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With what vigour do they the solar ray, exult in existence, inhale the odoriferous breeze, and rove in fickle flight from flower to flower.

Their wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide they display: the spangled dew
Reflects their eyes and various hue 1.


How wonderful this transformation from that reptile state, when struggling in the dust, they were in perpetual danger of being crushed by every careless foot! And by what omnipotent hand were they enabled thus to rise from the ground? Who endued them with power to tra verse the aerial plains? Who adorned them with the vivid beauties of their wings?—God, the beneficent Creator of the butterfly and of God, who, in this wonderful insect, has presented us with an image of that transformation which


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Some of the most splendid butterflies, in this country, are seen in the month of August. The papilio machaon, commonly known as the swallow-tailed butterfly, is of a beautiful yellow, with black spots or patches along the upper edge of the superior wings: all the wings are bordered with a deep edging of black, decorated by a double row of crescent-shaped spots, of which the upper row is blue, and the lower yellow. The under wings are tailed, and are marked at the inner angle or tip with a round red spot, bordered with blue and black. Three others are particularly worthy of notice: (1) The peacock butterfly (Papilio Io), of an orange brown colour, with black bars intersected by spaces of yellow; (2) the admirable butterfly (Papilio Atalanta), of the most intense velvet black colour, with a carmine-coloured bar across the upper wings, which are spotted towards the tips with white; and (3) the papilio paphia, an highly elegant insect of a fine orange chesnut colour above, with numerous black spots and bars. It is usually found in the neighbourhood of woods. To these may be added, the black-eyed marble butterfly (Papilio Semele), and the small golden black-spotted but terfly (Papilio Phlæas).


awaits our own perishable bodies!-Yes, the day will at last arrive, when quitting this earthly tabernacle, the good man shall no longer creep below. The day will come, when, this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. The good man then, made perfect and glorified, will soar beyond the stars, and enjoy unutterable bliss in scenes of everlasting day.

The following stanzas, attributed to one of the first scholars of the present day, are so strictly in unison with the sentiments of the Contemplative Philosopher, and possess so much poetical merit, that they will form no inappropriate conclusion to the present Paper.


The shades of night were scarcely fled,
The air was mild, the winds were still,
And slow the slanting sun-beams spread

O'er wood and lawn, o'er heath and hill,
From fleecy clouds of pearly hue

Had dropt a short but balmy show'r,
That hung like gems of morning dew,
On ev'ry tree, on ev'ry flow'r.

And from the blackbird's mellow throat

Was poured so long and loud a swell,
As echoed with responsive note,

From mountain side and shadowy dell

When, bursting forth to life and light,
The offspring of enraptured May,
The Butterfly, on pinions bright,

Launched in full splendour on the day.

Unconscious of a mother's care,

No infant wretchedness it knew;
But, as she felt the vernal air,
At once to full perfection grew.

Her stender form, etherial, light,

Her velvet-textured wings unfold, With all the rainbow's colours bright, And dropt with spots of burnished gold.

Trembling awhile, with joy she stood,

And felt the Sun's enliv'ning ray, Drank from the skies the vital flood,

And wondered at her plumage gay; And balanced oft her broidered wings,

Thro' fields of air prepared to sail; Then on her vent'rous journey springs,

And floats along the rising gale.

Go, child of pleasure, range the fields

Taste all the joys that Spring can give→→→ Partake what bounteous Summer yields, And live, while yet 'tis thine to live.

Go, sip the rose's fragrant dew

The lily's honied cup explore-
From flow'r to flow'r the search renew,
And rifle all the woodbine's store.

And let me trace thy vagrant flight,

Thy moments, too, of short repose; And mark thee, when, with fresh delight, Thy golden pinions ope and close.

But hark! while thus I musing stand,
Pours on the gale an airy note,
And, breathing from a viewless band,
Soft silvery tones around me float.
They cease-but still a voice I hear,

A whispered voice of hope and joy
Thy hour of rest approaches near,

Prepare thee, mortal! thou must die!

Yet, start not, on thy closing eyes

Another day shall still unfold; A sun of milder radiance rise,

A happier age of joys untold.

Shall the poor worm that shocks thy sight, The humblest form in Nature's train, Thus rise in new-born lustre bright,

And yet the emblem teach in vain?

Ah! where were once her golden eyes,
Her glitting wings of purple pride?
Concealed beneath a rude disguise!
A shapeless mass to earth allied.
Like thee, the hapless reptile lived,

Like thee she toiled, like thee she spun;
Like thine, her closing hour arrived,

Her labour ceased, her web was done.
And shalt thou, numbered with the dead,
No happier state of being know?
And shall no future morrow shed

On thee a beam of brighter glow?
Is this the bound of Pow'r divine,
To animate an insect frame?
Or shall not He who moulded thine
Wake, at his will, the vital flame?
Go, mortal! in thy reptile state,

Enough to know to thee is given;
Go, and the joyful truth relate,

Frail child of Earth, high heir of Heav'n.



Ac veluti in pratis, ubi apes in æstate serena
Floribus insidunt variis, et candida circum
Lilia funduntur-


To their delicious task the fervent bees,
In swarming millions tend: around, athwart,
Through the soft air, the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube,
Suck its pure essence, its etherial soul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.


THE wisdom of the Bees, the perfection and

dustry, and wonderful economy, have been celebrated by the natural historians of every age. Nor has this subject been forgotten by the poets. These industrious insects, have furnished them with similes from the remotest times. The great father of poetry compares a crowded host of Greeks to a swarm of bees'. The Tyrians, employed in building a city, are compared by Virgil, to bees performing their wonderful operations 2. My motto, from the same author, is part of a simile, in which he compares the ghosts, flitting near the river Lethe, to bees roving in the meads from flower to flower3. But Milton has carried the similitude farther than any of his great masters; for he introduces the consultation of the fallen angels in Pandemonium, by a description of bees expatiating and conferring their state affairs 4. Horace, in the fine ode, in which he styles Pindar the Theban Swan, modestly compares himself to a bee, roving with feeble wing and idle murmurs, and with unceasing labour, culling from each bloom his flowery spoils. Lucretius too, while employed in collecting and elucidating the doctrines and lessons of his master Epicurus, compares himself to the bee, extracting honey from the most fragrant flowers". Shakspeare exalts the subject to far greater consequence; for he describes the busy nation as a monarchy:

So work the honey bees;

Creatures, that by a rule in nature teach
The art of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of sort;
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trades abroad;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,

Iliad, ii. 87. 2 Eneid, i. 430. Faradise Lost, i. 768.

5 Lib. iv. Od. 2.

3 Ib. vi. 70%. 6 Lib. iii..

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