Rambles of a Naturalist — Text and Context
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MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,
ASSOCIATION OF FRIENDS FOR THE DIFFUSION OF RELIGIOUS AND USEFUL KNOWLEDGE,
109 NORTH TENTH STREET.
The account of the life and character of DR. JOHN D. GODMAN has been prepared from the several brief memoirs and eulogies published shortly after his decease, and from the tract issued by "The Tract Association of Friends," entitled "A Sketch of the Life and Character of Dr. John D. Godman."
"The Rambles of a Naturalist" have been republished from "The Friend," a weekly paper, for the columns of which the essays were originally contributed.
MEMOIR OF DR. JOHN D. GODMAN.
Dr. John D. Godman, the author of the pleasing descriptions which, under their simple title, "Rambles of a Naturalist," contain so much of the beautiful and true, was born at Annapolis, in Maryland, in the year 1798. At a very early age he was deprived, by their death, of both his parents. He was then placed under the care of an aunt, whose intellectual attainments and elevated piety, united to much sweetness of disposition, eminently qualified her for the direction of the youthful mind. His fondness for books and aptitude for learning were remarkable; while his frank, sensitive, and sweet temper gained the affection of all around him. It is said that he had such a reverence for truth, even from infancy, that he was never known to equivocate. When he attained the age of six years, his excellent aunt died. The patrimony which should have provided for his wants, was lost through the mismanagement of those to whom the care of it had been entrusted; and thus, without resources, and without suitable protection, he was left exposed to adversity and temptation. It appears, however, that the moral and religious impressions which had already been made upon his mind, though obscured for a time, were never obliterated. In his last illness he bore this testimony to the affectionate religious care of his pious aunt. "If," said he, "I have ever been led to do any good, it has been through the influence of her example, instruction, and prayers."
Little is known of the next ten years of his life. He appears to have had some opportunities for attending school; but to his own native energy and uncommon intellectual endowments, self cultured under many obstacles and discouragements, is his future superiority of mental attainment to be chiefly attributed. An interesting incident of his character, after he had attained his fifteenth year, has been furnished by a physician who was, in 1810, a senior student in the office of Dr. Thomas E. Bond, of Baltimore. "The office," says he, "was fitted up with taste, and boys, attracted by its appearance, would frequently drop in to gaze on the labelled jars and drawers. Among them I discovered one evening an interesting lad, who was amusing himself with the manner in which his comrades pronounced the 'hard words' with which the furniture was labelled. He appeared to be quite an adept in the Latin language. A strong curiosity soon prompted me to inquire, 'What is your name, my little boy?' He was small of his age. 'My name is John D. Godman.' 'Did you study the Latin language with Mr. Creery?' 'No, he does not teach any but an English school.' 'Do you intend to prosecute your studies alone?' 'I do; and I will, if I live, make myself a Latin, Greek, and French scholar.'"
In 1812 he was bound an apprentice to a printer of a newspaper, in Baltimore, but soon became much dissatisfied with the occupation, which, he said, in a letter to a friend, "cramped his genius over a font of types, where there are words without ideas." He had been placed in this situation against his own wish, being anxious to enter a more intellectual pursuit, and had selected that of medicine; but his guardian was opposed to it.
His early views of the Christian religion are thus expressed in a letter to a friend, in the early part of 1814: "I have not ever had a fixed determination to read the works of that modern serpent (Thomas Paine), nor had I determined not to do it; and it seems to me surprising that a fellow-student of yours should recommend the perusal of such writings.
John D. Godman’s Rambles of a Naturalist opens with a memoir tracing his orphaned childhood and self-directed education, but the essays themselves reveal a writer who combines patient observation with a wry, personal voice. In one passage, Godman describes floating in a skiff, lying “at full length across the seats” to bring his sight close to the water, watching sun-fish circle their nests. He notes that the fish, after darting away, would “gently sail into the placid circle of her home” once the boat stilled—a phrasing that blends scientific attention with a quiet, almost domestic tenderness.
Diction and the Naturalist’s Gaze
Godman’s word choices often shift between the technical and the homely. When describing crabs, he explains that they “carry their skeletons on the outside of their bodies,” a clear, almost pedagogical phrase. Yet he also calls them “singularly-constructed and interesting beings,” a phrase that conveys personal fascination without sentimentality. His descriptions of sun-fish nests as “placid circles” and the crabs’ molting as a process “to obviate this difficulty” show a mind that respects both the creature’s biology and the reader’s need for vivid imagery. The memoir notes his “reverence for truth” from infancy, and this precision carries into the essays: he does not exaggerate the fish’s abundance but states that “myriads” could be seen, then calmly describes his netting method.
Voice and Self-Deprecating Humor
Godman’s first-person narration is marked by a dry, self-aware humor. He recounts that his boarding-house diet consisted of “broiled bacon and potatoes, or fried bacon and potatoes, or cold bacon and potatoes, and so on at least six days out of seven.” The repetition of “bacon and potatoes” underscores the monotony, and his solution—catching sun-fish—is presented as a quiet triumph. He notes that when an acquaintance visited, “it was always in my power to lessen our dependence on the endless bacon.” This understated pride extends to his observation that the “poor blacks” learned to use his net “with dexterity” during their dinner breaks, a remark that reveals both his empathy and the social context of his time.
Structure and the Rhythm of Observation
The essays follow a seasonal, almost diary-like structure. Godman introduces the sun-fish as “regular annual visitants,” then shifts to crabs “for a very different purpose.” Each creature is given a dedicated section, with careful attention to its habits and his method of study. He describes lying in his skiff “with an almost imperceptible motion,” so that from shore the boat seemed “entirely adrift.” This deliberate stillness mirrors his observational patience. The prose moves from general description to specific anecdote—for instance, how he placed a net over a sun-fish nest while the fish was absent, then waited for its return. This rhythm of waiting and action shapes the narrative.
Setting and the Tidal River World
Godman’s setting is the small rivers and creeks “containing salt or brackish water,” a liminal zone between fresh and salt. He emphasizes the visibility of the riverbed: from his skiff, he could see “myriads” of sun-fish nests along the shore. The water is clear enough that he can select “the finest and largest” fish while standing. This clarity also allows him to watch crabs move and molt. The setting is not merely backdrop but an active element: the tides bring the crabs, and the sun-fish return annually. Godman’s language ties his observations to this specific environment, noting that the next day after fishing, “all the nests reoccupied.”
Godman’s Rambles rewards readers who appreciate patient, firsthand natural history writing. His essays avoid grand theory in favor of close attention to a few species, and his voice—at once precise and wry—makes the observations feel personal. The memoir that precedes the essays offers context for his self-made education, but the essays themselves stand as a record of a naturalist at work, alone in a skiff, watching the water.
Dr. Godman, squatting by a tidal river over bacon and potatoes, found in the sun-fish’s patient habits a quiet dignity. That gentle scrutiny, that respect for a modest subject, reminds me of the careful reverence in An apology for the study of northern antiquities — Inside the Classic. Both whisper that even the overlooked, the seemingly small, holds a world for the patient eye.
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