of the year being unpropitious to its new habits. Unlike most other insects, therefore, which, immediately after their change, enter at once into all the enjoyments of their new being, it remains in a state of infant imbecility for four months longer, during which time, though without food, it gradually acquires firmness and vigor; and, about the end of May, when the genial season has returned, it works its way to the light and warmth of the summer's atmosphere, where, from living for four years under ground, and feeding only on roots, it buzzes joyfully through the mild air, having the sweetest vegetables for its banquet, and the dew of evening for its drink.

Another insect, allied to the beetle kind, is still more remarkable in its instincts, if any thing in this world of wonders can be said to have the preeminence: I allude to the nut-weevil, (Curculio nucum.) Dr. Good has chosen this little creature as an illustration of the absurdity of the hypothesis, which makes instinct to depend on imitation, education, or reasoning; and, assuredly, even though the supposition were not contradicted by almost every habit and pursuit of the inferior creation, this instance might of itself be sufficient to show the untenable nature of the theory. The nut-weevil, "with a finished knowledge of the art," as Dr. Good expresses it, "singles out a nut, in the month of August, while its shell is yet soft and penetrable; and, having prepared to deposit her eggs, pierces it with her proboscis, and then, turning round accurately, drops an egg into the minute perforation. Having accomplished this, she passes on, pierces another nut, drops another egg, and so continues, till she has exhausted her whole stock. The nut continues

to grow; the egg is soon hatched; the young maggot finds its food already ripened, and in waiting for it; and, about the time of its full growth, falls with the mature nut to the ground, and at length, when its provision here is exhausted, creeps out, by gnawing a circular hole in its side. It then burrows under the surface of the ground, where it continues dormant for eight months; at the termination of which, it casts its skin, becomes a chrysalis

I.

17

VII.

of the general shape and appearance of the beetle kind, and, in the beginning of August, throws off the chrysalid investment, creeps to the surface of the ground, finds itself accommodated with wings, becomes an inhabitant of the air, and instantly pursues the very same train of actions to provide for a new progeny, which had been pursued by the parent insect of the year before."

One more example, which I shall notice, of the habits of particular species of the remarkably varied class of beetles, is of a very different kind; and my object, in adverting to it, is, to show another principle, by which the sterility of winter is rendered innoxious to certain animals. We have seen instances in which, among vertebrated as well as invertebrated beings, the expedient of torpidity is resorted to by the Author of Nature, to sustain life, and perhaps enjoyment also, during this rigorous season. But, in the example I am going to produce, there appears to be no need of this suspension of motion and external sensation, as the little creature is able to survive a whole winter, and even much longer, without any food whatever, except what is derived from the atmosphere; and this, indeed, is a property which belongs to various classes of the invertebrated genus. The account is taken from the communication of a writer in the Philosophical Transactions :— -“On the removal of a large leaden cistern, I observed, at the bottom of it, black beetles. One of the largest I threw into a cup of spirits,-it being the way of killing and preparing insects for my purpose. In a few minutes, it appeared to be quite dead. I then shut it up in a box, about an inch and a half in diameter, and, throwing it into a drawer, thought no more of it for two months; when, opening the box, I found it alive and vigorous, though it had no food all the time, nor any more air than it could find in so small a box, whose cover shut very close. A few days before, a friend had sent me three or four cockroaches. These I had put under a large glass; I put my beetle among them, and fed them with green ginger, which they ate greedily; but he would never taste it, for the five weeks they lived there. The cockroaches would avoid the beetle, and

seemed frightened at his approach; but he usually stalked along, not at all regarding whether they came in his way or not. During the two years and a half that I have kept him, he has neither ate nor drank.

66

How, then, has he been kept alive? Is it by the air? There are particles in this, which supply a growth to some species of plants, as sempervivum, orpine, and house-leek. May not the same or like particles supply nourishment to some species of animals? In the amazing plan of Nature, the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms are not separated from each other by wide distances; indeed, their boundaries differ from each other by such minute and insensible degrees, that we cannot find out certainly where the one begins, or the other ends. As the air, therefore, nourishes some plants, so it may nourish some animals; otherwise, a link would seem to be wanting in the mighty chain of beings. It is certain, chameleons and snakes can live many months without any visible sustenance, and probably not merely by their slow digestion, but rather by means of particles contained in the air, as the beetle did; yet, doubtless, in its natural state, it used more substantial food. So the plants. above-mentioned thrive best with a little earth, although they flourish a long time, and send forth branches and flowers, when they are suspended in the air. Even in the exhausted receiver, after it had been there half an hour, it seemed perfectly unconcerned, walking about as briskly as ever; but, on the admission of the air, it seemed to be in a surprise for a minute.”

It is impossible not to view, with wonder and admiration, the various ways in which animal life is sustained, sometimes even under circumstances which, arguing from ordinary analogies, would seem to insure its destruction. I have already alluded to the power possessed by some insects' eggs to resist extreme cold; and, before passing to the hybernation of higher species, I shall conclude this paper by remarking, that there are some very minute kinds of animalcules, the germs of which seem capable of resisting the extremes both of heat and cold. If the paste of flour, which has been boiled ever so long

in the making, be allowed to become sour, and then be mixed with water, the mixture, when a microscope of sufficient magnifying power is applied to it, will appear to be composed, almost entirely, of little eels, very handsomely formed, and moving about with great activity. Allow the same mixture of paste and water to become solid by drought, or by freezing, and let it be again moistened or thawed, and it will be as completely peopled as ever, with its microscopic inhabitants. Now, as it would be quite unphilosophical to admit the principle of equivocal generation, we are bound to conclude, that the germs of these living creatures were lodged in the mixture, before it was subjected to the process of boiling, and were only developed by the subsequent fermentation; so that it would appear, in this case, that the principle of life, in whatever form it may exist, is indestructible by very great alternations of heat and cold; and, indeed, we are not warranted to affix boundaries to this power, or to conclude, from the experiments which have yet been made, that any length of time, however extended, or any degree of heat or cold, however great, would be sufficient to destroy the vitality of these germs.

The wonders, indeed, which an examination of the incalculably, numerous and amazingly-diversified classes of invertebrated animals discloses, grow upon us in every direction, as we proceed; and the pious exclamation of the Psalmist, recurs to us, perpetually,-"O Lord! how manifold are Thy works! In wisdom hast Thou made them all "

EIGHTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

GREATNESS OF GOD EVEN IN THE SMALLEST THINGS.

THE following reflections of Mr. Sturm, the wellknown popular German writer, are so appropriate, as a sequel

to our observations in the course of the preceding week, as well as to the previous notices respecting the wonders of the microscope, that I think it would not be easy to direct my readers to a more suitable subject of consideration on this sacred day.

He who delights to contemplate the works of God, will not only discover His hand in those immense globes which compose the system of the universe, but also in the little worlds of insects, plants, and metals. He will search for, and adore the wisdom of God, as well in the spider's web, as in the power of gravitation, which attracts the earth towards the sun. These researches are at present the easier, as microscopes have discovered to us new scenes and new worlds, in which we behold, in miniature, whatever may excite our admiration. They who have not the opportunity of using such instruments will read at least with pleasure, the following remarks on microscopic objects.

Let us, in the first place, observe the inanimate world. Behold those mosses and little plants which God has produced in such abundance. Of what extremely small particles, and fine threads, are these plants composed! What a variety in their forms and shapes! Think on the innumerable multitude of small particles of which every body is composed, and which may be detached from it! If a hexagon, of an inch square, contain a hundred millions of visible parts, who can calculate all the particles which compose a mountain? If millions of globules of water may be suspended from the point of a needle, how many must there be in a spring, in a well, in a river, in the sea? If, from a lighted candle, there issue in a second more particles of light than there are grains of sand in the whole earth, how many igneous particles must there issue from a large fire in an hour?* If one grain of sand contain more than a thousand millions of particles of air, how many must there be in the human body? If men can divide one grain of copper into millions of parts,

* This remark proceeds, of course, on the old theory of the emanation of light and heat. But, on the undulatory theory, the wonder is not lessened.-H. D.