Notes on Nature.

He considers Ma Nature an inadequate and decadent dame, who should be relegated to the wax-works, and whose achievements are only fit to exhibit in Class B, of the Amateur Section. And yet (hist!), while he is directing his full broadside of intellectual “minnies” on the problem of evolving an asbestos moth, by crossing fireblight with electric-light bulbs, she is reproducing him, “holus bolus” and “in purus naturalis,” complete with hooter, howler, hot-air, and seamless body, and with the latest innovations in the department of internal affairs.

While the inventor plans to hover motionless, thousands of feet above the earth, the old lady quickly plants him six feet beneath it.

Who is the riper fruit, think you? Mrs. B. Nificient Nature, or her unnatural son, Robert the Robot?