He was equally glad to hear of Jack's beetles and of my fresh-water shells.

I had taken to the latter as being "the only things not yet collected by somebody or other in the house;" and I became so infatuated in the pursuit that I used to get up at four o'clock in the morning to search the damp places and water-herbage by the river, it being emphatically "the early bird who catches" snails.

After his great discovery, the Major constantly asked if I had found a specimen of _Helix Vandaleuriana_ yet.

It was a joke between us--that new shell that I was to discover! I have an old letter open by me now, in which, writing of the Arkwrights, he says, "Your dear father's daughter could have no better home." And, as I read, my father's last hours come back before me, and I hear the poor faint voice whispering, "You've got the papers, Buller?
Arkwright will be kind about it, I'm sure." And, "It's all dark now." And with tears I wonder if he--with whom it is all light now--knows how well his true friends have dealt by me, and how happy I am.
To be busy is certainly half-way to being happy.

And yet it is not so with every kind of labour.