Nat the Naturalist | Page 7

them, and keeping their proper titles in a book I had for the
purpose.
I did not confine myself to butterflies, but caught moths and beetles,
with dragon-flies from the edges of the ponds on Clapham Common,
longing to go farther afield, but not often obtaining a chance. Then, as
I began to find specimens scarce, I set to collecting other things that
seemed interesting, and at last, during a visit paid by my aunt to some
friends, Uncle Joseph took me to the British Museum to see the
butterflies there, so, he said, that I might pick up a few hints for
managing my own collection.
That visit turned me into an enthusiast, for before we returned I had
been for hours feasting my eyes upon the stuffed birds and noting the
wondrous colours on their scale-like feathers.
I could think of scarcely anything else, talk of nothing else afterwards
for days; and nothing would do but I must begin to collect birds and
prepare and stuff them for myself.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, uncle?" I said.
"Mind? No, my boy," he said, rubbing his hands softly; "I should like it;
but do you think you could stuff a bird?"
"Not at first," I said thoughtfully; "but I should try."
"To be sure, Nat," he cried smiling; "nothing like trying, my boy; but
how would you begin?"
This set me thinking.
"I don't know, uncle," I said at last, "but it looks very easy."
"Ha! ha! ha! Nat; so do lots of things," he cried, laughing; "but
sometimes they turn out very hard."
"I know," I said suddenly.
"I know," I said, "I could find out how to do it."
"Have some lessons, eh?" he said.
"No, uncle."
"How would you manage it then, Nat?"
"Buy a stuffed bird, uncle, and pull it to pieces, and see how it is done."
"To be sure, Nat," he cried; "to be sure, my boy. That's the way; but
stop a moment; how would you put it together again?"
"Oh! I think I could, uncle," I said; "I'm nearly sure I could. How could
I get one to try with?"
"Why, we might buy one somewhere," he said thoughtfully; "for I don't
think they'd lend us one at the British Museum; but I tell you what,
Nat," he cried: "I've got it."

"Have you, uncle?"
"To be sure, my boy. There's your aunt's old parrot that died and was
stuffed. Don't you know?"
I shook my head.
"It was put somewhere up-stairs in the lumber-room, and your aunt has
forgotten all about it. You might try with that."
"And I'd stuff it again when I had found out all about it, uncle," I said.
"To be sure, my boy," said uncle, thoughtfully; "I wonder whether your
aunt would want Buzzy and Nap stuffed if they were to die?"
"She'd be sure to; aunt is so fond of them," I said. "Why, uncle, I might
be able to do it myself."
"Think so?" he said thoughtfully. "Why, it would make her pleased, my
boy."
But neither Buzzy nor Nap showed the slightest intention of dying so as
to be stuffed, and I had to learn the art before I could attempt anything
of the kind.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE REMAINS OF POOR POLLY.
The very first opportunity, my uncle took me up with him to the
lumber-room, an attic of which my aunt kept the key; and here, after
quite a hunt amongst old portmanteaux, broken chairs, dusty tables,
bird-cages, wrecked kennels, cornice-poles, black-looking pictures, and
dozens of other odds and ends, we came in a dark corner upon the
remains of one of my aunt's earliest pets. It was the stuffed figure of a
grey parrot that had once stood beneath a glass shade, but the shade
was broken, and poor Polly, who looked as if she had been moulting
ever since she had been fixed upon her present perch, had her head

partly torn from her shoulders.
"Here she is," said my uncle. "Poor old Polly! What a bird she was to
screech! She never liked me, Nat, but used to call me wretch, as plain
as you could say it yourself. It was very wicked of me, I dare say, Nat,
but I was so glad when she died, and your aunt was so sorry that she
cried off and on for a week."
"But she never was a pretty bird, uncle," I said, holding the stuffed
creature to the light.
"No, my boy, never, and she used to pull off her feathers when she was
in a passion, and call people wretch. She bit your aunt's nose once. But
do you think it will do?"
"Oh yes, uncle," I said; "but may I pull it to pieces?"
"Well, yes, my boy, I