There is something in the circumstances under which the science of botany is studied, which has a tendency to confer upon it a kind of poetical charm. It is not a sedentary pursuit. It leads the student abroad among the most magnificent and beautiful scenery of the earth, in all seasons, but more particularly during those in which external nature is loveliest. That botany should be pursued with passion is, therefore, not at all surprising; but it is difficult to understand how the imagination should become enamoured of anatomy, which, instead of generating cheerful and enlivening images, dwells wholly upon decay and dissolution. Tournefort, however, associated this gloomy science with botany, and is said to have equally delighted in both. The death of his father, which took place in 1677, delivered him from theology and the church. He was now entire master of his time; and, in order the more completely to gratify his inclinations, made a tour through the mountains of Dauphiny and Savoy, where he collected a great number of fine plants, which formed the nucleus of his herbarium. This journey increasing instead of gratifying his curiosity, and probably adding fresh vigour to his naturally robust frame, while it at the same time enhanced his gayety, was merely the prelude to others more adventurous and extensive. In 1769 he set out from Aix for Montpellier, where, besides improving himself in his anatomical and medical studies, he enjoyed all the advantages which the rich botanical garden created by Henry IV. could afford an enlightened botanist. At Montpellier Tournefort remained nearly two years. He then undertook an excursion into Spain, where he made large accessions to his herbary; and after wandering for some time among the mountains of Catalonia, accompanied by several physicians and young medical students, he directed his footsteps towards the Pyrenees. Fontenelle, in speaking of this excursion of Tournefort, seems to be principally astonished at the intrepidity with which our traveller encountered, not the dangers, but the cookery of the Pyrenees, which, to the Rouen epicurean, appeared more terrible than precipices or robbers. He was quite aware, says he, that in these vast solitudes he should find no subsistence, except such as the most austere anchorets might have partaken, and that the wretched inhabitants from whom even this was to be obtained were not more numerous than the robbers who might deprive him of it. In fact, he was more than once attacked and plundered by Spanish outlaws; and the contrivance by which he succeeded on such occasions in concealing a small quantity of money is sufficiently ingenious. He thrust a number of reals into the coarse black bread which he carried about with him as his only food, and this the robbers considered so utterly worthless that, although by no means fastidious, they invariably relinquished it to the traveller with extreme contempt.