under the microscope, not 
 a crustacean of an unknown species shook a formidable 
 clapper at the naturalist, but the cry of " Emily ! Emily ! " 
 brought the keen eye and sympathetic lips on to the scene 
 in a moment. Under her care, all that was warmest and 
 brightest in Philip Gossc's character had been developed ; 
 he had ceased to shun his kind ; he had lost his shy- 
 ness, and had become one of the most genial, if still one 
 of the most sententious of men. Iwery year this mellow- 
 ing influence became more ap[)arent ; every year brought 
 more of sunlight into the circle of their hopes and interests. 
 Hut now the gloom was to close again over their life, and 
 they were to pass together, through anguish of bod}- and 
 mind, into the valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 Late in y\i)ril, my mother became conscious of a local 
 discomfort in her left breast, the result, she supposed, of 
 some slight bruise. lUit on May I, being with her old 
 friends at Tottenham, IVIiss Mary Stacey persuaded her 
 to consult a physician, who rather crudely and roughly 
 pronounced it to be cancer. She returned very calmly to 
 her home, and in the course of the evening she quietly told 
 her husband. Next day they called on Dr. Myde Salter, 
 F.R.S., and on Mr. (now Sir) James Paget, both of whom 
 declared that the presence of that disease was indubitable. 
 ICach of these eminent practitioners recommended a 
 surgical operation. But from this the sufferer shrank. My 
 mother had an excessive dread of physical pain, and in 
 those days the modern ingenuities of anaesthetics were 
 
IVORR' AT THE SEAS/fORE. 
 
 263 
 
 unknown. Dr. Salter, sympathizin;^ with this weakness 
 of nerve, and recoGjnizing her exhausted condition, men- 
 tioned to the coujile the name of a certain American who 
 was then in London, professinjjj to cure cancer by a new 
 process, without the requirement of excision. It is need- 
 less for me to enter here into any of the harrowintj details of 
 his method. Enough to say that he used " a secret medica- 
 ment," and that he declared iiis treatment to be painless. 
 In some cases, of a less serious kind, he may have been 
 successful. Hard words and reproaches are out of [)lace 
 now after so threat a lapse of years. It is but charity to 
 hope that in deceiving others he was himself in some 
 measure deceived. 
 
 On May 12, 1856, my mother began to attend the con- 
 sulting-room of this person, and to subject herself to his 
 treatment. So far from the secret ointment being painless, it 
 caused " a gnawing or aching in the breast, which at times 
 was scarcely supportable." The doctor livctl in Pimlico, 
 and the double journey from Islington was not a little 
 tedious and distressing. Meanwhile both my father and 
 mother, with that hap[)y unconsciousness of the future 
 which alone makes life endurable, were buoyed up with 
 hope, and suffered no depression of si)irits. His literary 
 work and his lecturing proceeded. The second volume of 
 the Manila/ of Mayinc Zoology was completed before the 
 end of May, and Philip Gosse's election and admission to 
 the Royal Society were ecpially enjoyed by them both. 
 The diaries of these summer months give little or no 
 indications of distress. In July he was away for a little 
 while, dredging off Deal and " anemonizing," as he called 
 it, in St. Margaret's Bay. lie had made arrangements to 
 meet a natural history class, as in 1S55, on the seashore 
 in August, and this time the rendezvous had been fixed 
 at Tenby, on the coast of South Wales. " It had been a 
 
 m 
 
 If: i 
 
 
 li 
 
264 
 
 THE LIFE OF Fill UP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 il 
 
 1'^ !■«»', 
 
 
 subject of some solicitude with us," he says, " whether that 
 sweet companionship, which had never been interrupted 
 more than a few days at a time since our union, would be 
 
 vouchsafed to us there. Dr. , however, had from time 
 
 to time encouraged us to e.xpect it ; and, when the time 
 arrived, he gave his full and hearty consent, furnishing my 
 dear Emily with a supply of medicaments, and giving her 
 instructions for their application. Mis confidence had by 
 this time communicated itself to us, so that our minds 
 scarcely contemplated a fatal issue, except as a very 
 improbable, or at least very remote, contingency."' 
 
 They went down to Tenby on August 29, and the 
 meetings of the class began on September i. The order 
 of the day was what it had been at Ilfracombe the year 
 before — excursions on the rocks, lectures indoors, collec- 
 tions in small private aquariums, more limited and 
 occasional dredging parties outside in the bay. One 
 consideriiblc disappointment, however, awaited the class. 
 In the noble perforate caverns around Tenby my father 
 had found the most exquisite creatures in abundance in 
 1854. "Almost every dark overarched basin hollowed in 
 the sides of the caves, or in similar situations, at Lidstep, 
 at St. Margaret's Island, and under Tenby Head, each 
 filled to the brim with crystalline water, has its rugged 
 Avails and floor studded with the full-blown blossoms " of 
 these lovely animal flowers. But when he came in 1856, 
 these caverns and almost every accessible part of the 
 neighbouring coasts had been hacked by the hammers and 
 chisels of amateur naturalists. He wrote with justified 
 indignation : " If the visitors were gainers to the same 
 e.Ktent that the rocks are losers, there would be less cause 
 for regret ; but owing to difficulty and unskilfulness com- 
 bined, probably half a dozen anemones are destroyed for 
 one that goes into the aquarium." 
 
IVOR A' AT THE SEAS/IORE. 
 
 26s 
 
 The romantic caverns of the island of St. Catherine- 
 were still the main, and on the whole the happiest, hunt- 
 ing-grounds ; but sometimes the entire class was conducted 
 to Monkstone and Sandersfoot, or even so far as to Scot- 
 borough, For the first time Mrs. Gossc was unable to 
 take part in these rambles, and her days would be spent, 
 in the long warm Sei^tember, in sitting on the sands, writ- 
 ing, or chatting to one of those improvised friends whom 
 her sweet and dignified cordiality created wherever she 
 went. She had always possessed an unusual [)ower of 
 attracting the confidence of strangers, and those who were 
 sad, p(jor, and forlorn could seldom resist the temptation 
 of pouring the burden of their sorrows into her ear. As 
 she herself grew more and more the confidant of pain 
 and weariness, instead of her temper becoming fretful, her 
 sympathy took a deeper colouring, her interest in the 
 griefs of others grew more patient and sincere. All this 
 time she was growing worse, and when they returned to 
 London on October 2, neither could conceal from the 
 other their secret sense of dismay at the change in her 
 power of enduring the fatigue of travel. 
 
 More drastic methods were now recommended by the 
 doctor, and to carry them out it was necessary that 
 the patient should be close to him. My mother and her 
 little .seven years' old son, therefore, moved into bleak and 
 comfortless lodgings in Cottage Road, Pimlico, the only 
 advantage of which was the fact that they were next do' <\- 
 to the doctor's house. My father could only be with us 
 from Saturday night to Monday morning. During the 
 rest of the week we two supported and comforted each 
 other as well as we could ; through dreary days and still 
 more dreary nights, which have left their indelible impres- 
 sion on the temperament as well as the memory of the 
 survivor, wc were alone together. This prolonged illness, 
 
 » 
 
 
 Ml 
 
.% 
 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 // 
 
 .// 
 
 
 ■'£j Mt ^ ///„ 
 
 w.. 
 
 :a 
 
 Ua 
 
 fA 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 «^ illM 
 
 mi 
 
 III12 
 
 It 110 
 
 IIM 
 
 M 
 U 111.6 
 
 
 <^> 
 
 p^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 (?. 
 
 c"! 
 
 ^ ^> 
 
 x-n 
 
 ^#.;>/ / 
 
 
 
 O/^^ 
 
 /A 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) '>-^?-4J03 
 
 iV 
 
 iV 
 
 «■ 
 
 ^t 
 
 N> 
 
 
 o'^ 
 
 %' 
 
 "9) 
 
 V 
 

 fA 
 
266 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ■:■ 
 
 *- : 
 
 and the heavy fees of the practitioner, made severe drains 
 upon the family finances, and demanded ceaseless labour 
 on my father's part. Yet there was some work of a different 
 and a hitrher kind performed through this distressing 
 winter. One of the most brilliant of all his monographs 
 — his own special favourite in later years — the paper on 
 Lar sabcUaniin, was read before the Linn.x'an Society in 
 December, and was received with great respect. There 
 was much close correspondence, too, and interchange 
 of specimens, with Joshua Alder in the North, and with 
 Robert Battcrsby in Torquay. Philip Gosse, moreover, 
 was engaged at this time in the delightful task of helping 
 Charles Darwin to develop his various important theories, 
 and the three succeeding letters (now first published) may 
 be taken as specimens of this correspondence : — 
 
 " Down, Bromley, Kent, September 22, 1856. 
 
 " Mv DEAR Sir, 
 
 " I want much to beg a little information from 
 " you. 
 
 " I am working hard at the general question of varia- 
 "tion, and paying for this end special attention to 
 " domestic pigeons. This leads me to search out how 
 " many species are truly rock pigeons, i.e. do iiot roost 
 "or willingly perch or nest in trees, Tenminck puts C. 
 " Icncoccphala (your bald-pate) under this category. Can 
 " this be the case ? Is the loud coo to which you refer 
 " in your interesting Sojourn like that of the domestic 
 "pigeon .'' I see in this same work you speak of rabbits 
 " run wild ; I am paying much attention to them and 
 "am making a large collection of their skeletons. Do 
 "you think you could get any of your zealous and 
 " excellent correspondents to send me an adult (neck 
 " 7wt broken) female specimen ? It would be of great 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
IVOR A' A T THE SEASHORE. 
 
 267 
 
 "value to me. It might be sent, I should think, in a 
 "jar with profusion of salt and split in the abdomen, 
 "I should also be very glad to have one of the wild 
 "canary birds for the same object ; I have a specimen 
 " in spirits from Madeira. 
 
 " Do you think you could aid me in this, and shall you 
 "be inclined to forgive so very troublesome a request? 
 "As I have found the good nature of fellow-naturalists 
 "almost unbounded, I will venture further to state that 
 "the body of any domestic or fancy pigeon which has 
 "been for some generations in the West Indies would 
 " be of extreme interest, as I am collecting specimens 
 " from all quarters of the world. 
 
 " Trusting lO your forgiveness, 
 
 " I remain, my dear sir, 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 "Cir. Darwix." 
 
 1 \ 
 
 "Down, Bromley, Kent, September 28, 1856. 
 " Mv DEAR Sir, 
 
 " I thank you warmly for your extremely kind 
 letter, and for your information about the bald-pate, 
 which is quite sufficient. When we meet next I shall 
 beg to hear the actual coo ! 
 
 " I will by this very post write to Mr. Hill, and will 
 venture to use your name as an introduction, which I 
 am sure will avail me much ; so you need take no 
 trouble on the subject, as using your name will be all 
 that I should require. With my sincere thanks, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "Cii. Darwin. 
 " I am very anxious to get all cases of the transport 
 of plants or animals to distant islands. I have been 
 trying the effects of salt water on the vitality of .seeds 
 
 Ml! 
 
268 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY CUSSE. 
 
 " — their powers of floatation — whether earth sticks to 
 " birds' feet or base of beak, and I am experimenting 
 "whether small seeds are ever enclosed in such earth, 
 " etc. Can you remember any facts ? But of all cases 
 " whatever, the means of transport (and such I must 
 " think exist) of land mollusca utterly puzzle me most. 
 " I should be very grateful for any light." 
 
 jVt 
 
 M 
 
 "Moor Park, Farnham, Surrey, April 27, 1857. 
 "My dear Sir, 
 
 " I have thought that perhaps in course of the 
 " summer you would have an opportunity, and would be 
 " so very kind as to try a little experiment for me. I 
 " think I can tell best what I want by telling what I 
 " have done. The wide distribution of some species of 
 " fresh-water molluscs has long been a great perplexity 
 "to me ; I have just lately hatched a lot, and it occurred 
 "to me that when first born they might perhaps have 
 " not acquired phytophagous habits, and might perhaps 
 "like nibbling at a duck's foot. Whether this is .so I do 
 " not know, and indeed do not believe it is so, but I 
 " found when there were many very young molluscs in 
 " a small vessel with acjuatic plants, amongst which I 
 " placed a dried duck's foot, that the little barely visible 
 " shells often crawled over it, and then they adhered so 
 " firmly that they could not be shaken off, and that the 
 " foot being kept out of water in a damp atmosphere, the 
 " little molluscs survived well ten, twelve, or fifteen hours, 
 " and difezv even twenty-four hours. And thus, I believe, 
 " it must be the fresh-water shells get from pond to pond, 
 " and even to islands out at sea. A heron fishing, for 
 " instance, and then startled, might well on a rainy day 
 " carry a young mollusc for a long distance. Now }'ou 
 " will remember that E. Forbes argues chiefly from the 
 
 » 
 
wmmmmmmm 
 
 sMWBWWSinWpWWIJpm 
 
 ^TO/CA' AT THE SEASHORE. 
 
 269 
 
 to 
 h. 
 
 St 
 t. 
 
 " difficulty of imajrining how littoral sea-molluscs could 
 "cross tracts of open ocean, that islands, such as Madeira, 
 "must have been joined by continuous land to Europe ; 
 "which seems to me, for many reasons, very rash 
 " reasoning. Now, what I want to beg of you is, that 
 " you would try an analogous experiment with some sea- 
 " mollusc, especially any strictly littoral species — hatching 
 "them in numbers in a smallish vessel and seeino- 
 " whether, cither in larval or yoiuig shell state, they can 
 "adhere to a bird's foot and survive, say, ten hours in 
 "damp atmosphere out of water. It may seem a triflinn- 
 "experiment, but seeing what enormous conclusions 
 "poor Forbes drew from his belief that he knew all 
 "means of distribution of sea-animalcules, it seems to 
 " me worth trying. My health has lately been very in- 
 " different, and I have come here for a fortnight's water- 
 " cure. 
 
 " I owe to using your name a most kind and most 
 "valuable correspondent, in Mr. Hill of Spanish Town. 
 
 " I hope you will forgive my troubling you on tiie 
 "above points, and believe me, my dear sii. 
 
 "Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Ch. Darwin. 
 
 " r.S. — Can you tell me, you who have so watched all 
 ".sea-nature, whether male crustaceans ever fight for the 
 "females ? is the female sex in the sea, like on the land, 
 '" tcterrii/ia belli causa?" I beg you not to answer this 
 "letter, without you can and will be so kind as to tell 
 " me about crustacean battles, if such there be." 
 
 ii 
 
 \ 'i 
 
 ^Ill 
 
 l«. 
 
 To this my father replied with ample notes, as, a little 
 later, he helped Darwin to collect facts with regard to 
 the agency of bees in the fertilization of papilionaceous 
 flowers. 
 
 Jti 
 
 
270 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 1* 'sl ' 
 
 \i\ il 
 
 My mother's condition, however, was growing more 
 hopeless week by week, and, under the crrel severity of the 
 treatment, her anguish had become ab;<okitcly constant. 
 She now slept only under the inducement of opiates ; and, 
 at last, after torturing her delicate frame so savagely for 
 eight months, the doctor confessed that the malady was 
 beyond his skill. On December 24 she was taken home, 
 a wreck and shadow of herself, to Huntingdon Street, and 
 for the brief remainder of her life she was under the 
 soothing care of the eminent ho.nceopathic physician. 
 Dr. John Epps, whose principle appeared mainly to consist 
 in the alleviating and deadening of pain. Now, for the 
 first time, these sanguine lovers realized that the hour 
 of their parting was at hand ; and they faced the know- 
 Ictlgc with fortitude. The extreme kindness of a cousin, 
 Mrs. Morgan, was an immense relief to both. This lady 
 came up from Clifton, unsolicited, and undertook the 
 night-nursing of tlve patient until near the end. The 
 harrowing details of these last weeks are given with too 
 faithful and self-torturing minuteness by my father in his 
 Memorial. The long-drawn agony, borne to the ver)- last 
 with an ever-increasing saintly patience, came to a close 
 at one o'clock on the morning of Monday, I'^ebruary 9, 
 1857. My mother lies in the remotest corner of Abney 
 Park Cemetery. 
 
 (I 
 
 MWk 
 
■ra 
 
 5|i 
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 1857-1864. 
 
 '"T^HE death of Emily Gosse marked a crisis in the 
 J- career of her husband. None of the customary 
 expressions which are used to denote the grief and despair 
 of a bereaved person arc apph'cable in his case. He 
 showed few outward signs of distress. His faith in God, 
 his impHcit confidence that what was called the death 
 of the redeemed was but a passage from the ante- 
 chamber of life to its recesses, to that radiant iimer room 
 into which he also would presently be ushered, removed 
 the bitterness of separation. He was not tortured by that 
 dcstdennm, that insatiable and hopeless longing, which saps 
 the vitality of those who have loved, and lost, and do not 
 hope to regain. Yet when faith, with its clearest and 
 fullest vision, has done all it can to comfort, nature will 
 assert itself, and grief takes other fomis. My father was 
 now completing his forty-seventh year, and had reached 
 an age when the first eagerness of life is over, and when 
 sympathy and encouragement are necessary, if the strenuous 
 effort is to be maintained. It is' probable that he did not 
 realize at once, in his determination to be at peace, in his 
 violent subjection to the will of God, how much had been 
 taken away from his power of sustaining an active 
 intellectual life. He survived to recover his happiness, to 
 
 i 
 
 i) 
 
7% 
 
 < 1 
 
 J k 
 
 •t * 
 
 \' 
 
 272 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 be more happy, perhaps, than ever before, but he never 
 entirely rec^ained his energy. From this year forward he 
 was retrenching, suppressing, withdrawing his forces, and 
 preparing for the long-drawn seclusion of his later years. 
 
 Although my mother had shared his views on all 
 religious questions, and although on several occasions my 
 father has noted that she stirred the embers of his zeal 
 and quickened his conscience — " a very blessed revival of 
 my own soul through some words which she spoke to mc " — 
 she had, nevertheless, an influence over him which was, on 
 the whole, opposed to the stern and fanatic tendency of 
 his own native temperament. Her mind was a singularly 
 gay and cheerful one, and no one could distinguish more 
 clearly than she did between piety and misanthropy. She 
 was also liberal in her mental judgments, ardent and 
 curious in her reception of new ideas ; without pretending 
 to enter into the details of pliysiological speculation, she 
 was inclined to welcome novelty, rather than to reject it. 
 The volumes which my father published during the last 
 five years of her life show, unless I am greatly mistaken, 
 how wholesome was her influence upon his mind in these 
 two directions. Nothing could be more cheerful than 
 the Devonshire Coast, while Tenby is positively playful. 
 Nor in any of these books, or in the monographs of a more 
 technical nature which accompanied them, is there betrayed 
 any want of sympathy with the progress of zoological 
 thought, or suspicion of its tendency, although the principles 
 of Biblical theology are boldly and frequently maintained. 
 With Edward Forbes and Charles Darwin he was in 
 correspondence, and was exchanging with them memoranda 
 which more and more directly tended to strengthen 
 evolutionary ideas. In some of the monographs on the 
 class of zoophytes v^hich Philip Gosse issued in 1855 and 
 1856, passages are to be found which show the author to 
 
Ill 
 
 LITERARY WORK I.V DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 273 
 
 have grasped, or rather, perhaps, to have been prepared 
 to grasp, the doctrine of biological development. 
 
 But it has to be confessed that such evolutionism as he 
 accepted was timid and unphilosophical, and that sooner 
 or later he would certainly have been brought to a halt by 
 the definite theory of Darwin. The belief in a direct 
 creative act from without, peopling the world with a sudden 
 full-blown efflorescence of fauna and flora, was a part of 
 my father's very being, and he would have abandoned the 
 entire study of science sooner than relinquish it. He was 
 aware of his limitations as a thinker ; he knew his mind to 
 be one which observed closely and minutely, and failed to 
 take in a wide horizon. He once, in later years, referring 
 to his isolation as a zoologist, said to me that he felt him- 
 self to be a disciple of Cuvier, born into an age of successors 
 of Lamarck ; and his position could scarcely be defined more 
 exactly, i'et it seems to me possible that if my mother 
 had lived, he might have been prevented from putting 
 himself so fatally and prominently into opposition to the 
 new ideas. He might probably have been content to 
 leave others to fight out the question on a philosophical 
 basis, and might himself have quietly continued observing 
 facts, and noting his observations with his early elegance 
 and accuracy. 
 
 That his mind was morbid, and his nerves unstrung, is 
 clearly enough to be discovered from reading the singularly 
 painful little Meviorial of tJic Last Days on Earth of Emily 
 Gossc, which he published in April, 1S57. In this volume, 
 written with distressing ability, he gives a picture of the 
 illness and death of his wife which it is exceedingly difficult 
 to describe, so harsh, so minute, so vivid are the lines, so 
 little are the customary conventions of a memoir preserved. 
 This little book, which was addressed, of course, to an 
 extremely limited circle, was received with great displeasure 
 
 la 
 
w 
 
 
 I 
 
 1 1 
 
 M 
 n 
 
 
 ^•1 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 "I? 
 
 ■;'!' 4 
 
 274 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 by its readers, few of whom were well enough versed 
 cither in literature or life to understand the tenderness and 
 melancholy which were concealed beneath this acrid and 
 positive manner of witing. The reception of the Memo- 
 rial by his wife's friends and many of his own shut him 
 still further up within himself, and he became almost as 
 silent and reserved as he had been before his marriage. 
 
 He was roused, however, during the spring and summer 
 of this year, by a good deal of lecturing, in Scotland, in 
 the North, in the midland counties. London became inex- 
 pressibly disagreeable to him, and he began to look about 
 for a home in the country. In March he was approached 
 by the committee of an educational scheme which was 
 then occupying a good deal of public attention, a certain 
 Gnoll College, which was to form the nucleus of a univer- 
 sity for Wales, and was to be founded on a romantic 
 acclivity in the Vale of Neath, in Glamorganshire. It was 
 hoped that this institution would be richly endowed, and 
 the committee was endeavouring to secure the best men in 
 every branch as its professors. This Gnoll project gratified 
 my father's dislike to London, and when, in June, it 
 proceeded so far as the offer to him of the chair of Natural 
 History, with a residence, he received the proposition 
 with delight. But there was a worm at the root of this 
 tree, and Gnoll never opened its academic halls. On 
 September i, having satisfied himself that the Welsh 
 project would come to nothing, Philip Gosse went down to 
 his old haunt, the village of St. Marychurch, in South 
 Devon. This place had just been seized with a building- 
 craze, and new villas, each in its separate garden, were 
 rising on all hands. Philip Gosse hired a horse, and rode 
 round the neighbourhood to see what he could find to suit 
 him, and at last he discovered, near the top of the Torquay 
 Road, what he thought was the exact place. 
 
r 
 
 fV 
 
 LITERARY WORK IX DEVOXSIIIRE. 
 
 -/3 
 
 It was not an attractive object to a romantic eye. It 
 is impossible to conceive anythin^t^ much more dispiriting 
 than this brand-new little house, unpapered, undricd, 
 standing in ghastly whiteness in the middle of a square 
 enclosure of raw " garden," that is to say of ploughed field, 
 laid out with gravel walks, beds without a flower or leaf, 
 and a " lawn " of fat red loam guiltless of one blade of 
 grass. Two great rough pc/ilard elms, originally part of a 
 hedge which had run across the site of the lawn, were the 
 only objects that relieved the monotony of the inchoate 
 place, which spread out, vague and uncomely, " like the red 
 outline of beginning Adam." Wy taking the house in this 
 condition, however, it was a cheap purchase, and my father 
 felt that it would be a pleasure to discipline all this form- 
 lessness into beauty and fertility. He never repented of 
 his choice, nor ever expressed, through more than thirty 
 years, the wish that he had gone elsewhere. The Devon- 
 shire red loam is wonderfully stubborn, and for many 
 seasons the place retained the obloquy of its newness. 
 But at length the grass became velvety on the lawn, trees 
 grew up and hid the unmossed limestone walls in which 
 no vegetation can force a footing, and the little place grew 
 bow^ery and secluded. It was on September 23, 1857, that 
 the family settled in this house — named Sandhurst, by the 
 builder, in mere wantonness of nomenclature — and this 
 became their home. Philip Gosse's restless wanderings 
 were over. 
 
 Before going down into Devonshire he had completed 
 two pieces of literary work, which, so far as his scientific 
 credit was concerned, he might very well have left undone. 
 They represent a mental condition of exhaustion and of 
 irritation. The first of these, a volume of collected essays 
 which had appeared in the magazine called Excelsior, was 
 published in the summer of 1857. The author gave it the 
 
 I 
 
 ■ 1 ■ 
 
 % 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 «l 
 
 1^ 
 
 '? !:■ 
 
 276 
 
 r//E LIFE OF riULIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 title of Life in its Lower, Lntermediatc, and Higher Forms, 
 and was startled on the day of publication by seeing it 
 ticketed in the bookshops " Gosse's Life," as ♦■hi^agh some 
 one had oblij^ed the town with a premature biography of 
 him. These essays were slight, and the religious clement 
 was quite unduly prominent, as if vague forebodings of the 
 coming theory of evolution had determined the writer to 
 insist with peculiar intensity on the need of rejecting all 
 views inconsistent with the notion of a creative design. 
 This book entirely failed to please the public, who had now 
 fur so many years been such faithful clients to him ; with 
 the scientific class it passed almost unnoticed. 
 
 No such gentle oblivion attended the other unlucky 
 venture of the year 1857. My attempt in writing this life 
 has been to prese ;^. ■ faithful picture of my father's career, 
 and I dare not CiUt t- chronicle the disappointments and 
 annoyances w?-. ■,•'.-, ,.'; nded the publication of his Omphalos: 
 An Attempt to u,aie the Geological Knot. Philip Gosse was 
 so profoundly unambitious, so entirely careless of what was 
 thought about his doings and writings, that he can hardly 
 be said to have made a mistake, in the ordinary sense of 
 the phrase, in composing a book which was fatal to the 
 advance of his reputation as a man of science. But others, 
 to whom his fame is dearer than it was to himself, may 
 bitterly regret that he left his ^wn field of research, that 
 field in which he was gathering such thick and clustering 
 laurels, to adventure in a province of scientific philosophy 
 which lay outside his sphere, and for which he was fitted 
 neither by training, nor by native aptitude, nor by the 
 possession of a mind clear from prejudice. Thoroughly 
 sincere as he was, and devoted to truth as he believed 
 himself to be, he lacked that deeper modesty, that nobler 
 candour, which inspired the genius of Darwin. The current 
 interpretation of the liible lay upon his judgment with a 
 
 ''t 
 
 113 !i- 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 277 
 
 weight that he could never throw off, and his scientific work- 
 was of value only in those matters of detail which remained 
 beyond the jurisdiction of the canon. But, as I have said 
 before, if he could have been content to rest in detail, and 
 to have let the ephemeral theories of man spin themselves 
 out in gossamer and disappear ; if he could have persuaded 
 himself to endure with indifference what he regarded with 
 disdain, all might yet have been well. In 1857 evolutionism 
 was crude and vague ; a positive naturalist might well have 
 been permitted to ignore it. But, unhappily, my father's 
 conscience tortured him into protest, n'^d he must needs 
 break a lance with the windmills of the ; . logists. 
 
 The theory around which the illuslrutive chapters of 
 Omphalos were embroidered may h' 'Ay be descried. The 
 xk': craze of the moment was the reconciliation of Genesis 
 with geology. Most men of science at that date advocated, 
 or thought it decent to seem to advocate, some scheme or 
 other for preventing the phenomena of geological investi- 
 gation from clashing with the Mosaic record. Many ot 
 them, with Adam Sedgwick, thought that " we must 
 consider the old strata of the earth as monuments of a 
 date long anterior to the existence of man, and to the 
 times contemplated in the moral records of his creation." 
 Very few were, in 1857, prepared to part company alto- 
 gether with the cosmogony of Genesis. They preferred to 
 evade the actual language, to escape into such generalities 
 as " the six ages of creation," " an antecedent state of the 
 earth prior to the recorded Mosaical epoch." It was to a 
 generation not as yet revolutionized or emboldened by 
 Uarwin and Colenso that my father addressed his 
 Omphalos ; lie took for granted that his readers were sure 
 of the fact of creation. He undertook to show them that 
 the contents of the fossiliferous strata did not prove any 
 process of cosmic formation which the six literal days of 
 
 ii 
 
 \V 
 
 , ; 
 
IJ f ^-''.TLVB.W 
 
 !JIU„-,J— ■-^-■■'tBis-ii.-iwii.^^iJiLi-ajw*- 
 
 ?5 *; 
 
 ?,; 
 
 
 
 fi^^lU 
 
 m.^ 
 
 
 278 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF ririLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 Genesis might not h-tvc covered. lie proposed to reconcile 
 geology not merely to the Mosaic record, but to an exact 
 and inelastic interpretation of it. 
 
 Mis theory is briefly this. Life is a circle, no one 
 stage of which more than any other affords a natural 
 commcncing-point. Every living object has an omphalos, 
 or an egg. or a seed, which points irresistibly to the 
 existence of a previous living object of the same kind. 
 Creation, therefore, must mean the sudden bursting into 
 the circle, and its phenomena, produced full grown by the 
 arbitrary will of God, would certainly present the stigmata 
 of a pre-existent existence. Each created tree would dis- 
 play the marks of sloughed bark and fallen leaves, though 
 it had never borne those leaves or that bark. The teeth of 
 each brute would be worn away with exercise which it had 
 never taken. By innumerable examples he shows that this 
 must have been the case with all living forms. If so, then 
 why may not the fossils themselves be part of this breaking 
 into the circle ? Why may not the strata, with their buried 
 fauna and flora, belong to the general scheme of the 
 prochronic development of the plan of the life-history of 
 this globe? The ingenuity of this idea is great, and if 
 once we believe in the literal act of creation, it is very hard 
 to escape from the reasoning that leads up to it. It was an 
 example of the looseness of thought habitual to the 
 majority of readers that those who desired to hold the 
 orthodox view were unable to see that they were on the 
 horns of a dilemma in rejecting my father's theory. What 
 Omphalos really proved was the absolute necessity for some 
 other definite hypothesis of the mode in which the world 
 came into existence than any which assumed the tradi- 
 tional idea of a sudden creative act. 
 
 It was the notion that the wrjrld was created with fossil 
 skeletons in its crust which met with most ridicule from 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 279 
 
 readers. Philip Gosse was charged with supposing that God 
 had formed these objects on purpose to deceive — in order, 
 in fact, to set a trap for naughty geologists. The reply 
 was obvious, and had occurred to him already. "Were the 
 concentric timber-rings of a created tree formed merely to 
 deceive ? " he had asked. " Were the growth-lines of a 
 created shell intended to deceive .'' Was the navel of the 
 created man intended to deceive him into the persuasion 
 that he had had a parent ? " The book, nevertheless, in 
 spite of the beauty and ingenuity of its literary illustration, 
 was received with scorn by the world of science and 
 with neglect by the general public. The moment was a 
 transitional one ; the world had just been led captive by 
 that picturesque piece of amateur evolutionism, T/ic 
 Vestii^cs flf Creation. It was whispered here and there that 
 something stronger and more convincing was on the road. 
 Hooker was murmuring in the car of Lyell that Darwin 
 was in possession cf some " ugly facts." The human mind 
 was preparing for a great crisis of emancipation, of relief 
 from a fettering order of ideas no longer tenable or endur- 
 able, and no one was concerned to give even fair play to a 
 piece of reasoning, such as Omp/ialos, whose whole purpose 
 was to bind again those very cords out of which the world 
 was painfully struggling. The reception of Onipha/os, 
 especially by the orthodox party, was an extreme disap- 
 pointment to my father. So certain had he been that the 
 whole camp of faith would rally around him, and that all 
 Christians would accept his solution of the problem with 
 rapture, that he had ordered the printing of an immense 
 edition, the greater part of which was left upon his hands. 
 
 It may be interesting to print here the candid and 
 characteristic letter which he received on this occasion 
 from Charles Kingsley : — 
 
 ( 
 
aSo 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ■ S.IJ 
 
 \ t 
 
 '^ 
 
 
 "Eversley, May 4, 1858. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Gosse, 
 
 " I have found time to read Omphalos carefully, 
 " and will now write you my whole heart about it. 
 
 " For twenty-five years I have read no book which has 
 "so staggered and puzzled me. Don't fancy that I pooh- 
 -pooh it. Such an idea, having once entered a man's 
 " head, ought to be worked out ; and you have done so 
 " bravely and honestly. 
 
 "Your distinction between diachronism and pro- 
 "chronism, instead of being nonsense, as it is in the eyes 
 "of the Locke-beridden Nominalist public, is to me, as a 
 " Platonist and realist, an indubitable and venerable 
 "truth. For many years have I believed in that in- 
 " tellectualic, of which neither time nor space can be 
 "predicated, wherein God abides eternally, descending 
 " into time and space only by thc Logos, the creative 
 "Word, Jesus Christ our Lord. Therefore with me the 
 "great stumbling-block to your book does not exist. 
 
 " Nothing can be fairer than the way in which you 
 "state the evidence for the microchronology. That at 
 " once bound me to listen respectfully to all you had to 
 "say after. And, much as I kicked and winced at first, 
 " nothing, I find, can be sounder than your parallels and 
 " precedents. The one case of the coccus-mother 
 "(though every conceivable instance goes to prove your 
 "argument) would be enough for me, assuming the 
 " act of absolute creation. Assuming that — which I 
 "have always assumed, as fully as you — shall I tell you 
 " the truth } It is best. Your book is the first that ever 
 "made me doubt it, and I fear it will make hundreds do 
 " so. Your book tends to prove this — that if we accept 
 " the fact of absolute creation, God becomes a Dens 
 " quidam deceptor. I do not mean merely in the case 
 
 
 w 
 
 V 
 
 »;i 
 
 (, 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 281 
 
 " of fossils which pretend to be the bones of dead 
 animals ; but in the one single case of your newly 
 created scars on the pandanus trunk, and your newly 
 "created Adam's navel, you make God tell a lie. It is 
 " not my reason, but my conscience which revolts here ; 
 ''which makes me say, ' Come what will, disbelieve what 
 " ' I may, I cannot believe this of a God of truth, of Him 
 "'who is Light and no darkness at all, of Ilim who 
 '"formed the intellectual man after His own image, that 
 "'he m'ght understand and glory in His Father's works ' 
 " I ought to feel this, I say, of the single Adam's 
 " navel, but I can hush up my conscience at the single 
 "instance; at the great sum total, the worthlcssness 
 "of all geologic instruction, I cannot. I cannot give up 
 "the painful and slow conclusion of five and twenty 
 "years' study of geology, and believe that God has 
 "written on the rocks one enormous and superfluous lie 
 " for all mankind. 
 
 "To this painful dilemma you have brought mc, and 
 "will, I fear, bring hundreds. It will not make me throw 
 " away my l^ible. I trust and hope. I know in whom I 
 "have believed, and can trust Him to bring my faith 
 " safe through this puzzle, as He has through others ; but 
 " for -' e young I do fear. I would not for a thousand 
 "pounds put your book into my children's hands. They 
 "would use the argument of the early Reformers about 
 "transubstantiation (which you mention, but to which 
 " you do not give sufficient weight), ' My senses tell 
 " ' me that this is bread, not God's body. You may burn 
 "'me alive, but I must believe my senses.' Your 
 "demand on implicit faith is just as great as that 
 " required for transubstantiation, and, believe me, many 
 " of your arguments, especially in the opening chapter, 
 "are strangely like those of the old Jesuits, and those 
 
 Ml ' 
 
 iiS! 
 
 It 
 
 '■}% 
 ■Ah 
 
 % 
 
 11 
 
ik 
 
 i 
 
 'I' 
 
 Hi 
 
 I 
 
 'I 'I 1^ 
 
 2>.2 
 
 77/i5' /.//"i^: O/^ PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "one used to licar from John Henry Newman fifteen 
 " years ago, when he, copying the Jesuits, was trying to 
 " undermine the grounds of all rational belief and human 
 " science, in order that, having made his victims (among 
 " whom were some of my dearest friends) believe nothing, 
 "he might get them by a ' Nemesis of faith' to believe 
 "anytiiing, and rush blindfold into superstition. Poor 
 " wretch, he was caught in his own snare. I do not fear 
 "you will be ; for you have set no snare, but spoken 
 " like an honest Christian man ; but this I do fear, with 
 " the editor of this month's Geologist, that you have given 
 " the ' vestiges of creation theory ' the best shove for- 
 "ward which it has ever had. I have a special dislike 
 " to that book ; but, honestly, I felt my heart melting 
 "towards it as I read Omphalos, and especially on 
 "reading one page where I think your argument 
 "weakest, not from fallacy, but from being too hastily 
 "slurred over. You must rewrite and enlarge these in 
 "some future edition — I mean pp. 343, 344. What you 
 "say there I think true, but I always have explained it 
 " to myself in this way — that God's imagining one 
 "species to Himself, before creation, necessitated the 
 "imagining of another, either to take its place in 
 "physical uses, or to fill up 'artistically,' if I may so 
 " speak, the cycle of possible forms. This was my 
 " prochronism ; but I don't see how fours differs from 
 "the transmutation of species theory, which your 
 "argument, if filled out fairly, would, I think, be. 
 
 "This shell would have been its ancient analogue 
 "of the Pleistocene, if creation had taken place at the 
 " Pleistocene era, and that, again, would have been the 
 " Eocene analogue, if creation had happened an a;on 
 "earlier again ; and in that case the Eocene shell would 
 'have been afterward tyansmuted into the Pleistocene 
 
 i'l 
 
iiU".«>> ■•>■ JH.'«" J"l< 
 
 iwaaiw«*inf 
 
 ■ii^^swBsawsr^^^wwwmp* 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 2S1 
 
 I 
 if 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 i 
 
 D 
 
 
 "one, and the Pleistocene one by this time into the 
 " recent : but creation having occurred after the 
 " Pleistocene era, fossils representing those (and the 
 " early) links of the cycle have been inserted into their 
 "proper beds. 
 
 " Now, I wish you would look ever this thought, for 
 " it is what you really seem to me to lead to. I am not 
 "frightened if it be true. Known unto God are all His 
 ' works, and that is enough for me ; but it does trouble 
 " me, as a disliker of the Vestiges, to find you advocating 
 "a cyclic theory of species, which, if it is to bear any 
 "analogy to the cycle of individual growth, must surely 
 "consist in physical transformation. 
 
 " If you will set me right on this matter, you will do 
 "me a moral good, as well as justice to yourself. 
 
 " Pray take all I say in good part, as the speech of 
 "one earnest man to another. All I want is God's 
 "truth, and if I can get that I will welcome it, however 
 "much it upsets my pride and my theories. And I am 
 "sure, from the tone of your book, you want nothing 
 "else cither. 
 
 " I promised to review your book. I pay you a high 
 "compliment when I say that I shall tiot do so, and 
 "solely for this reason — that I am not going to mount 
 "the reviewer's chair, and pretend to pass judgment, 
 "where I am so utterly puzzled as to confess myself 
 "only a learner and an inquirer writing for light. 
 "Believe me, yours more faithfully tha.i ever, 
 
 " C. KlNGSLEY." 
 
 V>y the time, however, that Omphalos was published, in 
 November, 1857, the change from London to Devonshire 
 had wrought its good work upon Gosse's mental health and 
 spirits. He lost his morbid depression ; he resumed his 
 
 il! 
 
 !'!,» 
 
m 
 
 v.a 
 
 
 2S4 
 
 T//£ LIFE OF nULIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 own proper work of observation with enthusiasm ; and he 
 started what is admitted to be the most serious and the 
 most durable of his contributions to scientific Hterature. 
 Since his first visit to Devonshire in 1852 the Hritish 
 sea-anemones and ccials had attracted his constantly 
 repeated attention. These curious and beautiful creatures 
 had hitherto been almost entirely neglected. The sea- 
 anemones had possessed but one historian, Dr. George 
 Johnston, who had given them a place in his History of 
 British Zoophytes. Johnston had been a good naturalist 
 in his day, but the number of varieties with which he was 
 acquainted was very small, and he was not by any means 
 careful enough in discriminating species. He lived on the 
 north-eastern coast of England, where these creatures are 
 rare, and the consequence was that for purposes of specific 
 characterization his work was utterly worthless. Johnston, 
 even in his latest edition, had been aware of the existence 
 of only twenty-four British species. Gosse increased this 
 number to between seventy and eighty, and no fewer than 
 thirty-four species were added to the British fauna by his 
 own personal investigation. But even more important, 
 perhaps, than this addition to the record of known forms, 
 was the creation of a complete systematic analysis of the 
 order Actinoidca, a feat which Philip Gosse performed 
 unaided. His system of classification was accepted in all 
 parts of the scientific world, and is still in force, with but 
 very slight modification. 
 
 The great work in which he embodied these investiga- 
 tions was entitled Actinologia Britanniar, and professed to 
 be " A History of the British Sea-anemones and Corals." 
 It was begun in the autumn of 1857, and concluded in the 
 spring of i860, having been published in twelve bi-monthly 
 parts, the first of which was issued on March i, 1858. 
 During these two years, the collection and collation of 
 
PT*I««U«I HH II 
 
 f 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 285 
 
 facts connected with this inquiry formed the main occupa- 
 tion of my father's time. In 1852 he had enjoyed his first 
 experience of marine-collecting on the shores of Oddicombe 
 and Petit Tor, and he now returned to the same pools and 
 coves with a fuller experience. He found the coast but 
 little interfered with, although the aquarium mania and 
 the prestige of his previous visit had to some degree 
 invaded his hunting-grounds. In carrying through the 
 great task which he had set before him, a task in which no 
 predecessor had laid down the lines along which he was to 
 proceed, he found it absolutely necessary to base every 
 single observation on personal examination. In order to 
 do this, he was obliged to provide himself with a wide 
 variety of specimens, and to appeal to local naturalists 
 in all parts of the British Islands for help. He printed a 
 circular inviting the co-operation of strangers, in which he 
 described, with minute care, what he wanted and did not 
 want, how specimens should be packed and forwarded, and 
 all other needful particulars. The consequence was that 
 he stimulated the zeal of fellow-labourers in all parts of 
 Britain, from the Shetlands to Jersey, and the morning 
 post commonly laid upon the breakfast-table at Sandhurst 
 one, if not more, little box of a salt and oozy character, 
 containing living anemones or corals carefully wrapped up 
 in wet seaweed. In those days, fortunately, the Post 
 Office had not yet wakened up to the inconvenience to 
 other people's correspondence which such dribbling 
 packages might cause. 
 
 But it was to his own exertions that Philip Gosse mainly 
 looked for the necessary specimens. Several times a week, 
 if the weather and the tide were at all favourable, he would 
 clamber down to the shore at Anstice Cove, at Oddicombe, 
 at Petit Tor, or take longer excursions, to Maidencombc 
 northwards, or to Livermead southwards on Tor Bay. In 
 
 
 .1' 
 ' 1 
 
 i : 
 
T 
 
 2S6 
 
 THE LIFE OF rillLlP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 H 
 
 \\'-\ 
 
 these excursions I was his constant, and generally his only, 
 companion. lie was in the habit of carrying a large 
 wicker basket, so divided into compartments as to hold two 
 stone jars of considerable capacity, and two smaller glass 
 jars. The former were for seaweeds, crabs, large fishes — 
 the rougher customers generally ; while the latter were 
 dedicated to rare anemones, nudibranchs, small crustaceans, 
 and the other fairy people of the pools. To me was 
 generally entrusted an additional glass jar, in a wicker case, 
 and sometimes a green gauze net, such as the capturers of 
 butterflies carry, which was to be used for surface-fishing, 
 and for gently shaking into its folds the delicate forms 
 that might be hiding in the seaweed curtains of large 
 still tidal pools. 
 
 One important portion of our work on the shore con- 
 sisted in turning over the large flat stones in sequestered 
 places. Great discretion was needed in selecting the 
 right stones. Those which were too heavily set would 
 contain nothing, resting too deeply to admit the sea to 
 their lower surface. Those which were balanced too 
 lightly would be found deserted, because too frequently 
 disturbed. But the stone sagaciously chosen as being fiat 
 enough, and heavy enough, and yet not too heavy, would 
 often display on its upturned under surface a marvellous 
 store of beautiful minute rarities — nudibranchs that looked 
 like tiny animated amethysts and topazes ; unique little 
 sea-anemones in the fissures ; odd crabs, as flat as farthings, 
 scuttling away in agitation ; fringed worms, like bronzed 
 cords, or strings dipped in verdigris, serpentining in and 
 out of decrepit tufts of coralline. 
 
 When our backs ached with the strain of stone-turning, 
 we used to proceed further into the broken rockwork of 
 the promontory or miniature archipelago, and the more 
 serious labour of collecting in tidal pools, or on the retreating 
 
^ 
 
 LITERARY WORK LV DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 287 
 
 seaward surface of mimic cliffs, would begin. Protected by 
 his tall boots, my father would step into mid-seas, and, 
 stooping under a dripping wall of seaweeds, would search 
 beneath the algce for such little glossy points of colour as 
 revealed interesting forms to his practised eye. If these 
 would not come away under the persuasion of the fingers, 
 he would shout to me, as guardian of the basket, to hand 
 over to him the hammer and the cold chisel, and a few 
 skilful blows would bring away the fragment of rock, with 
 its atoms of animated jelly adhering to it, uninjured and 
 almost unruffled, to be popped immediately into one or 
 other of the jars, according to his decision. This would 
 go on until, with splashings from below, the result of 
 eager pursuit of objects seen almost out of reach, and 
 drippings from above, caused by the briny rain from the 
 shaken curtains of the seaweeds, he would be drenched 
 almost to the skin ; and then, by a violent revulsion, he 
 would seize the net, and sally forth, wading, on to the 
 shallow v/aters of the sands, skimming the surface for 
 medusae, small fishes, and such other tender flotsam as 
 might come within his reach. Two or three hours of all 
 this fatigue were commonly as m.uch as he could bear, and 
 so much energy did he throw into the business that he 
 would often turn away at last, not satisfied, but exhausted 
 almost to extinction. 
 
 Even as a little child I was conscious that my father's 
 appearance on these excursions was eccentric. He had 
 a penchant for an enormous felt hat, which had once 
 been black, but was now grey and rusty with age and 
 salt. For some I'eason or other, he seldom could be 
 persuaded to wear clothes of such a light colour and 
 material as other sportsmen affect. Black broadcloth. 
 
 e 
 
 
 reduced to an extreme seediness, and cut in ancient 
 
 nr 
 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 forms, was tht; favourite attire for the shore, and after 
 
 1 
 
 i'r 
 
 ill 
 
 nn 
 
388 
 
 THE LIFE OF r/IILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I 
 
 ' 
 
 
 being soaked many times, and dried in the sun on his 
 somewhat portly person, it grew to look as if it might have 
 been bequeathed to him by some ancient missionary long 
 marooned, with no other garments, upon a coral island. 
 His ample boots, reaching to mid-thigh, completed his 
 professional garb, and when he was seen, in full sunlight, 
 skimming the rising tide upon the sands, he might have 
 been easily mistaken for a superannuated working shrimper. 
 
 Our excursions were usually made to points a little 
 beyond the reach of the amateur, but sometimes we crossed 
 parties of collectors, in dainty costumes, such as Leech 
 depicted, with pails or baskets, and we would smile and 
 nudge each other at the reflection that they little suspected 
 that the author of The Aquarium was so near them. On 
 one occasion, I recollect, at Livermead, we came across a 
 party of ladies, who were cackling so joyously over a 
 rarity they had secured that our curiosity overcame our 
 shyness, and we asked them what they had found. They 
 named a very scarce species, and held it up to us to exa- 
 mine. My father, at once, civilly set them right ; it was 
 so-and-so, something much more commonplace. The 
 ladies drew themselves up with dignity, and sarcastically 
 remarked that they could only repeat that it zvas the 
 rarity, and that " Gosse is our authority." 
 
 My father was at his very best on these delightful 
 excursions. His blood was healthily stirred by the exer- 
 cise, by the eager instinct of the hunt. Extremely serious 
 all the time, with his brows a little knitted, he was never- 
 theless not at all formidable here, as he so often was at 
 home. His broad face, blanched with emotion, as he arranged 
 his little lens to bear in proper focus on a peopled eminence 
 of wet rock, had no such terrors for me as it sometimes had 
 when it rose, burdened with prophecy, from the pages of 
 some book of exhortation. The excitement in the former 
 
 1" 
 
 i ^ 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 389 
 
 case was one which I could share, and we were happy so 
 long as no strant^er intermeddled with our joy. Ikit the 
 discovery of some other collector installed on our hunting- 
 field, or the advent of anybody to disturb us, was sufficient 
 to throw a cloud over everything. If we could not escape, 
 if we pushed on in vain into a district of wilder and more 
 slippery rocks and deeper pools, if the unconscious enemy 
 persisted in dogging our footsteps, then the spell was 
 broken, and home we trudged with empty jars, or with a 
 harvest but half garnered. 
 
 Most interesting of all were the dredging excursions \\\ 
 Tor Bay, but my memories of them are much more frag- 
 mentar)'. These were frequent through the course of 185.S, 
 but after that year my father scarcely ever ventured on the 
 water. During that last season, Charles Kingsley was 
 several times our companion. The naturalists would hire 
 a small trawler, and work up and down, generally in the 
 southern part of the bay, just outside a line drawn north 
 and south, between Hope's Nose and l^erry Head. I think 
 that Kingsley was a good sailor ; my father was a very 
 indifferent one, and so was I ; but when the trawl came up, 
 and the multitudinous population of the bottom of the 
 bay was tossed in confusion before our eyes, we forgot our 
 qualms in our excitement. I still see the hawk's eyes of 
 Kingsley peering into the trawl on one side, my father's 
 wide face and long set mouth bent upon the other. I well 
 recollect the occasion (my father's diary gives me the date, 
 August II, 1858) when, in about twenty fathoms outside 
 Berry Head, we hauled up the first specimen ever observed 
 of that exquisite creature, the diadem anemone, Buiiodcs 
 coronata ; its orange-scarlet body clasping the whorls of a 
 living Tiirritella shell, while it held in the air its purple 
 parapet crowned with snow-white spiky tentacles. 
 
 When the bi-monthly parts were bound up, the Adi- 
 
 U 
 
 ^1 
 
 i!r 
 
 \i 
 
 
290 
 
 THE LIFE OF Fill LIP IlEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 ;. 
 
 no/oi;;i(i Britatmica formed a lai-f^e and liarKlsomc volume, 
 copiously illustrated with coloured plates of all the known 
 British species and most of the varieties. The text is 
 constructed on the lucid and elaborated system consecrated 
 to exact manuals of this kind by the tradition of Yarrell's 
 British Birds. The figures of the various sea-anemones 
 arc extremely accurate in form, size, and colour, and have 
 but one artistic fault, namely, the want of natural grouping 
 in the plate. In order to secure perfect exactitude, my 
 father drew and coloured each specimen separately, and cut 
 out his figure and gummed it on to its place in the com- 
 pound illustration. Some of the individual figures suffer 
 from the hard line which surrounds them, the result of this 
 composite treatment of the full-page plates. The intro- 
 duction, a minute description of the organization of the 
 sea-anemones, and in particular of their unique and extra- 
 ordinary "tcliferous" .system, has been regarded as the 
 most sustained piece of original writing of a technically 
 scientific character which Philip Gosse has left behind him. 
 Mis anatomical statements in this preface are exceedingly 
 minute, and are given almost wholly on the authority of 
 his own dissections and observations, but they have never 
 been superseded. 
 
 While this important work was slowly drawn to a 
 conclusion, Philip Gosse occupied his leisure with a volume 
 of a more ephemeral nature. Evenings at the 3Iicroscope, 
 which appeared in ICS59. This was a popular introduction 
 to the study of microscopy. The text of the Actinologia 
 was finished in June, 1859, although it did not appear 
 in final book form until January of the next year. But 
 almost as soon as the letterpress was off his hands, my 
 father turned to the composition of a book which had long 
 occupied his thoughts, a volume dealing exclusively 
 with the aesthetic aspects of zoology. " In my many 
 
 
i 
 
 LITERARY WORK I.V DKVOXSfJIRE. 
 
 29 [ 
 
 
 years' wanderings throu,cjh the wide field of natural history," 
 he wrote in March, iSGo, "I have always felt toward it 
 somcthinf,^ of a poet's heart, thouc,di destitute of a poet's 
 j,'cnius. As Wordsworth says : — 
 
 "'To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.' " 
 
 In T/ie Poetry of Natural History (a title afterwards 
 changed to The Romance) he sought to paint a series of 
 pictures, the reflection of scenes and aspects in nature, 
 selecting those which had peculiarly the power of 
 awakening admiration, terror, curiosity, and pleasure in 
 b ' own breast. To the composition of this volume he 
 gave unusual care, and it remains, perhaps, the nearest 
 approach to an English cla.ssic of any of Philip Gossc's 
 writings. When the author repeats the experiences of 
 others, the style is sometimes a little otiose ; but where 
 he dwells on what has personally pleased or moved him, 
 where he narrates his own experiences and chronicles his 
 personal emotions, the pages of this first scries of The 
 Romance of Natural History \)Yc?,c:vvc a charm which may 
 never wholly evaporate. The editions of this book have 
 been very numerous, and after a lapse of thirty years I 
 believe that it is still in print, and enjoys a steady sale. 
 
 One chapter of this book, the final one, attracted more 
 notice than all the rest put together, and excited, indeed, a 
 positive furore. This was the chapter entitled "The 
 Great Unknown," in which Philip Gosse started the 
 suggestion that the semi-mythic marine monster, whose 
 name Avas always cropping up in the newspapers, the 
 famous sea-serpent, was perhaps a surviving species allied 
 to the gigantic fossil Enaliosanria of the lias, and, in short, 
 a marine reptile of large size, of sauroid figure, with turtle- 
 like paddles. Pic judged it to be a sort of plesiosaurus. 
 
 
 I 
 
 it: 
 
 if 
 
 
.' 
 
 ■ ^ i 
 
 292 
 
 T//E LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 some twelve or fifteen feet in length ; and one of the 
 illustrations of TJic Romance of Natural History was a 
 conjectural drawing of the living " sea-serpent," constructed 
 on the I'2naliosaurian hypothesis. In the body of the book 
 he gave a searching analysis of the more or less vague 
 reports made by unscientific, but apparently honest persons, 
 who had seen " the sea-serpent " from ship-board, and he 
 strove to show that all these stories, taken in combination, 
 tended to point conclusively to the existence of such a 
 survival as he suggested. 
 
 The theory was worked out with great fullness, and the 
 ingenuity of a special pleader. The naturalists followed 
 it with amusement and interest. Darwin was by no means 
 inclined to reject it, as a very possible hypothesis, but 
 Professor Owen hotly contested it in favour of a theory of 
 his own, that the "sea-serpent " would really prove to be a 
 very large seal. It is rather odd that after thirty years 
 the question should still be left wholly unanswered, 
 especially as vague reports of a monster seen in mid-ocean 
 continue occasionally to reach the papers. I am not aware 
 that any suggestion more tenable than my father's has yet 
 been propounded, and more extraordinary things have 
 been laughed at when they were first foreshadowed and 
 have ultimately proved to be true. Considering the stir 
 that was made about this " sea-serpent " disquisition when 
 it was originally published, it is not a little surprising that 
 fifteen or twenty years later a popular \vriter on science 
 should have had the effrontery to steal the whole thing, 
 plesiosanrus hypothesis, examination of evidence, and even 
 the very words of Philip Gosse's arguments, and to put it 
 forth as a little theory of his own. The perpetrator 
 survived my father, by a strange coincidence, only a few 
 days, and as he is dead, I need not mention his name. 
 
 The Romance of Natural History was not published 
 
 ! 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVOXSHIRE. 
 
 293 
 
 until Christmas, i860, but it was finished in the preccdinjj 
 March. My father had now for three years been settled 
 in the west, and he was growing more and more, as he 
 expressed it himself, a " troglodyte," a dweller in a cave. 
 The composition of the Actinologia Britannica had forced 
 him into correspondence with a large circle of strangers, 
 and had kept his human sympathies alive. But after the 
 publication of that work, a kind of inertia began to creep 
 over him, and he dropped his correspondents one by one. 
 Even Charles Kingslcy, with whom he had enjoyed so 
 long and close communion of interests, seemed to lose hold 
 over him. His household consisted, at this time, of his 
 aged mother, whom he had brought down into Devonshire 
 in March, 185S ; his little son ; and Miss Andrews, a lady 
 who undertook the housekeeping for the trio. 
 
 On February 28 old Mrs. Gosse died, at the age of eighty. 
 She had been bodily transplanted, with all her furniture, 
 pictures, and knick-knacks, to an apartment fitted up as 
 closoly as possible to resemble her own old room in the Poole 
 house half a century before. She remained, until near the 
 last, in full possession of her intelligence, rugged, vehement, 
 slightly bewildered, filled with respect for her son, and recog- 
 nisant of his kindness, yet pathetically remote from all his 
 interests. While she was still able, on his arm, to creep 
 out a little in the sunshine, she visited his new tropical 
 fcrn-hous.\ lately fitted up in the Sauflhurst garden. The 
 little conservatory was a great success ; in the moist hot 
 air the transparent traceries o'' the delicate fronds formed 
 an exquisite feathery vault, on either side and above the 
 visitor. "I wonder," she said, after gazing round, "that 
 you care to keep a [jarcel of fern ; " and she turned away. 
 To her the fairy adiaiitiiiiis and asplcniimis were no more 
 than specimens of that wide waste of "fern," of bracken, 
 which the open moors of Oorsctshire presented in such 
 
 B^V^H 
 
 fli 
 
294 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 I I 
 
 M '^ 
 
 .»!! ' 
 
 V.^l 
 
 abundance. I remember that I was conscious of these 
 bkint traits in my grandmother, and conscious, too, of my 
 father's grave and unaltering attitude of respectful con- 
 sideration to her. But \vc were a solitary family. For 
 hours and hours, my grandmother would be sitting at her 
 patchwork, silent, in her padded chair ; my father, almost 
 motionless, in his study belcw her ; and I, equally silent, 
 though not equally still, free to wander whither I would in 
 house and garden, so that I disturbed none of the penates 
 of the cloister and the hearth. 
 
 In the autumn of i860 a very happy and wholesome 
 change was made in the tenour of our existence. My 
 father became acquainted with a lady from the eastern 
 counties, who was staying at Torquay. This was Miss Eliza 
 l^rightwen, whom he married at Frome, in Somerset, on 
 December 18 of that same year. This lady happily sur- 
 vives, and it would not be becoming for me to dwell here 
 on the circumstances which attended her married life. 
 But, when her eye reaches this page in the biography of 
 one so dear to us both, she will forgive me if I record, on 
 behalf of the dead, as en my own behalf, our deep sense 
 of gratitude, and our tender recognition of her tact and 
 gentleness and devotion thiough no less than thirty years. 
 It is of my step-mother, of that good genius of our house, 
 of whom I think every time I turn the pages o{ A dona is — 
 
 " What softer voice is hushed over the dead ? 
 
 Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown ? 
 * * ♦ * * 
 
 If it be she, who, gentlest of ihe wise, 
 
 Taught, soothed, loved, honoured, the departed one; 
 
 Let me not vex with inharmonious sighs 
 
 The sdence of that heart's accepted sacrifice." 
 
 The year 1861 was the last in which my father retained 
 his old intellectual habits and interests unimpaired. There 
 
 
LITERARY V'nRK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 295 
 
 was, even, a revival of the scientific b^^'rit, a fresh response 
 to the instinct of the observer. His principal Htcrary work 
 was a second series of The Romance of Natural History, 
 carried forth, rather too hastily, in consequence of the extra- 
 ordinary popularity of the first. It was issued in Novem- 
 ber, and sold well, but not nearly so well as its predecessor. 
 The book suffers from the usual fate of continuations. We 
 feel that the first series was produced because the author 
 had something which he must say, the second because he 
 must say something. The most interesting and important 
 chapter was that on " The Extinct," in which the author 
 dwells on the depth of species, on the disappearance of the 
 mylodon, the Irish elk, the icpyornis, the dodo, and the 
 great auk. In the section on "Mermaids," he tried to 
 repeat the success of his sensational chapter on the " Sea- 
 Serpent," and suggested the possibility that the northern 
 seas may yet hold some form of mammal, uncatalogued 
 by science, which, if guiltless of green hair and a looking- 
 glass, may yet ultimately prove to be the prototype of the 
 mermaid. lie had, however, no such definite hypothesis 
 to produce as the old plcsiosauriis one, and the public 
 imagination declined to be greatly stirred about mermaids. 
 In the autumn of 1861 Philip Gosse returned with one 
 of his spasmodic bursts of zeal to the accurate study of the 
 rotifera. His successive monographs on Stephanoceros, 
 on the Floscularid^, and on the Melicertid;\i appeared in 
 the Popular Science Review in the course of 1862, and 
 supplemented the discoveries he had made and reported 
 twelve years before. In these papers he begun a general 
 account of the whole class of the Rotifera, arranged 
 according to a classification of his own ; but the Popular 
 Science Reviezu came to an end, and the work was never 
 completed. This important fragment of a history of the 
 Rotifera is constantly referred to in the great work pub- 
 
 
 1 
 
n 
 
 290 
 
 T//E LIFE OF rniLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 
 i;>- 
 
 lishcd by Hudson and Gosse a quarter of a century later. 
 It only includes the three great families of the Flosculari'ia^, 
 the Meliccrtida:, and the Notommatina ; but it is almost a 
 classic as regards those sections of the class. 
 
 The next year was the first for twenty years in which 
 Philip Gosse was not actively employed in literary work. 
 It was a season of sudden transition ; his tastes, his intel- 
 lectual habits, underwent a complete change. He ceased, 
 almost entirely, to concentrate his attention on marine 
 forms. He abandoned his long-loved mistress, zoology, 
 and in exchange he began to devote himself to astronomy 
 and to botany, lioth of these new interests were awakened 
 in April, 1862 — the former in consequence of the publication 
 in the Times of some observations regarding coloured 
 stars which greatly excited his imagination ; the latter 
 through seeing Lord Sinclair's collection of tropical 
 orchids. He began, with his accustomed energy, to devote 
 himself to these novel interests, and he built an orchid- 
 house, in which he presently collected and arranged a very 
 valuable collection of these singular and fascinating plants. 
 He imported them from the tropics on his own account, 
 and in October, 1862, the first of many consignments 
 arrived, in the shape of a rough assortment of orchids from 
 the forests of lirazil. 
 
 Once more he was persuaded to take up the pen in 
 18G3. As a popular illustrated magazine of quite a nev,- 
 class. Good Words was just then at the height of a well- 
 deserved popularity. Dr. Norman Macleod had freq .lently 
 invited Philip Gosse to contribute, but without avail ; until 
 in the first da)'s of 1863, being in South Devon, he called 
 at Sandhurst, and did not leave until my father had 
 undertaken to write a serial for the magazine, a series of 
 consecutive papers, to cover a whole year, describing 
 month by month, in a sort of sea-shepherd's calendar, 
 
y 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 297 
 
 
 what work a naturalist could undertake at each season on 
 the shore. These papers were to be illustrated by at least 
 three plates in each number, engraved in black and white 
 in the pages of Good Words, but originally executed in 
 I'hilip Gosse's most exquisite style, in water-colours. This 
 serial was entitled A Year at the Shore, and the first 
 instalment appeared in the magazine in January, 1S64, 
 running through the entire year. These papers were very 
 happily written, quite in the old enchanting style of the 
 Devonshire Coast and The Aquariiiin, with the freshness of 
 that contented and wholesome period. They were full of 
 practical advice to persons engaged in zoological collec- 
 tion ; and they proved, so he was constantly assured, very 
 stim.ulating to the readers of the magazine. 
 
 His orchids largely occupied Philip Gosse's spare 
 moments in the course of 1863, and in the autumn he 
 was corresponding a good deal with Charles Darwin, to 
 whom he had communicated in June some observations he 
 had made on the strange and morbid-looking blossoms of 
 the Stanhopea. From this correspondence I select his two 
 earliest letters, and the replies received from the eminent 
 biologist. They will be of interest, perhaps, to others 
 than botanists, and are now for the first time published. 
 
 i 
 
 \\ 
 
 r. IT. GossE to Cii.vRLKS Darwin. 
 
 "Sandhurst, May 30, 1863. 
 "My dear Sir, 
 
 " Will you kindly vouchsafe me a little word 
 of help? With your charming book before nie, I have 
 been trying to fertilize the orchids of my little collec- 
 tion, as they flower. With some 1 succeed, with others 
 there is difficulty. Let me tell you of the present ' fix.' 
 " Stanhopea ocnlata opened four great blooms on 
 Thursday ; to-day they begin to flag, and I delay no 
 
 l\\ 
 
 I! 
 
298 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 \ 1 
 
 "longer to impregnate. I reach down your book, turn 
 " to your figure at p. 179, and recognize the parts well 
 "enough. Then, with a toothpick, I lift the anther 
 "and out come the pollinia, very well depicted by you 
 "at p. i(S5, Fig. C, except that in this my species the 
 " pollinia masses arc much larger in proportion to the 
 " viscid disc. The disc is viscid enough, and I carr)' the 
 " whole on a toothpick. Now I want to find where to 
 " deposit it. I take for granted that it is in the hollow 
 " (marked a in my sketch), which is the stigma. Ikit 
 " there is no viscosity there, nor anywhere near, up or 
 "down, not the slightest; and I cannot get the pollen 
 " to adhere. I low can this plant be fertilized ? And how 
 "would any insect do it .'' And what would an insect 
 " be about to touch the tip of this isolated projecting 
 "column } Supposing the great bee, or Scolia, or what 
 " not, wants to get at the hollow hypochil (though I 
 " don't find any honey there', he would alight on the 
 " epichil (whose surface is already three-quarters of an 
 " inch from the rostellum, and which, being movable, 
 " would bend away still further), and creep between the 
 " horns of the mcsochil ; how thus could he touch the 
 "anther? and if he did, how could he lodge the pollen 
 " on the stigma } And if he did, how could it stick, seeing 
 " the place is not sticky ? 
 
 " Do resolve mc these doubts ; and believe mc, 
 
 " My dear sir, 
 
 " Ever yours truly, 
 
 " P. 11. GOSSE. 
 
 " The disc at the end of the caudicle adheres to the 
 " stigma, but the pollen masses project, and won't touch 
 " it, thougli pressed against it with force." 
 
 I 
 
1. 
 
 I 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 299 
 
 C. Darwin to P. 11. Gosse. 
 
 " Down, June 2, 1863. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " It would give mc real pleasure to resolve your 
 "doubts, but I cannot. lean give only suspicions and 
 " my grounds for them. I should think the non-viscidity 
 " of the stigmatic hollow was due to the plant not living 
 " under its natural conditions. Please see what I have 
 "said on Acropcra. An excellent observer, ]\Ir. J. Scott, 
 " of the Botanical Gardens, Edinburgh, finds all that I 
 "say accurate, but nothing daunted, he with the knife 
 " enlarged the orifice, and forced in pollen-masses ; or 
 " he simply stuck them into the contracted orifice 
 " without coming into contact with the stigtJtatic surface, 
 "which is hardly at all viscid ; when, lo and behold, 
 "pollen tubes were emitted and fine seed capsules 
 "obtained. This was effected with Acropcra Loddigcsii ; 
 "but I have no doubt that I have blundered badly about 
 ''A. lutcola. I mention all this because, as jMr. Scott 
 "remarks, as the plant is in our hot-houses, it is quite 
 " incredible it ever could be fertilized in its native land. 
 " The whole case is an utter enigma to me. Probably 
 " you are aware that there are cases (and it is one of the 
 "oddest facts in physiology) of plants which under 
 " culture have their sexual functions in so strange a 
 " condition, that though their pollen and ovules arc 
 " in a sound state and can fertilize and be fertilized 
 " by distinct but allied species, they cannot fertilize 
 "themselves. Now, Mr. Scott has found this the case 
 "with certain orchids, which again shows sexual dis- 
 " turbance. He had read a paper at the Botanical 
 "Society of Edinburgh, and I daresay an abstract which 
 " I have seen will appear in the Gardener's Chronicle ; but 
 " blunders have crept in in copying, and parts arc barely 
 
 ili. 
 
 (li; 
 
3C0 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP IIEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 Ml I 
 
 %h 
 
 ^ 
 
 -A^ II 
 
 ^\ V 
 
 " intcllij^iblc. How insects act with j'our StaiiJiopca I 
 "will not pretend to conjecture. In many cases I believe 
 "the acutest man could not conjecture without seeing the 
 " insect at work. I could name common English plants 
 " in this predicament. Ikit the musk orchis is a case in 
 "point. Since publishing, my son and myself have 
 " watched the plant and seen the pollinia removed, and 
 " where do you think they invariably adhere in dozens 
 "of specimens.-* — always to the joint of the femur with 
 "the trochanter of the first pair of legs, and nowhere 
 " else. When one sees such adaptation as this, it would 
 "be helpless to conjecture on the Stanhopca till wc 
 " know what insect visits it. I have fully proved that 
 "my strong susi)icion was correct that with many of our 
 " English orchids no nectar is excreted, but that insects 
 " penetrate the tissues for it. So I expect it must be 
 " with many foreign species. I forgot to say that if you 
 " find that you cannot fertilize any of your exotics, take 
 " pollen from some allied form, and it is (]uitc probable 
 "that will succeed. Will you have the kindness to look 
 " occasionally at your bee ophrys near Torquay, and 
 " sec whether pollinia are ever removed. It is my 
 " greatest puzzle. Please read what I have said on it, 
 " and on O. arachnites. I have since proved that the 
 " account of the latter is correct. I wish I could have 
 "given you better information. 
 
 " My dear sir, 
 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Charles Darwin. 
 " P,S. — If the flowers of the StanJiopca arc not too 
 " old, remove pollen masses from their pedicels, and 
 " stick them with a little liquid pure gum to the stigmatic 
 "cavity. After the case of the Acropera, no one can 
 " dare positively say that they would not act." 
 
 M< ; 
 
LITERARY WORK IN DEVOXSHIRE. 
 
 301 
 
 P. H. GossE to C. Darwin. 
 
 " Sandhurst, June 4, 1863. 
 
 "My dear Sir, 
 
 " I am exceed infijly obliged for your kind and 
 "full reply. Will the following additional facts throw 
 " any light on the matter ? 
 
 " The four flowers of StanJtopca oculata became 
 " thoroughly withered and flaccid by 1st inst., the 4th 
 "day after opening; yet I allowed them to remain till 
 "this morning, when I cut off the raceme just before I 
 " received your letter. As one of the gcrmens (and this 
 "one of those that I had tried to impregnate) came away 
 "with a touch, I took it as certain that no impregnation 
 " had taken place ; and so threw the whole on the rubbish 
 "heap without further examination. l^ut, on reading 
 "your remarks, I thought I would examine them again ; 
 "chiefly to see if, by piercing the stigmatic surface, which 
 "had been so perfectly dry, I could find any viscosity 
 " within. Looking first at one of those to which I had 
 "affixed the pollen masses by means of their viscid disk, 
 " I was surprised to see they were half imbedded in a 
 "mass of viscous fluid. The other which I had treated 
 "was in precisely the same condition ; the viscum having 
 " exuded copiously, and oozing in a great globule, when 
 " I used pressure with my thumb and finger lower down 
 " the column. Let this, then, be fact the first, that though 
 " no viscum be visible at first on the stigma, it issues 
 "copiously after tJic floi^'er lias faded, from the interior, 
 " at the extreme point of the rostcllum. 
 
 " But secondly : A day or two after my attempt at 
 " impregnation (which affected only tico of the four 
 " flowers), I was surprised to see the pollinia of one of the 
 ^^ untouched ^QWQ.x's, adhering to the point of one of the 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 ' 
 
 m 
 
302 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil UP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " ivory-likc horns of the mcsochil. I wondered, but 
 "could not account for it, as I felt sure I had not acci- 
 " dentally detached and attached them in such a manner, 
 " while operating on the others. But, just now, in my 
 "examination of the faded spike, I observed, not only 
 " that the poUinia of that flower remained still on the tip 
 " of the horn, but that one of the horns of the other un- 
 " touched flower has lifted its own anther, and carries 
 "the pollinia in triumph on its point. If this is acci- 
 " dental, it is surely a remarkable coincidence. But it 
 "suggests to me the following hypothesis ; — That the 
 " movable lip of this curious flower, agitated by the 
 " wind, brings the tips of the horns now and then into 
 " contact with the rostellum, so as to lift the anther, and 
 "carry away the pollinia by touching the viscid disk. 
 " That as soon as the viscum exudes from the stigmatic 
 "cavity and spreads over its surface, similar agitations 
 "of the lip would cause the pollinia to swing across the 
 " stigma, and brushing the exuded globule of viscum, to 
 " adhere. If this is tenable, here is a use for these c.xtra- 
 " ordinary horns. Tell me what you think of the thought. 
 " I 1 egret that I was so hasty in cutting away the faded 
 '■' spike ; possibly, with a little more obstetric manipula- 
 "tion, or even an agitation of the flowers with my breath, 
 " I might have succeeded in impregnating, and in settling 
 " the point. 
 
 " If my hypothesis should be correct, will it not show 
 "that Stanhopead^^^ord?, another example of self-fertiliza- 
 " tion 1 For the horns of any blossom can rifle only its 
 " ozvn anther, and can deposit on only its own stigma. 
 " But what an unexpected mode of proceeding ! I enclose 
 "you one of the pollinia carried on the horn. 
 
 "Yours faithfully, 
 
 " P. H. GossE." 
 
 .;,»cna^? ?.'Tr-sj 9i 
 
 i L p \ . m M,. m m^ 
 
LITERARY WORK LV DEVOXSIIIRE. 
 
 303 
 
 " C. Darwin to P. H. Gosse . 
 
 "Down, June 5, 1863. 
 
 " Mv DEAR Sir, 
 
 " If you would prove the truth of your hypo- 
 thesis, it would be extremely curious and quite new. 
 It certainly seems very suspicious you having found 
 the poUinium attached to the horns of the labellum so 
 often. I am prepared to believe anything of these 
 wonderful productions. But if I were in your place, I 
 would wait till I could observe another spike, and then 
 you would, I have no doubt, definitely prove the case. 
 Why I should act so is because I have so often noticed 
 the poUinia removed in an unexpected manner. Dr. 
 Hooker published in PltiL Transactions that Listcra 
 ejected its pollinia to a distance, which is an entire 
 mistake. The conjecture (and it was founded on 
 nothing but despair) occurred to me that the vibrating 
 labellum in Acropera might remove the pollinia ; but 
 Dr. Hooker tried on a living plant and failed to make 
 it act. 
 
 " Nevertheless your case may prove quite true ; the 
 dried labellum seems very thin, as if it had been flexible. 
 It is really a very curious case. I have some Stan- 
 hopes in my stove (I know not what species), but I fear 
 they will not flower this summer : should they do so, I 
 will observe them and communicate the result to you. 
 If you thought fit to communicate your facts now to 
 any periodical, it might induce otliers to observe ; but 
 many persons arc such bad observers that I doubt 
 whether you would profit by it. 
 
 "I would suggest to you to get to know (if you do 
 not already do so) the appearance of the viscid matter 
 from the stigma which abounds with isolated elongated 
 
 w 
 
 ■ii 
 
304 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP IlEXRY GOSSE. 
 
 "cells, called by 15ro\vn utriculi : these I find never 
 "present in viscid matter of rostellum ; and when these 
 " parts are close, it is imi)ortant to distiiif^uish them. 
 "You could have then probably told whether the fluid 
 "which exuded from your decaying; flowers was a true 
 " stii^matic secretion. I heartily hope your pretty little 
 " discovery will prove [rood and true. 
 " My dear sir, 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " C. Darwin." 
 
 T 
 
 !l ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 A month later my father notes that he has been busy 
 "examining bee orchis for Darwin at Petit Tor," and send- 
 \\v^ liim notes and drawings on Cyaticea. Another interest- 
 ing correspondence this autumn was with I.ady Dorothy 
 Nevill, who su[)plied him with ailanthus plants, and with 
 a brood of caterpillars of Boinhyx Cynthia, the exquisite 
 Indian silkworm moth, whose sickle-shaped wings of clear 
 apple-green, marked with pink moons and scimitars, 
 emerged in due time, to our infmite delight, from cocoons 
 of the pale Tussore silk. WwX. in the next chapter I shall 
 dwell more at length on the amateur pleasures which now 
 began to absorb my father'.s extended leisure. 
 
 In the course of 1S64 my father collected some old 
 papers and revised them, destining them to form a volume 
 which he presently publislu'd under the title oi Land and 
 Sea. Of this book the iir^c hundred pages were well 
 worthy of preservation , il.ey contained the record of the 
 author's stay twelve years previously on the picturesque 
 island of Lundy, in the Bristol Channel. But some of the 
 other sketches were rather trivial and diffusely told, besides 
 possessing the disadvantage that they seemed like discarded 
 chapters from other books, which indeed they were — The 
 Ocean, A Naturalist's Sojonrn in Jamaica, and A Year 
 
' 
 
 LITERARY WORK IN DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 305 
 
 at the Shore, all having' sui)plicd, from rejected or super- 
 fluous sections, matter for chapters in Land and Sea. 
 The fact cannot be shirked that the author was becomintr 
 lan^ruid, inattentive to the form of what he published, and 
 interested in matters outside the range of his professional 
 work. V>y a curious coincidence, A Year at the Shore and 
 Land and Sea were published in book form on the same 
 day, January 24, 1865, and this may be taken as the date 
 when Philip Gossc ceased to be a professional author. 
 
 ;i 
 
 ! 
 
ji^ n 
 
 T 
 
 ( 306 ) 
 
 <y *iii 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 ( 1 864-1 888.) 
 
 THE remainder of Philip Gosse's life, spent in extreme 
 retirement in his house at St. Marychurch, does not 
 present many features which are of striking interest to the 
 general reader. I shall not attempt to follow chrono- 
 logically the events of this calm quarter of a century. To 
 give them a history would be to disturb their peaceful 
 sequence, and to destroy their relation with those more 
 stirring facts which have preceded them. A reflection of 
 the even tenour of my father's existence will be found in 
 the narrative which my step-mother, his sole constant 
 companion, has been so kind as to prepare in the form of 
 an appendix to this volume. After 1866, he came but 
 once to London, in 1873, when he spent a day or two in 
 town on business. On this occasion he visited Lloyd's 
 great aquaria in the Crystal Palace, but they failed to 
 interest him to any great extent. Since 1864 he had 
 strangely ceased to feel any curiosity in invertebrate 
 zoology. The first breath of revival in this direction was 
 awakened by a letter of my own to him, in which 1 de- 
 scribed to him some rarities which I had observed at the 
 south point of the Lizard. He replied (August 5, 1874) : — 
 " Years and years have passed since 1 saw any 
 "actinia: living in profusion; the ladies and the dealers 
 
1 
 
 1^ ■ 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 307 
 
 "together have swept the whole coast within reach of 
 " this place (St. Marychurch) as with a besom. Even 
 '' Mcseinbryantheinuui occurs only in wretched little 
 "examples, few and far between. . , . From all that you 
 " say, 1 imagine that the point of Cornwall and the Scilly 
 "Isles, being beyond railways, would offer many a scene 
 "such as you have beheld, rich to profusion in marine 
 " zoology, and unrifled by the rude hands of man ; and. 
 "old as I am, I am stimulated to try. As soon as we 
 "had read your letter, mother suggested whether we 
 " might not run down ourselves for a few days ; and I 
 "am not sure that we shall not put the posse in esse. 
 " Please to give mc a little more detail on the practical 
 "aspects. . . . Could I reach the cleft knife-like point of 
 "rock which }-ou found so [)rolific in uivca and viiniata ? 
 " The pale-green anemone, with banded tentacles and a 
 " Sagariia habit, which you found on the rock that you 
 " reached by swimming — was not this Sagartta chryso- 
 " spleuimu ? This is a spcics which I have never seen. 
 "Refer to plate vi. o^ Actiiio/ogia Britainiicci, and tell me 
 "whether it was this. ... I am all agog as I read. 
 "The case of the launce you found swallowed by an 
 " Aiithca is not without parallel in my own experience." 
 It was only a flash in the pan, however ; in the next 
 letter I was told that " even early September is no time for 
 elderly persons to be away from home, in a wild remote 
 country." The real zoological awakening had not come. 
 
 These years were not, however, in any ser-s ■ quiescent. 
 They were amply filled with amateur occupauons — the 
 cultivation of orcl;ids and the study of astronouiy being 
 the most prominent. When Philip Gossc had passed sixty 
 years of age, his health became settled, and he enjoyed 
 life to a higher degree than perhaps ever before. On 
 February 18, 1875, he wrote: — 
 
 ill 
 

 \m 
 
 308 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHI LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 " Old age creeps sensibly upon me, and makes 
 " its advance perceptible in many little ways ; yet, 
 "though I have occasional reminders that I must be 
 "cautious of overwork, I am remarkably free from 
 "pains, and life is full of enjoyment to me. In many 
 " things — in enthusiasm, in the zest with which I enter 
 " into pursuits, in the interest which I feel in them, even 
 " in the delight of mere animal existence, and the sense 
 "of the beautiful around me — I feel almost a youth 
 "still." 
 This sense of health and capacity for enjoyment in- 
 creased as time went on, and the intellectual vigour was 
 gradually turned back into the old professional channels. In 
 November, 1875, after having wholly neglected the marine 
 aquarium for fifteen years, he began to collect and keep sea- 
 beasts in captivity once more. He commenced with nothing 
 more ambitious than an old shallow flat-bottomed pan of 
 brown earthenware, and for some time he was content to 
 buy specimens from the men who made it their business to 
 sell seaweeds and anemones to winter visitors at Torquay. 
 But in February, 1876, he ceased to be satisfied with 
 pleasures so tame to an old sportsman, and, armed with 
 a new collecting-belt and his ancient water-proof boots, he 
 sallied down to Petit Tor at the low spring tide, and began 
 to search for himself in the fearless old fashion. This 
 was the beginning of a revival in zoological enthusiasm, 
 which steadily increased, and was sustained almost to the 
 close of his life, culminating in his remarkable aftermath 
 of scientific publications. Me determined to establish at 
 Sandhurst an aquarium of large size and on modern 
 principles, and he was finally moved to undertake this 
 project from the disappointment he experienced in failing 
 to keep alive some specimens of the scarlet and yellow 
 BahDiopJiyHia in his eartlien jars. On June 23 Mr. VV. A. 
 
 '® 
 
 m % 
 
 -riTf ■■l|n 
 

 m 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 309 
 
 Lloyd and Mr. J. T. Carrinf^ton, whom he had summoned 
 to his aid, came down to St. Marychurch to make su^- 
 f^estions and plans for the tank, the main characteristic of 
 which was to be that it should have a constant current, 
 like those in the Crj'stal P.'.lace. As it was spring tide, my 
 father took his old friend from Oddicombe beach in a 
 boat to the Bell Rock and to Maidencombe ; but, thouc^h 
 they were out three hours, there was a tiresome swell, and 
 thc\' worked in the lovely gardens of red seaweed with 
 but little success. 
 
 Lloyd's visit had, however, its direct results. His eye 
 was quick and his engineering sense prompt and astute. 
 ]^y his recommendation, Philip Gosse had a slate reservoir 
 sunk to the level of the earth, in a coal-shed in his back 
 garden. In this he stored two hundred and ten gallons of 
 brilliant sea-water dipped at Oddicombe beach. In the 
 roof over the kitchen was fixed another slate cistern of 
 .1 hundred and twenty gallons, and an unused lumber-room 
 was devoted to the reception of the show-tank, to hold 
 fifty gallons, made of slate, with a half-inch plate-glass 
 front. A glass pump and vulcanite pipes completed the 
 establishment, which was fitted up under Lloyd's super- 
 \ ision. ^Vhen all was put together, an hour's pumping, 
 once a week, was sufficient to lift the hundred and t\vent\' 
 gallons of sea-water from the reservoir into the cistern, 
 wlion'-e it flowed by a pipe with a fine jet into the tank, 
 at the regulated rate of about seventeen gallons a day, while 
 a similar quantity flowed from the bottom of the tank into 
 the reservoir, thus securing a constant circulation. 
 
 The construction of this tank, which, after one or two 
 slight hitches, worked in a most satisfactory manner, 
 greatly revived Philip Gosse's interest in zoology. He 
 began, once again, to haunt the shore, undeterred by the 
 i.iborious exertion required, or by the exhausting climb up 
 
 ];■ 
 
 ■ k 
 
i 
 
 W: 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 p 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ! ;': 
 
 m 
 
 310 
 
 T//E LIFE OF nilLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 and down the cliffs which each visit to the beach entailed. 
 Roundham Head, in the centre of Tor Bay, and IVIaiden- 
 combe, half-way between Hope's Nose and the estuary of 
 the Teign, were at t)-.is time his favourite hunting-grounds ; 
 but he went even further afield, running down by boat to 
 Prawle Point and Berry 1 lead, or to the rocks that front 
 the black creeks at the mouth of the Dart. Regardless of 
 his sixty-seven summers, he would strip, on occasion, and 
 work like a youth in the cold pools of the slate, balanced 
 carefully on a -.'ippery foothold '^f oar-weed or tulse. 
 Here arc some > v s taken at random from his journal 
 of 1876:— 
 
 ^^ August 7. — I went to Dartmouth by earliest train, 
 " intending to hire a sailing-boat to run down to the 
 " Prawle. Old Jone.'', however, declared it to be im- 
 " practicable, from wind and swell ; I therefore made him 
 " pull me out to 151ack Rock, and thence to Combe Point. 
 "Near this latter I obtained a group of the loveliest 
 " Coryuactis I ever saw ; the whole body and disc of 
 " the richest emerald, the colour very positive and (so 
 " to say) opaque, tentacles rich lilac-rose. Returning, 
 " I examined some overhanging rocks near Compass 
 " Cove. On one ledge of a yard square, 1 saw nearly 
 "a dozen of white daisy-like anemones; but eighteen 
 "inches below the sur'"acc, and thus beyond reach, 
 *' though easily procurable if the tide had been good, 
 " but it was very poor. IS -^.r the same place I saw 
 "others, and tried to get some, but fiilctl. At length 1 
 " obtained' two noble specimens of Sagaiiia sphyrodcta, 
 " with bright orange disc. From a pool of fuci I had 
 " dipped a rare prawn, which I would not keep, and a 
 "number of llippolyte varians. 
 
 '"November 3. — 1 wrote Harris yesterday to meet me 
 " v/ith a boat this morning at 10.50. But on my arrival 
 
 
LAST YEARS. 
 
 3" 
 
 " at the beach, there was no one ; and so I scrambled 
 " across to Babbicombc. There I found Thomas just 
 "come in from fishing, who had been delegated by 
 " Harris to take me. So he pulled mc along shore to 
 " Hope's Nose, and proved a very agreeable and service- 
 " able young fellow, entering heartily into my wishes. 
 "There were some good crevices just below the rifle 
 " targets, and some at Black Head. Yet I got but little, 
 " till Thomas suggested some little pools which he knew 
 '• to be rich on the islet called Fir.'. Rock, about a mile 
 " off Hope's Nose. I accordingly climbed the rock, and 
 " soon found the rough leprous-barnacled surface hol- 
 " lowed in dozens of little shallow pools, overspread 
 " W' ith fucus. The bottoms of these were studded with 
 " numbers of the pretty Sagartin ///rcv?, which I have not 
 " seen for years. They were all burrowed in the honey- 
 " combed limestone, and hard to chisel out; however, I 
 "obtained seven. In one pool there was a colony of 
 '' Biuiodi's gcinmacea, unusually large; I took three of 
 "these. Many pools were still unexplored. I had pre- 
 " viously taken a nice mass of the emerald variety of 
 " Corynactis viridis, and many good masses of fine 
 "altix-. The weather was mild, and fairly fine; very 
 " calm ; the sea smooth, and brilliantly clear. I enjoyed 
 " the trip greatly." 
 
 He made no pause through the depth of this winter, but 
 collected on the shore during every fine day. December 
 29 saw him stalking " an immense-disked \^Sagartia\ hdlis 
 versicolor'' under Oddicombe Point, and Jantiary 1 found 
 him turnintr stones on the beach at Livermead. The re- 
 fluent tide of his zoological ardour was at its height, nor 
 can it be said to have slackened through the greater part 
 of 1877. When he worked on the shore, Mr.s. Gosse, as 
 she will relate, was commonly his companion ; when he 
 
 
 m 
 
. ¥^ 
 
 '1 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 312 
 
 T/rE LIFE OF riTILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 % ?? i.f 
 
 J 
 
 5 
 
 i ■■ -S 
 
 ViW 
 
 took sailing excursions, he often had the advantage of the 
 company of Mr. Arthur Hunt, of Torquay, a young 
 naturalist of knowledge and enthusiasm, who then pos- 
 sessed a yacht, the Gauiiet, in which the friends undertook 
 frequent scientific excursions, especially over the sand\- 
 Zostera-beds in Torbay, among the little archipelago 
 wliich lies off Hope's Nose, at the mouth of ]3rixham 
 Harbour, and off Berry Head. His letters of this period 
 usually contain some pleasant reference to his beautiful 
 tank and its inmates. For example (June 11, 1877), he 
 writes : — 
 
 " Have I told you of a young lobster, which, about 
 " two montl\s ago, I caught in Petit Tor great pool with 
 "my finger? after more than an hour's effort.^ He was 
 " a beau'cifu. feiiow then, just six inches long, without 
 " reckoning his claws ; but after a week or two he 
 "sloughed one night, to my dismay next morning, for J 
 "supposed the slough to be my pet dead, so perfect was 
 "it in every member; but presently I saw the gentleman 
 " in duplicate, safe ensconced in a dark corner, and at 
 "least one-third longer. He is now very saucy and 
 " fierce ; quite cock of the walk ; docs me some damage 
 " by killing and gnawing now and then one of his fellow- 
 " captives ; but this I put up with, for he is such a beaut}'. 
 " I have been out dredging several times lately again 
 " with Arthur Hunt, who is very kind to me, urging mc 
 " to go out frequently, and putting his boat and two 
 " dredges, and himself, and a boatman, at my entire 
 " command, and then, forsooth, taking all as if / had 
 " done ///;;/ a great favour ! The worst of it is, I can't 
 " stand any toss — old sailor as I am — without a rebellion 
 " within. But the bottom of Torbay is so rich in zoolog)-, 
 " that it is worth the scraping ; and Hunt is himself a 
 . " naturalist." 
 
 (! 
 
 \ 
 
 % 1 
 
 ■a 
 
LAST YEARS. 
 
 3' 3 
 
 
 In the course of 1S78 a new hobby began to interfere a 
 little with the exclusive interest in the marine aquarium. 
 It was, more strictly speaking, his earliest hobby resusci- 
 tated. He met with a French gentl.man, resident in 
 London, who made it his business to import fine exotic 
 Lepidoptera in the pupa condition. It was nearly twenty 
 years since, in response to a suggestion from Lady Dorothy 
 Ncvill, Philip Gosse had made a brief attempt to breed the 
 great Indian moths. He first purchased a few chrysalids 
 of continental butterflies, amongst others Papilio Poda- 
 lirins, Thais Polyxeiia, and Lyacna Idas ; but he soon 
 became chiefl\- interested in the great moths of America 
 and India, the Saturniada; and their allies. He writes 
 (May 14, 1878) :— 
 
 " You will perhaps recollect the great atlas moth in 
 " the midst of the box of Chine; e insects on the wall of 
 "our breakfast-room. Well, I have a living cocoon of 
 '•this species, and of a number of others akin to it. 
 " Two noble specimens have already been evolved, and 
 " are preserved. Then I have c\Q;gs of several of the 
 "species, from one set of which {Attacus Yamma-vun of 
 "Japan) I am now rearing beautiful caterpillars, on oak. 
 " Some of these insects are North American, and were 
 "objects of my desire and delight when I collected in 
 "Canada and in Alabama ; and this casts an extra hah^ 
 " around them. But their size and beauty make them 
 " all very charming. ' Naturain cxpcllcs, tanien usque 
 "' reatrret.'' I am most thankful to say that God con- 
 "tinues to me such health and buoyancy of spirits that I 
 " enter into all these recreations with as much enthusiasm 
 " as I felt forty years ago. And so does my beloved wife, 
 " who adds tenfold to my enjoyment, both of work and 
 " play, by her hearty sharing of both, and an enjoyment as 
 " keen as my own. Thus are we two happy old fogies." 
 
 |:A 
 
 sm 
 
 ,i 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
314 
 
 THE LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 M 
 
 
 ;" % 
 
 And again (June 26, 1878) : — 
 
 " This purchase of a cocoon or two of Satnniiadce has 
 "grown into a much greater enterprise than I antici- 
 "pated. I am at last gratifying the desire of more than 
 " five and forty years, namely, the rearing of some of 
 " the very elite of the Lepidoptera. Yesterday I had the 
 " beautiful male Purple Emperor evolved from a chrysalis, 
 "reared from the caterpillar. Another will probably be 
 "out to-night, a distinct species, closely allied. I have 
 " now around me the larva, attaining vast size and great 
 " beauty, of many of the very principcs of the moths ; 
 " and several I have evolved from cocoon. One of the 
 "very finest I ever saw was produced in great perfection 
 " a few days ago ; I inclose you an accurately measured 
 "paper-cutting of it. It is of cxqui-ite delicacy; the 
 "wings of the tcndcrcst pca-grecn, merging into snow- 
 " white at the body, and the front edge chocolate-purple. 
 " It is the noble TropLca sclciic of the Himalayan slopes. 
 " These are samples which ought to make your mouth 
 "water, if you retain any of your boyish enthusiasm." 
 And again (April 7, 1879) : — 
 
 " If you are still entomologist enough to know the 
 "splendid Morphos, most lustrous, dazzling blue, great 
 "butterflies of South America, ycju will like to know 
 " that I have recently been accumulating a fine collection 
 "of these and other tropical Lepidoptera ; including the 
 " great Ornithopteric of Malasia, a large number of fine 
 " Papilioiies, and half a dozen species or more of the 
 " noblest of these Morphos, enough already nearly to 
 "fill a cabinet of twenty-four drawers. They afford me 
 "great delight, gratifying the yearnings of my earlier 
 " years, which I never expected to gratify." 
 During all this time, however, and in spite of all the 
 incentives to intellectual labour which his pursuits gave 
 
 !■ . 1 
 
 'Im 
 
/ 
 
 the 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 315 
 
 him, Phih'p Gossc showed no inclination to take up the 
 pen which had sHpped from his fii.^crs fifteen years before. 
 It seemed now wholly improbable that he would ever 
 resume authorship, but with the approach of his seventieth 
 year this instinct also was reawakened. In March, 1879, 
 he published as a separate brochure a memoir on Tlw 
 Great Atlas JSIoth of India {Attaciis Ada ), with a coloured 
 plate of its transformations. In October of the same year 
 he became a member of the Entomological Society, and in 
 June, 1880, he printed a monograph on the velvet-black 
 butterfly, with emerald bands and crimson spots, which 
 swarms in the forests of Jamaica, Urania sloanus. This 
 again was followed by a pamphlet on The ButterJIies of 
 Paraguay. 
 
 These small memoirs were but the preliminaries to 
 an entomological work of wide e.xtcnt, demanding the 
 expenditure of a great deal of leisure and laborious 
 research. For a considerable time past the attention of 
 Philip Gossc had been increasingly drawn to the singular 
 forms and the variety of function of the prehensile api)a- 
 ratus employed in reproduction by the large butterflies 
 which he had reared under his close personal observation. 
 The only authority on this subject of the genital armature 
 of the butterflies had been Dr. Buchanan White, who had 
 expressed regret that he had been unable to examine any 
 but European species. He had added : "It is much to be 
 desired that some one, who has at his command a large 
 collection of the butterflies of all regions, should investi- 
 gate, more extensively than I have been able to do, the 
 structure of the genital armature." My father had followed 
 this recommendation, and in examining his great tropical 
 specimens had discovered so much that was singular, and 
 wholly new to science, that he became anxious to give 
 publicity to his observations. He carried, moreover, his 
 
 IB 
 
 I 
 
 ill 
 
i! 
 
 'I 
 
 n 
 
 ) 1 
 
 i ■ 
 
 !l6 
 
 T//E LIFE OF nil LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 investigations to a length whicli no one who preceded him, 
 not even Dr. White, had attempted to reach. 
 
 Among the younger zoologists of the day, few of whom 
 were personally known to my father, there was not one in 
 whose discoveries and career he took a livelier interest than 
 in those of Professor E. Ray Lankester, for whom, from 
 his earliest publications, he had predicted a course of high 
 distinction. For the judgment of this distinguished 
 observer Philip Gosse entertained an unusual respect, and 
 it was owing to his advice that the elder naturalist, in his 
 seventy-second year, started upon a course of laborious 
 investigations, which were not terminated until two years 
 later. In April, 1881, on the very evening of a day which 
 had been marked in white to the recluse by a visit from 
 Professor Lankester, Gosse noted that, "encouraged b}- 
 E. R. L., I have begun my monograph on the Prehaisorcs." 
 In October of the same year he forwarded to Professor 
 Huxley, for the consideration of the council of the Royal 
 Society, the manuscript of his volume on T/ic Clasping 
 Organs ancillary to Generation in Certain Groups of the 
 Lepidoptera, accompanied by nearly two hundred figures, 
 exquisitely drawn under the microscope, illustrating these 
 recondite organs with such an accuracy and delicate full- 
 ness, that I have been assured that a query was raised 
 on the council of the society as to the authorship of the 
 drawings, which it was hardly possible to conceive had been 
 made by a man of between seventy and eighty. An 
 abstract of the memoir was presently read at the Royal 
 Society by Professor Huxley, in the absence of the author. 
 There arose, however, a difficulty regarding its being 
 published in full in the Proceedings of the Royal Society, 
 the subject being excessively remote from general interest, 
 even to savants, and the illustrations, which my father 
 considered essential to the intelligibility of the monograph, 
 
 w\ 
 
 ¥4 
 
s ■ 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 3«7 
 
 by 
 
 
 threatening to be very expensive to reproduce. My 
 father, however, met with threat kindness on this occasion 
 from his youn<;er confreres. The manuscript was finally, 
 in March, 1882, submitted by Professor Michael Foster to 
 the council of the Linnaean Society for publication, the 
 Royal Society offering ^50 towards the expense of printing 
 and engraving. The Linniean Society, thereupon, waiving 
 their usage of not publishing papers which had been read 
 elsewhere, undertook to bring it out, and, to my father's 
 extreme gratification, this child of his old age was finally 
 issued in May, 1S83, as a handsome quarto, in the form of 
 the Transactions of the Linnajan Society, and with all his 
 plates carefully reproduced in lithography. 
 
 Philip Gossc had made it an invariable practice, in 
 advancing life, to qualify every public expression of his 
 views on natural phenomena by an attribution of the 
 beautiful or wonderful condition to the wisdom of the 
 Divine Creator. He had done so in his monograph on 
 Tltc Clasping Organs ancillary to Generation^ appending to 
 that memoir a paragraph embodying those pious reflec- 
 tions which his conscience conceived to be absolutely de 
 rigtieur. Rightly or wrongly, these sentiments appeared 
 to the council of the Linnaean Society to be out of place 
 in a very abstruse description of certain organs, which are 
 curious, but neither beautiful nor calculated to inspire 
 ideas of a particularly elevating nature. In sending to 
 him the proof of his memoir, the secretary was directed 
 to ask the author, in making some other trif '.-.ij excisions, 
 to be kind enough to put his pen througu this little 
 passage also. To the surprise of every one concerned, he 
 absolutely declined to do this. The council was then 
 placed in a most embarrassing position. A great deal of 
 money had already been spent, and here was a paragraph 
 which could not be issued, by the rules of the society, 
 
 I i- 
 
 ;!!' 
 
h , .1 
 
 :l' 1 
 
 ? "■ <, 
 
 Si 
 
 318 
 
 77/E LIFE OF PiriLlP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ■m^ 
 
 that forbid all contentious matter on the subject of 
 rclitjion, and which yet the author was prepared to sacrifice 
 the whole volume rather than resign. The knot was 
 cleverly untied by Professor E. Ray Lankester, who suej- 
 gested that it should be represented to Mr. Gosse that 
 an atheist should wish, in future, to defend his atheism in 
 the Traiisaciioiis of the society, the council could scarcely 
 forbid him to do so, if it had yielded to a Christian writer 
 the privilege of defending his faith in Christianity. My 
 father saw the force of the argument, and gave way, 
 though with great unwillingness. 
 
 Meanwhile, he had for some years been engaged in a 
 course of studies highly gratifying to his earliest instincts, 
 and absorbing in its demands upon his attention. In an 
 earlier chapter of this biography I have described the 
 manner in which the observation of the Rotlfcra, or whec 
 animalcules, became a passion with my father. On 
 whole this may, perhaps, be consideicd as having been the 
 branch of zoological study which had fascinated him longest 
 and absorbed him most. In spite, however, of the import- 
 ance of the discoveries which he had made, in the course of 
 his life, in this neglected province of zoology, he had never 
 found an opportunity of publishing them, except partially 
 and obscurely. He retained, in his portfolios, the buried 
 treasures of half a century in the form of unpublished text 
 and plates. Since Philip Gosse had corresponded with 
 Dr. Arlidge, and had lent his help to the publication of 
 the latest (i86i) edition of Pritchard's History of the 
 Infusoria, hardly any use whatever had been made of his 
 vast storehouse of information. 
 
 Since 1867 Dr. C. T. Hudson had been at work on the 
 same subject, independently collecting materials towards a 
 final work on the little known and yet charming Rotifcra. 
 In 1879 Dr. Hudson was advised by Professor E. Ray Lan- 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
( 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 3'9 
 
 kcster, who was aware of the great mass of data collected 
 by my father, to place himself in relation with the latter, 
 lie did so, and the elder naturalist, with complete unselfish- 
 ness, hastened to lay all that he possessed at the disposal 
 of the younger. It was, indeed, a singular gratification 
 to Philip Gosse, at this the close of his career, to find 
 his work appreciated, and to be able to help one who 
 was progressing along the same little-trodden path as 
 himself. Dr. Hudson was the latest and one of the 
 warmest of my father's friends, and the compilation of 
 his share of the two splendid volumes on The Rotifcra, 
 which, have their combined names on the title-page, became 
 the principal, as it was the most delightful, occupation of 
 my father from 1879 until the publication in 1886. The 
 issue of the final periodical part^ of this work was greeted 
 with a melancholy satisfaction by my father, who recog- 
 nized very clearly that the real labour of his lifetime was 
 closed. He was in his seventy-seventh year, and he was 
 thoroughly conscious that he rould never again hope to start 
 another undertaking of this serious nature. Yet he was 
 delighted to handle these volumes, the children of his old 
 age, and to realize that he had lived to complete the pub- 
 lication of all his main discoveries. In reply to the objec- 
 tions of a member of his family, who cavilled at the fact 
 that more prominence was given on the title-page of The 
 Rotifcra to the younger than to the elder naturalist, the 
 latter replied as follows : — 
 
 "Your judgment will probably be modified, when you 
 " are better acquainted with the facts. I\Iy position on the 
 "title-page was the subject of much discussion between 
 " Dr. Hudson and me ; and I chose decisively that 
 "'assisted by P. H. Gosse ' should be the vao^c, contrary 
 ''to his ivish. He has, throughout, been most lovingly 
 " considerate of my wishes, and only too ready to put 
 
 I 
 
 
 k 
 
^5!^SW 
 
 mi 
 
 mmsmgm 
 
 p«pi 
 
 320 
 
 .''"/£ L/FE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 4J;' 1; 
 
 111 
 
 
 " me into prominence and honour. The labour, the 
 "plan, the publication, all the drudgery, have been his ; 
 "so that to put his name prominent is only the merest 
 "justice. We have worked all through in the fullest 
 "harmony. Every line that he has written has been 
 "subjected to my severe criticism ; and, with hardly an 
 " exception, all my amendments he has implicitly adopted. 
 " I must say I admire vciy warmly the introduction." 
 During the years in which the volumes on The Rotifeni 
 were being prepared, my father exerted himself in an in- 
 tellectual direction with the zeal of a young professional 
 man at the height of his career. He was up at five or 
 six in the morning, and often spent eight or nine hours in 
 uninterrupted work at the microscope, merely breaking 
 through it so far as to come down from his study with 
 knitted and abstracted brows, to swallow a hasty meal in 
 silence, and then rush up again. This excess of intellectual 
 work, combined with his neglect of exercise, seemed, in the 
 face of it, to be extremely imprudent in a man approaching 
 eighty. But we could not, at that time, very distinctly 
 observe any harm done to his health, and in some ways 
 the ardent occupation seemed to keep him well. As soon 
 as the manuscript had finally gone to the printers, bow- 
 ever, early in 1886, he suffered from a nervous attack of an 
 alanning nature, which appeared to point to overwork. 
 Nevertheless, his great elasticity of constitution enabled 
 him, as it seemed, entirely to recover ; and Dr. Hudson, 
 like a housewife in a fairy story, who finds fresh labour for 
 her f;iant to perform, set his colleague on the mitigated 
 work of helping to prepare a Siipplonciit. This was even- 
 tually published, in 1889, by Dr. Hudi:on, and contained 
 the description of one hundred and fifty additional species, 
 sixty of these being ne:w British forms discovered by Philip 
 Gossc. ll completed the great work, by describing every 
 
 ';lf; r 
 
LAST YEARS. 
 
 ?2I 
 
 known foreign rotifer, as well as all the British species 
 which had been discovered since the original woik went to 
 press in 1885. This Siippkniciit my father did not live to 
 see published, and Dr. Hudson alludes to that fact, in h's 
 preface, in these graceful and generous terms : — 
 
 " The natural pleasure, with which I see the observa- 
 " tions and studies of thirty-five years thus brought to a 
 "successful conclusion, has been indeed marred by the 
 'sad loss of my deeply lamented friend. His great 
 " knowledge and experience, his keen powers of observa- 
 "tion, his artistic skill, and his rare gift of description 
 "are known to all, and have made \\\va fadle priiiccps 
 " among the writers on the rotifera ; but it is only those 
 " who, like myself, were privileged to know him inti- 
 " mately, that are aware how much more he was than an 
 " enthusiastic naturalist. I shall never forget the hearty 
 "welcome (when 1 first met him) that the veteran gave 
 " to the comparatively unknown student, or the gracious 
 "kindness with which he subsequently placed at my 
 "disposal his beautiful unpublished drawings and his 
 " ample notes. 
 
 " A happy chance had led our observations to differing 
 " parts of the same subject, and our united labours have 
 "produced, in consequence, the now completed work; 
 "but I shall ever count it a still happier chance that gave 
 " me not only such a colleague, but also such a friend." 
 So late as the last autumn of his life my father continued 
 his occasional rambles on the shore with hammer and col- 
 lecting basket. September 19, 1887, will long be m.emo- 
 rable to his family as the latest of these delightful excursions. 
 He spent several hours of that day upon the rocks in the 
 centre of Goodrington Sands, surrounded by his wife, his 
 son and son's wife, and his three grandchildren — a compact 
 family party. No one on that brilliant afternoon would 
 
 ,,: 
 
32-^ 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 have c^uesscd that the portly man with a grizzled beard, 
 who stood anklc-dccp in the salt pools, bending over the 
 treasuries of the folded seaweeds, lustily shouting for a 
 chisel or a jar as he needed it, and strirling resolutely 
 over the slippery rocks, was in his seventy-eighth year, and 
 still less that his vitality was so soon to decline. To the 
 rest of the family, who remained at Paigntor he wrote the 
 next day from his own house : — 
 
 '' Many thanks for making y(;stcrday so happ; lay 
 '"to me, though I felt somewhat unwell last night, pos- 
 "siblv from exhaustion. It was delightful to see around 
 " me your dear selves and the sweet eager children 
 " engaged in diligent and successful search for my grati- 
 " fication. When you all come over again, you will 
 " think the tank a busy scene worth looking at. For, 
 "in addition to our captures of yesterday, there have 
 " arrived four new sea-horses and several very fine and 
 " large troglodytes and bcllis, all in capital condition. 
 "The Hippocampi I poured into the tank in a moment ; 
 "the Sagartice carefully seriatim this morning. And, 
 " as I say, the tout ensemble is worth looking at. 
 
 "Of our Goodrington lot of yesterday, the crabs are 
 " climbing about the stone, the long pipe-fish glides like 
 " a slender brown cord through the water, the little 
 " black-and-white cottiis scuttles about, and I just now 
 " saw the goby creep out from under one of the stones ; 
 " while the crimson weeds and the green ulva give 
 "brilliant colour to the picture. The scarlet and blue 
 " GalatJica lobster I don't see this morning, but no doubt 
 "he's all right. The children will be interested in these 
 " details." 
 
 In October my father and mother, under the stimulus 
 of a visit from the Rev. F. Howlett, Rector of Tistcd, 
 resumed their astronomical researches on clear nights, 
 
RRMMI 
 
 1 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 arc 
 like 
 ittlc 
 now 
 
 Dncs ; 
 ^rivc 
 blue 
 oubt 
 
 these 
 
 " We arc busy," he writes on the 22nd, " among the fixed 
 stars, as w^-. were more than twenty years ago, especially 
 hunting for the charming double stars. There arc no 
 planets visible in the evenings now." No definite appre- 
 hensions crossed our minds, although he was occasionally 
 more feeble and notably more silent than of old. Hut near 
 the close of the year 1HS7, while he was examining the 
 heavens late one very cold night, a newly purchased portion 
 of the telescope apparatus became dislodged and fell into 
 the garden ; the agitation produced b}- this little accident, 
 and some exposure in leaning out to see where th'; lens had 
 fallen, brought on an attack of bronchitis, and although this 
 particular complaint was overcome, he was never well again. 
 Yet, through the months of December antl January, 
 there seemed nothing alarming in his condition. He was 
 kept indoors, but not in bed, and he was as busy as ever, 
 writing, drawing, and reading. One of the last books which 
 he read with unabated interest was the Life of Darzuiii. 
 All went on much in the old style until March, i<S(S8, when 
 a disease of the heart, which must for a long while past 
 have been latent, rather suddenly made itself apparent. 
 Under the repeated attacks of this complaint, his brain, his 
 spirits, his manifold resources of body and mind, sank lower 
 and lower, and the five months which followed were a 
 period of great weariness and almost unbroken gloom. 
 After a long and slow decay, the sadness of which was 
 happily not embittered by actual pain, he ceased to breathe, 
 in his sleep, without a struggle, at a few minutes before 
 one o'clock on the morning of August 23, 18.SS. He had 
 lived seventy-eight years, four months, and seventeen 
 days. He was buried, near his mother, in the Torquay 
 Cemetery, attended to the grave by a large congregation 
 of those who had known and resi)ected him during his 
 thirty years' residence in the neighbourhood. 
 
 ':! 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
■wesH 
 
 .1^.1.. JJUI 
 
 ( 324 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 1! 
 
 i- 
 
 IN the preceding chapters T have not, I trust, so com- 
 pletely failed as to have left upon the reader's mind 
 no image of what manner of man my father was. But the 
 ' portrait is still a very imperfect one, and must be com- 
 pleted by some touches which it is exceedingly difficult to 
 give with justice. I have hitherto dwelt as slightly as 
 possible upon the religious features of his character, that 
 I might not disturb the thread of a narrative which is 
 mainly intended for the general public. But no portrait 
 of his mind would be recognizable by those who knew 
 Philip Gosse best, which should relegate to a second place 
 his religious convictions and habits of thought. They were 
 peculiar to himself, they were subject throughout his life 
 to practically no modifications, and they were remarkable 
 for their logical precision and independence. I have never 
 met with a man, of any creed, of any school of religious 
 speculation, whowas so invulnerably cased in fully developed 
 conviction upon every side. His faith was an intellectual 
 system of mental armour in which he was clothed, ar/>-d-/>ie, 
 without a joint or an aperture discoverable anywhere. 
 He never avoided argument ; on the contrary, he eagerly 
 accepted every challenge ; and his accuracy of mind, 
 working with extreme precision within a narrow channel, 
 was such that it was not possible to controvert him on his 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISriCS. 
 
 325 
 
 hid, 
 
 |ncl, 
 
 his 
 
 own ground. What his own ground was it may be well to 
 state in his own words, and those for whom these nice 
 points of theology have no attraction may be invited to 
 pass on to a subsequent page : I cannot, as a biographer, 
 omit so essential a portion of my task, because it is abstruse. 
 This, then, is my father's confession of faith, taken from a 
 letter written in ivS/S : — 
 
 "The whole of my theology rests on, and centres in, 
 " the Resurrection of Christ. That Jesus was raised from 
 " the dead, is an historical fact, the evidence for which is, 
 " in my judgment, impregnable. I ask no more than 
 "this; everything else follows inevitably, A suffering, 
 " dying Christ, and yet an ever-reigning Christ, was the 
 " great theme of the Old Testament ; and Jesus did, on 
 " numerous occasions, during Mis life, predict His own 
 "death and resurrection, in order 'That the Scripture 
 " ' might be fulfilled, that thus it must be.' 
 
 " That He was raised from the dead was distinctly the 
 " act of God the F"ather ; ' but God raised Him from the 
 "'dead.' It was the solemn witness borne by God to 
 " His mission. It did not prove Him to be God ; but 
 " it proved Him to have been the Sent One of the 
 " Father ; it was the Father's seal to Him, 
 
 " Now, then, every act and word of His comes with the 
 " authority of God ; for He is God's accredited delegate 
 " and spokesman. I must not pick and choose which 
 "of His sayings I will receive; I dare refuse none ; for 
 " He never ceases to present the credentials of the Father. 
 " All the wondrous scenes through which He passed, the 
 " Temptation, the Transfiguration, the Agony, the Cross ; 
 " His transactions with a personal devil, and with personal 
 "demons; His revelations concerning His own pre- 
 " existence, His unity with the Father, the covenant of 
 " election, the perseverance of His saints, His advent and 
 
-UV»l-. ,I-Jll«-it4.-, 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 ( 
 
 
 
 l{ 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 f - • 
 
 
 
 
 ',26 
 
 r/Zi!? Z/i^y? OF rniLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 •'judgment, the kingdom of heaven, the unquenchable 
 " fire of hell ; — all these come to mc with all the force 
 " of dogmas, not one of which I have the option of 
 " refusing, unless I refuse God ; for they have the authority 
 "of Him whom God has scaled. 
 
 "The Old Testament. 
 
 " The Lord Jesus constantly cites the numerous books 
 " of the Old Testament as a unit — ' the Scriptures,' and 
 " He constantly appeals to it as an ultimate authority ; 
 "'the Scripture cannot be broken,' etc. He cites the 
 " words of Moses, of Isaiah, of David, but, withal, as 
 " spoken ' by God ' (Matt. xxii. 31), by ' the Holy Ghost ' 
 " (Mark xii. 36). He refers to the ancient narratives, as 
 " indubitable verities ; to the marriage of Adam and 
 " Eve (Matt. xix. 4) ; to Sodom and Gomorrha (xi. 23, 
 " 24} ; to the manna, to the brazen serpent ; to Noah, 
 " to Lot, to Lot's wife, to Elijah, to Elisha. He taught 
 "His disciples that 'all things in Moses, the Prophets, 
 '"and the Psalms 'were about Him, and must be fulfilled 
 " (Luke xxiv. 27, 44-47). Now, since the Lord Jesus 
 " thus honours the Old Scriptures, and never gives the 
 " least hint that there is any exception to this honour ; 
 " never speaks of them as containing, but always as being, 
 " the authoritative Word of God ; I must so receive them, 
 " every word. 
 
 "The New Testament. 
 
 " But how can I be sure that the Gospels, the Acts, 
 "the Epistles, the Apocalypse, are true? are wholly 
 " true, wholly trustworthy ; free from admixture of 
 " human error .-' A question, this, of vast importance ; 
 " since it is in the Epistles that the great scheme of 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 327 
 
 of 
 
 ' Christian doctrine is unfolded to faith, with dogmatic 
 "completeness. One may confidently say, a priori, 
 " that these could not be left to the indefinite admixture 
 " of human opinion, without frustrating the very purpose 
 " for which the Father sent the Son ; it would be to 
 "undermine that edifice for which He had hitherto laid 
 " the most solid and stable foundation. 
 
 " But we are not left to conjecture here. The Lord 
 "Jesus, engaging to build His Church upon the Rock, 
 "and conferring on Peter the privilege of the k-eys to 
 " unlock the kingdom (Acts ii. and x.), promised first 
 " to him (Matt. xvi. 19), and then to all the Apostles 
 "(xviii. 18), that whatsoever they .should bind or loose, 
 " He would ratify from heaven. For this end lie pro- 
 "mised them the Holy Ghost, to abide with them; to 
 "guide them into all [the] truth; to take of His, and 
 " the Father's, and show to them ; to bring all Jesus's 
 " words to their remembrance ; to show them thintrs to 
 "come ; to enable them to be witnesses for Him (John 
 " xiv.-xvi., passim). He sent them into the world, 
 " exactly as the Father had sent Him (xvii. 18). 
 
 " The Holy Ghost in due time was given, the witness 
 " of Jesus-Messiah's ascension to the Divine Throne ; 
 " and they, thus endowed, and distinctly accredited 
 " (Acts i. 8), went forth ' witnesses to Him, ... to the 
 " ' uttermost part of the earth.' 
 
 " Here, again, my confidence finds an impregnable 
 "fortress. Whatever I read in the Evangels, or the 
 " Epistles, is no longer the utterance of a mere man, 
 " however pious ; it is not Luke or John, or Peter or 
 "Paul, that I hear; it is God the Holy Ghost from 
 " heaven, bearing witness to the Sent of the Father, now 
 " that the Sent Son has gone up in resurrection life and 
 " power to the Father's Throne. 
 
 
 ( 
 
 i i ^ 
 
I ;;'. 
 
 k 
 
 B 
 
 r'] 
 
 i •. 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 
 § 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 L 
 
 328 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "Thus, in The Mysteries of God, I do not ask if tliis 
 "dogma is probable or improbable ; if tJiis is worth)' <^r 
 " unworthy of God, as I fashion Him in my imagination : 
 " I simply ask, How is it written ? What saith the 
 " Scripture ? Assured that God has not raised Christ 
 " from the dead, in order to tell us lies ! " 
 Put in a nutshell, then, his code was the Bible, and the 
 l^ible only, without any modern modification whatever ; 
 without allowance for any difference between the old world 
 and the new, without any distinction of value in parts, 
 without the smallest concession to the critical spirit upon 
 any point ; an absolute, uncompromising, unquestioning 
 reliance on the Hebrew and Greek texts as inspired by the 
 mouth of God and uncorrupted by the hand of man. The 
 Bible, however, is full of dark sayinf;s, and needs, as he 
 admitted, an interpreter. But my father did not doubt his 
 own competence to interpret. He had some reason to 
 hold this view. His knowledge of the Bible can hardly 
 have been excelled. His verbal memory of the Authorized 
 Version included the whole New Testament, all the Psalms, 
 most of the Prophets, and all the lyrical portions of the 
 Historical Books. The condition of his memory fluctuated, 
 of course, and was being daily refreshed at various points ; 
 but I liave his own repeated assurance that, practically 
 speaking, he knew the Bible by heart. Nor was this in 
 any sense a parrot-feat or trick of memory. He knew the 
 text of Scripture in this extraordinary way, partly because 
 his mind had an unusual power of verbal retention ; partly 
 because, for nearly sixty years, whatever other occupations 
 might have been in hand, no day passed in which he did 
 not read and meditate upon some portion of the Bible. I 
 have called his creed invulnerable ; and when it is con- 
 sidered that he could not be assailed on the side of 
 sensibility or sentiment, which he tossed to the winds, nor 
 
GEXERAL CHARACTERISTICS, 
 
 329 
 
 on that of scholastic or accepted interpretation, which he 
 never preferred to his own where the two differed, that liis 
 memory could promptly supply him with an appropriate 
 text at every turn of the argument, and that he never 
 accepted the most alluring temptation to fight on theoretic 
 ground outside the protecting shadow of the if^sissiiiia 
 verba of the Bible, it will perhaps be understood that he 
 was an antagonist whom it was easy to disagree with, but 
 uncommonly difficult to defeat. 
 
 This being the fcnmdation upon which Philip Gosse's 
 religious edifice was based, it is not difficult to jjerceive 
 how certain radical peculiarities of his character, to which 
 the reader's attention has alread}' been drawn, flourished 
 under its shelter. His temper was unbending, and yet 
 singularly wanting in initiative, and this was a system 
 which provided his mind with the fully develoi)ed osseous 
 skeleton it demanded. Revelation had to be accepted as a 
 whole, and so as to leave no margin for scepticism. At the 
 same time, the detail of Biblical interpretation opened up a 
 field of minute investigation which was absolutely boundless, 
 and which my father's near-sighted intellect, so helpless in 
 sweeping a large philosophical horizon, so amazingly alert 
 and vigorous in analyzing a minute area, could explore, 
 without exhaustion, to an infinite degree. Hence what 
 fascinated him more than any other mental exercise, 
 especially of late years, was to take a passage of Scripture 
 (in the Greek, for he never mastered Hebrew), and to 
 dissect it, as if under the microscope, word by word, 
 particle by particle, passing at length into subtleties where, 
 undoubtedly, few could follow him. 
 
 Protected by his ample shield, the text of Scripture, he 
 was quite calm under the charge of heterodoxy which 
 sometimes reached him in his retreat. It is not a matter for 
 surprise that with his remarkable temperament, his isolated 
 
 :li 
 
 t 
 ! i 
 
 v\ 
 
 i \ 
 
 \\<. 
 
 fi:: 
 
 
■! ■ 
 
 
 H! 
 
 I 
 
 kt 
 
 
 pi- 
 W 
 
 330 
 
 T//E LIFE OF nil LIT HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 and self-contained habit of mind, he found it impossible 
 to throw in his h)t with the system of any existinjj^ 
 Christian Church. In middle life he had connected him- 
 self with the I'l}mouth lirethren, principally, no doubt, 
 because of their lack of systematic organization, their repu 
 diation of all traditional authority, their belief that the Bible 
 is the infallible and sufficient guide. 15ut he soon lost 
 confidence in the Plymouth Brethren also, and for the last 
 thirt)' N'ears of his life he was really unconnected with any 
 Christian body whatever. Wliat was very curious was that, 
 with his intense persistence in the study of religious ques- 
 tions, he should feel no curiosity to know the views of others. 
 In those thirty years he scarcely heard any preacher of 
 his own reputed sect ; I am confident that he never once 
 attended the services of any unaffiliated minister. 
 
 He had gathered rountl him at St. Marychurch a 
 cluster of friends, mostly of a simple and rustic order, to 
 whom he preached and expounded, and amongst whom he 
 officiated as minister and head. This little body he called 
 " The Church of Christ in this Parish," ignoring, with a 
 sublime serenity, the claims of all the other religious 
 institutions with wh.-,i St. Marychurch might be supplied. 
 His attitude, without the least intentional arrogance or 
 unfriendliness, was exactly that which some first apostle of 
 the Christian faith in Ceylon or Sumatra might have 
 adopted, to whom his own conver*^s were "the Church," 
 and the surrounding Asiatics, of whatever civilization, of 
 whatever variety of ancient and divergent creed, merely 
 " the world." He made no attempt, however, to prosely- 
 tize ; he alternated his expositions to the flock under his 
 care by addresses, of an explanatory and hortatory cha- 
 racter, to outsiders, in " the Room," as his little chapel was 
 with severe modesty styled. But his view was that the 
 light was kept burning in the small community, and that 
 
GENERAL CHA RA CTERISTICS. 
 
 331 
 
 on those in the darkness around lay the solemn responsi- 
 bility if they were not attracted into its circle of radiance. 
 
 Over such a mind, so earnestly and deeply convinced, 
 external considerations could have little sway. " My mind 
 to me a kingdom is," my father used often to rc|)eat, 
 but not at all in the sense of the jwet. Society had no 
 court of appeal against any course of action which my 
 father's consciuiicc prompted, and it was rather a subject 
 of congratulation that, having chosen to lead a retired 
 and meditative life, he really did not come into collision 
 with the world. He belonged to the race from which, 
 passive martyrs are taken. He had no desire to eo out 
 with a trumpet and a sword, but in his own (juicter way 
 he was as stubborn as any of the victims of Bloody Mary. 
 If he had happened to object to any of the modes in which 
 government, as at present C(Mistituted, operates in social 
 discipline ; if, for instance, he had formed con.scientious 
 scruples against paying rates, or being vaccinated, he 
 would have offered the absolute maximum of resistance. 
 Fortunately for his domestic peace, he did not come into 
 collision with the law on any of these points. But he had 
 peculiarities which showed the iron rigidity of his con- 
 science. He had a very singular objection to the feast of 
 Christmas, conceiving this festival to be a heathen survival 
 to which the name of Christ had been affixed in hideous 
 profanity. This objection showed itself in amusing and 
 bewildering ways. He regarded plum-pudding and roast 
 turkey as innocent and acceptable, if the fatal word had 
 not been pronounced in connection with them ; but if once 
 they were spoken of as " Christmas turkey," or a " Christ- 
 mas pudding," they became abominable, " food offered to 
 idols." Biblical students will observe the source of this 
 idea — a most ingenious adaptation to modern life of an 
 injunction to the Corinthians. Friends who knew this 
 
 \\ 
 
 W 
 
 n 
 
^ 
 
 I ^ 1 
 
 
 :^^ : 
 
 \ m 
 
 r; 1 
 
 -HM 
 
 ■as .4. 
 
 333 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 singular prejudice were particular to send gifts for New 
 Year's Day; and I well recollect my father's taking ofif the 
 disli-cover and revealing a magnificent goose at dinner, 
 while he paused to remark to the guests (none of whom, 
 by the \\a\', shared this particular conviction), " I need not 
 assure you, dear friends, that this bird has not been 
 offered to the idol." 
 
 This was a case in which, we may all admit, the de- 
 licate scruples of Philip Gosse's conscience were strained in 
 a somewhat trivial direction. A graver question may be 
 raised, though I will not be so impertinent as to attemi)t 
 an answer, by my father'.^ rigid attitude toward those who 
 were not at one with him o^>^ essential points of religion. 
 " I could never divide myself from any man upon the 
 difference of an opinion," said Sir Thomas lirowne, and 
 modern feeling has been inclined to applaud him. But 
 my father was not modern, and it would not merely be 
 absurd, it would be unjust, if I were to pretend that he was 
 liberal, or would have thought it godly to be liberal. 
 Towards those who differed from him on essential i)oints 
 of religion, his attitude was as severe as his masculine 
 nature knew how to make it. He was not sympathetic ; 
 he had no intuition of what might be passing through the 
 mind of one who held views utterly at variance with what 
 seemed to himself to be inevitable. He could be indulgent 
 to ignorance, but when there was no longer this excuse, 
 when the revealed will of God on a certain point had been 
 lucidly stated and explained to the erring mind, 'f thc^ 
 it were still rejected, no matter on what groun< tb .re was 
 no further appeal. To that kind question .icr's, " Is 
 
 there no way to bring home a wandering cep bit by 
 worrying him to death?" my father would ha\u an wered 
 by a mournful shake of the head. The fold was open, the 
 .shepherd was calling, the dog was hurrying and barking, 
 
G EX ERA I. CHA RA C TERIS TICS. 
 
 333 
 
 was 
 Is 
 by 
 
 the 
 
 and the wickedness of the sheep in refusiivj to return 
 seemed ahnost inconceivable. 
 
 The reader cannot but have ah'cady observed how 
 few and how e[)liemcral were my father's intimate 
 friendships with those whose station, tastes, and acquire- 
 ments mit^ht have been supposed to tally with his own. 
 In the world of literature and science he scarcely kept 
 uj) a single close acquaintanceship. Of friendship as a 
 cardinal virtue, as one of the great elements in a happy life, 
 he had no conception. He could make none of those 
 concessions, those mutual acceptances of the inevitable, 
 without which this, the most spiritual of the passions, 
 cannot exist. Even those who were most strongly 
 attracted to him, fell ofifat last from the unyielding surface 
 of his conscience ; this was the secret of his brief and 
 truncated intimacy with lulward Forbes, whom he had 
 seemed to love so well. The ardent patience and sym- 
 pathy of Charles Kingsley, the friend from the outer world 
 whom he preserved longest, wearied at length of an 
 intercourse in which principles were ever preferred to 
 persons. In later years one example may suffice. Dora 
 Greenwell precipitated herself on the friendship of Philii: 
 Gossc with an impetuosity which at first bore everything 
 before it, and in a copious correspondence laid open to 
 him her spiritual ardours and aspirations. He was 
 gratified, he was touched, but to respond was impossible 
 to him ; he had the same purely didactic t(juch, the same 
 logic, the same inelasticity for every one, and friendship 
 soon expired in such a vacuum. A phrase in a letter to 
 myself gives its own key to the social isolation of his life. 
 " I am impatient and intolerant," he writes, " of all resist- 
 ance to what I see to be the will of God, and if that 
 resistance is sustained, I have no choice but to turn away 
 from him who resists." 
 
 ^ 
 
 r, 
 
 • I 
 
 ii. 
 
 r 
 
fn 
 
 
 334 
 
 THE LIFE OF Fill LIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 ill ... 
 
 ■iiii 
 
 I 
 
 •It 
 
 His extraordinary severity tovards those vvno occupy 
 the extremes of Christian dogma, towards the Church of 
 Rome and to\v<u'ds the Unitarians, was a result of this 
 idiosyncrasy pushed to its extreme. In 1859, when he was 
 lecturing in Birmingham, before the Midland Institute, he 
 was invited to meet some of the principal personages of 
 the town at dinner, and, in particular, a well-known 
 gentleman, who is now dead. Philip Gossc accepted the 
 invitation with pleasure ; but shortly before the party met, 
 the host received a note saying th?*" it had just been men- 
 tioned to Mr. Gosse that I\Ir. was a Socinian. Had Mr. 
 
 Gosse been unaware of this, he should have desired to ask 
 r.o questions, but, the information having been volunteer d, 
 he had no alternative but, with extreme regret and even 
 distress, to explain that he could not " sit at meat with 
 one waiom I know to deny the Divinity of the blessed 
 Lord." To realize what this sacrifice to cotiscience in- 
 volved, it must be recollected that my father was a man 
 of elaborate and punctilious courtesy, and extremely 
 timid. I could multiply examples, but it is needless to 
 do so. 
 
 It will perhaps be assumed from this sketch of my 
 father's religious views, that he was gloomy and saturnine 
 in manner. It is true that, at the very end of his life, 
 wrapped up as he grew to be more and more in meta- 
 physical lucubrations, his extreme self-absorption took a 
 stern complexion. But it had not always been so in earlier 
 years. He was subject to long fits of depression, the 
 result in great measure of dyspepsia, but when these 
 passed away he would be cheerful and even gay for 
 weeks at a time. Never lonely, never bored, he was 
 contented with small excitements and monotonous amuse- 
 ments, and asked no more than to be left alone among his 
 orchids, his cats, and his butterflies, hapi)y from morning 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 335 
 
 till night. On the first day of his scventy-cightli year, he 
 wrote to me in these ter'iis : — 
 
 '' My health is fair and my vigour considerable. I am 
 
 " free from pains and infirmities. My zest and delight 
 
 "in my microscopical studies is unabated yet, .-J that 
 
 "every day is an unflagging holiday." 
 
 This description of his feelings, at a time when the 
 shadow of death had almost crossed his path, is significant, 
 and migl^t be taken to characterize his inward feeling, if 
 not always his outward aspect, through the main part of 
 the last thirty years of his life. lie could even, on occasion, 
 be merry, with a playfulness that was almost pathetic, 
 because it seemed to be the expression of a human 
 sympathy buried too far down in his being to reveal itself 
 except in this dumb way. I cannot exactly describe what 
 it was that made this powerfully built and admirably 
 equipped man sometimes strike one as having the im- 
 matureness and touching incompleteness of the nature of 
 a child. It was partly that he was innocent of observing 
 any but the most obvious and least complex working of 
 the mind in others. But it was mainly that he had nothing 
 in common with his age. lie was a Covenanter come into 
 the world a couple of centuries after his time, to find society 
 grown too soft for his scruples and too ingenious for his 
 severe simplicity. He could never learn to speak the 
 ethical language of the nineteenth century ; he was soven- 
 tcciith century in spirit and manner to the last. 
 
 No question is more often put to me regarding my 
 father than this — How did he reconcile his religious to his 
 scientific views? The case of Faraday may throw some 
 light, but not very much, upon the pnMjlem. The word 
 " reconcile " is scarcely the right one, because the idea of 
 reconciliation was hardly entertained by my father. He 
 had no notion of striking a happy mean between his 
 
 n 
 
H^' 
 
 336 
 
 r//E LIFE OF PHILir HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 impressions of nature and his convictions of religion. If 
 the former offered any opposition to the latter, they Avere 
 swept away. The rising tide is " reconciled " in the same 
 fashion to a child's battlements of sand along the shore. 
 Awe, an element almost eliminated from the modern mind, 
 was strongly developed in Philii) Gosse's character. He 
 speaks of himself, in one of his letters, as having been 
 under "the subjugation of spiritual awe to a decidedly 
 morbid degree " during the whole of his life. He meant by 
 this, I feci no doubt, that he was conscious of an ever- 
 present bias towards the relinquishing of ar/ idea pre- 
 sumably unpalatable to his inward counsellor. It was 
 under the pressure of this sense of awe that, when his 
 intellect was still fresh, he deliberately refused to give a 
 proper examination to the theory of evolution which his 
 own experiments and observations had helped to supply 
 with arguments. It was certainly not through vaguenc^:; 
 of mind or lack of a logical habit that he took up this 
 strange jiosition, as of an intellectual ostrich with his head 
 in a bush, since his intelligence, if narrow, was as clear as 
 crystal, and liis mind eminently logical. It was because a 
 " spiritual awe " overshadowed his conscience, and he could 
 not venture to take the first step in a downward course of 
 scepticism. He was not one who could accept half-truths 
 or sec in the twilight. It must be high noon or else utter 
 midnight with a character so positive as his. 
 
 It followed, then, tiiat his abundant and varied scientific 
 labours were undertaken, whenever they were fruitful, in 
 fields where there was no possibility of contest between 
 experimental knowledge and revelation. Where his work 
 was technical, not i)opular, it was exclusively concerned 
 with the habits, or the forms, or the structure of animals, 
 not observed in the service of any theory or philosophical 
 principle, but for their own sake. In the two departments 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 337 
 
 where he accomplished the greatest amount of orighial 
 work, in the Acfinorjoa and the Rotifcra, it was impossible 
 for hypothesis of an anti-scriptural tendency to intrude, 
 and if the observations wliich he made were used by others 
 to supi)ort a theory inconsistent with the record of creation, 
 he was not obli^^ed to be cognizant of any such perversion 
 of his work. He used, very modestly, to describe himself 
 as " a hewer of wood and a drawer of water " in the house 
 of science, but no biologist will on that account under- 
 rate what he has done. His extreme care in diagnosis, 
 the clearness of his eye, the marvellous exactitude of his 
 memory, his recognition of what was salient in the charac- 
 teristics of each species, his unsurpassed skill in defining 
 those characteristics by word and by pencil, his great 
 activity and pertinacity, all these combined to make Philip 
 Gosse a technical observer of unusually high rank. In the 
 article which the Saturday Revieiv dedicated to my father 
 at the time of his death, a passage was quoted from the 
 preface to his Actijiohi^ia Britannica (1859), as giving in 
 excellent terms the principles upon which his analytical 
 labours in zoology were performed : — 
 
 " Having often painfully felt," he there said, "in studying 
 "works similar to the present, the evil of the vagueness 
 "and confusion that too frequently mark the descriptive 
 " portions, I have endeavoured to draw up the characters 
 "of the animals which I describe, with distinctive pre- 
 "cision, and with order. It is reported of Montagu that, 
 "in describing animals, he constantly wrote as if he had 
 " expected that the next day would bring to light some 
 " new species closely resembling the one before him ; and 
 " therefore his diagnosis can rarely be amended. Some 
 " writers mistake for precision an excessive minuteness, 
 "which ouly distracts the student, and is, after all, but the 
 "portrait of an individual. Others describe so loosely 
 
 
 i 
 
318 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "that half of the characters would serve as well for half 
 " a dozen other species. I have sought to avoid both 
 "errors : to make the diagnosis as brief as possible, and 
 "yet clear, by seizing on such characters, in each case, as 
 "are truly distinctive and discriminative." 
 As early as 183 1 Philip Gosse began to be a minute and 
 .systematic zoologist. I have attempted to describe how, 
 in the remote wilds of Newfoundland, with no help what- 
 ever towards identification, except 'the brief, highly con- 
 densed, and technical generic characters of Linna^us's 
 Systeina Natune," he attacked the vast class of insects, and 
 struck out for himself, specimens in hand, a road through 
 that trackless wilderness. The experience he gained in 
 this early enterprise could not be overestimated. Long 
 afterwards, when complimented on the fullness and pre- 
 cision of his characterization, he wrote of his struggles with 
 the Linn.'uan Genera I/isectorinn, and added that it was then 
 that he " acquired the habit of comparing structure with 
 structure, of marking minute differences of form, and 
 became in some measure accustomed to that precision of 
 language, without which descriptive natural history could 
 not exist." If I may point to one publication of my 
 father's in particular, the acumen and accuracy of which in 
 technical characterization have been helpful to hundreds 
 of students, I will select the two volumes of the Manual of 
 JSIarine Zoology, which so many an investigator has paused 
 to take out of his pocket and consult when puzzled by 
 some many-legged or strangely valved object underneath 
 the seaweed curtain of a tidal pool. 
 
 As a zoological artist, Philip Gosse claims high con- 
 sideration. His books were almost always illustrated, and 
 often very copiously and brilliantly illustrated, by his own 
 pencil. It was his custom from his earliest childhood to 
 make drawings and paintings of objects which came under 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 339 
 
 his notice. In Newfoundland he had seriously becjun to 
 make a collection of dcsii^ns. In July, 1855, he stated (in 
 the preface to the Manual of Marine Zooijgy) that he had 
 up to that date accumulated in his portfolios more than 
 three thousand figures of animals or parts of animals, of 
 which about two thousand five hundred were of the in- 
 vertebrate classes, and about half of these latter done 
 under the microscope. During the remainder of his life 
 he added perhaps two thousand more drawings to his 
 collections. The remarkable feature about these careful 
 works of art was that, in the majority of cases, they were 
 drawn from the living animal. 
 
 His zeal as a draughtsman was extraordinary. I have 
 often known him return, exhausted, from collecting on 
 the shore, with some delicate and unique creature secured 
 in a phial. The nature of the little rarity would be such 
 as to threaten it with death within an hour or two, even 
 under the gentlest form of captivity. Anxiously eyeing 
 it, my father would march off with it to his study, and, 
 not waiting to change his uncomfortable clothes, soaked 
 perhaps in sea-water, but adroitly mounting the captive 
 on a glass plate under the microscope, would immediately 
 prepare an elaborate coloured drawing, careless of the 
 elaims of dinner or the need of rest. His touch with the 
 pencil was rapid, fine, and exquisitely accurate. Mis eye- 
 sight was exceedingly powerful, and though he used spec- 
 tacles for many years, and occasionally had to resign for 
 a while the use of the microscope, his eyes never wore out, 
 and showed extraordinary recuperative power. He was 
 drawing microscopic rotifers, with very little less than his 
 old exactitude and brilliancy, after he had entered his 
 seventy-eighth year. 
 
 In uL Naturalisfs Rambles on the Devonshire Coast 
 (1853) he first began to adorn his books with those beau- 
 
 i \ 
 
 » 
 
340 
 
 THE LIFE OF riTILIP ITENRY GOSSE. 
 
 tiful and exceedingly accurate coloured plates of marine 
 objects which became so popular a part of his successive 
 works. These were drawn on the stone by himself, and 
 printed in colours by the well-known firm of Hullmandel 
 and Walton with very considerable success. The plates of 
 sea-anemones in this volume, though surpassed several 
 years later by those in the Acfinoloi^ia, were at that time 
 a revelation. So little did peo[)le know of the variety and 
 loveliness of the denizens of the seashore, that, altlu^ugh 
 these plates fell far short of the splendid hues of the 
 originals, and moreover depicted forms that should not 
 have been unfamiliar, several of the reviewers refused 
 altogether to believe in them, classing them with travellers' 
 talcs about hills of sugar and rivers of rum. Philii) Gosse 
 himself was disgusted with the tameness of the colours, to 
 which the imperfect lithography gave a general dusty 
 grayness, and he determined i "^ try and dazzle the indo- 
 lent reviewers. Consequently, in 1854, in publishing T/ie 
 Aquixrinin, he gave immense pains to the plates, and suc- 
 ceeded in producing specimens of unprecedented beauty. 
 Certain full-page illustrations in this volume, the scarlet 
 Ancient Wrasse floating ill front -^f his dark seaweed cavern ; 
 the Parasitic Anemone, with the transparent pink curtain of 
 ddcsscria fronds behind it, the black and orange brittle- 
 star at its base ; and, above all perhaps, the plate of star- 
 fishes, made a positive sensation, and marked an epoch in 
 the annals of English book illustration. In spite of the 
 ingenuity and abundance of the " processes " which have 
 since been invented, the art of printing in colours can 
 scarcely be said to have advanced beyond some of these 
 plates to TJic Aquarinui. Philip Gosse was never again 
 quite so fortunate. Even the much-admired illustrations 
 to the Actinologia^'xn i860, though executed with great care 
 and profusion of tints, were not so harmonious, so delicate, 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 3M 
 
 or so distinj^uishcd as those of 1S54. To compare the 
 author's ori,L;inals witli the most successful of the chromo- 
 lithographs is to realize how much was lost by the 
 mechanical art of production. 
 
 Philip Gosse as a draughtsman was trained in the school 
 of the miniature painters. When a child he had been 
 accustomed to see his father inscribe the outline of a 
 portrait on vhe tiny area of the ivory, and then fill it in 
 with stipplings of pure body-colour, lie possessed to the 
 last the limitations of the miniaturist. lie had no distance, 
 no breadth of tone, no perspective ; but a miraculous ex- 
 actitude in rendering shades of colour and minute peculiari- 
 ties of form and mariving. In late }-ears he was accustomed 
 to make a kind of patchwork quilt of each full-page illus- 
 tration, collecting as many individual forms as he wished 
 to present, each separately coloured and cu" out, and then 
 gummed into its place on the general plate, upon which a 
 background of rocks, sand, and seaweeds was then washed 
 in. This secured extreme accurac)-, no doubt, but did not 
 improve the artistic effect, and theief"ore, to non-scientific 
 observers, his earlier groujjs of coloured illustrations give 
 more pleasure than the later. The copious plates in A 
 Year on the Shore, though they were much admired at the 
 time, were a source of acute disappointment to the artist. 
 There exists a copy of this b(jok into which the original 
 water-colour drawings have been inserted, and the difference 
 in freshness, brilliancy, and justice of the tone between 
 these and the published rei)roductions is striking enough. 
 The submarine landscapes in many of these last examples 
 were put in by Mrs. Gosse, who had been in early life a 
 pupil of Cotman. 
 
 between 1853 and i860 my father lectured on several 
 occasions in various parts of ICngland and Scotland, with 
 marked success. He was perhaps the earliest of those 
 
 •1 
 
r^ 
 
 iJi 
 
 34a 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRI GOSSE. 
 
 who, in public lecturing, combined a popular method with 
 exact scientific information. He was accustomed to use 
 freehand drawin^^ on the black-board, in a mode which 
 was novel when he first began, but which soon became 
 common enough. He gave up lecturing mainly because of 
 the extreme shyness which he never ceased to feel in 
 addressing a strange audience. Had he not expressed 
 this sense of suffering, no one would have guessed it from 
 his serene and dignified manner of speaking on these 
 occasions. His fondness for romantic poetry, and his 
 habit of reciting it at home with a loud, impressive utter- 
 ance, naturally produced an effect upon his manner in 
 public speaking and lecturing. 
 
 It was a subject of constant regret to us in later years 
 that he would not cultivate, for the general advantage, his 
 natural gift of elocution. He needed, however, what he 
 certainly would not have accepted, some training in the 
 conduct of his voice, which he threw out with too monoto- 
 nous a roll, a rapture too undeviatingly prophetic. Ikit his 
 enunciation was so clear and just, his voice so resonant, and 
 his cadences so pure and distinguished, that he might easily 
 have become, had he chosen to interest himself in human 
 affairs, unusually successful as an orator. But it would 
 doubtless always have been difficult for him to have stirred 
 the enthusiasm, though he would easily have been secure 
 of the admiration and attention, of an audience. Of late 
 years, as long as his health permitted, he preached every 
 Sunday in his chapel, always with the same earnest im- 
 pressiveness, the same scrupulous elegance of language ; 
 but apt a little too much, perhaps, for so simple an 
 audience, to be occupied with what may be called the 
 metaphysics of religion. 
 
 His public speaking, however, was highly characteristic 
 of himself, which is more than can justly bo said of his 
 
 '|l- 
 
I 
 
 GENERA L CIIAKA CTERISTICS. 
 
 343 
 
 letters. These were usually very disappointing. This 
 did not arise from lack, but from excess of care ; the 
 consequence being that his letters, even to the members of 
 his own family, were often so stiff and sescjuipedalian as 
 to produce a repellent effect, which was the very last thing 
 that he intended. Letters, to be delightful, must be 
 chatty, artless, irregular ; anything of obvious design in 
 their composition is fatal to their charm. My father had a 
 theory of correspondence. He arranged the materials of 
 which he wished to compose his letter according to a 
 precise system, and he clothed them in hinguage which 
 reminded one of The Rambler. Hence it was rarely indeed 
 that any one received from him one of those chatty, con- 
 fidential epistles which reveal the soul, and touch the very 
 springs of human nature. Letters should seem to have 
 been written in dressing-gown and slippers ; my father's 
 brought up a vision of black kid gloves and a close-fitting 
 frock-coat. The absence of anything like pictun stjue detail 
 in them is very extraordinary when it is contrasted with 
 the easy and romantic style of his best books. In his 
 public works he takes his readers into his familiarity ; in 
 his private letters he seemed to hold them at arm's length. 
 The fullest expression of Philip Gosse's mind, ind'^ed, is 
 to be found in his books, and some general estimate of 
 the character of these may at this point be attempted. 
 Viewed as a whole, his abundant literary work is of very 
 irregular character. Much of it bears the stamp of having 
 been produced, against the grain, by the pressure of pro- 
 fessional requirements. A great many of his numerous 
 volumes may be dismissed as entirely ephemeral, as con- 
 scientious and capable pieces of occasional work, effective 
 enough at the time of their publication, but no longer 
 of any real importance. Another considerable section of 
 his popular work consists of hand-books, which are not to 
 
 f .'i 
 
 ! \\ 
 
344 
 
 THE LIFE OF rillLIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 11 
 
 be treated as literature. Yet another section consists of 
 books in which the reh'gious teacher is pre-eminent, in 
 which the design is not to please, but to convict, admonish, 
 or persuade. When these three divisions of his vast 
 library of publications are dismissed as valuable each after 
 its kind, but distinctly unliter.iry, there remains a residuum 
 of about eiirht or nine volumes, which are bouks in the 
 literary sense, which are not liable to extinction from the 
 nature of their subject, and which constitute bis claim to 
 an enduring memory as a writer. Of these The Canadian 
 Naturalist oi 1S40 is the earliest,^! Year at the SJiorc of 
 1865 the latest. Charles Kingsley's criticism of these 
 volumes, expressed thirty-tivc years ago, may still be 
 ([uoted. Surveying the literature of natural history, 
 Kingsley wrote, in Glauciis : — 
 
 " First and foremost, certainly, come I\Ir. Gosse's 
 "books. There is a playfid and geni.'d spirit in them, 
 "a brilliant power of word-painting, combined with deep 
 "and earnest religious feeling, which makes them as 
 " morally valuable as they are intellectually interesting. 
 " Since White's Jlistory of Sclbornc few or no writers on 
 "natural history, save Mr. Gosse and poor Mr. Edward 
 " Forbes, have had the power of bringing out the human 
 "side of science, and giving to seemingly dry disquisi- 
 "tions and animals of the lowest type, by little touches 
 " of pathos and humour, that living and personal interest, 
 "to bestow which is generally the special function of 
 " the poet. Not that Waterton and Jesse are not excellent 
 "in this respect, and authors who should be in every 
 " boy's library : but they are rather anecdotists than 
 "systematic or scientific inquirers; while Mr. Gosse, in 
 " his Naturalist on the Shores of Devon, his Tojir in 
 '' famaica, and his Canadian Naturalist, has done for 
 "those three places what White did for Selborne, with 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 345 
 
 "all the improved appliances of a science which has 
 "widened and deepened tL-iifold since White's time." 
 The style of Thilii) Gosse was scarcely affected by any 
 other external influences than those which had come 
 across his path in his early youth in Newfoundland. The 
 manner of writini; of the most strikin,; authors of his own 
 generation, such as Carlyle and Macaulay, diil not leave 
 any trace upon him, since he was mature ix-fore he met 
 with their works. The only masters under whom he 
 studied prose were romance-writers of a class now wholl)' 
 neglected and almost forgotten. I'enimore Coo[)er, whose 
 novels were appearing in (piick succession between 1S20 
 and 1840, introduced into these stories of Indian life 
 elaborate studies of landscape and seascape which had a 
 real merit of their own. The Canadian Naturalist shows 
 evident signs of an enthusiastic study of these descriptive 
 parts of Cooper. John I5anim, the Irish novelist, whose 
 O'Hara Talcs captivated him so long, left a mark on the 
 minute and graphic style of Philip Gosse, and there can be 
 little doubt that the latter owed something of the gorgeous- 
 ness and redundancy of his more purple passages to the 
 inordinate admiration he had felt for the apocalyptic 
 romances of the Rev. George Croly, whose once-famous 
 Salat/iicl \\c almost knew by heart. After the year 1S5S 
 he ceased to read new prose books for enjoyment of their 
 manner, and his style underwent but little further modi- 
 fication. 
 
 The most characteristic of my father'.s bof)ks, as types 
 of which yi A'atiiralist's Sojourn in Jamaica and the 
 Devonshire Coast may be taken, consisted of an amalgam 
 of picturesque descrijotion, exact zoological statement, 
 topographical gossip, and easy reflection, combined after a 
 fashion wholly his own, and unlike anything attempted 
 before his day. White's Selborne, alone, may be supposed 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 346 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 \..i 
 
 t 
 
 to have in some measure anticipated the form of these 
 books, in which the reader is hurried so pleasantly from 
 subject to subject, that he has no time to notice that he is 
 acquirinj^ a great ([uantity of positive and even technical in- 
 formation. A single chapter of the Devonshire Coast opens 
 with a picture of the receding tide on the north shore at the 
 approach of evening ; proceeds to a particular account of 
 two remarkable species, the one a polyp, the other the rare 
 sipunculid Harvey's Syrinx, each so described that a mere 
 tyro ought to be able to identify a specimen for himjclf ; 
 describes the Capstone Hill and its attractions, like a sort 
 of glorified hand-book ; tells a thrilling story of the loss of a 
 child by drowning ; gives a close analysis of the physio- 
 logical characteristics of a fine sea-anemone, gcininacea, of 
 a singular marine spider, and of an uncouth sand-worm ; 
 recounts an entertaining adventure with a soft crab ; care- 
 fully depicts the scenery of the hamlet of Lee ; and ends 
 up with an elaborate account of the habitat, manners, and 
 anatomy of the worm pipe-fish {Syiigiiat/uts biuibriciforinis). 
 So much is pres'seH into one short chapter, and the others 
 are built up on the same plan, in a mode apparently art- 
 less, but really carefully designed to mingle entertainment 
 with instruction. The landscape framework in which the 
 zoology is set will be found to bear examination with 
 remarkable success. Every touch is painted from nature ; 
 not one is rhetorical, not one introduced to give colour to 
 the composition, but each is the result of a scries of 
 extremely delicate apprehensions retained successively in 
 the memory with great distinctness, and transferred to 
 paper with fine exactitude. I know of no writer who has 
 described the phenomena of the falling tide on a rocky 
 coast with as much accuracy, or with more grace of style, 
 than Philip Gossc in the passage which I have alluded to 
 above in my accidental synopsis of a chapter taken at 
 
GENERA L CIIA RA CTERIS TICS. 
 
 347 
 
 random from the Devonshire Coast. I quote it here as a 
 ^^ood, yet not exceptional example of his style : — 
 
 " How rapidly the sea leaves the beach! Yonder is 
 "an area distiny[uishcd from the rest by its unruftkd 
 " smoothness on the recess of the wave ; presently a 
 " black speck ap[)cars on it, now two or three more ; wc 
 " fix our eyes on it, and presently the specks thicken, 
 " they have become a patch, a patch of j^ravel ; the 
 ' "waves hide it as they come up, but in an instant or two 
 "we predict that it will be covered no more. Mean- 
 " while the dark patch grows on every side ; it is now 
 "connected with the beach above, first by a little 
 "isthmus at one end, cnclosinfj a pool of clear per- 
 " fectly smooth water, a miniature lac^oon in which the 
 "youni^ crescent moon is sharply reflected with in- 
 " verted horns; the isthmus widens as wc watch it; 
 " we can see it grow, and now the water is running out 
 "of the lakelet in a rapid ; the ridges of black rock 
 " shoot across it, they unite ; — the pool is gone, and the 
 "water's q([^q. that was just now washing the foot of the 
 "causeway on which we are sitting, is now stretched 
 " from yonder points, with a great breadth of shingle 
 "beach between it and us. And now the ruddy sea is 
 " bristling with points and ledges of rock, that are 
 " almost filling the foreground of what was just now a 
 " smooth expanse ; and what were little scattered islets 
 " now look like the mountain-peaks and ridges of a con- 
 "tincnt. The glow of the sky is fading to a ruddy 
 "chestnut hue; the moon and Venus are glittering 
 'blight; the little bats arc out, and are fiitting, on 
 'giddy wing, to and fro along the edge of the'cause- 
 "way, ever and anon wheeling around close to cuir feet. 
 "The dorrs, too, with humdrum flight, come one after 
 " another, and passing before our faces, are visible for 
 
 . , 
 
 I 
 
 N 
 
 It 
 
 I )< 
 
 r 
 
i::! 
 
 m 
 
 . / 
 
 I 
 
 348 
 
 77//i L/FE OF PHI LIT HENRY GOSSE. 
 
 "a moment aj:^.iinst the sky, as they shoot out to seaward. 
 "The moths are phiying round the tops of the budding 
 "trees; the screaming swifts begin to ch'sappear ; the 
 "stars arc coming out all o\-er the sky, and the moon, 
 "that a sliort time before looked like a thread of silver, 
 ''now resembles a bright and golden bow, ;Mid night 
 "shuts up for the [)resent the book of nature." 
 In the obituary notice of my father i)ublishcd, in 1SS9, 
 in the /'/v'tvvv////^'-.v of the Koval Socirfy, it is remarked by 
 the author, Mr. II. Ix linHly, that he wis "not only a 
 many-silled anil exiierienced n.Uuralist. but one who did 
 more than .all his scientific contemporaries to poi)ularize 
 the study of natural objects." Until his da)- very little 
 indeed was gener;dl)- known on the subject c)f marine 
 zoology. The existing works on these lower forms, cx- 
 ccetlingl}' limited and imperfect as they were, gave little 
 or no impression of the living condition of these creatures 
 in their native waters. It was l'hili[) Gosse's function to 
 take the public to the edge of the great tidal pools, anil 
 bid them ga/e dow n for themselves \\\mv\ all the miraculous 
 animal and vegetable beauty that waved and lluttered there. 
 In doing this, he \\as immensely aided by his own inven- 
 tion of the aipiarium, which was instantly accepted b\' 
 naturalists and amateurs alike, and became to the one a 
 portable studio of biolog}', to the others a charming and 
 fashionable toy. 
 
 The volumes of PiincJi for thirt}'-n\-e )'ears ago reflect 
 the sudden jiopularit) of this invention ; and, in adilition 
 to the innumerable private \ivaria. large [)ublic tanks, 
 fitted up in accordance witli Philip Gosse's prescri[)tions, 
 were started all over lairope. The late l\lr. \V. Alford 
 Lloyd, whose affectionate devotion to my fither deserves 
 the warmest recognition, was the agent in v hose haiuls 
 the practical development of ihc scheme spread to the 
 
 Iff) 
 
 ii 
 
M 
 
 GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 349 
 
 construction of great public aquaria. These institutions 
 achieved, perhaps, their highest success at Xaples, under 
 the admirable superintendence of Dr. Anton l^ohrn ; but 
 it is to the initiative step taken by I'hilip Gosse in 1852 
 that science owes the elaborate marine biolo^^ical stations 
 now established at various [jo'nts alonsj^ the luiropean 
 coast. lie woukl not be ecpially proud to witness the 
 most modern expression of the aquarium philosophy. 
 When he vvMs eai^erly proposin;:^ the preservation of marine 
 animals alive in mimic seas, he cer.Maly diii not anticipate 
 that within forty years an aquarium would conie to mean 
 a place devoted to parachute monkeys, performinjj; bears, 
 and aerial queens of the tight-rope. 
 
 His interest in natural objects was mainly aesthetic and 
 poetical, dependingon the beauty and ingenuity of their forms, 
 lie regarded man rather as a blot upon the face of nature, 
 than as its highest and most dignified '.levelopment. His 
 attention, indeed, was scarcely directed to humanity, even 
 in those artistic amusements to which he dedicated a Urge 
 part of his leisure. His second wife's predilection for land- 
 scape painting led him, about 1 870, to learn the rudiments 
 of that art, and he amused himself by taking a variet)- of 
 studies in the open air, on Dartmoor, in the \allc\' of the 
 Teign, and by J. e -.bore, always selecting a point of view 
 from which nothing which suggested human life was visible. 
 These la ^-Is apes, if they were not very artistic, were often 
 marked by his keenness of observation and originality of 
 aspect. It is curious and highly characteristic that, not- 
 withstanding all his familiarity with animal shapes, and 
 his extraordinary skill in imitating them, l^o was absolutely 
 unable to copy a human fr. .e ')r figure. When a was a 
 child, I was for ever begging him to thaw luc " a man," but 
 he could never be tempted '.o do it. " No ! " he would say, 
 " a humming-bird is much nicer, or a shark, or a zebra. I 
 
1 
 
 w^UFT 
 
 'i m 
 
 M 
 
 m I 
 
 i i 
 
 "i • 
 
 i'! 
 
 <l 
 
 hfi 
 
 
 1 
 
 Ip' 
 
 
 111 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 350 
 
 T//E LIFE OF PHILIP ILENRY GOSSE. 
 
 will draw you a 7x-bra." And among the five tliousand 
 illustrations which he painted. I do not think that there is 
 one to be found in which an attempt is made to depict the 
 human form, I'.Ian was the animal he studied less than 
 any other, understood most imperfectly, and, on the 
 whole, was least interested in. At any moment he would 
 have cheerfully given a wilderness of strangers for a new 
 rotifer. 
 
 His appreciation of the plastic arts, notwithstanding his 
 training and his skill, was very limited. He was positively 
 blind to sculpture and architecture, to the presence of 
 which his attention had to be forcibly drawn, if it was 
 to be drawn at all. After lecturing in some of the 
 cathedral cities of England, he has been found not to have 
 noticed that there >vas a minster in the place ; much less 
 could he describe such a church or appreciate it. He 
 occasionally visited the Royal Academy, and exhibited 
 considerable interest, but invariably in the direction of 
 detecting errors or the reverse in the drawing or placing of 
 natural phenomena, such as plaius, animals, or heavenly 
 bodies. Of the drama he disapproved with a vehemence 
 which would have done credit to Jeremy Collier or 
 William Law, and he would have swept it out of existence 
 had he possessed the power to do so. With all his passion 
 for poetry, he would never consent to read Shr.kespearc. 
 He was inside a theatre but once; in 1853, on die first 
 night of the revival of Byron's Sardanapnlns at Drury 
 Lane, he was present in the pit. l'\'iraday — as little of a 
 playgoer as himself, I suppose — was a spectator on the same 
 occasion. To my father, the attraction was the careful 
 antitjuarian reproduction of an Assyrian court, founded 
 upf)n the then recent discoveries made at Nineveh by 
 Botta and Layard. In after years I asked him what effect 
 this solitary visit to a theatre had produced upon him. He 
 
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 351 
 
 
 (licet 
 He 
 
 answered, with his usual severe candour, that he liad 
 observed nothing in the sh'ghtest degree objectionaljle, 
 but that one such adventure would satisfy him for a 
 lifetime. 
 
 The one art by wliich he was vividly affected was poetry. 
 The magic of romantic verse, which had taken him captive 
 in early boyhood, when he found it first in the pages of 
 Lara, never entirely lost its spell over him. Milton (thoug.i 
 with occasional qualms, hcc^iwsc Paradise Lost \\^.s "tainted 
 with the Arian heresy"), Wordsworth, Gray, Cowper, and 
 Southey, were at his fingers' ends, and he had certain 
 favourite passages of each of these which he was never 
 weary of intoning. He liked Southey, because he was, as 
 he put it, " the best naturalist among the ICnglish poets," 
 and had described sea-anemones like a zoologist in Thalaba, 
 He was much more interested, towards the c\\i\, in portions 
 of Swinburne and Rossctti, than he had ever been in 
 Tennyson and Browning, for neither of whom he had the 
 slightest tolerance. Almost the latest conscious exercise of 
 my father's brain was connected with his love for poetry. 
 During his fatal illness, in July, iS8<S, when the gloom of 
 decay v/as creeping over his intellect, he was carried out for 
 a drive, the last which he would ever take, on an afternoon 
 of unusual beauty. We passed through the bright street of 
 Torquay, along the strand of Torbay, with its thin screen 
 of tamarisks between the roadway and the bay, up through 
 the lanes of Torre and (lockington. My father, with the 
 pathetic look in his eyes, the mortal pallor on his chcijks, 
 scarcely spoke, and seemed to observe nothing. Hut, 
 as we turned to drive back down a steep lane of o;er- 
 hanging branches, the pale vista of the sea burst upon 
 us, silvery blue in the yellow light of afternoon. Some- 
 thing in the beauty of the scene raised the sunken brain, 
 and with a little of the old declamatory animation in head 
 
 I 
 
 li It 
 
 
352 
 
 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSt. 
 
 and hand, he began to recite the well-known passage in 
 the fourth book o{ Paradise Lost — 
 
 " Now came still evening on, and twilight grey 
 Had in her sober livery all things clad." 
 
 He pursued the quotation through three or four lines, 
 and then, in the middle of a sentence, the music broke, his 
 liead fell once more u[)on his breast, and for him the 
 splendid memory, the self-sustaining intellect which had 
 guided the body so long, were to be its companions upon 
 earth no more. 
 
re in 
 
 lines, 
 c, his 
 I the 
 I had 
 upon 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 Mv step-mother has been so kind as to contribute some 
 notes of that constant companionship with the subject of 
 this memoir which she enjoyed throu^^h nearly thirty years. 
 I think her intimate recollections will be appreciated by 
 all readers of this book ; they certainly will be prized 
 by that narrower circle for whom they were primarily 
 intended. 
 
 I 
 
 RllMINISCENXES OF My IIuSU.VND FROM iSCo TO lS88. 
 
 ISTy first acquaintance with rhili]) Henry Gosse was made early in 
 March, i860. My sister and I had come from the eastern counties 
 to spend the winter in Torquay. We came in February as strangers, 
 never having been in this part before. Wo were recommended 
 to Upton Cottage, in the suburbs of Torquay, where some kind 
 friends, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Curtis, were living, who made us 
 very hapiiy for some months. One morning in March, the late 
 Mr. Leonard Strong came into the Cottage and said, " 1 am just 
 come from the Cemetery, where I have been conducting the 
 funeral service over Mr. Gosse's mother, who had lived with him 
 ever since he left London about two years ago." I nt once asked. 
 "What Mr. Gosse ? Is he the noted naturalist?" " Yes," said 
 Mr. Strong ; "and he lives in St. Marychurch, close by you. The 
 name ' Sandhurst,' in plain letters, is on his gate. He is the 
 minister of a small church at the east end of that village." I 
 knew him to be an eminent naturalist, but had formed no idea 
 where he lived. Our curiosity was awakened, and we agreed that, 
 when some opportunity occurred, we would go to this chapel, 
 which proved to be, more properly speaking, a public room for 
 meetings, in order to see and hear him. The friend.s with whom 
 we were living were equally interested. 
 
 2 .\ 
 
 I 
 
^ 
 
 jd4 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 I 
 
 After two or three weeks we planned to go on a Sunday evcning^ 
 to this i)ublic room, where a section of the Christians called 
 " riymouth IJrethren" were meeting, according to the simplicity 
 of the New Testament Scripture principles, without ritual, choral 
 adjunct, or outward adornment. Here we found Piiilip Henry 
 (josse addressing the meeting from a high desk in llie corner of 
 the room next the window. There were about thirty or forty 
 people present. It was a gospel address from a part of the 
 story of l)oaz and Ruth, wliich history he was going through on 
 successive Sunday evenings. It is a singularly beautiful type of 
 Christ and His Church. I found, afterwards, it was a favourite 
 method with Mr. Gosse to illustrate the New through the charac- 
 ters of die Old Testament. He would say, "There is but one 
 key, whereby we are able to unlock t)' • hidden treasures contained 
 in the Bible, and this one key — winch is Christ — aided by that 
 spiritual discernment of sacred things, which the Holy S[)irit 
 alone can give, will enable us to untold antl open many hidden 
 truths, lying far beneath the surface of apparently simple narrative, 
 but which will be found to be highly typical of our Saviour, the 
 Redeemer of His Church, of His person, a. id of His work." 
 
 After the meeting was over, my friend and I walked with Mr. 
 Gosse and his little son as far as Sandhurst gate. Before we 
 parted, he told Mr. Curtis that there were Scripture-reading meet- 
 ings held at his house, and that he would be pleased to see him 
 and any friends who liked to accompany him. We returned to 
 the cottage, well pleased with the minister and his courteous and 
 kind manner to us as strangers. At this time, he was deeply 
 engaged in literary work, bringing out his Romance of Natural 
 History and completing his Adinolo^ia .Britanuka. He was in the 
 full vigour and swing of his useful life, ard-.-nt and enthusiastic in 
 every movement. Two or three times a week he and his son, who 
 was always witli him — "the little naturalist," as he had been called 
 in one of his flither's books — would go, when the tide was fittest, 
 with a basket, filled willi many bottles and jars of various size, 
 chisel, hammer, and other implements, to the shoreS far and near. 
 They might often be seen, running .and jumping down the 
 declivities of the rocks, till they reached the jjebbly shores at 
 Uddicombe or Babbicombe. 
 
 His study, which I was permitted to look into on a later visit, 
 
' 
 
 ATPEXDIX I. 
 
 355 
 
 ur, llic 
 
 th Mr. 
 
 Dre we 
 
 iiieet- 
 
 1 him 
 ctl to 
 s and 
 Iccply 
 itiiral 
 in the 
 
 islic in 
 Dn, who 
 called 
 finest, 
 
 IS size, 
 
 d near, 
 •n the 
 
 ores at 
 
 was the largest sitting-room on the lower floor of his house, and 
 was his workshop. Shelves surrounded the walls, filled with 
 i)ooks ready for reference on eacli branch of his many literary 
 studies; a large glass-fronted bookcase stood against the wall, 
 opposite to the chair in which he sat always, during the winter, 
 with his back to the fire, at a large table covered with books, 
 papers, and implements. On his left hand, close to tiie window, 
 was a long narrow table, upon whi( h were shallow a(iuaria of 
 various sizes, round, long, and square ; one with three tall glass 
 sitles and a slate at the back to keep out the strong light from 
 the window looking south-east — the first sea-anemone tank made 
 for private use. These tanks were all filled with salt water, which, 
 being kept mechanically in agitation, did not need frequent re- 
 newal, but strict attention to take out the dying animals. The 
 clearness of the water was aided by seaweeds of brilliant hues. 
 Into these tanks he brought the sea-anemones, small fish, and 
 divers curious things, whose habits he closely watched, and whose 
 forms he examined and drew faithfully. 
 
 He was an accomplished and most delicate draughtsman. His 
 rapid eye would discover the various and minutest characteristics, 
 and then classify them, ready to write their future history in his 
 attractive manner. Some of his books he lent us to read, which 
 formed an interesting topic of conversation during his increasingly 
 frequent visits to the Cottage. 
 
 Mr. Gossc's most intimate friend at this time was Dr. J. E. 
 Gladstone, cousin of the late Premier, who was the clergyman (>f 
 the Furrough Cross Church, a free church built a few years before 
 by Sir Culling Eardley Smith anil others, in conseiiuence of the 
 very High C'hurch doctrines then held in the parish of St. Mary- 
 church. Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Gosse t0L;ether instituted Bible 
 readings, at which many intelligent Christians from Tonjuay and St. 
 Marychuich met to read and have conversation over the Word of 
 God. Tiiese were held at Sandhurst once a week, and continued, 
 with but few intermissions, until my husband's last illness. 
 
 He manifested the same eager ana enthusiastic spirit in his 
 study of Divine things, as in his scientific pursuits. He studied 
 the IJible as he would study a science. He must know what each 
 separate portion was about, who the insjiired writer was, what he 
 was wishing to say, and for what purpose it was written ; also how it 
 
 i 
 
 III 
 
 I 
 
35^' 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 'if 
 
 was connected by prophecy or quotation witli the New Testament, 
 cither in the (lospels or in the Kpistles. He was microscopic in 
 his readint^s, and in his interi)rc'tations of the Word of dod.for he 
 most im])ii(-itly i)eHcvcd every word of the original hingiiagcs to be 
 Divine, and dictated and written, through tlie writers, l)y the Holy 
 Ghost. These languages, through their antiquity, are necessarily 
 obscure; thus he was content to leave many passages and even 
 chapters unexplained, satisfied that they never contradicted each 
 other. 'Where two sides of a doctrine or subject are decidedly 
 stated, he would reverently stand, and say, " 'I'here they are ! 
 I cannot put them together, but God can. I leave it to Him 
 and am silent. Only through the Holy Sj)irit can it be received 
 into the heart." This mode of thought was characteristic of Pliilip 
 l^lenry Gosse. He had a wide gra'si) of the Holy Scriptures. He 
 spoke of them as if the key had been given to us, and he sought 
 to unlock their stores. He was familiar with the letter from a 
 child, and, having been brouc;ht up in the old Puritan school, 
 he was thoroughly sound in all the cardinal points of Evangelical 
 doctrine. 
 
 On July 9, i86o, I see noted in his diary, " Tiiere was a large 
 meeting at the new room in Fore Street, St. .Marychurch." This 
 chapel, which he had built, being now finished, the Church and 
 congregation removed to it ; and henceforward the meetings were 
 continued there. The routine was the "breaking of bread," 
 prayer, singing hymns, and a discourse by Mr. Gosse as the pastor 
 of the Church. In the evenings, a gospel sermon by him. 
 
 During this summer he occasionally brought u[) to the Cottage 
 his microscope or some natural history objects, and gave a familiar 
 lecture on them. Some young friends were staying willi us, and 
 wc all benefited by bis interesting and cheerful remarks. These 
 occasional visits were looked forward to by us all with great jjlcasure. 
 The party sometimes accompanied him to the beach at Oddicombe 
 or Babbicoinbe, when he always took great pains to show his mode 
 of collecting, and sometimes brought out new and curious and 
 lovely creatures, when we gathered around and exclaimed, in our 
 ignorance of such matters, "How beautiful! how wonderful!" 
 and at the end agreed that we had spent a delightful morning. 
 
 My sister, in July, left Tonpiay, and I remained at Upton 
 Cottage the rest of the summer, as we had let our house at 
 
 
mtF 
 
 APrEXDlX 1. 
 
 357 
 
 
 Saffron Walden for two years. I resolved in my mind that for the 
 remaining Sundays, I would go with my friends to the little 
 meeting in Fore Street, St. Marychurch. Many years before, whilst 
 paying a visit at Clifton to an old friend, we had together attended 
 the Church led by Mr. George Miiller, of the Or|)lianage, Bristol, 
 whose princiijles were those of "IJrethren;" and op another 
 occasion I had been the guest of Sir Alexander Campbell at 
 Exeter. Their views liad taken considerable hold on my own 
 mind, and made a strong and lasting impression. Thus, I was 
 I)repared, even after the lapse of many years, to attend like meet- 
 ings witli pleasure and profit; es])e(ially as they were led by one 
 so able, so intelligent, anil so spiritually minded, as was Mr. Cosse. 
 On September 3, i860, 1 left Toripiay, as I supposed finally, 
 and returned to the house of an uncle ami aunt at Frome, as to 
 a temi)orary home. I took leave of my friends at the Cottage, 
 and of Mr. Ciosse and his son at .Sandhurst, after a most pleasant 
 stay of eight months. However, as God had jjlanned it, on 
 Se[)tcmber 6 I had a letter from Mr. Gosse, pro[)Osing and urging, 
 in strong terms, that I should become iiis wife. Tliis certainly 
 was no little surprise to me. However, after a week or two of 
 consideration and consulting my friends, 1 accepted the offer of 
 his hand. 
 
 Un the 2 1st he came to Frome to visit me. We were married 
 at Frome on L)ecenil)er 18, i860, and came direct to Sandhurst. 
 I see our marriage notetl in his diary, date December 18 : "I 
 was married at /ion Chapel, Frome, by the Rev. I), Anthony, 
 to my beloved Eliza Hrightwen ; and after refection, we left by 
 train and got to Sandhurst about nine.'' It had been fine in the 
 morning, but by tlie time we arrived at Sandhurst a deep snow 
 had fallen ; and tlie next morning, geraniums and other plants, 
 carefully stored, were all ilrooping their heads and almost killed. 
 So ends this memorable time. 1 had a hearty welcome from my 
 dear little stepson, of whom I had already seen a good deal, and 
 who was warmly attached to me. My l)eloved husband and he 
 made me quite at home, telling me many of their okl traditions 
 and amusing family stories, with much fun, and we had quite a 
 merry breakfast. I soon found out that Mr. Gosse had a good 
 deal of humour and fun when (juite in the intimacy of his home, 
 notwithstanding that to his circle of friends and neighbours he 
 
 ti i 
 
V'l 
 
 
 ■ri 
 
 358 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 was grave and somewhat stern, as became one who had taken 
 the position of pastor. 
 
 It was liis custom to call the servants in for rcadint; the Scrip- 
 tures, and for jiraycr, every morning after breaktast. We all had 
 our Hihles, to follow him in the reading ; he made many remarks 
 illustrating the subject in hand, which rendered it a very interest- 
 ing and instructive Bible lesson. The same routine was carried 
 on every evening, before sui)per, at about nine o'clock. His 
 manner with tlie servants was kindly, but always firm ; and 
 I soon learned that he bore rule in his family. He always had 
 a "good night" for the servants and "(Jod bless you," and a 
 greeting in the morning. He kept early hours, breakfasting at 
 7.30 even all through the winter nionihs, which hour we kept 
 up to the end. He was a most industrious man, generally in 
 his study between five and six o'clock. 1 fountl no difticulty in 
 falling in with his habits of early hours, or with his punctuality 
 throughout the day, having been brought up in somewhat homely 
 and orderly habits ; so that after we got settled together, I soon 
 fell into his ways. When the weather was fine, we used to w;Uk 
 together, and when the tides were suitable, we made expeditions 
 to the rocks to collect the sea-animals. 
 
 In the mornings I used to sit with him in his study, copying or 
 rendering some necessary help. After a time, he began to take 
 me round to the cottages of the sick and poor of his congregation. 
 We had thus an insight into the life of the Devonsiiire i)eople, 
 which was very interesting to us both. He was a great favourite 
 among his people, and a visit from Mr. Gosse was always con- 
 sidered an honour, and a profit too, as he would discuss some 
 instructive (generally liihle) subject, and thus place himself on 
 easy terms with them. This practice he kept up for a few years, 
 until, the numbers of his flock having become more numerous, he 
 found visiting too fatiguing. He had few friends of his own rank, 
 but there were some with whom we exchanged visits, and who 
 came to the Scripture-reading meetings at Sandhurst one morning 
 in each week. < 
 
 He never opened out to general visitors. He always spoke of 
 himself as a shy man. Some might think him stern and unsocial ; 
 he was a recluse, and a thorough student in all his ways, and a 
 true "home bird." Often when, in after years, I remonstrated 
 
 i^l 
 
APPENDIX r. 
 
 359 
 
 with him on his isolation, and urged him to go out more among 
 his friends, he would say, " My darling, ' my mind to me a kingdom 
 is,'" which might seem a trifle selfish, if selfishness could be (on- 
 sidered at all a constituent in the heart of my beloved luisl)aiKl. 
 He was of a remarkal)ly even dis[)osition. I never saw him give 
 way to those frailties or minor faults that are so often exhibited 
 in the lives of less exalted, or of uncontrolled characters. His 
 life was given to studies of a grave and more or less religious 
 nature, or else to closely thouglit-out scientific studies, especially 
 those of natural oI)jects. His mind lieiug habitually occujiied 
 with this higher order of thoughts, he seemed to find it impos- 
 sible to unbend to tiie lighter topics of everyday conversation. 
 He was wont to excuse himself by saying, " I have no small talk." 
 
 In 1864, when he was writing A Year at the Slunr in the 
 spring, we three had great pleasure in walking or driving, as the 
 case might be, to the various bays and rocky shores of the 
 Devonshire coast. My dear husband and son would rusli down, 
 with strong india-rubber boots or se.a-shoes, and work hard, with 
 hammer and chisel, carefully taking off the anemones and other 
 sea-animals from tiie rocks, or fishing in the pools for wrasse, 
 bleunies, pipe-fish, or other sea-creatures, while I would sit on a 
 camp stool, either watching them, sometimes with a field-gla^s, 
 or reading, or drawing some of the lovely sea-views in my 
 sketch-book. Then, when we got home, there was the eager 
 looking over the haul, and putting the creatures in large basins 
 to be watched and drawn, till they could finally be i)laced in 
 the tanks. Thus, subjects were jirepared for each month in 
 the year, and this gave us much occupation before A Year at the 
 Shore was completed. 
 
 That year, 1864, I, had a considerable accession of jiroperty, 
 which was valuable as giving my husband more rest and enabling 
 him to have more leisure ; so that he did not need any longer to 
 work, either in writing or in lecturing. In 1866 he began to take 
 a great interest in some of the rarer kind of plants, especially 
 orchids, which he had always greatly adnu'red, and had collected 
 to hang in his house, when he was in Jamaica twenty years earlier. 
 This remembrance brought afresh the interest before him. He 
 had built a small plant-house against the westerly side of our 
 dwelling-house. The boiler for heating the pipes was put on the 
 
 ^i 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 •^ lilM 
 
 1^ 
 
 M 
 
 2.2 
 
 1.8 
 
 JA IIIIII.6 
 
 "/} 
 
 '<^. 
 
 w 
 
 ^>. ^':> 
 
 5. 
 
 
 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 Vk'EST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
 4>^ 
 ^ 
 
 V 
 
 qv 
 
 \ 
 
 :\ 
 
 ,.<" ^ 
 
 «■ 
 
 
 6\ 
 
 % 
 
 
4= 
 
 ,<? 
 
 
 7a 
 
360 
 
 APPENDIX 1. 
 
 foundation of the cellar under the drawing-room ; this had the 
 additional value of warming our house, which before was a very 
 cold one. This he afterwards enlarged, and eventually our 
 garden contained no fewer tlian five hothouses or conservatories. 
 
 After the first small importation of orchids, which was not, by 
 the way, very successful, though of great interest to us, and helpful 
 in teaching the gardener the management and culture of these 
 difficult and rare plants, he continued to make additions, partly 
 througli sales at plant auctions, and partly through orchid 
 gardeners ; buying small plants and growing them on, till they 
 are now become good specimens, and interesting objects of 
 instruction and pleasure. His gardener was specially facile in 
 reception of his instructions, and in a few years learned the 
 treatment, and was so successful, both in growing the orchids, as 
 well as other rare plants, tliat his master left them very much to 
 his knowledge of the treatment and care. 
 
 In 1867 Captain l]ulger, an Indian officer, who afterwards 
 went to the Cape, repeatedly sent a small cargo of valuable 
 plants ; one plant among them especially, which we have kept 
 until the present time, greatly interested my husband, but it was 
 not until 1889 that it flowered for the first time. The bulb above 
 ground is a very large onion-shaped one ; the long narrow and 
 stiff leaves from it are of a peculiarly wavy and fan-shaped growth. 
 The flowers, which are bright pink and small, come upon a wide 
 flat stem, about twelve inches high, in a bunch spreadmg out to 
 fourteen inches in diameter, and over one hundred in number, 
 and are of the Hexandria order. It is extremely rare in England, 
 and has been named by the Horticultural Society Bruits7vii^ia 
 Josephine. Captain Bulger, whom my husband had never seen, 
 was greatly attached to Iiim through his books, and entered into 
 correspondence, whic-h lasted until the captain's death in Canada. 
 
 In i860 my dear husband went to London — the first time since 
 our marriage tiiat he had left me for more than a day. He took 
 his son to enter the British Museum, and to settle him in 
 London. 
 
 In 1868 my husband and I paid an interesting visit to Poole, 
 in Dorsetshire — the place where he had been brought up by 
 his parents from two years old. We walked around to see all 
 the familiar places — the home of his parents, in Skinner Street, 
 
f- 
 
 ArPENDIX 7. 
 
 361 
 
 I 
 
 which was a narrow cul-dc-sac, with the Independent Chapel 
 on the oi)posite side of this little street, where tiie family- 
 attended. He and his brother had been in the choir, William 
 having played the violin. We obtained leave to go inside his old 
 dwelling ; and there he searched all the rooms, and endeavoured 
 to see if any traces existed of sentences and aphorisms, which 
 he and his brothers used to write under the chimney-slab or 
 other places. At length, he found, in a corner of the ceiling, some 
 lines of his own writing, fifty years old, but still unobliterated by 
 cleaning or whitewash. The old familiar water-butt in the corner 
 of the little back-yard, and other reminiscences, brought back 
 many of his youthful thoughts, occupations, and amusements ; 
 the harbour and quay, from whence, as a boy, leaving the parental 
 roof, he went out to Newfoundland. 
 
 We walked to see the old oak tree in a field outside the town, 
 in which he used to sit on .Saturday afternoons and half-holidays, 
 with his great friend antl favourite school-fellow, John 15rown, 
 reading and discussing their histories and their little empires and 
 infant zoological studies, thus sowing the seeds of that incipient 
 life, which afterwards developed into his great, extended, and 
 accomplished mind. He made a sketch of the fine Poole 
 Harbour and Brownsea Island, sand rocks, Old Harry Cliff, from 
 Parkstone, where we walked several times to visit our kind friend, 
 Walter Gill, who kept a large school there. This view we painted 
 together in water colours, and finished when we got back to 
 Sandhurst; it is framed and hangs in the dining-room to this day, 
 with many other landscapes, which his skilful hand drew from the 
 spots. 
 
 A little later, when the interest of the orchids wore off, and his 
 gardener had attained sufficient skill to cultivate them indepen- 
 dently, he began to form a collection of foreign butterflies, for 
 which he had considerable facilities. Through his scientific 
 knowledge, he had large acquaintance with men who, in this line, 
 were able to help to secure valuable and choice specimens. 
 These he obtained chiefly from the tropics, by writing to jjersons 
 and collectors named to him, who would send considerable 
 numbers of butterfiies, their wings folded when life was just 
 extinct ; being put in three-cornered envelopes, they would travel 
 well, being packed together in cigar and similar boxes. He 
 

 t 
 
 t:i 
 
 
 [lii 
 
 
 :^'\ 
 
 VI 
 
 
 j; , 
 
 1 
 
 |j 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 
 1, 
 
 ; i 
 
 if 
 
 i 
 
 362 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 would make his selection of half a dozen or so, and send the 
 remainder to London, or to dealers in other places, who would 
 make their principal remuneration out of them. He would 
 frequently write to missionaries and others, desiring them to 
 collect for him at their leisure, liberally refunding them for time 
 and labour. 
 
 A very interesting and intimate intercourse of this kind was 
 thus opened up with a family of young brothers in the Argentine 
 Republic ; four young men, the Messrs. Perrcns, relations of 
 some dear friends of ours in Torrpiay, with whom we have for 
 many years kept up a bright and happy friendshi]). 
 
 The relaxing these butterflies and fixing them in the cabinets 
 was an occupation of deep interest to us. The strict order and 
 arrangement, with the name of every insect and its habitat, 
 written in his beautiful handwriting, makes these cabinets most 
 valuable. Many an hour has been spent in looking them over 
 with our friends ; his eagerness in opening the drawers of the 
 cabinets, with his valuable remarks, information, and the inci- 
 dents attaching to individual specimens, made these visits most 
 instructive as well as interesting. He was always willing to impart 
 amusement and information when he saw that it was valued. 
 
 My husband could very rarely be induced to leave home, but 
 in 1869, at the end of September, we decided to make a short 
 outinti:, and we started in a carriage for Havtor, on Dartmoor. 
 We stayed at the Rock Inn, and took several excursions ; and 
 Mr. Gosse made drawings of various scenes. The Haytor Rock 
 he sketched most enthusiastically after his usual manner. The 
 weather changed to wet and very misty, but he was very desirous 
 of getting several sacks full of sphagnum moss for his orchids. 'I"he 
 stpieezing of the water out of this moss gave him cold, and produced 
 violent pain in his hands. He became so unwell that we were 
 obliged to return home at the end of a fortnight. After a few 
 days his physician, Dr. ImhcIi, pronounced him suffering from 
 rheumatic gout in his hands ; it also attacked his knees. Several 
 treatments were applied, and he kefit his room some weeks, but 
 gradually got worse. In November he went to Torquay to try 
 the Turkish baths. He took them twice a week, and continued 
 them to the end of the year. He gave up the Hible-reading 
 meetings, and also all the chapel services for a while; but he 
 
 II ' 
 
mm 
 
 APPENDIX /. 
 
 363 
 
 •cd 
 
 found at length that his Hmbs became easier, and by tlie end 
 of the year he resumed his work. 
 
 In 1874 he had attacks of wliat seemed to be a form of 
 aphasia, and though they were not alarming, he was prevailed 
 upon to make another excursion. A trip to Derbyshire was 
 selected ; th(jugh it was rather late in the year, we started for 
 Matlock Ilath. We left home November 12, 1874, slept at 
 Gloucester, and went on the next morning to Matlock, where we 
 got lodgings on a vrry high pomt overlooking the winding river, 
 the Dove, and with a charming view on to the hanging woods the 
 other side. Though these trees were leafless, the branches were 
 often so covered by the light and white frost, that on several of the 
 November mornings they looked like fixiryland. We made some 
 very interesting excursions in the neighbourhood, which all 
 tended to re-establish health. One of my sisters made us a visit 
 here on her way home to Manchester, which greatly heightened 
 our pleasure. We returned homo in the early part of December. 
 In 1875 the diary shows that my husband had become interested 
 in a variety of evangelical missions. Many letters were written, 
 and donations given to colonial objects and others. We were 
 made acquainted with Miss Walker Arnott's work in Jaffa. In 
 the diary notice is made of Katrina Abou Sitte, a Mahomedan 
 orphan and Syrian child, ten years old, selected by Miss W . 
 Arnott as our fivtcgcr for ten [)uunds per annum, to be given by 
 us for her board and schooling at Jaffa. This was continued for 
 several years, till she left; she has since been married to a 
 Christian Jew. We have frequently had very sweet and grateful 
 letters from her, calling us her " English parents," often with 
 small presents made of products of the country and from Jeru- 
 salem, where they were living. Mr. Gosse also took up with con- 
 siderable eagerness Mr. Pascoc's mission -work in Toluca, Mexico, 
 and carried on a pleasant corres[)ondence with that gentleman, 
 helping him to continue his printing work in that place. He 
 became a liberal contributor to the China Island Mission. Mr. 
 Guinness's work and institute had also a large share of his help and 
 interest. 
 
 At this time we engaged a Bible woman of our own to visit 
 in St. Marychurch. My husband took up once more, for a while, 
 the consecutive and orderly visiting of the poor a'.iu sick of his 
 
r^ 
 
 ift! 
 
 1^ 
 
 I) ... ll.J.IUi 
 
 ■ I 
 
 M 
 
 J I ' 
 
 I 5., 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 3H 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 flock, to all of whom h^ wrs kind and liberal. He was the sole 
 pastor and conductor of a'l the meetings, both at the Table of 
 the Lord, in worship, and in the preaching. His discourses 
 were mainly expository. He was accustomed to take a whole 
 chapter or chapters of a Gospel or an Epistle, focussing all the 
 salient points, and then turning to other portions of Scripture 
 which would shed light, or to (juotations that would explain the 
 subject in hand. In tho Old Testament he would take a cha- 
 racter, bringing out the important features, or it might he those 
 prophetical of the futrre, thus making a IJiblical figure stand out, 
 with all the motives that actuated him, either for good or evil, 
 as the case might be. These discourses were most attractive 
 and enjoyable. He always kept very close to Scripture, knowing a 
 good deal of the Greek and something of the Hebrew language. 
 
 All this labour, besides his scientific work, collecting at the 
 shores, his tanks, his cabinets, his plant-houses, are minutely 
 tabulated in folios and diaries; histories of many specimens 
 written in full ; contributions to scientific societies, which occu- 
 pied his mornings in examinations in the microscope and other 
 work. All this tells what an industrious man he was. In a 
 letter to a friend, who sent him a manuscript to look over and 
 criticize, he says, " I am sorry to have kept your manuscript so 
 long, but I could read it only at caught intervals, for my time is 
 most pressingly occupied. I am generally in my study soon after 
 five a.m. ; and, what with the work of the Lord and some scientific 
 investigations, which, I hope, will bring glory to Him, I know not 
 what leisure means." And this letter was written in June, 1881, 
 when he was in his seventy-second year. 
 
 My son has described the manner in which, in 1876, his fother 
 returned to the study of marine animals. This led him once more 
 to take frequent excursions to the sea-shore, in which I was his 
 constant companion. The living objects which he discovered 
 were brought home and placed in the large show-tank, which 
 about this time he fitted up in a small room at the back of our 
 dwelling-house. When he went out dredging, or collecting on 
 the rocks which he had to approach in a boat, I was not so com- 
 monly his companion. The filling of the tank and the watching 
 of the animals as they made themselves at home in its corners 
 and crevices was an unceasing source of pleasure to us both. In 
 
 
 
 .1 
 
AFPEXDIX I. 
 
 3^5 
 
 1878 I recollect that an octopus was offered to lis by the son of 
 a Bahhicombe fisherman, who bad taken it in a trammel-net. We 
 hesitated, but at last decided to buy it for the large sum of fifteen- 
 ])ence. In the afternoon the boy brought it up, and my husband 
 turncil it into the lobster's corner of the large tank. It was 
 indeed a hic'eous beast, the body about the si/e of a large lemon. 
 It was very vigorous and active, yet not wild. After an hour or 
 two, while I was present, it pushed up into the further angle of 
 the glass partition, and managed to s(|ueeze its body through into 
 the area of the tank, and presently found a place for itself near 
 the bottom of the middle of the glass tank, clinging with coiled 
 arms to the glass. A month later, the best tide of the whole 
 year, my husband and I drove to Goodrington Sands, where, at 
 the central ledges, he made a good collecting. A young lady 
 who was catching prawns gave us some, and our driver-boy found 
 a hole in which my husl)and took a wonderful number of fine 
 large prawns, scjuat lobsters, with others, and a large plant of 
 Tridcca cihdis. All the above were lodged in the tank in good 
 condition. A crab we gave to the octopus, who instantly seized 
 and devoured it, together with the head of a large fish and a 
 dead giant prawn. In November the octopus became languid 
 for a few days, hiding in the remotest corners — we thought 
 shrinking from the severe cold that had set in. It died on the 
 8th, after having lived with us nearly ten weeks. 
 
 All these recreations were a great rest to Philip Gosse's active 
 brain, as the exercises and air were healthful to his body, and to 
 me they were a source of very great enjoyment. My husband 
 was a true naturalist, and the fiict that for many years he got 
 his livelihood by writing books on natural history, wandering 
 among the rocks and pools, mingling all his thoughts and sympa- 
 thies with the God \\\\o formed these wonderful varieties of 
 creation, gave a zest lu his life which sedentary reading or 
 authorship in bis study could never have realized. 
 
 As Kingsley has said, " Happy truly is the naturalist ! He has 
 no time for melancholy dreams. Tiie earth becomes transparent ; 
 everywhere he sees significance, harmonies, laws, chains of cause 
 and effect endlessly interlinked, which draw him out of the narrow 
 sphere of self into a pure and wholesome region of joy and 
 wonder." My dear husbanil was essentially a religious man. 
 
1/ 
 
 '' 
 
 
 m; 
 
 1. '! 
 
 r : 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 "^Tf 
 
 r,*'»<m ■'[..'-'''vOimiM 
 
 *rt ^) M) :L 
 
 P" 
 
 366 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 The attitude of his mind was heavenly ; and only in the face of 
 God, as a Father in Christ, could he enjoy the marvels of nature. 
 'I'hc psalm was often on his lips, " Tiiy works are great, sought 
 out of all them that have pleasure therein." 
 
 About this time (May, 1877), 1 was paying a visit to arelativ- in 
 Somersetshire, and in an evening walk found a spot in a lane 
 where were a number of glow-worms, some of which I sent home. 
 He put them on some grass in the garden, and in his next letter 
 he asks me to send him some more. He says, " Can you not per- 
 suade your cousin or some gentleman to go with you a night vv-alk, 
 and get some more glow-worms, for I think I can keep them lumi- 
 nous for some while? You ask what they are? Glow-worms are 
 beetles ; but the female sex has neither wings nor wing-sheaths, 
 and it is the female alone that is luminous. They belong to a 
 family of the great class Beetles (Coleoptcra), which are remark- 
 ably soft-bodied all their life. Tiie cantharides or bhster-ilics 
 belong to the same family. Tliere is scarcely any visible differ- 
 ence in form between the grub and the perfected female \ the 
 male, however, has large, but flexible, parchment-like wing-cases. 
 In most of the foreign species (there are many in Jamaica, for 
 example) both sexes are luminous." Having lived in Jamaica 
 so long begat in him the love for animal and insect life, as also 
 vegetable life in the tropics. 
 
 Before he went to Jamaica he met with some dear friends, 
 in intercourse with whom, as previously related in the former 
 part of this life, his religious views underwent an entire change. 
 He speaks of them in a late letter to Mr. George Pearce, now 
 engaged with his wife in missionary labour in the north of Africa : 
 " It is always pleasant to receive a letter from you, and with you 
 to go back along the memories of more than forty years, to 
 those happy days, so loaded with blessing for my whole life since, 
 when we met, a loving and happy band, around the table of dear 
 W. Berger and his wife M. Berger in Wells Street night after 
 night, wliile tlie Holy Ghost poured into our receptive hearts ' the 
 testimony of Jesus,' and began at last to make ' the word of the 
 Christ to dwell in us richly in all wisdom.' A few weeks ago our 
 beloved and bereaved brother, \V. Berger, kindly came down on 
 purpose to stay a few days with us, to renew that happy intercourse 
 which is ever vivid with myself." 
 
APrENDlX I. 
 
 367 
 
 In another letter to tlie same friend, he recurs to that happy 
 period of his younger life : " How sweet the assurance of your 
 undying love, and how sweet the recollection of that iiappy early 
 time, when (k)d gave me the precious gift of personal ac(}uaint- 
 ance with you and other dear brethren. What ^ piinctuiii saliens 
 was that in my life 1 I had been reared by godly parents 
 {Indepeu dents). About a year before I knew you, my friend 
 Matthew Habershon had lent me his two volumes on i>rophecy, 
 which first opened my eyes to the prc-millennial Advent of our 
 Lord. Tiie first volume I began after closing my sciiool on a 
 suuuner evening (June, i.'^42) ; and before I went to bed, I had read 
 it right through. I possessed a very full knowledge of the letter 
 of Scripture from childhood, so that the proofs of the doctrine 
 commended themselves to me as I read without cavil. It was a 
 glorious truth to me. I hailed the coming Jesus with all my 
 heart. So absorbed was I, that when at length I finished the 
 book, I could not, for some considerable time, realize where I 
 was J it seemed another world I From that time 1 began to pray 
 that I might be privileged to wait till my Lord should come, and 
 go up to Him without having been unclothed. Forty long years 
 have passed. I am now a man of grey hairs ; but I never cease 
 to ask this privilegu of my loving God (Luke xxi. 36), and every 
 day I ask it still. Of course, I have no assurance that so it will be. 
 I have no such revelation as Simeon had (see Luke ii. 26) ; but I 
 wait, I hope, I pray." This hope of being caught \\\^ before 
 death continued to the last, and its non-fulfilment was an acute 
 disappointment to him. It undoubtedly was connected with the 
 deep dejection of his latest hours on earth. 
 
 In another letter he wrote to this same friend in North Africa, 
 1 88 1, he says, '* Within a few years back, wiien the sole ministry in 
 Marychurch and the pastorale there had become somewhat too 
 much for my advancing years (I am now in my seventy-second 
 year), a loving Christian gentleman, Mr. William King Perrens, 
 who had had experience in the same work, came to reside in our 
 neighbourhood, and he has now, with my wishes, become a sharer 
 with me in the oversight, and we labour together in fullest harmony. 
 There are now about one hundred and twenty in fellowship and 
 in 'the breaking of bread,' mostly poor and working people in 
 the midst of much worldliness and Popery, and we wait for our 
 
wr^^ 
 
 1 1 
 
 ' t 
 
 ;di 
 
 368 
 
 ArrEXDix I. 
 
 Lord's promised return in those views of Divine prophcry wliich 
 you knew 1 held diverse from those held usually by ' Brethren ' so 
 called fifty years ago." 
 
 Mr. I'errens, though looking for the return of the Lord Jesus, 
 did not accept the "year-day" system or the historical fulfdment 
 throughout the age, or dispensation, of the jjrophecies, either 
 of the Book of Daniel or the Revelation; but this divergence 
 of opinion did not hinder their mutual regard and united labour 
 for the Lord. My husband followed the old-fashioned Protestant 
 scheme held by Scott the commentator, Bishop Newton, Elliott, 
 ])0san(iuet, and, lastly, H. Grattan Guinness, who has so ably 
 written The Approacliiiig End of tlw A^e, viewed in the light 
 of history, proimecy, and science. This motle looks on "the 
 times of the Gentiles" as starting from Nebucha I'lezzar, into 
 whose hands (]od gave the kingdo.ns of the earth, after He had 
 taken the kingdom from Israel, " who shall be led away captive 
 into all nations, and Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the 
 Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles shall be fulfilled." 
 
 These subjects of prophecy from the Scriptures were, in detail, 
 imder the constant study of my dear husband in some form or 
 oilier. Lie had a large number of books in his library, both 
 ancient and modern, dealing with these prophecies. He was a 
 daily reader of the Tiiius newspaper ; he used to say the great 
 object of his reading this paper was to see " the decadence of the 
 nations, both Eastern and Western, in their downward progress." 
 He always kept his I'olyglot Bible on the chimney-piece at his 
 right hand, and that was continually brought down on any new 
 event — war or collision among the nations — to see if it could 
 be possible to glean any fresh light from the Prophets on the 
 occasion of this fresh outbreak ; especially the Eastern Question 
 ■would give eager aspirations towards the break up of the Turkish 
 emjMre, and the setting Palestine free for the return of Israel 
 
 This year, 1884, he brought out a new edition of his Eveniti^s 
 at the Microscope, correcting and enlarging some portions of the 
 book. This was not his own property, as he had written it some 
 twenty years earlier for the Society for Promoting Christian 
 Knowledge. 
 
 This year also he began to write expositions of Scripture ; 
 some were from notes of his Sunday morning discourses taken by 
 
 ■m\^ 
 
APFEXDIX I. 
 
 y-9 
 
 a friend at the time, afterwards published in a small volume as 
 T/ie Mysteries of God. This was to him a deeply interesting 
 work for God, and written with much i)rayor that it might be 
 blessed to His children. He had so often been requested by 
 members of his congregatiun, and otiicrs, to write and publish 
 his discourses, that at length he consented. As he went on with 
 these expositions, they were of the deepest interest to us botii, 
 unfolding so much of .Scripture that had not, in its fullest depth, 
 been previously discovered to us, especially in the three chapters 
 on " The Psalms." He says at the commencement : " An effort 
 is here made, in the fear of God, to search for heavenly wisdom as 
 for hid treasure beneath the surface of the Word; to examine the 
 lively oracles as with a microscope, persuaded they will be found 
 well worthy of the closest research. Some of the essays may 
 seem to some abstruse, and may be thought to be mere idle 
 speculation. But, if carefully weighed, I hope they will be 
 found to rest on the revealed mind of God in every particular. 
 I have advanced nothing. I have antici])ated nothing on mere 
 speculation. For every statement that I have made I have 
 aimed to rest on the inspired Word. I have desired strictly to 
 limit myself to the elucidation of what is written in the Book. 
 The constant reference to the very words of the Holy Ghost will, 
 I trust, plead my apology for what may seem a dogmatic tone. 
 As His trumpet gives no uncertain sound, so, as the whole tenour 
 of Scripture shows, believers are expected to kmnowwh confidence 
 the things which are freely given them of God. We have the 
 mind of Christ." 
 
 My dear husband was especially scriptural on the atoning 
 sacrifice of Christ, who suffered, "the just for the unjust ;" also 
 on the supernatural humanity and sinlessness of the Son of 
 Man. He expressly states, " I hold that, uniler the righteous 
 government of God, suffering of any kind or degree is impossible, 
 save as the just wages of sin. But since the holy Child Jesus 
 suffered as soon as He came into the world, as He was made 
 under the Law, and since in Him was no sin, of what was this 
 suffering the wages, but of that ini(|uity of us all, laid on Him, 
 exacted, and for which He became answerable? (Isa. liii. 6, 7). 
 
 " The Psalms reveal to us that the Holy One was vicariously 
 bearing throughout His life the iniciuily and reproach of man, 
 
 2 R 
 
r t 
 
 370 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 and various pains of body, though all of these in varying measures, 
 and probably witli longer or shorter intermission. The Father's 
 l)ersonal complacency in Him, and His loving confidence in the 
 I'ather, were in no sense inCG...-.istent with vicarious enduring. 
 All sulfenng He ever bore, He bore as our vicarious Substitute, 
 as second Adam, with culmination of pressure at the garden and 
 the Cross ; but he never lost sight of the love of tiie Father. All, 
 all helped to pay the ' ten thousand talents ' of our debt to God. 
 In Him is no sin ! " 
 
 In 1884 my dear husband had the fust symptoms of diabetes. 
 He was sometimes much depressed, but the doctor's good care and 
 a prescribed diet strengthened him, and lie recovered. Notwith- 
 standing depression, 1 see by the diary of that year that his 
 great energy of mind enabled him to get through much general 
 reading. In the autumn and winter months he subscribed to 
 Mudie's Library, as had been his habit for some years. He was 
 ci 'apid reader, aii<l guL iV.rough a large number of books of 
 ^ ,;>ous interest, chietly in the evenings — travels of naturalists; 
 histc-i s of all parts of the world; missionary exploits largely 
 ^T ■ atched with great interest the development and opening 
 of that wonderful quarter of the world, the " Dark Continent." 
 By these means his general depression wore off, and he grew 
 more cheerful. He was more indoors than usual, being afraid 
 of the inclemency of the weather, until the summer of 1885 came, 
 when he resumed his usual outdoor exercise. 
 
 It was always a great delight to him to watch the signs of 
 s|)ring and early summer. He was up early in the morning, with 
 his study window open for the fresh air, listening for the first 
 voice of the cuckoo, or for the songs of the many birds which 
 used to congregate .n the trees around. There was one which 
 we called " the cuckoo tree " in a near meadow, which we could 
 see from the upper windows of our house. He always tried to 
 be the first who heard or saw this bird, which for many years 
 came there. In the diary I see frec^uently, " I walked round by 
 (or through) the cuckoo meadow and sat under the tree, the bird 
 voicing over my head." Of late years there were so many 
 inhabited houses that this bird almost ceased to appear : quite a 
 disappointment to him. 
 
 I find by the end of this year The Mysteries of God was 
 
 \ 
 
 V < 
 
 \ 
 
 
/( 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 37' 
 
 I'mid 
 
 lis of 
 with 
 first 
 hich 
 hich 
 ould 
 d to 
 (,'ars 
 :1 by 
 bird 
 
 was 
 
 published. It was received very favourably by the religious 
 press, and there ^vcic many interesting letters from those who 
 a|)preciated the book. 
 
 The following years, from 18S5 to 1SS7, saw him returning to 
 the old occupation and study of the Kofi/era, or " wheel-animal- 
 cules." He became acquainted with Dr. Hudson, of Clifton, 
 and with him brought out the two volumes of I'he Rotifcra, or 
 IVheel-Aninialcuks. His ardour and persistency in the micro- 
 scopical study of these minute animals at his advanced age were 
 remarkable. He was whole days with the microscope before 
 him in his study, inl,crrui)te(l only by correspondence with 
 various students over Englaul l'3urr)pe, and America. 
 
 In our frequent drives, wh. n this study could be intermit;cd, 
 we would, with bottles in baskets, search the dirty ditches, and 
 sundry pcids and putl s, for tliese tiny, almost invisible, animal- 
 cules. Three young ladies, d.iughters of some intimate friends 
 about thr;c miles distant, wcie enlisted into the work of pro- 
 curing "ditch-water" to be examined, and it was a great amuse- 
 ment in their various walks to boLtle up the water. 
 
 I must not omit to sav that, during parts of 'h^..se years, he was 
 occupied in the study of the h Mvenly bodies. We had a good 
 telescope, through which, on clear and starry nights in the 
 autumn, we obtained a very fair idea of the principal constella- 
 tions, double stars, and nel)uUc. An accident happened to this 
 telescope, and it was rendered useless ; but through The Bazaar 
 he obtained, from a clergyman in Worcester, a more powerful one, 
 which gave us further vision into the wonderful space of these 
 far-off worlds. The sequel of this deeply interesting study towards 
 the end of 1887 brings me to the close of this valuable life. The 
 winter nights became cold, and his ardour to stand adjusting the 
 instrument at open windows brought on an attack of bronchitis, 
 which at the beginning of 1888 settled into a serious illness. 
 Mischief at the heart was discovered by the doctor, and although 
 we still took short walks and drives together into the country 
 for some little time, his health soon proved to be broken. 
 
 January 8 was the last time he was able to expound the 
 Scriptures at Uic chapel. He gradually gave uj) all study, .uul, 
 indeed, all reading. It seemed that his brain was entirely unable 
 to receive mental impressions. He was obliged to spend nearly 
 
373 
 
 APPENDIX L 
 
 ,- !' 
 
 LiL 
 
 the whole night sitting in his chair by the fireside, his breathing 
 being so clitticult that he could not lie down in his bed. He 
 became unal)lc to walk upstairs, and therefore two of our good 
 carriage-drivers always came in about eight o'clock, and carried 
 him u|) to his room. Friends frccjuently dropped in to see him in 
 the morning; it seemed to give him some satisftiction to receive 
 them, thougli he was not able to converse much. His son's wife 
 came down to us from London, and we had the comfort of her 
 help and company every day. In his calmer and more lucid 
 moments he described himself as still expecting the personal 
 coming of the Lord. Even within the last fortnight, seeing me 
 distressed, he said, " OIi, darling, don't trouble. It is not too 
 late ; even now the Blessed Lord may come and take us both 
 np together," I believe he was buoyed up almost to the last with 
 this strong hope. 
 
 I was often surprised to find how entirely he had lost interest 
 in all his beloved studies. Lor the last two months he entered 
 his study but twice — once to glance at his accustomed Greek 
 New Testament, which he left open at the Gospel of John xvii. ; 
 and again, for the last time, to look cursorily round. The last 
 evening it happened that he was carried upstairs by our kind and 
 diligent Bible reader for the villagers. This was a week before he 
 died. He never came downstairs again, but remained, with but 
 little intelligent expression, until August 23, 1888, at one o'clock 
 in the morning, wlien he passed in his sleep to be with his 
 expected Lord. He was very restless nearly the whole of that 
 night, but towards midniglit he became quiet. To the nurse who 
 was with him he said, " It is all over. The Lord is near ! I am 
 going to my rewanl ! " Early in this evening, a kind neighbour, 
 Mr. Bullock, had come to his bedside and asked to pray. At 
 the end of his i)rayer the precious sick one seemed to respond 
 distinctly, in prayer for all the dear members of his Church, 
 that " I may present each of them perlect in Christ Jesus." 
 
 I will insert a slight notice of my husband's character which was 
 written by one who knew him well in the latter part of his life, 
 published in the Cliristuxn. " ' To every man his work.' A 
 question arises — Is it possible to separate man's work into two 
 parts, and to say this is secular and scientific, and this is religious? 
 We think not. Philip Henry Gosse proved that a man might live 
 
 \A.U 
 
AFPENDIX I. 
 
 373 
 
 
 all his life in the service of God, and, in doing so, serve his own 
 generation in the best possible way. His chief glory, indeed, is 
 that he so combined science with religion, that we cannot detect 
 where the one ends and the other begins, so beautifully are they 
 woven together in his works. It is as a inisler in, and a revealer 
 of God, that he stands forth prominently ; not only God as 
 revealed in His Word, but God as declared in His works. To 
 him this God was one God, and he was perfectly persuaded that 
 the written and the unwritten books could not contradict each 
 other. First anchoring himself to God and His Word, he was 
 able safely and profitably to explore the wonderful works of the 
 Creator, without drifting away into unknown wastes, and losing 
 his way altogether. 
 
 " He had learned to distrust his own intellect, and to relv on 
 the intellect of God. As a describer of what men call ' natural 
 objects,' which are really manifestations of God, Mr. Gosse had 
 few equals. His vivid pictures, fitly framed in graceful and 
 sparkling language, cajitivate the mind at once, while his reverent 
 spirit cannot but make his readers feel that he is describing what 
 he loves as the handiwork of his Father in heaven. 
 
 " Equally happy was his method of expounding the Word of 
 God. His sentences were terse, vigorous, and pointed ; his 
 illustrations apt and unstrained ; while his knowledge of the 
 Scriptures, both of the Old and New Covenants, was aston- 
 ishing. 
 
 " To say that he never erred in his interpretations of the Word 
 would be to say that he was not human. His impulsive, eager 
 spirit, combined with tiie warmth of his imagination, sometimes 
 led him, perhaps, into an untenable position, and carried him 
 beyond what is written. 
 
 " It is not possible to over-estimate the value of the testimony 
 which he has left behind him. Gifted with an extraordinary 
 intellect, admired as an author looked u[) to as an authority on 
 all subjects connected with natural science, having admirable 
 conversational powers, Mr. Gosse might, if he had so chosen, 
 have occupied a very high and distinguished position in worldly 
 society. But he did not so choose. ' Esteeming the reproach of 
 Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt,' he preferred to 
 bury himself in a little country village, and quietly and unobtru- 
 
^^.-^- ^.a. ..-it3a»»<S»»«P,-' 
 
 374 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 sively to serve the Lord Christ. All that he was, and all that he 
 had, he laid at the feet of Jesus. 
 
 " Another testimony, most valuable in these days, is the living 
 proof which he has afforded that it is possible to be a man of 
 science and yet to be a devout believer in the inspired Word of 
 Clod. 
 
 " He believed ' all that the prophets have spoken,' and could 
 not tolerate any departure therefrom, either in himself or others. 
 This made his utterances sometimes seem stern and dogmatic. 
 Having formed an opinion on any matter, he clung to it 
 tenaciously, almost to the point of being unyielding, and even 
 combative. The inflexibility of his submission to Ciod and Plis 
 Word has, in some quarters, earned for him the epithets of 
 ' Puritan,' ' ascetic,' ' recluse,' and so on. But how refreshing 
 and invigorating is such a decided form of godliness, compared 
 with that flaccid, flavourless Christianity and monkish agnosticism 
 that is so fashionable in these days. The Lord keep us from being 
 neither ' cold nor hot.' As to the influence of his life and teaching 
 on earlier, present, or future generations, 'the day' alone will 
 declare it. If ' salt,' ' light,' and 'living water ' have any preserva- 
 tive, beneficial, and fructifying influence on the sons of men, 
 then, surely, when the day comes, many will rise up and call him 
 blessed." 
 
 Eliza Gosse. 
 
 July, 1890. 
 
 n 
 
 II 
 
 m 
 
, 
 
 APPENDIX II. 
 
 An account of the religious experiences of my father in 
 the year 1842 and onwards I have thought it proper to give 
 here, in his own words and without comment. The follow- 
 ing passage, written in February, 1888, it maybe interesting 
 to note, was only just concluded when his fatal illness 
 attacked him, and is the latest of his compositions : — 
 
 A great crisis in ray spiritual life was approaching ; for the Holy 
 (Jhost was about to unfold to me the hope of the personal Advent 
 of the Lord Jesus, of which hitherto I had not the slightest concep- 
 tion. Two of the most valued of my pupils were I'.dward and 
 Theodore Habershon ; the elder of whom, Edward, a thoughtful 
 and very amiable youth of fifteen, had already secured a large 
 place in my affections, fie had occasionally spoken to me of his 
 father, Matthew Habershon, as an author, and had suggested that 
 I might feel interested in his works on sacred prophecy. But I 
 had never heard of them or him ; and Edward's words met with 
 litde response. One day, however, Mr. Habershon sent for my 
 acceptance his Dissertation on the Prophetic Scriptures, second 
 edidon. It was in Jnne, 1842, when days were at the longest. 
 I began to read it after my pupils were dismissed in the afternoon, 
 sat in the garden eagerly devouring the pages, and actually finish- 
 ing the work (of four hundred octavo pages) before darkness set 
 in. When I closed the boc^, I knew not where I was ; I had 
 become so wholly absorbed in the great subjects, that some 
 minutes elapsed before I could recall my surroundings, before the 
 new wodd of ray consciousness did " fiide into the light of 
 common day." 
 
 Of the Restoration of the Jews, I had received some dim inkling 
 
 ■a 
 
376 
 
 APPENDIX II. 
 
 already, perhaps from Croly's Salathid ; but of the destruction 
 of the Papacy, the end of Gentihsm, the kingdom of God, the 
 resurrection and rapture of the Church at the personal descent of 
 the Lord, and the imminency of this, — all came on me that even- 
 ing like a flash of lightning. My heart drank it in with joy ; I 
 found no shrinking from the nearness of Jesus. It was indeed a 
 revelation to a spirit prepared to accept it. I immediately began 
 a practice, which I have pursued uninterruptedly for forty-six 
 years, of constantly praying that I may be one of the favoured 
 saints who shall never taste of death, but be alive and remain 
 until the coming of the Lord, to be "clothed tipon with my house 
 which is from heaven." 
 
 Subsequently, Mr. Habershon gave me his Historical Exposi- 
 tion of the Apocalypse., two volumes. This also is a work of 
 great value, though, as increasing study made me more critical, 
 I found numerous matters of detail to which exception might be 
 taken ; and though his confidently anticipated dates were not 
 realized, as, indeed, those of none others are yet, the grand out- 
 line of interpretation of Divine prophecy given is beyond dispute. 
 But to me, who had known nothing higher than the narrow and 
 bald lines of Wesleyanism, it was, as I liave said, a glorious un- 
 veiling. Its immediate effect was to deliver me from Arminianism, 
 on behalf of which I had hotly disputed with my flither, only a few 
 months before. 
 
 Tiie enlargement of mind and heart thus effected was, doubtless 
 operative in the preparation for another important spiritual 
 change, — the perception, and then the reception, of what are 
 known as " Brethren's principles." And this though there was no 
 definite or sensible connection between the two movements in my 
 mind. There was living in Hackney a young gentleman, a class- 
 leader in the Methodist society, with whom I was on visiting 
 terms. His wife was preparing a little brochure for publication, 
 and they recjuested me to give her, professionally, some literary 
 assistance in the work. Thus I was thrown much into their 
 society; and as they were both earnest believers and both of 
 engaging manners and of amiable disposition, the accjuaintance 
 became unrestrained and very agreeable. One day, Mr. Berger 
 observed, " I wish you could know my brother Will ; you would be 
 much interested in each other ! " And soon after he managed 
 
 M« 
 
 I. I 
 
 1^;- 
 
JT^JUIIWP. ni.il I , ■. " 
 
 APPENDIX II. 
 
 377 
 
 that his brother should be present on one of my evenings. I was 
 charmed with William Thomas Merger: his meekness and gentle- 
 ness, his exceeding love and grace— the manifest image of Ciirist 
 in him— drew to him my whole heart ; and then began a mutuol 
 esteem and friendship, which no cloud has ever shadowed from 
 that day to this. 
 
 It was about the beginning of the year 1843 ; and presently 
 William Eerger told me that he was on the eve of marriage, and was 
 then just about starting on a wedding tour, but tliat on his return 
 he would be pleased to welcome me to their house. Accordingly 
 he and his bride (who had been Miss Van Sommer) renewed the 
 invitation in the following May, and I became immediately a 
 welcome visitant. She was a very sweet, simple Christian lady, 
 very lowly and very loving ; they were indeed true yoke-fellows, 
 of one heart and soul, constantly overflowing in kindness towards 
 me. Both of them had been for some time prominent in the little 
 band in Hackney who, discerning the evil of sectarian division 
 in the Church of God, had associated together in the Name of 
 Jesus only, refusing any distinctive title but that one common to 
 all believers, of " Brethren," and including under this appellation 
 all who, in every place, love the Lord Jesus Christ, whalevcr their 
 measure of light or scripturalness of practice. That the Church of 
 Cod, and every believer in particular, was called to separation 
 from the world, they perceived ; and hence, the connection of the 
 Church with the State was totally repudiated. The energy of the 
 Holy Spirit in the assembly of the Church was acknowledged, and 
 maintained to exist now in the same amplitude as in the 
 Apostolic age ; and it was inferred that the liberty of ministry in 
 the Church at the [present age is exactly that seen in i Cor, xiv. 
 In this I judge they were in error ; for this supposes that the 
 miraculous gifts {xapLojiara) are still extant, of which there is no 
 evidence. 
 
 All this, however, became known to me only by degrees. Until 
 I knew the dear Bergers, I was not aware that a movement of this 
 character was in existence ; nor had I so much as heard, during 
 my three years' residence in Hackney, that in a little retired 
 building, called Ellis's Room, a body of Christians holding these 
 views met every Lord's day. 
 
 Quite early my new friends invited me to take part in a meeting 
 
 is li 
 
 
mfm 
 
 mm,/ii ^m i 
 
 378 
 
 APPENDIX 11. 
 
 held weekly at their house, for studying the Holy Word.* Of 
 such a " Scripture reading," now so common, I had never heard. 
 I found, sittin,' round a large table in their dining-room, each with 
 a Biljle before him, about ten persons — William and Mary Berger, 
 Cieorge I'earse, Cape! Berger, Eilward Spencer, Edward Hanson, 
 James Van Sommcr, and perhaps one or two more ; and I took 
 my place in the little company. They were engaged on Rom. i., 
 and the seventeenth verse occupied the whole evening. Such a 
 close and minute digging for hid treasures was a novelty to me ; as 
 was also the deference and subjection to the Word of God, and the 
 comparing of Scrijjture with Scripture. The company present were 
 pretty uniform in mental power and education ; almost all could 
 refer to the Greek original ; and there was unrestrained freedom 
 of discussion, and perfect loving confidence. Many points were 
 examined ; for the converse was necessarily somewhat desultory. 
 Only one prominent topic has fixed itself in my memory, viz. the 
 heavenly citizenship. This so ama/.ed me that I exclaimed, 
 " Because I am a Christian, surely I am not less an Englishman ! " 
 Hanson, at whom I looked as I spoke, only shook his head, and 
 I was silent ; till, just before the meeting closed, I emphatically 
 said, '■ I have learned a great truth to-night ! " 
 
 I had already formally severed my connection with the 
 Wesleyan society, and now took my place on Lord's day morn- 
 ings with the little company (some forty or fifty lowly believers) 
 who met to break bread at Ellis's Room : — a change for which I 
 have ever since had reason to thank God. 
 
 * My father's memory fails hiin when he says "quite early." It was in 
 A pril, 1S47, that he began to tu. c part in these meetings. — K. G. 
 
 I 
 
 i: 
 
 k 
 
INDEX, 
 
 
 Abaco, Bahamas, ii8 
 
 Abraham and his Children, Mrs. Emily 
 
 Gosse's, 256 
 Academy of Natural Science, Philadelphia, 
 
 113 
 
 Actinia. Sir Sea-Anemones 
 
 ylctinologiii Jtri/anniia, ifi. 
 
 Alabama, life and scenery in, 124-148 
 
 Alder, Joshua, 243, 2 )6 
 
 American itleas of British, 140, 141 
 
 Andrews, Miss, 293 
 
 Aquarium. Stv Marine .Aquarium 
 
 , Gosse's 77u\ 246, 251, 252, 261, 
 
 288, 297, 340 
 Arlidge, Dr., 318 
 Asplanchna, 226 
 Assyria ; her Manners and Customs, 
 
 Arts and Arms, Gosse's, 231 
 
 B 
 
 Babbicombe in 1852, 237 
 
 lidird. Dr. William, 172 
 
 Balanopkyllia, 241 
 
 Banim's O'Hara tales, 55, 345 
 
 Bate, (,". Spence, 252 
 
 Battersby, Robert, 266 
 
 Battle of Hastings, Ao. i, Cliatterlon's, 17 
 
 Bear, curious case of shooting a, 134 
 
 Beavers, 65, 66, 108 
 
 Bell, Mrs. Susan, "Aunt Hell," 12. 
 
 — — , Thomas, F.R.S., their son, 12, 156- 
 
 158, 170, 250 
 Berger, Mr. William Thomas, 212, 376 
 
 378 
 
 Bermuda, 205 
 
 Best, Hannah, afterwards Mrs. Thomas 
 Gosse, 3, 4 ; marriage, 5 ; gives birth to 
 Pmi.ii' IlKNKY, il'. ; contributes to 
 family maintenance, 6 ; loneliness in 
 Poole, 9 ; care and solicitude, 13 ; 
 strength of character, 16 ; visits her 
 parents, 18, 19 ; in Wimborne, 153 ; 
 keeps house in ILickney for Philip, 
 167 ; removes to Kentish Town, 172 ; 
 return to Hackney, 179 ; association 
 with daughter-in-law, 221 ; c|uits son's 
 residence, 234 ; rejoins her son at St. 
 ^hlrychurch, 293 ; her death , //^ 
 
 , Philip, grandfather of P. H. Gosse, 
 
 4 
 
 Bethune, Rev. G. W. , 114 
 
 IMble, knowledge of the, 328, 329 
 
 P.irch, Dr. Samuel, 211 
 
 Birds, Gosse's, 219, 221 
 
 of Jamaica, Gosse's, 211; Illustra- 
 tions to, 218, 219 
 
 rsiandford school, Gosse enters, 21 
 
 Bluefields, Jamaica, 185, 186, 188, 201 
 
 Bohanan, Mr., of Jamaica, 126, 129, 131 
 
 Botta, at Nimroud, 231 
 
 Bowerbank, James Scott, 223, 230, 243, 
 
 2(5. 2.'3. 257 
 Bowes, Emily, afterwards Mrs. Piiihp 
 Gosse, 215 ; ancestry, //'. ; education, 
 216 ; meets Philip Gosse, 217 ; personal 
 appearance, ib. ; portrait painted by G. 
 v. Joseph, A.R.A., ib. ; marriage with 
 Pan. 11' llKNUV, 218; temperament, 
 221 ; married life, ib., ■2(:ii, ■zti2 ; assists 
 in translating Ehrenberg's Die Infu- 
 sionsthierschen, 224 ; death of her aunt, 
 223 ; death of her mother, 227 ; litcraiy 
 assistance to husband, 242 ; feeble 
 
'WMWWNMMMIWi 
 
 I 
 
 380 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 I: 
 
 health, 251 ; bonofitod by Tenby, 254 ; 
 publishes Aliraham and his Children, 
 256 ; issue and great success of her 
 Gospel Tracts, 260 ; distressing illness, 
 262-264 ; sympathy with others, 265 ; 
 final illness and death, 270; traits of 
 character, 272 ; Memorial, 273, 274 
 
 Howes, Hannah ncd Troutbeck, niotlicr 
 of preceding, 215, 227 
 
 , Nicholas, of FJoston, U.S., 215 
 
 , Lucy nr^ Hancock, his wife, 215 
 
 , William, father of limily, 215, 227 
 
 Rrady, Mr. H. H., 348 
 
 Brightwen, ICli/.a, afterwards Mrs. P. H. 
 Gosse, her marriage at Frome, 294 ; on 
 sea-shore expeditions, 311 ; pupil of 
 Cotman, 341 ; Reminiscences of my 
 Husband, App. I. 
 
 Bristol, Thomas Gosse at, 5 
 
 British Birds, Yarrell's, 290 
 
 Museum, 170, 172, 226, 231, 
 
 collections for, 178, 210 
 
 British Quadrupeds, liell's, 156 
 
 Hrixhani, 239 
 
 Brook Farm, co-operation at, 87 
 
 Brown, Mr., of Poole, 11 
 
 , John Hammond, 17, 22, 2 
 
 233 
 
 35i 
 
 54 
 
 Burlington, U.S.A., Gosse at, iii, 112 
 
 Bus, Vicomte du, 211 
 
 Butler, Bishop, 14 
 
 Butterflies, Camberwell beauty in Xcw- 
 
 foundland, 71 ; in Alabama, 129, 130 ; 
 
 swallow-tail in Newfoundland, 89 ; 
 
 I'2nglish, 167; Heliconia in Jamaica, 
 
 183 ; velvet-black [Urania Sloaniis), 
 
 • of Parai^iiay, Gosse's, 315 
 
 Byrne, Old Joe, a trapper, 65-68 
 Byron's Tales, 15, 25, 351 
 
 C 
 
 Cahawba, Alabama, 132 
 Camden Town, lodgings in, 243 
 Campbell, Sam, Gosse's negro assistant, 
 
 187, 190, 107, 201 
 Campbell's Last Man, 28 
 Canada, 89-109, 130 ; voyage to, 8g, 90 ; 
 autunui scenery in, 98 ; description of 
 a winter tempest, 161, 162 ; Gosse's 
 emigrant life at Compton, 91-104, 110 
 Canadian Naturalist, Gosse's, 96, 102, 
 
 151. T5S. 171. "ill' t94. 344. 34.T ; suc- 
 cessful sale of .MS., 157; publication 
 and style, 159-162 ; its success, 162 
 Carbonear, Newfoundland, Ijosse at, 31, 
 33. 73. 75. 81, 83, loi, 113 ; book club, 
 38, 39; winter in, 44; Gosse leaves, 
 89 
 Carrington, Mr. J. T. , 309 
 Cayo lioca. West Indies, iig 
 Centipede, Note on an Electric, 171 
 Claiborne, Alaliaina, 114 
 Cl.irke of Liverpool, William, 151 
 Chnient, Father, its effect on Gosse, 19 
 Colenians, the, of Hluefields, 185, 186, 
 
 20 r, 208 
 Compton. See Canada 
 
 , Cajjtain, 73 
 
 Comptoniensa, /.epidofitera, 100 
 Conception Bay Mercury, The, 76 
 Conrad, Timothy A., conchologist, ir4 
 Content, Jamaica, visit to, 192 
 Cooper, Fenniniore, works of, 55, 345 
 
 , Dr. Samuel, of Boston, 215 
 
 Creation, The Vestiges of , 279, 282, 283 
 Croly, Rev. George, 76, 345, 376 
 Crystal Palace Aquarium, collects for, 
 250 
 
 , Lloyd's aquaria, 306, 309 
 
 Cuming, Hugh, of Gower Street, 178 
 
 Cuvier, 273 
 
 Cyclopedia Pantologia, 11 
 
 D 
 
 Dallas, Al.abama, 123, 125, 146 
 
 Didston, residence in, 209 
 
 Darwin, Charles, 150, 161, 230, 256, 272, 
 276, 277, 279, 292, 297, 323 ; character- 
 istic letters, 266-269 ; fertilization of 
 orchids, 299, 300, 303, 304 
 
 Davy's Salmonia, Sir Humphrey, 102 
 
 Devonshire, vi.-its to, 236 243, 257-259 ; 
 settles in, 272-323. AVt' also St. Mary- 
 church 
 
 cup coral [Caryophyllia Smithii), 
 
 240 
 
 Coast, Naturalist's Ramble on the, 
 
 240-242, 249. 250, 259, 261, 272, 297, 
 339. 344. 345 : ^profits on publication, 
 245 ; synopsis of a chapter, 346 ; speci- 
 men of its style, 347 
 
 Dohrn, Dr. Anton, 349 
 
 I 
 
 .( 
 
INDEX. 
 
 381 
 
 Dolphin [Coryphcena psiffarus), capture, 
 and changciiijio colour in dying of, 121 
 DouljJL'day, Edward, 171, 170, 233 
 
 , Henry, 171 
 
 Drew, Mrs., of Foolt-, 17 
 Dtijardin's SystoliJes, 231 
 Dyson, David, 179 
 Dyster, Frederick, 254 
 
 Egypt, Monumrnfs of Aurirnf, 311 
 Etirenberg's Die Infusionstkierclun , 224, 
 
 226, 255 
 Elson, Mr., merchant of Carhoncar, 34, 
 
 37. 38, 43. .S7. f'l. *'8, 71. 75. 79. S8; 
 decline of his firm, 105 
 
 iMiiigrant life in Canada, 92-96 
 
 Encyclop(rdia I'ertliaisis, earliest study, 11 
 
 Entomologiii Alabamcnsis, an unpublished 
 work, 130 
 
 Terrce-nov(C, 79-80 
 
 Entomological Jounial, 71, 80, 96 ; ex- 
 tracts from, 100, loi, 10O-109 
 
 Society, 31 ^ 
 
 Entomologiit, The, lulward Newman's, 
 171 
 
 Entomologist' s Text Book, Westwood's, 
 172 
 
 Entomology of Ncwfoninlldnd, 102 
 
 Kpping Forest, v^-j, 171 
 
 Ivpps, Dr. John, 270 
 
 Essays of E Ha, 38 
 
 Evolutionism, position towards, 273, 276, 
 
 277. 336 
 E.xcclsiur Magazine, 275 
 
 F'airbank, Dr., 202 
 
 Faraday, 335, 350 
 
 Eishes, Gosse's, 225, 227 
 
 Florida Reef, 118, 119 
 
 ElosiulariJcc, the, 295 
 
 Fog-bow or circle off Xew foundland, 62 
 
 Forbes, Edward, 243, 252, 255, 268, 27s, 
 
 333. 344 
 F"oster, Frof. Michael, 317 
 Fourierism, 87 
 
 (iambic, T. , of Carbonear, 47 
 
 Garland and Co., Messrs. George, of 
 I'oole, 24, 29 
 
 Gi!ology and Genesis, 277 
 
 Glaucus, or the Wonders of the Shore, 
 Kingsley's, 253, 257 ; projects of Gosse 
 noticed in, 344 
 
 Glimpses of the Wonderful, 178, 179 
 
 Good Words, contributes to, 296, 297 
 
 (joodrington sands, 321, 322 
 
 Gossic f;uiiily, 2 
 
 , Elizabeth, afterwards Mrs. Gre('n, 
 
 sister of I'liilip Henry, 71-73, 103, 156, 
 162 ; her death, i'i3 
 
 , I'vtienne, author of /,<• Mddisant, 2 
 
 , Mrs. Emily. See Bowes, Emily 
 
 , .Mrs. Hannah. See Best, Hannah 
 
 , Philip Hknky, ancestors, 2; birth, 
 
 5 ; earliest recollection, 6, 7 ; first ill- 
 ness, 10 ; attends dame's school, 10 ; 
 first impression of natural objects, 10, 
 II ; love of natural history aroused, 
 II, 12 ; rebuffs, 13 ; strength of memory, 
 16, 17 ; attends Sells' school, 17 ; love 
 of books, 18 ; enters Blandford school, 
 21 ; thinking powers, 21 ; rambles and 
 zoological studies, 22, 23 ; appearance 
 at age of fifteen, 24 ; enters mercantile 
 house, 24 ; leisure hours, 26, 27 ; love 
 of lepidoptera, 27 ; appears in print, 28 ; 
 escape from drowning, 28 ; accepts a 
 clerkship in Newfoundland, 29 ; friend- 
 ship with W. C. St. John, 34-37, 39-42 ; 
 life in Newfoundland, 37, 38, 42, 43 ; 
 attachment to Miss Jane Elson, 45 ; 
 clerical work, 48, 51, 57-59 ; remunera- 
 tion, 51, 52 ; change from boy to man, 
 54 ; attempts novel writing, 57 ; keeps 
 a journal, 59 ; gains inform.ation on 
 seals and seal-fishing, 57-60 ; suscepti- 
 bility to ghostly fears, 60 ; moved from 
 Carbonear to St. Mary, 61, 62 ; life at 
 St. Mary's, 62-64 '> return to Carbonear, 
 65 ; altcniins poetry, 69 ; commences 
 serious study of natural history, 70 ; 
 becomes _a Christian, 70; visits Eng- 
 land, 70 ; sister's illness develops re- 
 ligious feelings, 72, 73 ; return to New- 
 foundland, 76 ; letters exhibiting eager- 
 ness of natural history observations, 
 
 h 
 
ml' 
 
 mm^ 
 
 38a 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 h 
 
 SiJ:.. 
 
 \?i'.i . 
 
 
 11: 
 
 76-79; "collection," 70; amateur in- 
 striiiin'nts, 80; first insect cabinet, 82, 
 110, 112, T48 ; rciif^ioiis fervour and 
 ri^i'lnt^ss of tlioui,'lii, 83, i.)9, 150, 21.}, 
 276-283, 324-332 ; buoyant Canadian 
 anticipations, 86, 87 ; quits Newfound- 
 land, 89 ; becomes Canadian settler at 
 (,'ompton, 91; farm, 92-95, 97, 103; 
 his Canadian A'aturalisI, 96 ; teacher 
 in a township school, 99, 100 ; recog- 
 nized by Canadian Scientific Societies, 
 100; temporary ill-health, 103, 104, 
 197, 212, 233, 234, 256, 259 ; tired of 
 Canada, what prospect for a school at 
 I'oole? 104; change of intention, re- 
 solves for Southern States, ih. ; sells 
 farm, 105 ; position at age of twenty- 
 eight, 105 ; journey from Canada to 
 United States, iit, 112; welcome by 
 scientific men of Philadelphia, 1 13-115 ; 
 voyage to Mobile, 115-121 ; reflections, 
 121-123; passage to King's Landing, 
 123 ; engaged by Judge Saffold, ih. ; 
 up-country experience, 124, 125 ; 
 school-house. Mount Pleasant, 126, 
 127 ; daily routine, 127-129 ; ento- 
 mological activity, 129-132; skill as a 
 zoological artist, 130 ; subjected to 
 social peculiarities, 140, 141 ; morbidity 
 of mind, 144, 145 ; farewell to IXillas 
 and the Saffolds, 146 ; quits America 
 and arrives at I-ivcrpool, 148 ; sale of 
 eiitoniologieal collection, i/>. ; Atlantic 
 voyage, 150, 151 ; refuses a museum 
 curatorship, 151-153; attachment to 
 Miss Button, 15s ; seeks fortune in 
 London, 155, 156; unexpected good 
 fortune in sale of Canadian Xatiiralist 
 MS. to Van Voorst, 157 ; gives instruc- 
 tion in flower-painting, 158, 162 ; pur- 
 suits in 1839, 159 ; sketches of Sher- 
 borne, 163 ; sister's death, 163, 164 ; ill 
 fortune, 164 ; starts an academy in 
 ILackney, ih. ; process of self-education, 
 167-169 ; opening up of a literary 
 career, 169, 170, 177, 178 ; gains valu- 
 able friends, 171, 172 ; removes to 
 Kentish Town, 172 ; nocturnal pursuits 
 leads to arrest, 173 ; suggested visit to 
 Jamaica for British Museum, 178 ; 
 voyage, 179-182 ; occupation in 
 Jamaica, 183-202 ; father's death, 189 ; 
 bitten by a scorpion, 202 ; homeward 
 
 voyage, 202-205 I appearance in 1846, 
 206, 207 ; accidental portrait, 207 ; 
 example of his s( verity of reproof, 208, 
 209 ; slow growth of means, 210 ; 
 thoughts of visit to Azores, ih. \ literary 
 activity, 211, 212, 218, 219, 227, 231, 
 
 232 ; courtship and marriage to Miss 
 E. Howes, 217, 218; residence in Uo 
 Beauvoir Stpiare, 219; seclusion of 
 home life, 221 ; buys a microscope, 
 
 222 ; its effect, ih, \ starts study of 
 Rot if era, 222, 223 ; birth of his son, 
 
 223 ; daily division of studies, 224 ; 
 member of Linn.T.m and Microsco[)ical 
 Societies, 225 ; imiiroved fortune, it. \ 
 inaugurates new method of natural 
 history observation, 228, 229 ; arclia'o- 
 logical studies, 231 ; social life, 232, 
 
 233 ; marine researches on shores of 
 Devonshire, 238-243; return to London, 
 243 ; experiments towards, and estab- 
 lishment of, marine aciuariums, 243, 
 244 ; agrees to collect for Zoological 
 Society's atiuarium, 244 ; becomes a 
 popular lecturer, 245 ; visits Weymouth, 
 ih. ; dredging and collecting expedi- 
 tions, 244-249; returns to London 
 (Islington), 252; visit to Tenby, new 
 friends, 253, 254 ; conducts classes on 
 sea-shore at Ilfracombe, 257-259 ; and 
 at Tenby, 264 ; activity in 1855, 259 ; 
 elected F. Fi.S. , 261 ; wedded life, 261, 
 262 ; correspondence with Darwin, 266- 
 269 ; death of first wife, 270 ; its effect, 
 270-274 ; position as a zoologist, 273 ; 
 premature hopes of an abortive Welsh 
 professorship, 274 ; finally c|iiits London 
 for South Devon, 275 ; study of sea- 
 anemones, 284-290 ; working garb, 
 287, 288 ; literary work, 284, 289-293 ; 
 household at St. Marychurch, 293 ; 
 second marriage, 294 ; abandons zo- 
 ology, 296 ; cultivates orchids, ih. ; 
 correspondence with Darwin, 297-304 ; 
 coases professional authorship, 305 ; 
 marine zoological enthusiasm revived, 
 307-309 ; excursions described, 310- 
 312 ; study of astioiiomy, 307, 322, 
 323 ; resuscitation of Lepidoptcra 
 studies, 313-317; publication of Roii- 
 fcra, the joy of his old age, 319, 320 ; 
 
 final family ramble on sea-shore, 321 ; 
 bronchial attack, coupled with heait 
 
 \ 
 
INDEX. 
 
 383 
 
 t 
 
 disease, proves fatal, 323; burial at 
 'rorquay, ib. ; social isolation, 333 ; 
 contradictionsof tpmporamont, 334, 33:; ; 
 scope of scientific labours, 336, 337 ; 
 claim as a zoologic-al artist, 338 341 ; 
 characteristics as a lecturer and public 
 speaker, 342 ; as a letter writer, 343 ; 
 criticism of his books, 343-348 ; unable 
 to depict human li<jure, 349, 350; soli- 
 tary visit to a theatre, 350 ; love of 
 poetry, 351, 352 
 
 Gosse, Thomas, miniature painter, i ; 
 father of I'llII.IP Hf.nky, 2 ; birth and 
 training, ih. ; courtship and marriage, 
 35 ; wanderings, 5, 6 ; located at 
 I'oole, 7 ; voluminous writer of un- 
 published works, 14, 189, 190 ; love of 
 reading, 15 ; joins his son in Kentish 
 Town, 172 ; removal to Hackney, 179 ; 
 his death, 189 
 
 , Wilham, of Ringwood, 2 ; his 
 
 daughter Susan, 12 
 
 , William, brother of Piiilii' Hf.nky, 
 
 5. 24, 43, 84, 163 ; sails for Newfound- 
 land, 20 ; welc(jmes his brother on 
 arriv.U, 33 
 
 Gould, John, 211 
 
 Gray, George Richard, 172 
 
 , John l->iward, ih. 
 
 Green, Mr. and Mrs., of Worcester, 3 
 
 , Mrs. Elizabeth. Sec Gosse, Elizabeth 
 
 Greenwell, Dora, 333 
 
 Griffen's The Collegians, 56 
 
 H 
 
 Hackney, residence at, 158, 164, 16:;, 167, 
 
 172, 213, 234 
 H.affenden, Mr., of Jamaica, 184 
 Hamburg insect cabinet, 82, no 
 Hampton, Captain, 79, 82 
 Hancock, Governor John, 216 
 Hankey, John A., 210 
 Harbour (Jrace, residence of St. 
 
 family, 34, 55, 68, 81 
 Harrison, Samuel, 75, 76 
 
 , Slade and Co., of Poole, 29, 47 
 
 Hayti seen from the sea, 203 
 
 Hill, Richard, Jamaica naturalist, 194- 
 
 198, 202, 212, 267, 269 
 
 Hofne Friend, The, 242 
 Hooker, Sir William, 178, 303 
 
 John 
 
 Howard, Mrs. Robert, 218 
 
 Howlett, Rev. F. , 322 
 
 Hudson, Dr. C. T., 25^5, 29''>, 318, 37t 
 
 Hunt, Mr. Arthur, of Tor(|uay, 312 
 
 Huron Lake region, 91, 97 
 
 Huxley, Professor, 234, 316 
 
 Hyena, South African, 23 
 
 I 
 
 Ilfracombe, 239, 257 
 
 Infiidonslhienhen, I':hrenberg's Die, 224, 
 
 2.S5 
 Infusoria. Vx\\.c\\Mi\'f, llistorv nf the 222 
 
 Insect cabinet, 82, tio, 112, 148 
 
 Islington, residence in, 252 
 
 Israel, The Restoration of, unpublished 
 poem, 7'i 
 
 Jamaica, 180 205; starts for, 178; orni- 
 thology, rSo; apjiroach to, iSi, 182; 
 scenery, 186, 199, 200 ; natural history 
 observations by K. Hill, 194 196 
 
 , Birds (/, 211, 212 ; Illustrations to, 
 
 219 
 
 , .\atiiralist's Sojourn in, 193, 196, 
 
 225, 227 -229, 344, 345 
 
 Society, the, 198, 200 
 
 Jaques, G. E. and .Mrs., of Carbonear, 
 
 43. 83, 85, 87, 88, 151 ; remove to 
 
 Canada, 89; their farm, 95, 105, no, 
 
 in 
 Jardine, Sir William, 2ir 
 Jans, History 0/ the, 2i<), 220 
 Johnston, Dr. George, 243, 284 
 Joseph Andrews, 26 
 Jo.seph, G. F., A.R.A., portrait of Mrs. 
 
 Gosse, 217 
 
 K 
 
 Kcndrick, M.ajor, 135 
 
 Kentish Town, residence in, 172, 173 
 
 Kcw Gardens, 178, 233 
 
 , Guide to, 259 
 
 Kingfisher's nest, discovery of a, 19 
 
 Kingsley, Rev. Charles, 151, 251, 252. 
 255. 25'5. 293, 333 ; germ of GLiucus, 
 253 ; letter on Gosse's Omphales, 280- 
 283 ; dredging for specimens, 289 ; criti- 
 cisms of Gosse's works, 344, 345 
 
 Knight, Rev. Richard, Wesleyan minister, 
 70 
 
■ I I I p i W I !■ ^»^»«»i»— ^W 
 
 i _p i ^ >i m i>ii \PmmHm^mmifg/fmm 
 
 
 384 
 
 IXDEX. 
 
 I' 
 
 l-iibrador fleet, 33, 44 
 
 l.acerta viriUis lU I'oolo, 13 
 
 l.aiiiarck, 273 
 
 /.and and Sea, Gosse's, 304 
 
 LiUikuster, Prof. l'^. Kay, 261, 316, 318, 
 
 3 '9 
 Laru, Hyroii's, 25, 351 
 I.ar sabillariim, papiT on, 266 
 I.ayrird at Niinroud, 231 
 I.camington, 225 
 Loidy, Dr. Joseph, zoologist, 113 
 l.i'pidi>p/i->'ii, Campion icnsa, 100. Sec also 
 liultcrllii's 
 
 , Gosso on The Clasping Ori;a/is 
 
 ancillary to Generation of certain, 
 316, 317 
 Lester, Mr., M.P. for Poole, 28 
 l^ever's exliibition, Sir Aston, 27 
 Lewin, Mr. and Mrs. J. L. , 197 
 Life in its Laiuer, Intermediate and 
 
 livelier Forms, Gosse's, 276 
 1 .iglitning, description of effect on a 
 
 house .struck by, 53 
 Lighten, Sir Charles, 259 
 Liguanea Mountains, Jamaica, 199 
 Linno-'an Society, 225, 232, 256, 259, 266, 
 
 317 
 Linnieus's Systema /\atur<c, 82, 338 
 
 Genera Inscctorum, 338 
 
 Lisby, Edward, 24 
 
 Liverniead, Tor Hay, 285, 288 
 
 Liverpool, Goss(; at, 151, 153 
 
 Lloyd, W. Alford, 306, 348 
 
 l>o,ader, parish clerk of Carbonear, 84, 85 
 
 Loddiges, George, florist, 158 
 
 London district, Lake Huron, 91, 97 
 
 lA)ni^icorns, 204 
 
 l>ongnians, .Messrs., 225, 229 
 
 Low, Hugh, 179 
 
 Lundy Island, 242, 304 
 
 Lush, W. F., 44, 113 
 
 M 
 
 Macleod, Dr. Norman, 296 
 Mammalia, Gosse's, 212, 220 
 March, Mary, of Newfoundland, 60 
 Marine Aquarium, first germ, 235 ; natural 
 one, 237 ; first serious attempt to create. 
 
 243 ; its inventor, 244 ; first private, 250 ; 
 its popularization, 252, 348, 349 ; at St. 
 Marychurch, joy, 312, 320 
 Marine Aijuarium, Handbook to the, 259 
 
 biologic. d stations, 349 
 
 Martin of Poole, O2 
 
 , John VV. , of St. .Mary's, Newfound- 
 land, 62 65 
 MelieertidiC, 295 
 Melly, Mr., insect buyer, 148 
 Mi-mory, training of the, I'jj, 166 
 Methotlisni, Gosse and, 153, 154, 37 '> 
 Microscope, Atlams's Essays on the, 70 
 
 , (josse's Evenings at the, 290 
 
 Microscopical Society, 223, 224, 230, 232, 
 
 243. 259 
 
 Mitchell, D. W., 211, 244 
 
 Mobile, voyage from Philadclphi.i to, 
 115-121 ; visit to, 148, 149 
 
 Molloy, Dr., of Carbonear, 81 
 
 , Dr. P. K., of .Montreal, 92 
 
 Montego liay, Jamaica, 197 
 
 •Montreal nmscum, too 
 
 Moravians, 186, 191, 192 
 
 .Morgan, Mrs., of Clifton, 270 
 
 Mount Pleasant, Alabama, Gosse's school 
 at, 126 
 
 Murray, John, 225 
 
 Museum. See British, Montreal, Phila- 
 delphia 
 
 N 
 
 Natural History, Annals and Magazine 
 of, 226, 248, 252, 259 
 
 , Gosse's Romance (or Poetry of), 
 
 291, 292 ; second series, 295 
 
 , views on study of, 227, 228 
 
 A'aturalist' s Sojourn in yamaica, Gosse's, 
 
 19O, 225, 227 229, 304, 344, 345 
 
 Nevill, Lady Dorothy, 304, 313 
 
 Newell, Mr., of Carbonear, 43, 46, 54, 57 
 
 Newfoundlaial, 30-88 ; voyage to, 30, 31 ; 
 
 scenery, 33, 107, 163 ; Irish element, 42, 
 
 81, 86; planters and their course of 
 
 business, 47, 48 ; fisheries and fishing 
 
 poptdation, 48-50; "North Shore," 
 
 49 ; winter, 56, 57, 66 ; overland winter 
 
 journey, 66-68 ; contrast to Dorsetshire, 
 
 74 ; meteorological notes issued in, 76 ; 
 
 landscape, 78, 79; entomology, 81, 86; 
 
 party spirit and outrage (1833), 81 ; 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 1 
 
 lN. 
 
IXDEX. 
 
 3^5 
 
 (losso its first iiMtiirnlisf, 82, 338 ; papers 
 on tftii])! raturi', 100 ; state of its .lOtii'ty 
 (i8j8), 105 
 
 .Vcwfoitntlhind, /intomolo^yof, loi, 102 
 
 .N'ewm;in, Ivlward, 171 
 
 New York, (jossc at, 112 
 
 Nincvt'h, winged hull of, 22O, 231 
 
 Noscwortliy, Brother, 145, 14'j 
 
 AoluHiniiitiiiii, 2q(j 
 
 Nuttall, 'I'lionms, botanist, 113 
 
 I'liblif /.(■</;'( V of N'ewfo\in(ilan(l, Ki 
 Puerto kieo, uoast scenery, 203 
 
 , S.inJ.'an, 203, 204 
 
 I'ldicli and the .Marine .\(|n;irintn, 348 
 
 ( .» 
 
 Quehee, its approacli dcicrilied, 90. ^4 
 Qilok<'tt, John, 223 
 
 Ocean, T/if, (josse's, 173 178, 304 
 
 Oddicombc, 237, 285 
 
 O' llara J-'ami.'v tales, Hanint's, 55 
 
 Omplhtlo!., Closse's, 276 283 
 
 l)l)ossuin luint in Alab.iTna, 135 140 
 
 Oreliids, J.iniaiea, 1S4, 187; fertihz.ilion 
 
 of, 297 304 
 Ornithohi^y, Gosse's /'op/iLir Dri/i.^li. 
 
 220, 221 
 
 , \\'ilsf)n's Amtiicni, 160 
 
 Osborne, .\lr. , of Jamaica, 198 
 
 Otter slides, 66,. 67 
 
 Owen, .Sir Richiird, 230, 292 
 
 P 
 
 I'aget, Dr. Sir j.imes, 262 
 
 I'arkstone, 73, 74 
 
 Parnell, Dr. , 195 
 
 Pcachia. Sec Sea-anemones 
 
 Peale, T. R. , zoologist artist, 113 
 
 Pennant, 159 
 
 Penr\y, R.A. , Edward. 3 
 
 Philadelphia, 104, 113, 114 
 
 Phippard, sailmaker, 30 
 
 , J. P., William, of ."^t. Mary'.s, 02. 
 
 63 
 Pimlico, Mrs. Gosse in, 265 
 Plessing, Mr. and Mrs., 186 
 Plymouth Brethren, theology of, 213, 214, 
 
 330 
 
 Poole in 1812, 8 ; Gosse family in, 6, 7. 
 20, 26 ; Philip Henry leaves, 29 ; re- 
 visited, 71, 73 75. 103 
 
 I'cpiiUir Science Revie-w, 295 
 
 Prickly pear, 122 
 
 Pritchard's History of Infusoria, 222, 318 
 
 R.uudn, chasing the, 13S, 131) 
 Religion-, feelings, 31, 32, i()9, 213, 3^4 
 
 334, .\pp( ndi.\ II. 
 Remingtons of Massachusetts, 216 
 Remor.is, (;r sucking tisli, descril)ed, 120, 
 
 121 
 Reiioiiard, Rev. (J. C. , 211 
 l\'cl>orlcr, Roval .Xgricullural Society's, 193 
 h'cptiles, Ciosse's, 221 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, ^ 
 Ringwood, Gosse family at, 2 
 Robinson's drawings of birds, etc., I )r, 
 
 Antliony, 198, 2oj, 202 
 Rocky River, NewloiiMdlanil. 00 
 I Ross, Sir James, 173 
 Rossetti, iJante (i. , 226 
 Rotifers. Gosse's studies of, 222 224, 
 
 226, 235, 252, 255, 256, 295, 318, 337, 
 
 350 
 Rotifera found in /lrif,:in. Gosse's Cu/a- 
 
 /oX//e of, 23 1 
 , (Josse's Diceciiuis C/iaracter of the, 
 
 261 
 , (Josse's O/i l/ie Structure, etc., of, 
 
 255 
 , Hudson antl tio-se's, /'/>,, 318 321 ; 
 
 Su/^fitement, 321 
 Royal Society, ProeeeJings of, 171, 255, 
 
 259, 16 
 , tjosse's election, 261, 263 ; obituary 
 
 notice of Gosse, 348 
 
 S 
 
 Sacred Streaiif'. (josse's, 224, 227 
 Saffold, Hon. ('hief Justice Rueben, 121 
 
 123, 146 
 , Rueljen, junr. , 125 
 
 2 C 
 
H 
 
 ?86 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Satnunttj, or Diiys of Fly /■'is/iini;. Sir 
 
 Humphrey Davy's, 102 
 Salter, Dr. Hyde, 262 
 
 , Tom, (iosse's cousin, n, 75 
 
 Siif/trdijy Review on Gossc's death, 337 
 Saunders, VV. VV., letter to. 209, 210 
 Savannali-le-Mar, Jamaica, 184, 185, 188, 
 
 189 
 Saw-wiiotter, Sound of tlie, in 
 Scarron's RoiiiiUi Coini<iiie, 26 
 School Seventy Years ago, A Country Day, 
 
 17 
 
 Scorpion on ship in Xortli .Atlantic, 77 ; 
 and off Kingston, r>02 
 
 Scott, J., of Ivlinhurgh, 299 
 
 , Sir Walter, works of, 55 
 
 Sculpen (tW///,v), 114 
 
 Sea and Land, ■2J,'2 
 
 Sea-anemones [^Actinia], 241 ; >~oiea and 
 nivea, 239, 253 ; biinodes coroiiata, 289 ; 
 Sagartia, 241; bunodes, ih., gastro- 
 nomic test of crassicornis, 241, 242; 
 peachia, 256 
 
 and Corah, Gosse's Ifistoty of the 
 
 liritisli {Actinologia Jiritanntca), 284, 
 
 290. 307. 337. 340 
 
 .Sea-serpent, theory of the, 291, 292, 295 
 
 Sea-side /'/eas/ires, (josse's, 242 
 
 Seal fishery, departure from and return to, 
 Newfoundland, 48 
 
 Seal pelts delivered, method of checkini^, 
 57. .S8 ^ : 
 
 Sedgwick, .Adam, 277 I 
 
 Sells, Charles, of I'oole, 17, 39 I 
 
 Selma, Alabama, 146 
 
 Serpentine, Asplanchna in, 226 
 
 Sherborne, 157, 163 
 
 Shore, A Year at the, 296, 305, 34{ 
 
 Sinclair, Lord, 296 
 
 Slade, I'.lson and Co., 47, 93; decline of 
 the firm, 105 
 
 .Slavery in Southern States (1838), 142, 143 
 
 Sly, Mrs,, 10 
 
 Smith, Anker, A.R. \., 2' 
 
 Society for Promoting Christian Know- 
 ledge, Gosse writes for, 169, 170, 173, 
 21 1, 219, 231, 242 
 
 Southey's Thalaba, 351 
 
 Sparrow, America, 115 
 
 Sprague, Mr., 79 
 
 Squirrels in Alabama, 133 
 
 St. John, William Charles, 34, 54-57, 7O ; 
 his father, Oliver, 34 ; portrayed, 34 36 ; 
 
 warm friendship for (iosse, 36, 37 ; 
 
 death, 37 ; letter recounting early walks, 
 
 39, 40; burlesc|ue poem on Gosse, 41, 
 
 42 ; niiirriage. 63 
 St. John, Hannah and ("harlotte, 55 
 St. Mary's, Newfoundland, Gosse a clerk 
 
 in, 61 ; described, 62, 63 
 St. Marychurcli, Devon, visit to, 236, 239 ; 
 
 buys a house and settles at, 275 ; life in, 
 
 306, 307, Appendi.N I. 
 St. Thomas, West Indies, visit to, 204 
 Stacey, Miss Mary, 262 
 Stanley, Rishop, 250 
 .Star crane fly of Newfoundland, 101 
 Stephanoceros, 222, 295 
 Stoddnrds of M.assachusetts, 216 
 Sucking tlsh. See Renioras 
 Surrey Zoological Gardens, collects for 
 
 Aquarium of, 250 
 Swallow, Jamaica green, 223 
 Swanage, at, 20 
 Systema Xatunr of Linmvus, 82, 338 
 
 T 
 
 Tarrant .Monkton, 22 
 
 Tegg's London F.neyelopcedia, 82 
 Tenijy, its attractions, 253, 254 ; revisited, 
 264 
 
 , (josse's, 254, 256, 259, 272 ; profits 
 
 of, 261 
 Thomas, Luke, 30, 32 
 Thoreau, Henry, i6i 
 Titton I'rook, early recollections of, 6 
 
 Tow Cringle's Log, Michael Scott's, 185 
 Toole, Ned, and the (jhost, 63, 64 
 Tor Bay, Kingsley and Gosse on, 289 
 Torc|uay, 351 ; Gosse's burial place, 324 
 Tramp, am-'cdote of a, 15 
 Troutbeck, Hannah, 215 
 
 , Rev. John, 215 
 
 Trumpet Major, Hardy's The, 22 
 Twohig, Mr., 69 
 
 •'1 ^ 
 
 Van Voorst, John, purchases MS. of 
 Canadian A'aturalist, 157 ; friendship 
 to (josse, 158, 170, 211, 245 
 
 Vivarium, its inventor, 243, 244 
 
 m 
 
^ i 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 387 
 
 I 
 
 I ! 
 
 W 
 
 Walsh's Brazil, 151 
 
 Ward, William, A.R.A., 2 
 
 Waringion, Robert, 243 
 
 Waterton, Charles, Wundentigi, 160 
 
 Wesleyan Society, joins the, 83, 84 ; 
 
 thoughts of the ministry, 153, 154; 
 
 local preacher, 169 ; severs connection 
 
 with, ib. 
 West Indies, visit to, 180-205 ; revisit 
 
 contemplated, 227 
 Westwood, John Obadiah, i'rof. , 17a 
 Weymouth, marine researches at, 246, 
 
 247. 25J. 257 
 Whale, Ucliii^a or white, 73 ; toothless of 
 
 Havre (De/phi/tor/iy>tchns mUropterus), 
 
 i8i 
 White, Adam, 172, 233 
 
 , Dr. Buchanan, 315, 316 
 
 , Gilbert, of Selborne, to6, 160, 180, 
 
 344. 345 
 Oiik, passage to Mobile in the, 115 
 
 Whymper, J. W., 172, 173, 177, 212 
 Whitneys of Massachusetts, 216 
 Wight, vi'it to Isle of, 234 
 Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford, 254 
 Wilkes, Lieut, t'harles, 113 
 Wilson, Alexander, ornithologist, 114. 
 11;, 160, 329 
 
 Wimborne, Philip Henry and mother at, 
 
 '53 
 Winthrop. Governor, 215 
 Winton, Henry, outrage on, 8i 
 Wombwell's menagerie, 22, 23 
 Wood, Mr., of St. John's, 47 
 Woodpeckers {Phiis principalis and 
 
 J'ic/is a unit us), 131 
 Worcester, Thomas (jossc at, i, 3-5 ; his 
 
 marriage, and birthplace of FlULll' 
 
 Henrv, s 
 
 VarrcU, William, 20, 290 
 
 Youth's Magazine, contributes to, 28 
 
 7. 
 
 Zoology, views on study of, 228, 229 
 Jor Schools, Text-book of, 221, 222. 
 
 224, 227 
 
 , Introduction to, 48, 169, 170 
 
 , Manual of Maj inc, 256, 257, 259, 
 
 263, 338 
 Zoological artist, Gosse as a, 338, 339 
 Gardens Atiuarium, 244 ; Gosse 
 
 collects for, 246 ; dispute re-conditions, 
 
 248, 249 
 
 ' 
 
 TIIp; KNI>. 
 
 ■US. of 
 ■ndship 
 
 IKIMKL. ;V VVILLI.X.M Cl.l)V\K,S AND SdNv, I I.MITKD, LONDON AND lll'.CCI.HS.