December is here, with its short days, its feeble watery sunshine, its
frequent gloom and mist, its hanging leaden skies; in short, as the
poet describes it,--
“Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours and clouds and storms.”
It requires some zeal in the pursuit of scientific lore to leave the
glowing fire and the pleasant book, the luxurious arm-chair and the
elastic carpet, and to venture down to the wild sea-beach, to poke and
peer among the desolate rocks. Yet even now we may find a few bright
days, when Nature abroad looks inviting, and when an hour’s marine
research will prove neither unpleasant nor unsuccessful.