Having glanced already at the species of lowest organization, let us take one other instance of the applicability of sea-weeds as objects of design. A dozen collected at random, in one’s walk from the edge of the beach to the rim of the tide, would more than suffice for many different applications and manufactures; and the very commonest are equally valuable, and often better than the rarest. Take, then, the first handful you can collect. Among the gatherings of such a parcel are sure to be found some very applicable forms, such as the Ulva linza, represented at page 107; the Fucus nodosus, page 108; the Fucus vesiculosus, page 103; the Fucus serratus, here given; Halidrys siliquosa, page 110; Dictyota dichotoma; Laminaria Phyllitis; L. digitata; L. saccharina, &c.
Fucus serratus.
Halidrys siliquosa.
It is not in the herbarium, not in drawings, not when dried and shrivelled, and black and contorted, that we can see the beauty of sea-weeds; such are no more than the bleared and withered mummies of Egyptian men to the fresh vigour of youth: it is while free and waving in the waters that we must search for the best elucidations of their habits and gracefulness. Years ago Ray wrote in his earnest and noble manner:—“Let us then consider the works of God, and observe the operations of his hands. Let us take notice of, and admire, his infinite wisdom and goodness in the formation of them: no creature in this sublunary world is capable of so doing besides man, and yet we are deficient herein: we content ourselves with the knowledge of the tongues, or a little skill in philology, or history perhaps, and antiquity, and neglect that which to me seems more material—I mean natural history, and the works of creation. I do not discommend or derogate from those other studies; I should betray mine own ignorance and weakness should I do so: I only wish that this might be brought into fashion among us. I wish men would be so equal and civil as not to disparage, deride, and villify those studies which themselves skill not of, or are not conversant in; no knowledge can be more pleasant than this, none that doth so satisfie and feed the soul, in comparison whereto that of words and phrases seem to me insipid and jejune.” How he would have rejoiced at the popular movement introduced by Mr. Mitchell at the Zoological Gardens, and since so powerfully backed up by other colossal vivaria of the day; the aquaria at the Crystal Palace, Brighton, Ramsgate, and other places; and what results would he not have predicted when, in walking through the mammontainted streets of our great metropolis, he passed dozens of shops for the sale of aquaria, vivaria, glass jars, siphons, prawns, mussels, anemones, efts, and sticklebacks! All these and many more living things cannot be kept and nourished, watched and fed, without the spread of that knowledge which is known, and the acquirement of a vast deal that is new. Naturalists will no longer be able to write books on things they have never seen; and hasty jumpings to conclusions, and closet speculations, will be rarer as the chance of detection becomes the greater, and the spirit in which all true men of science do labour, and ever have done, is the more rightly appreciated. The Merry Monarch’s little spaniel has its collar of red morocco, with its silver plate, and the imprisoned songster of a warmer clime is confined in a pretty cage. The love of natural history is not the cherished taste of the poor—it is not bounded by the circumscribed limits of the middle ranks, who find in a glass jar of living objects from the pond or sea a refreshing pastime from the heavy cares of daily bread, and a cooling relief from toil, or the feverish anxieties of money-making; but the love of natural history lives no less in high places and delicate minds, whose susceptibilities have been heightened by every kind of culture, gaze with delight on the glittering armour of the scaly fish, and watch with interest the actions, motions, and habits of the thousand instructive objects to be collected at any time in a single tide. How charming to give a little elegance to the transparent homes to which we consign our new-made pets! We no longer confine ourselves to cheap glass and zinc fountains. White marble and bronze have brought our favourites into the boudoir and the drawing-room. Look at the festoons of fuci on the rugged rocks: have not worse things been chiselled and cast? and at that tall bundle of crisp Laminaria Phyllitis, as it stands erect in the transparent water. How charmingly a crystal vase would rest upon its slightly diverging crests, like the abacus on the leaves of a Corinthian pillar! how delicate the slight frillings of the margins of its translucent fronds!
Various other applications are at once suggested by the little group we have figured; such are mouldings, beadings, tracery, and cornices, and for the sculpture of mahogany and other dark woods; and in our progress through the more elaborate forms of sea-weeds we shall find very much to admire as elegant, and as applicable to manufactures and to the ornamentation of various objects—often of opposite purposes.
II.
As one coming in a strange land for the first time, on a junction of many roads, finds himself bewildered, and hesitating in his choice which to take, being ignorant which leads to the fairest places, and not knowing what beauties he may miss by selecting the one or the other, so in displaying the attractions of sea-weeds for artistic purposes—a field where so little has been attempted—it is not easy to decide, where so many courses appear to be open. It is not the difficulty of a beginning, for the start has been made; nor of the end, for a precipitate retreat has happened to more than one illustrious character; and if these pages could prove as entertaining as the immortal Sam’s valentine, even “a sudden pull up” might only make the reader “wish there was more.” But the difficulty is in adopting that order of narration which shall be most attractive in securing for the neglected sea-weeds their due meed of recognition and reward.