!

calls her forth to feast on a variety of dainties, which its own warmth has raised for her; the dronish beetle bursts through the crevices of the loosened bark, and, as it crawls along the branches of the tree that had so long afforded it habitation, and that now expands a profusion of tender buds for its sustenance, claps its scaly wings, and, with their plaudit, mimicks the voice of praise it hears from kindred reptiles, favoured with happier organs; the very toad, obscene and hateful to the sense, and dull to every other offer of enjoyment, crawls from his covered cell, beneath the mossy stone, and, as he lifts his bright eye toward the animating power that gives his limbs to move, and his cold blood to creep along in its neglected channels, fills his swelled sides with the warm air, to throw it forth again in the deep croak he utters, though it cannot express his gratitude: the very serpent, poisonous and rancorous as its nature formed it, yet feels this general call of gratitude; it issues nimbly from its winding den, vibrates its scaly coat in separate portions, puts on new colours as it feels the enlivening air, and, as it glides along the sunny bank, darts out its forked tongue in wantonness; and while it wreathes its tail into a thousand varied figures, expressés in mute jollity, its sense of that invi

gorating ray. All this while, man,

who, in

said to

comparison of these, can scarce be want it, dares to be witty with his Creator, for not indulging his unimportant wishes with their perhaps fatal satiety.

These, and a multitude of other beings, happy in the same way, in what we only fancy ourselves in want of, presented themselves to the little company, who yesterday attended me in an afternoon's ramble about the flowery sides, and the green summit of the pleasant, the treetopped Primrose-hill.

We were all, toward the conclusion of the afternoon, got together in a circle, round a common white-thorn-bush, admiring the address and art with which the bees, who had flown in numbers to it, were collecting honey from its flowers; when one of our company exclaimed, in the utmost horror, that a hornet had settled on his leg.

It surprised them to see me, after a moment's examination of its form, advance my naked hand to it, and seize upon it without fear. I soon explained to them, that this insect, though perfectly like a hornet, in shape, size, colour, and almost every obvious particular, was not one, but was a mere harmless fly, no more capable of inflicting a wound, than those that in

such numbers frequent our houses. Nature, continued I, has probably given the form and appearance of the hornet to this creature, as she has bestowed much of that of the poisonous viper on the harmless snake, that crawls every where about the bottoms of our hedges: she seems to have given these merely as a preservation against a thousand injuries, which those who would inflict them, are deterred from, by the fear of a revenge, which it fully answers the creature's purpose, that it has the appearance of being qualified to take.

This, however, was not all in which the creature which had given rise to the observation was singular. Some observations on its origin and means of life, employed me in a lecture to my little auditory all the way home; the substance of this, if the reader have as just an esteem for these disquisitions as that company had, he will not be displeased at my repeating.

There is not perhaps in the whole visible creation, a stronger instance of that great truth, that the several parts of it are created, not solely for ourselves, but for the uses and support of one another, than appears in the course of life of this creature.

The cuckoo, we hear, with a kind of wonder, builds no nest for the rearing of her young, but

deposits her eggs in that of another bird; singular as this may appear to those acquainted only with the larger animals, it is frequent among the insect tribe, and the origin of this fly is one of the instances of it.

The female parent, in this species, makes no receptacle for her young. She enters the habitation of the common humble bee, and deposits one by one her eggs in the separate cells, in which the progeny of the natural proprietors of the hive are also placed; with these last there is laid up a store of food, by the parent animal: the embryo fly has no such provision made for it, nor is it formed for being nourished even by that which is stored up for the support of the other: the worm hatched from the fly's egg is carnivorous, its organs are formed for digesting no other food but fleshy, and the young of the bee is its destined prey.

It will perhaps be asked on this occasion, why has nature armed the proprietors of the nest with offensive weapons, with stings, a single wound from which must destroy the harmless, as well as the defenceless animal, that enters the habitation with so unwarrantable an intent, if she has denied them that sagacity that ought to point out their making this use of the

weapons? or what is it that prevents the crea ture who, with such infinite provision, lays up the stores for the support, as well as forms the cells for the lodgment of her young, from seeing that the strange inhabitant feeds on the flesh of her children, or from destroying it for the attempt? the answer is easy; and the difference between instinct and reason is in no circumstance perhaps more obvious.

The creature who had excelled the art of man in forming the cells for her young, who had yet more excelled all art in selecting stores for their provision, all which was necessary to the great end, the continuation of the species, can go no farther; she cannot lift her very tail to save what to that purpose is not necessary to be preserved.

The bees, the wasps, and all the other insects of that class, at a certain period, first destroy all the males of the swarm, and, after that, murder and carry out the remains of their very young. Nature has provided for the support of such part of the progeny as is produced within a certain number, and a certain period of time; after this, whatever should be added to the brood would starve the rest, and, finally, would