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HAT a light, airy, happy thing is the little house-fly, that sports about our windowpanes with such marvellous activity, swiftness, and grace! With what equal ease it can fly forward, its back uppermost, or creep on the ceiling, its back downwards! How dreamy is the constant buzzing it keeps up, as

the air plays on the edge of its gossamer wings! and how daintily it sips its meal off ripened fruit, or honeyed flower, with its narrow trunk, which it elongates or contracts at pleasure! An inquisitive, troublesome busybody is the little house-fly, peeping into every nook and corner; tasting every tempting morsel that comes in

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her way; alighting without ceremony on whatever takes her fancy; tickling, tormenting whoever she comes near. Alas! her impudence and prying often bring destruction on her weak head; and we see her fall a victim to the spiders' snares on which she has ventured; or, unable to withstand the attractive allurements of dazzling gas or candle-light, extended on her death-bed, helpless and in pain, with singed legs and wings; or, perchance, in her love of sweet, intoxicating liquor, finding an ignominious and untimely end in a jug of ale!

Yet a pretty insect is our fly, though we take but small heed of her beauty, or care to observe what a wonderful little creature she is, ever on the wing, restless and fussy, often making her tickling bite felt upon the cheek, and with all the greater force if a storm is impending. How delicate is the fairy-like tissue of the wings, which are composed of two transparent membranes, between which is spread a beautiful network of air-tubes and blood-vessels! How perfect the proportions of the tiny body! What exquisite mechanism do we perceive in the elastic springs, and light motions, so precise yet rapid! and how wonderful is the construction of the fleshy proboscis, which enables this frail member of our households to live on any kind of food! Through this pipe or trunk not only are liquids imbibed readily enough; but, by means of a salivary fluid which this insect possesses, and has the power of sending down through the same tube, it is enabled to dissolve substances, and enjoy to the full its much relished knob of hard sugar.

Some suppose the buzzing sound to be produced by an internal organ connected with the wing, and not altogether by its vibration in the air. For my own part, I could never discover or answer the question. This I know from observation: the fly can wing its flight in silent swiftness, and often buzzes loudest when there is scarcely any perceptible movement in the wing. When I was a child I used to fancy Mrs. Fly made the greatest riot when in the greatest passion; for she buzzed most

when vainly striving, with frantic dashes, to escape through the glass window-pane, or when prevented from alighting on some luscious, sweet, and tempting dainty. Often have I watched and wondered to see her climb a smooth surface, and even walk upside down,' as I expressed it.. Ah! that was an enigma I could never solve; for I did not then know that suckers were attached to those tiny feet. I used to imagine, also, that the large flies were the parents of the smaller, and would, in the course of time, grow up to bouncing blue-bottles; but, my little. friends, winged insects never grow-at least their bodies do not after they have attained a winged state, though, like our house-fly, after they have crept from the chrysalis state, the wings sometimes expand. You will ask, How is this? as many people have inquired, Where do all the flies come from? I will try to answer both questions, by giving you the early history of a fly's life.

The parent insect usually lays its eggs or larvæ amongst putrefying matter or moist refuse of any kind, which in due time are hatched into soft, repulsive, creamy-coloured, dirty-looking, little footless grubs, commonly called maggots. These wriggle, tumble, and feed on the loose substance around; and having attained their greatest size, gradually assume a brown-coloured, chrysalis appearance, and fall into a dormant state, in which they remain an uncertain time, often the entire winter, according to the situation, state of atmosphere, or other incidental causes. At length the time arrives when one end of the chrysalis bursts open, and the young fly, with its greyish-coloured body covered with minute hairs, and four black stripes adorning its back, its six long black legs, little yellow face, and reddish-brown eyes, emerges from its prison, its feeble, moist wings crumpled against its sides. These it gradually expands, until they become strengthened, their beautiful transparent delicacy perfected. Then the released and airy creature takes flight, and becomes often a little domestic annoyance in our house, finding its way into kitchen and parlour,

tickling, buzzing, tormenting wherever it goes; an uninvited guest, without a welcome.

Our ingenuity is often taxed to know how to get rid of, or destroy our numerous flies; but they usually die of a natural disease, as fatal as it is curious. You will doubtless often have observed what you supposed to be a live fly, until, attracted by its statue-like immoveability, you have been tempted to touch it, and to your astonishment discovered it was dead. That fly has certainly been destroyed by the disease of which I speak, and which consists of a species of fungus that forms around the body, growing in little rank spots, eating into the very interior of the poor insect, until nothing but a dry, empty shell remains.

It has been ascertained that a fly can mount from five to thirty-five feet in a second; and I have read that each of its compound eyes is composed of four thousand perfect organs of vision! Besides its two compound eyes, it has three smaller or simple eyes, which form a triangle between the larger. It is said that one set reflect distant, the other near objects; but I believe much of this is conjecture, on which we must not place too great reliance. The natural sight, without the aid of microscope, reveals the fly to be an interesting and wonderfully constructed little creature; and in all the insect tribes, if we would but look upon them with our seeing eyes, we should discover such a wisdom and beauty in their construction, such an intelligence and power, as would make us pause with wonder and admiration; and instead of turning shudderingly away, or crushing the tiny structure that lies at our feet, or skims through the air in such bright, happy evolutions, we would cry, in the fulness of our awakened knowledge, 'How marvellous are Thy works, O Lord!' LEIGH PAGE.

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Stories of Insect Life.

when vainly striving, with frantic dashes, to escape through the glass window-pane, or when prevented from alighting on some luscious, sweet, and tempting dainty. Often have I watched and wondered to see her climb a smooth surface, and even walk upside down,' as I expressed it.. Ah! that was an enigma I could never solve; for I did not then know that suckers were attached to those tiny feet. I used to imagine, also, that the large flies were the parents of the smaller, and would, in the course of time, grow up to bouncing blue-bottles; but, my little friends, winged insects never grow—at least their bodies do not after they have attained a winged state,—though, like our house-fly, after they have crept from the chrysalis state, the wings sometimes expand. You will ask, How is this? as many people have inquired, Where do all the flies come from? I will try to answer both questions, by giving you the early history of a fly's life.

The parent insect usually lays its eggs or larvæ amongst putrefying matter or moist refuse of any kind, which in due time are hatched into soft, repulsive, creamy-coloured, dirty-looking, little footless grubs, commonly called maggots. These wriggle, tumble, and feed on the loose substance around; and having attained their greatest size, gradually assume a brown-coloured, chrysalis appearance, and fall into a dormant state, in which they remain an uncertain time, often the entire winter, according to the situation, state of atmosphere, or other incidental causes. At length the time arrives when one end of the chrysalis bursts open, and the young fly, with its greyish-coloured body covered with minute hairs, and four black stripes adorning its back, its six long black legs, little yellow face, and reddish-brown eyes, emerges from its prison, its feeble, moist wings crumpled against its sides. These it gradually expands, until they become strengthened, their beautiful transparent delicacy perfected. Then the released and airy creature takes flight, and becomes often a little domestic annoyance in our house, finding its way into kitchen and parlour,

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