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sculpture of the spire—which, by the way, is a technicality, poetical rather than prosaic, yet practical withal—recalls the classical drawing and wealth of architectural detail so dear to the lover of Grecian art. And for this “feast of reason and flow of soul” I tender my humble and devout thanks to one poor battered, uneven shell, a stone, as it were, rejected of the builders. Well may the words of the Lakeside bard recur to us:—

Another unassuming little shell, ebony black in hue, calls up from memory’s deeps visions replete with elephants richly caparisoned, diamonds and rubies, sunshine, joy and radiance. Is not this all worth while? Are not life's most precious gifts somewhere within our grasp? Some of us, mostly of maturer years, have travelled, maybe, a little nearer to the Delectable Mountains and have a clearer view of the peaks of that glorious range, but we none the less love to linger beside the track, and hold sweet converse with those who are nearest. And these are the pleasures of memory, with its association of ideas.

To those too young to have stored up many years of memories there is always that joie-de-vivre which is the divine right of Youth, and we must see to it that they come to their rightful heritage. We must encourage in every way the faculty of seeing all that is good and beautiful in this best of all possible worlds; of hearing music in every sound, from the gentle lapping of the tide to the roaring of the surf, and not forgetting the words of the wisest of all wise men—“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”

Some captious critics tell us that our New Zealand shells are not to be compared to those from tropical waters; and, perhaps, in some respects they are right. A riot of colour and a tendency to the flamboyant appeal to some, while to others they are far too stimulating, not to say aggressive, in appearance, and a more subdued mode is to be preferred. But whatever shape, decoration, or colour scheme is displayed, there is always something to be admired, even in the lowliest of shell-fish. There is no single species in all the seven seas but presents some superlative quality. It may be its highly-glazed or enamelled surface; its iridescent and pearly interior; the symmetry and detail of its sculpture; the solidity or delicate fragility of the shell; the dazzling white, or the intense black, that appeals. Everything is of the best, for Nature has no second grade,