having supplied the aurora of our mental day, when we think it out carefully, is he or she who taught us not so much how to write and cast accounts, as how to see and to feel--to see the wild-flowers, and the snow-crystals, and the darting dragon-flies in their beautiful blue corselets,--to listen to the hum of the busy bees and the songs of the birds, and to feel that "he prayeth best who loveth best all things both great and small." Evans was taught, when no more than ten years old, how to contemplate the immortal beauty of nature. Like his father before him, he had very little book-learning, but he fed abundantly on the best and truest source of all great and worthy ideas. A vigorous frame and an admirable constitution enabled him to undertake journeys on foot that to many would be positively affrighting. He knew the contents of every wood and pond within twenty miles of his home, the results of his long rambles plainly declared in the trim little garden adjoining his cottage. The number of plants we once counted in it, all curious, exceeded three hundred. Evans died June 23rd, 1874, and was followed to his grave in Worsley churchyard by more than a thousand people, including a hundred and seventy young children. For of the little folk, especially girls, he was always immensely fond;--they went to the churchyard more of their own accord than because led. His sympathy with them was the sweetest of all sympathies--the sympathy of tenderness and simplicity; no wonder that many of them carried little chaplets of midsummer field flowers. We often hear of magnificent funerals--chariots and plumes; they may not, after all, be such as we should so well care to be the pattern of our own. The cottage itself wherein he resided was clean and bright as a sea-shell just washed by the waves. If the love of the clear purity of wild-flowers kept alive in old Evans the love of one thing more than another, it would seem to have been that of a home absolutely spotless, still maintained, we believe, by one who always reminds us of a rose in the snow. In figure Joseph Evans was tall and thin, a lofty forehead conferring a dignity upon his appearance which invariably attracted strangers. Never was this more observable than at a natural history meeting once at the Manchester Athenæum.[27] No botanist contemporary with the elder Evans attained greater celebrity than John Martin, of Tyldesley. He was especially well-informed respecting Carices, and first drew the attention of the botanists of Manchester to the richness of the neighbourhood, supplying, in regard to them, names and localities they knew not of, as well as many facts respecting the botany of Tyldesley in particular, with which he has never been properly accredited. This eminent veteran was among us till so late as August 13th, 1855.