"Was there ever occasion wanting for civil
war when men and women were so minded?
Indeed no. Bullets have been made out of old
oyster-shells before now, and more than one
severe struggle has taken place on the merits of
a dead language, when at last none knew what
they were fighting for, and no one could be
found to prove which faction was right. In
short, the more shadowy the object, the more
passionate the struggle; and the wars ever going
on for ideas, are by far more deadly than those
undertaken for facts—save always the one
gigantic fact of self-advantage, and this beats
the biggest tom-tom of all, and counts its foes
by thousands and tens of thousands combined.

ACCLIMATISATION.

IN the absence of all domestic animals, Man
would convert his fellow-men into beasts of
burden, and even into butcher's meat; but thanks
to acclimatation and domestication, the King of
Tahiti now prefers his saddle-horse to riding in
state on his subjects' shoulders, and oxen, pigs,
and goats have proved effectual missionaries in
the conversion of savages from cannibalism.

The benefits conferred on uncivilised, distant,
and infant nations (the latter of which comprise
all colonies), by conveying to them our domestic
creatures and our cultivated plants, is
acknowledged and incontestable; but Europe is now
bethinking herself whether, in this important
matter, it ought to be always "all give and no
take;" whether, amongst the multitudinous
beings that roam the earth, glide through the
air, and float in the waters, of other countries, we
cannot find some useful addition to our present
stock. It is even worth consideration whether
we have made the most of, and derived the
greatest advantage from, the creatures by whom
we are already surrounded. These questions
give rise to considerations of a most interesting
and at the same time extremely difficult nature.
The current belief of the present day is sanguine
and hopeful of success in adding to our domestic
stock—more sanguine, it may be added, than
late endeavours have justified.

In 1854 a few energetic and learned Frenchmen
founded an acclimatation society. In 1858
the city of Paris munificently granted them
space to make a garden, in one of the best
situations of the Bois de Boulogne. The society
has rapidly become powerful, if not by its
practical results, at least by the number and the
rank of its members. The future will show
whether the liberality of Paris is productive of
any agricultural and domestic utility, or whether
it is to remain, like our Regent's Park garden,
an agreeable resort, a pleasing show, and a
curious menagerie where a few rare birds and
beasts occasionally breed.

This revival of the hopes of increasing our
domestic stock has also had its effect in England.
We have now a Society for the Acclimatisation
of animals, birds, fishes, insects, and
vegetables in the United Kingdom. The very
length of this list of desiderata makes it
incomplete. Animals (taking the word in its wide
sense) and vegetables alone, would have sufficed.
As it is, reptiles, however desirable, are
excluded; although St. Patrick's power extends no
farther than the limits of the Emerald Isle.
But when we once are about the work of
acclimatisation, all ought to be fish that comes to
our net,—which is really the spirit of Mr. Frank
Buckland's excellent report, and of his paper read
before the Society of Arts. Now, several lizards,
as the geeko, are capital eating, with delicate
white flesh, like that of chicken. A settlement
of indigenous turtle on our southern coasts
would be no bad thing. The pretty little green
tree-frog, established in our shrubberies, would
render services analogous to those of swallows
and other insectivorous birds. An old and
wide-spread notion exists that certain lizards are
the friends of man, and warn him of impending
danger. The mud-tortoise furnishes a nutritious
article of food in Southern Europe, although its
wild-fowl flavour may be a little too decided.
In the Spanish convents, where persons calling
themselves religious are obliged to "make
meagre" nearly all the year round, tortoises are
reared in walled-in gardens planted with lettuces.
They lay their eggs in the ground, and the sun
hatches them. When they have attained a
pound weight or a little more, they are fit to eat,
During a dearth in France, the tortoises found
on the borders of the Durance fed the peasants
of the neighbourhood for three whole months.
A tortoise-pond, in case of need, is as convenient
to resort to as a rabbit-hutch. We are
persuaded that Mr. Buckland will still open his
doors to any promising reptile that may present
itself.

A great merit of the society is, that it is a
society and not an individual. An individual
dies; his collection and apparatus are dispersed;
his experience and knowledge are more
frequently lost and forgotten than recorded and
remembered. But a society has a life of indefinite
duration, and does not allow a magnificent
menagerie, like that of the late Lord Derby, to
be broken up. A wise proposition is the division
of labour to be effected by requesting those
members who have facilities on their estates for
experiments, and who are willing to give their
aid, to undertake the charge of such subjects
for experiment as may be offered to them by the
society, periodically reporting progress to the
council. The great point, here, is to avoid
wasting time and money on things that have
been repeatedly tried before and have as often
been found wanting.

According to M. Isidore Saint-Hilaire, man has
now three duties to fulfil: First, the preservation
of useful animals—precious gifts which we have
received from nature, and which we often lose
through our ignorance, and especially through
our carelessness. Secondly, the making the
most of our domestic animals, so that nothing
belonging to them should be lost, nor even
badly employed, which would constitute a
comparative loss. Thirdly, the annexation to our
useful species, whether wild or domestic, of