feet they use to hold themselves fast, and to grasp whatever they rest upon. When upon a twig or a leaf, they can seize another at a considerable distance; for, hooking their hinder feet upon whatever they rest, they elevate the fore part of the body, standing almost erect, move in all directions, poise themselves in the air, and turn round, reach their food, and hold it with their hooks. However well the body of the caterpillar is adapted to its necessities, its state is very transitory; its limbs last only a short time; and this creeping worm soon becomes a chrysalis without feet and without motion, till it becomes a winged inhabitant of the air.

From this circumstance only, caterpillars should claim some share of our attention. Towards the end of summer, and frequently sooner, after being satiated with verdure, and having changed their skins more than once, they cease to eat, and begin to construct a habitation, where they leave the caterpillar state, and are transformed into butterflies; this place of shelter is called the chrysalis, and is of an oval form; towards the extremity are rings, which continue diminishing till they are lost in a point. The chrysalis is full of milky fluid, which supplies the infant butterfly with nourishment till it comes out. When it is completely formed, and its parts have acquired a proper degree of consistence, and a gentle warmth invites it forth from its prison, it forces a passage through the largest end, which is at the same time the thinnest part of the chrysalis. Its head, which was always directed towards this end, disengages itself, the antennæ project and lengthen, the feet and wings extend, and the insect flies away, retaining nothing of its former shape. the caterpillar which was changed into a chrysalis, and the chrysalis which became a butterfly, being quite different creatures. The one is rough, hairy, and sometimes of a disagreeable aspect; the other is decked in the most beautiful colours: the one is doomed to crawl upon the earth, while the other lightly skims from flower to flower, and delicately sips their nectareous sweets.

Perhaps this description will conquer the aversion that

some people have to those insects, and reconcile them with their existence; but perhaps there will yet be many who will ask for what purpose insects, which devour the leaves and occasion the trees to be blighted, were created? To such I answer that they are necessary links in the great chain of animal life; and without them the world would be less perfect than it is. Destroy them entirely, and you would deprive the birds of a most plentiful source of nourishment; and surely if birds are destined to feed upon caterpillars, whatever be our loss, we cannot with justice exclude these insects from feeding upon leaves. And even if we cannot comprehend the reason why God formed such creatures, surely we ought not to assert that they are useless; we should rather acknowledge our ignorance, and bow before him who is all-wise.

JUNE XXI.

Beginning of Summer.

On this day summer begins. Many of us have often seen the changes which constantly take place at this season of the year; but have we considered why the sun continues so long above the horizon, why this is the longest day in the year, and why, from this time till the end of autumn, we perceive the heat and the length of the days diminish in the same proportion? All these changes proceed from the annual revolution of our globe round the sun. When this star enters the tropic of Cancer, the earth is so situated, that the whole of its north pole is turned towards the sun; for the earth's axis is inclined towards the north, and it invariably preserves this direction. On this inclination, and the parallelism of the earth's axis, the vicissitudes of the seasons depend. And who, that considers the consequences which would ensue if the direction of the axis had been perpendicular, will withhold his admiration and gratitude for that superior wisdom which has thus regulated it for the advantage of man?

Nature has now nearly finished her annual labour in our

climate. She has already lost part of her variety; and though nothing can be more beautifully green than the vines, the orchards, and the forests, the shades begin to be less pleasing; the meadows whiten, and the flowers are cut down ; the corn gradually grows yellow, and the rich colouring of nature diminishes. The diversity and brightness of this, and the varied notes of numerous birds, had lately all the charms of novelty, and cheered us with their sweet variation: but now as autumn approaches, these enjoyments cease; the nightingale is silent, and walking is inconvenient from the excessive heat.

From this picture we may form an emblem of life, the pleasures of which are equally fugitive; even the most innocent, such as nature offers us during the spring, fade, and gives place to other objects; and what we now witness in the summer of nature, we may observe in the summer of life.

As we advance in years, the pleasures which delight us in our youth no longer affect us; and when we have attained the autumn of our days, we become subject to cares and anxieties to which we formerly were strangers: as our age increases, our bodily powers diminish; till at length, after many a weary day, the period arrives when, feeble and exhausted, we have no longer a pleasure in existence.

With what a lively sense of joy may the good man lift up his soul to thee, O Lord! who directest the seasons, who art the father of all things, and the source of all happiness! Let us acknowledge thy wisdom and thy goodness in causing the seasons to succeed each other in a regular order; and may we never forget thee when we enjoy the blessings which summer scatters over the earth, and experience the pleasures which smile in her train! Let us reflect that this may be the last summer which we may be permitted to see on earth; and consider how soon we may be called to join the numerous friends who have been removed from this transitory scene since the last summer's sun beamed light and beauty upon our sphere.

JUNE XXII.

The Nightingale.

THE nightingale is one of the sweetest songsters among the inhabitants of the groves. When all the birds that cheered us during the day with their varied notes cease to be heard, the song of the nightingale swells upon the air, and animates the groves. When we rapturously listen to her voice, pouring melody in the woodlands, we are ready to conclude that the bird from which such sounds proceed must be large, and possess a throat of uncommon strength; and her sweet accents make us presume that, as she excels in harmony, so she surpasses the feathered race in beauty. But we shall lock in vain for these perfections in the nightingale; which is a bird of rather a mean appearance, having nothing particularly attractive either in form or plumage; yet it is gifted by nature with a voice that fills us with ecstacy, and pours rapture through all our frame. How exquisite is our delight when we listen to her long quivering notes, and hear her sweet variations, now gently warbling, then gradually swelling into inconceivable force and rapidity; alternating plaintive accents that soothe the soul to melancholy, with gay airs that raise it upon lightsome wings to joy and pleasure; she rapidly passes from the simplest notes to the wildest carols, from the lightest turns and quavers to slow melting strains that languish upon the breeze, then softly die away, and leave the night-wanderer silently to retrace his homeward steps.

This bird may give rise to many useful reflections; from it we may learn a very wholesome truth, that plainness of person does not exclude beauty of soul, but may be allied to

As to the idea of connecting beauty with melody in a bird, unless the author means that the bird which utters strains like those of the nightingale cannot be otherwise than beautiful, I believe it is not always the case; for those birds which have the most beautiful and brilliant plumage have often the most harsh and unpleasing notes; witness parrots, parroquets, peacocks, and a variety of others; and so far from our imagining the bird that enchants us with melodious strain to be large in size, we know of scarcely any large bird which has very sweet notes; if so, whence is the association of greatness of bulk and melody of voice? -----E.

the most estimable qualities. How absurdly and erroneously do those people judge, who, fascinated by a regular contour of face, beautiful countenance, and elegant proportion of limb, only bestow their approbation upon what pleases their senses, and despise or disregard such as labour under bodily infirmities, or are not gifted by nature with the graces of person. Let us learn to judge with more equity, and to discriminate with more attention; for it is not alone symmetry of limb, elegance of form, or advantages of fortune or rank, that ennoble a man, and render him worthy of esteem; it is the superior perfection of his soul, and the finer feelings of his heart, which can alone exalt his nature, and place one man higher than another in the great chain of beings. Those who are incapable of virtue, and destitute of reason, will necessarily be deluded by the false colouring of external appearance, and, unable to penetrate beneath the surface, will be dazzled by the empty parade of riches, and misled by the ostentatious display of splendid insignificance. But have we not seen men on whose humble birth fortune never smiled, nor honours distinguished, raise unto themselves eternal monuments of fame and glory? And have we not known men, whose bodies were formed in nature's coarsest mould, shew a magnanimity of soul and a greatness of mind that will ever endear them to our bosoms and entwine them round our hearts? Let us then not easily trust an opinion hastily formed, and founded only upon external appearance; for often those whom we have presumed to despise are superior to ourselves, and deserving of our warmest admiration and regard.

When we listen to the sound of the nightingale, let us remember who gave it such pleasing powers; and let us consider the wisdom of a structure which enables it to produce such sweet sounds. A viscus so delicate as the lungs of this little bird, whose exertions are so violent, would be very liable to receive injuries, if it did not possess the singular advantage of being attached to the vertebræ of the back by a number of little fibres. The opening of the win-pipe is