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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
121
For
last
night,
as
he
was
sitting
quietly
under
a
stone
in
four
fathoms
water,
he
became
aware
(whether
by
sight,
smell,
or
that
mysterious
sixth
sense,
to
us
unknown,
which
seems
to
reside
in
his
delicate
feelers)
of
a
palpable
nuisance
somewhere
in
the
neighbourhood;
and,
like
a
trusty
servant
of
the
public,
turned
out
of
his
bed
instantly
and
went
in
search;
till
he
discovered,
hanging
among
what
he
judged
to
be
the
stems
of
ore-weed
(Laminaria),
three
or
four
large
pieces
of
stale
thornback,
of
most
evil
savour,
and
highly
prejudicial
to
the
purity
of
the
sea,
and
the
health
of
the
neighbouring
herrings.
Happy
Squinado!
He
needed
not
to
discover
the
limits
of
his
authority,
to
consult
any
lengthy
Nuisances’
Removal
Act,
with
its
clauses,
and
counter-clauses,
and
explanations
of
interpretations,
and
interpretations
of
explanations.
Nature,
who
can
afford
to
be
arbitrary,
because
she
is
perfect,
and
to
give
her
servants
irresponsible
powers,
because
she
has
trained
them
to
their
work,
had
bestowed
on
him
and
on
his
forefathers,
as
general
health
inspectors,
those
very
summary
powers
of
entrance
and
removal
in
the
watery
realms
for
which
common
sense,
public
opinion,
and
private
philanthropy
are
still
entreating
vainly
in
the
terrestrial
realms;
so
finding
a
hole,
in
he
went,
and
began
to
remove
the
nuisance,
without
“waiting
twenty-four
hours,”
“laying
an
information,”
“serving
a
notice,”
or
any
other
vain
delay.
The
evil
was
there,—
and
there
it
should
not
stay;
so
having
neither
cart
nor
barrow,
he
just
began
putting
it
into
his
stomach,
and
in
the
meanwhile
set
his
assistants
to
work
likewise.
For
suppose
not,
gentle
reader,
that
Squinado
went
alone;
in
his
train
were
more
than
a
hundred
thousand
as
good
as
he,
each
in
his
office,
and
as
cheaply
paid;
who
needed
no
cumbrous
baggage
train
of
force-pumps,
hose,
chloride
of
lime
packets,
whitewash,
pails
or
brushes,
but
were
every
man
his
own
instrument;
and,
to
save
expense
of
transit,
just
grew
on
Squinado’s
back.
Do
you
doubt
the
assertion?
Then
lift
him
up
hither,
and
putting
him
gently
into
that
shallow
jar
of
salt
water,
look
at
him
through
the
hand-magnifier,
and
see
how
Nature
is
maxima
in
minimis.
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