ONE of the early fathers of the Christian church, St Basil, has beautifully observed, that, if you speak of a fly, a gnat, or a bee, your conversation will be a sort of demonstration of His power whose hand formed them;' and strange indeed does it seem to us if the student of nature, pursuing his inquiries into the world of insect life, does not become convinced, not only of the power, but also of the wisdom and the goodness of the Almighty Creator. In no branch of natural science do the proofs of divine omnipotence, and omniscience, and omnipresence, perhaps, so abound as in Entomology. The busy swarms that people the earth, and the air, and the waters, how minute, how innumerable, and yet how perfect, are they in their organisation and adaptation to the situations they were designed to occupy, and the work they were intended to perform in the grand scheme of creation. Every fresh discovery in this branch of science adds a link to the chain of evidence by which we are irresistibly led to the conclusion, that the more intently we pursue our researches, and the better we become acquainted with the wonderful works of God, the more deeply shall we be impressed with a sense of the beauty and the perfection of the system of organic life, and with the power and benevolence of its Designer and Sustainer.

The old naturalist Pliny, heathen as he was, could not help being so impressed, as his words will testify:-'In these beings, so minute, and as it were such nonentities, what wisdom is displayed, what power, what unfathomable perfection!' What wonder, then, if the Christian poet, when he surveys with curious eye the burnished wing of the Golden Beetle, or that of the Butterfly, gaily fluttering in the sunshine, and reflects upon Him who fashioned alike the small and the great-what wonder, we say, if Cowper should exclaim

In the vast and the minute, we see
The unambiguous footsteps of the GOD,
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.'

In the days of Pliny, but little comparatively was known of the wonders of insect production and transformation. What amazing results has the application of modern science to this class of subjects exhibited. Man may well wonder and adore as these appliances are brought to bear, to show him, as Southey says

To show him, in an insect or a flower,
Such microscopic proofs of skill and power,
As, hid from ages past, God now displays,
To combat atheists with in modern days.'

We have thought it well thus briefly to indicate the spirit in which we purpose writing a series of papers on the INSECTS OF THE MONTHS, somewhat similar to those which we contributed to this journal on the Wild Flowers and Birds of the Months, that our readers may know at the outset that we are no believers in the blind doctrine of chance, any more than we are in the so-called 'Theory of Development.' No; strange and startling as are the changes and transformations observable in insect life, and closely as different species often approximate, yet there are such distinct lines of separation, such manifest divisions, and essentially varying characteristics, as render the belief impossible that they are the same creatures in progressive stages of development. We are sometimes told, in support of this theory, that, from the lower to the higher orders of existences, there can be traced a gradually ascending scale of delicacy and complexity of organisation,

the whole indicating a gradual growth, as it were, unto perfection. But a careful microscopic examination will teach us that this is not the case; the smallest insect that swims, or creeps, or flies, is as perfectly organised as man, the lord of the creation, as he has been somewhat presumptuously termed. Count the lenses in the eye of the common Fly, examine the feathers upon the wings of the Butterfly, the delicately-fringed antennæ of the Moth, the spinning-machine of the Spider, the proboscis and gauzy wing of the Gnat: look at the whole structure of these, and even of smaller insects, and tell us if you observe any symptoms of imperfection, of unfinishedness, so to speak; aught beyond those natural growths and transformations cate a process of development into something of a higher which are regular and periodic, that would seem to indiorder of natural existence. No, you cannot; as with the plant, so it is with the living creature-when mature, it is perfect and symmetrical, rounded back into, and reproducing itself, not projected forward and giving birth to a more complex form of life. We are perfectly convinced centuries, grow into a Mite, any more than the Monkey that the Molecule will not, even after the lapse of untold will into a Man, notwithstanding all that those of the Monboddo School may say to the contrary.

This, however, is a controversy into which our readers, we apprehend, will scarcely thank us for leading them, the more especially as the great book of Nature is so invitingly spread open before us, its leaves illumined by the brightest sunshine that ever glittered on the streams, the waving tree-tops on or slept amid the meshes of the meadow grass, or gilded

A morning in May, when all nature is gay;

When mother Earth laughs, as the fresh dew she quaffs,
And turning her face to the day-god's embrace,
Shines out like a bride in her flowery array.'

We have commenced our papers at an auspicious period of the year, at a time of general awakening of the insect tribes. There is a buzz, and a boom, and a flutter of gauzy or gaily painted wings on every side of us; each leaf and clod of earth is instinct with life; and under every stone in our path we may find a specimen of one or other of the myriad winged or wingless forms which have already begun, or are preparing to begin, their short career of animated existence. It seems as though a voice had gone forth over the universe, telling that summer was close at hand, and saying, Come forth, and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.

'Ye on earth

Which creep, and ye gay swarms with glittering wing
Which float along the moonbeams.'

And lo! we can almost realise Milton's description of the sixth day of creation, when

At once came forth whatever creeps the ground, Insect or worm; there waved their limber fans For wings; and smallest lineaments exact, In all the liv'ries deck'd of summer pride, With spots of gold and purple, azure and green.' How wonderful is this annual resurrection of dead and buried forms, infinite in variety, and exquisitely fine and beautiful in shape, and colour, and internal construction! this re-peopling of the elements with countless millions of living creatures, not one of which but has

'A work to do, and a race to run,

Though its use may be known to few or none!' Who, that beholds this miracle of God's power and providence, can disbelieve in that great resurrection of human bodies, which we are assured will take place in the fulness of time, when at the sound of the last trumpet-'in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed?' And what a lively image have we of the glorious change here predicted, in the transformation of the insect from the pupa to the imago or perfect state! Look now at the chrysalis buried in the earth, of which it seems a part, so dingy, and dull, and motionless is it. There hath it lain its appointed season, to the eye a mere shrivelled case, in which none would suspect, if they knew it not, that there was any spirit or principle of vitality; but now the time of revival has

come; the call has been heard or felt-(who shall say which?)—and the hitherto apparently lifeless grub wriggles itself up to the surface, if it be buried in the soil, bursts asunder the cerements which have so long confined it as in a tomb, and comes forth, radiant and rejoicing, into the golden sunshine, to fit hither and thither like a disembodied spirit:

'Behold! ye pilgrims of the earth, behold!
See all but man with unearn'd pleasure gay;
See her bright robes the Butterfly unfold,
Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May!
What youthful bride can equal her array?
Who can with her for easy pleasure vie?
From mead to mead with gentle wings to stray,
From flower to flower in balmy gales to fly,
Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.'

Shall we thus, like Thomson in his 'Castle of Indolence,' call attention to the gay flutterer in the sunshine whose transformation we have just witnessed, and moralise upon its apparently joyous, though brief existence? Or shall we, like Rogers, who gives a higher direction to our thoughts, say to the flitting insect

'Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light,
And where the flowers of Paradise unfold.
Quaff frequent nectar from their cups of gold;
There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky,
Expand and shut in silent ecstasy:

Yet wert thou once a worm-a thing that crept
On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb, and slept.
And such is man-soon from his cell of clay
To burst a seraph in the blaze of day.'

And then, again, how easy is the transition, from such a comparison as this, to the strain of grateful acknowledgment of that sheltering and sustaining Power, which protects alike the Butterfly and Man-to such lines as the peasant poet of Northamptonshire addressed

TO AN EARLY BUTTERFLY.

'Thrice welcome here again, thou fluttering thing,
That gaily seek'st about the opening flower,
And opest and shutt'st thy gaudy spangled wing
Upon its bosom in the sunny hour;

Fond grateful thoughts from thy appearance spring;
To see thee, Fly, warns me once more to sing
His universal care, who kept thee down,

And did thy winter dwelling please to give:
That Being's smile on me damp'd winter's frown,
And snatch'd me from the storm, and bade me live.
And now, again the welcome season's come,
'Tis thine and mine, in nature's grateful pride,
To thank that God who snatch'd us from the tomb,
And stood our prop when all gave way beside.'

As May has, by universal consent, been called the Month of Flowers, it may not be deemed inappropriate if we devote the rest of this chapter to observations upon Butterflies, which the poets have likened to winged flowers. Thus Moore, for instance :

And they before whose sleepy eyes,

In their own bright Kathanian bowers,
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies,

That they might fancy the rich flowers,
That round them in the sun lay sighing,
Had been by magic all set flying."

Ebenezer Elliott, it may be remembered, speaks in his dramatic poem 'Kerhonah,' of the little fly with wings of sunbeams,' alluding, no doubt, to the Golden Butterfly -such a resplendent insect as the rich imagination of Keats pictured, when it dreamed of 'Sleep and Poesy :'

'A Butterfly, with golden wings broad furl'd,
Nestling a rose, convulsed, as though it smarted
With over pleasure.'

Or like that described in 'Endymion:'

'A Golden Butterfly, upon whose wings There must be surely character'd strange things' Strange things, indeed, if there a history might be traced of the wonderful changes which the insect has undergone, since first, a tiny egg, no bigger than a pin's head, it was glued to the leaf of that particular plant best suited to nourish and sustain the Caterpillar that was by and by to emerge from it. A bare outline of a part of this history we may give in the words of Kirby and Spence, who have studied it deeply, and know all its strange vicissitudes by

heart. Hear what they say? That Butterfly, which amuses you with its aerial excursions-one while extracting nectar from the tube of the honeysuckle, and then (the very image of fickleness) flying to a rose, as if to contrast its wings with the hue of the flower on which it reposesdid not come into the world as you now behold it. At its first exclusion from the egg, it was a worm-like Caterpillar, crawling upon sixteen legs, greedily devouring leaves with two jaws, and seeing by means of twelve eyes, so minute as to be nearly imperceptible without the aid of a microscope. You now see it furnished with wings, capable of rapid and extensive flights; of its sixteen feet, ten have disappeared, and the remaining six are in most respects wholly unlike those to which they have succeeded; its jaws have vanished, and are replaced by a curled-up proboscis, suited only for sipping liquid sweets; the form of its head is entirely changed-two long horns project from its upper surface; and, instead of twelve invisible eyes, you behold two very large, and composed of at least twenty thousand convex lenses, each supposed to be a distinct and effective eye.'

Think of that! twenty thousand convex lenses in the eye of a Butterfly, each, no doubt, giving a distinct reflection of the object presented to it; and the whole so disposed, that the little creature may, without turning its head-which, be it remembered, has no movement apart from the whole body-see on every side of it. Man may be, and certainly is, as the Psalmist says, 'fearfully and wonderfully made;' but, when we contemplate such a fact as this, we must needs confess that what are commonly termed the inferior creatures' are no less so. Look, now, at this Caterpillar eagerly devouring the rough leaf of the nettle, which is to him quite an epicurean feast. Some would call it an unsightly thing, and declare that they would not touch it on any account; but we will not so, for it is one of God's handiworks. Let us therefore examine it carefully, reverently. What have we here? Merely a crawling Caterpillar, such as you may find in every hedgerow, almost on every green leaf; for it is one of the commonest kinds. But examine it; even with the naked eye, you may see much to admire and wonder at; place it, however, beneath the microscope, and see what a beautiful and astonishing object it becomes :

'Skin like velvet, soft and fine;
Mark'd with many a dot and line;
Black and green, of mingled hue,
With a gold tinge shining through;
Silky tufts of yellow hair

From each side projecting, where
Swell the muscles small like rings,
By whose power the creature clings;
Clings and crawls where'er it will,"
While its jaws are working still;
In and out they ope and shut,
Fashion'd well the leaf to cut.

Shall we anatomise it, and count the muscles-many hundreds in number-by which that undulating motion is given to the pliant body, and to those voracious jaws, shaped something like a reaping-hook, and acting like a pair of pincers, by which the creature devours perhaps double its own weight in the course of twenty-four hours? Shall we trace the minute spirules, or breathing tubes, from their various issues along each side, back to their connection with the ramified system of air-vessels, which penetrate every part and organ of the frame? Shall we examine the brain and spinal marrow, and the complex network of nerves and ganglions which spring from these chief seats of sensation; the stomach and intestines, and other internal parts and organs so wonderfully minute and perfect? Shall we inquire into the nature of the delicate contrivance by which the creature weaves for itself a silken ladder or bridge, when it desires to ascend a smooth surface, such as a pane of glass, or to let itself down from the tall branch, or to pass from bough to bough, or to cross over a moist or particularly rugged way, or over the tops of the grassy blades, in search of its appropriate food? Shall we open case after case of its several envelopes, and trace out the faintly defined and yet distinguishable form of the imago, or perfect image,

To live a life of sunshine, of galety, and bloom,

Then drop without decrepitude or pain into the tomb.'

All this would be very pleasant and interesting, but at present we have another equally agreeable task before us, viz., to notice the various species of the Butterfly family which are most usually seen in this merry month of May, of which we must be allowed to quote Bamfylde's description:

And now the young and flowery-kirtled May

Decks the green hedge and dewy grass unshorn,
With cowslips pale and many a whitening thorn;
And now the sun comes forth with level ray,
Gilding the high wood top and mountain grey,
And as he climbs the meadows 'gins adorn;
The rivers glisten to the dancing beam,

The awaken'd birds begin their amorous strain, And hill and vale with joy and fragrance teem.' According to Cuvier's arrangement, the order in which Butterflies are placed is the tenth (the Lepidopterous, or scaly-winged order of insects), which includes also the Moths. Papilio is the term used by the above-named author to distinguish the Butterfly genus; but in this genus more modern naturalists have made several subdivisions, applying that term only to such as are distinguished by certain characteristics, into which we need not enter. There are about twenty different species of Butterflies, which generally make their first appearance in this month. Two of the most remarkable for elegance are the Swallowtail (P. Machaon), and the Scarce Swallow-tail (P. Podalirius). The first is pretty generally distributed over this country, being most plentiful in fenny districts. The Caterpillar feeds on mulbelliferous plants, such as fennel and wild carrot; the second has been found in woods in Bedfordshire and one or two other counties. The prevailing colour of both of these Butterflies is yellow, crossed with black bands and stripes; they have each a dash of dark blue along the bottom edge of the under wing, terminating in a crimson spot. The scarce species is somewhat larger than the other, more elegantly formed, and is likewise distinguished by the greater length of the pointed elongations of the under wings, from which these Butterflies derive their name of Swallow-tail-no other British species resembling them in this respect.

Now, too, may be seen flitting about the fields and gardens, the Common Cabbage Butterfly (Pontea Brassica) —which is too familiar an object to need a description and occasionally its rarer congeners, the Green-veined White (P. Napi), Green-chequered White (P. Daplidice), Orange-tip White (P. Cardamines), and the Wood White (Leucophasia Sinapis) Butterflies, the latter being generally seen in or about woods or shrubby grounds. The second of these is sometimes called the Bath White Butterfly. It is a very rare species. Several of the pretty little Fritillaries are also now sporting in the sunbeams; some of them having but a local range: thus the Duke of Burgundy's Fritillary (Nemeobius Lucina) is confined chiefly to Middlesex and the south-eastern counties; while the Pearl-bordered likeness (Melitaa Athalia) is seldom found far from Devonshire, although at times quite common in that county. For the Straw May Fritillary (Melitaa Tessallata), again, we must go to Middlesex, or near it; the Pearl-bordered and Small Pearl-bordered (Selene and Euphrosyne) may be found almost everywhere, about woods and heaths; the Greasy or Marsh Fritillary (Artemis), which owes its first name to its glistening appearance, chiefly abounds in Sussex and Berks, although it has been found as far north as Northumberland; but the Queen of Spain's Fritillary (Argynnis Lathonia), the largest and most beautiful of those yet named, has only been observed, in favourable seasons, in two or three localities in Cambridge, Norfolk, and Kent. There are several other of the Fritillaries, which do not appear in this month; they are all remarkable for their rich golden brown tint and delicate markings; owing to certain variations

genera. We have now to notice

Those bright-eyed things That float about on azure wings;'

of which several species may be met with during the
present month, calling to mind that exquisite picture of
innocent enjoyment beheld by the Peri in Moore's 'Lalla
Rookh:-
When o'er the vale of Balbec winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play;
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing with cager hands and eyes
The beautiful blue damsel flies,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers, or flying gems.'

They bring to mind, too-these azure flutterers, with their wings of Hope's own chosen hue-our own days of Butterfly-chasing and flower-plucking in the green meadows, and we are fain to set off once more, hat in hand, in pursuit of the bright-winged creatures, which still elude our grasp, and lure us on farther and farther: but then it would look so' for a staid, respectable, grown-up individual to be running after a Butterfly, although most of us are in hot pursuit of something far more difficult to catch, and less likely to prove satisfying if caught; so we give up the idea of a run upon the greensward, with the chance of a tumble or two among the buttercups and daisies; not, however, without a sigh of regret for the time when we might have done this without being inconsistent or improperly childish; and we say, with James Montgomery :

Joys of my early hours!
The swallows on the wing,
The bees among the flowers,
The butterflies of spring,

Light as their lively moments flew,

Were not more gay, more innocent than you. And fugitive as they,

Like butterflies in spring,

Like bees among the flowers,
Like swallows on the wing,
How swift, how soon ye pass'd away,

Joys of my early hours!'

there are about twelve species. They form a genus of Of the small Blue Butterflies known in this country, themselves called Polyommatus, or many-eyed, because the under part of their wings are marked with a multitude of minute eye-like spots. The larvae of most of them feed their transformations. All through the summer months, on grasses and herbaceous plants, amid which they undergo and sometimes in the autumn, they may be seen in great numbers fluttering about the pastures and woodland glades, looking, indeed,

'Like winged flowers or flying gems.'

The species most usually seen in May are, the Azure Blue (P. Agriolus), Bedford Blue (P. Alsus), Mazarine (P. Acis), Clifden Blue (P. Adonis), and the Common Blue (P. Alexis). Of these, the last named is much the most plentiful, being very generally distributed over the country: the second named is said to be the smallest of British Butterflies, seldom measuring more than an inch between the tips of the wings when expanded. It is found all over the country, but does not seem to be plentiful anywhere. In this, as in many other Butterflies, there is a great difference in the sexes as regards colour, the female having wings of a light brown: this difference of tint is especially remarkable in the fourth named of the above species, the female of which has wings of a rich deep gold colour.

Of Butterflies we shall have somewhat more to say as we proceed with our gossip-as we hope, not altogether uninteresting-on the INSECTS OF THE MONTHS, to which we would have this considered as an introductory paper. We propose, as we proceed, to be more methodical, and consequently more instructive. Were it not for those plaguy poets, we should get on smoothly enough, and talk about orders and genera, and internal and external construction, in a most lucid and matter-of-fact sort of manner; but they keep filling our eyes with such bright images, and

our ears with such sweet music, that for the life of us we cannot help quoting them. Just one more, then, concluding with a moral for our fair readers, and we have done with them for the present. It is from Wiffin's 'Aonian Hours'

And chief the Fly, upon whose fans are spread
Hues with which summer warms the Occident
At the rich sunset, epicure in taste,
Beholds the odorous light, and deems it lent
For amorous pastime, and in truth seems bent
To find or form a paradise below;

With blooms and herbs of every various scent
Dallies her tongue-her wings expanded show
Like ornamented clouds hung round by Iris' bow.
O'er mead, inoor, river, garden, forest, mount,
In her gay search the delicate lady flies,
Tries ev'ry odour, sips of ev'ry fount,
Nor trusts her form but to most crystal skies;
Coquettish in her motions, how she tries
Thousand admiring hearts to captivate!
The swallow too pursues so bright a prize,
Wins and destroys; so beauty bows to fate,
Caught in the toils she spreads to be bewail'd too late.'

THE MONOSYLLABLE TRAVELLER. I AM yet a young man, but I have led a wandering life so long (my friends call me der Wandernde Vogel-but that's a secret), and have seen so many unco sights, and undergone so many queer adventures, and met so many unaccountable people, that I sometimes fancy myself quite an octogenarian; and, truly, I have had more rough experience of life than usually falls to the lot of the most potent, grave, and reverend seniors.' But don't be alarmed by this bit of a preface, as I am not about to inflict a garrulous egotistical gossip, for the INSTRUCTOR himself knows me personally, and will bear ready witness that I am not the Monosyllable Traveller.' Nevertheless, 'the tale that I am going to tell is just as true as-' most tales told by the philosophical vagabonds, of whom I am a fair type.

On the evening of the 20th day of December, 1851 (you see the epoch of this veritable story is so very recent, that ladies and gentlemen can easily satisfy themselves of its perfect truth in these days of electric telegraphs), I was wandering in my usual aimless, harebrained fashion in a wild district of the North Riding of Yorkshire. It was cold, oh! bitter cold! and the fierce wind blew the snow cuttingly in my face. But I am a case-hardened fellow, and I didn't care a pinch of snuff for the weather. I only settled my old gold-banded Danish cap firmer on my head, and drew my auld cloak aboot me,' and sucked the tip of my frozen moustache, and hummed Den tappre Landsoldat, and strode onward as careless and happy as a woodsawyer's clerk. But whither was I going? Ay, that's what I didn't know myself. I had somehow lost the course I had been directed to steer at the last village I passed, and, as I knew nothing of the latitude and longitude of the country, and it was too cloudy overhead to admit of any celestial observation, I e'en sailed hap-hazard. But I thought to myself that I must surely stumble on a town, or a village, or an odd house sooner or later, and the worse come that might, I could lie down on the leeside of a hedge or a tree, and take out my allowance of sleep in my dear old sea-clock, as I had done many times before.

Well, about four bells of the first watch, as we used to say at sea (10 P.M.), I descried a twinkling light ahead, and, making all sail, I came alongside of it, and found it to proceed from the porch of a very ancient, solitary roadside inn, bearing the singular sign of the Mermaid. I shook off the snow from my cloak in the porch, and in a minute I was in the comfortable parlour of the inn. There was only one guest seated there, and him I checrily saluted with Good evening, sir!'

He stared vacantly at me a moment, but never opened his lips.

'Good evening!' I repeated.

This time he evinced a sort of consciousness, by emitting a low unintelligible growl, which I fancied at the time sounded like 'yah!'

I was now absolutely dumfoundered, and said not another word. The landlord entered at the moment with a supper I had ordered, and, as he set a smoking stew before me, I jerked my thumb towards the Monosyllable Traveller, and whispered, Who is he?'

The landlord contented himself with giving a short nod, a dry cough, and a droll wink. After this, I ate my supper in perfect silence; the ticking of the clock and an occasional sigh and groan from the stranger excepted. I actually began to think I had made a worse mistake than Goldsmith did when he entered a gentleman's house for an inn, for I fancied I must have taken up my quarters in an asylum, and the recollection I involuntarily conjured of the singular revelations which recently appeared in the INSTRUCTOR about Hanwell Asylum, by no means tended to re-assure me. I am not a nervous man-far from it, but I am not ashamed to say that I very hastily swallowed my pint of sherry to strengthen my heart and clear my brain by the same operation. I also took the precaution to rear my blackthorn stick between my knees; for who can tell what freak a madman may take in his head at any moment? It is true that my monosyllable companion sat very quietly on one side of the fire, with a half-drained glass of liquor on a little round table before him, and his eyes calmly fixed on the blazing sea-coal, but how could I tell how soon he might wildly grasp the tongs, and put an end to all the wanderings of der Wandernde Vogel?

The entrance of the worthy landlord to clear my table, relieved me from the worst part of my apprehensions, for he at any rate at once proved himself to be a sane man, by inquiring whether my supper was to my liking, and whether I was comfortable, &c. I looked at his rosy, intelligent face with secret satisfaction, and, bidding him

bring me a bottle of his best wine, I invited him to help me to drain it, and nothing loth, he seated himself by my side, and certainly I had no reason to complain of his taciturnity. He was 'as good as an almanack,' as seamen say, for he knew what the weather would be better than Murphy; he knew the times, the tides, and the coming events; he knew, or pretended to know, everybody and everything.

6

This is a somewhat out-o'-the way place for an inn, landlord,' remarked I.

Well, yes, sir; but it isn't what it was when I first knew it. I know'd it when we've been so full that we haint known wheer to put folks; but times is altered now.'

'It seems so,' dryly answered I.

"It's all along o' them railways,' ejaculated he, fiercely striking the table with his fist. You see, sir, the ould Mermaid stands on the great high road, and, afore them things was invented, we used to have coaches changing every hour, and gentlefolk's carriages putting up by dozens. But now, except it be a gentleman like yourself as knows better nor to trust his precious limbs on sich breaknecks, we oftens doesn't see a living body but our precious selves

from week's end to week's end.'

‘How, then, do you make both ends meet, eh?' That's what sometimes puzzles me, sir. But we've a bit of a farm, you see, and-oh! them railways!' Hem!' said I, glancing significantly towards the Monosyllable guest, who steadily continued his occupation of gazing at the fire, apparently quite unconscious that anybody but himself was in the room-'hem! you must have strange sort of company at times though?'

The landlord perfectly understood me, for he put his finger to his nose, winked thrice with great solemnity, and then pointed to the clock, which approached the hour of twelve.

Precisely when the last stroke had boomed, the Monosyllable Traveller arose to his feet, sighed profoundly, muttered- Bed!' and stalked out of the room.

Who is that man?' exclaimed I, the moment he was gone.

'Ay, there's the mystery, sir,' replied the landlord, with a very queer look. For the last seven years he has regularly arrived here on horseback, on the evening of the 20th of December-that is to say, as to-night-and, after sleeping here, he leaves at the same hour on the following evening, and we never see anything of him again, till the anniversary of his visit comes round.'

And don't you know who or what he is?' 'Not at all, sir. What is yet more wonderful, he never utters more than one short word at a time, and, even when giving his orders, he merely says, ' steak,'' ale,' or what not; and, when questioned, he never makes any reply but yes,' no,' 'hum,' 'ah,' 'oh,' 'eh,' 'ay.' Whoever speaks to him, he replies by a single word only, and he invariably sits, as he did to-night, for many hours, doing nothing but staring at the fire.'

'But, landlord, whom do you suppose him to be?? 'Why, sir,' laughed he, a gentleman here once said he must be the man born to discover the perpetual motion, and that he is yet studying it; but I myself have fancied that he is merely the ghost of some wicked fellow who committed an awful deed in this old house centuries ago, and is doomed to revisit it to the end of time, on the anniversary of his crime.'

Ah, but you know that ghosts don't eat and drinkand this mysterious personage does both.'

Very true, I forgot that. But what is your own opinion, sir, for you have now seen almost as much of him as any of us?"

Why, landlord, if I may speak in strict confidence, between ourselves, my firm private belief is that he is no other than'

'Who, sir?' eagerly interrupted the landlord. 'The Wandering Jew!' whispered I.

The landlord nodded thrice, and drained his glass with the air of a man perfectly satisfied by an unexpected solution of a most difficult enigma.

THE PLANT OF RENOW N. THERE was a small colony planted on a creek of a vast continent. Their soil was very fertile, but its limits were somewhat narrow. However, its size and resources were sufficient for the inhabitants. We said that its limits were narrow. On the landward side, it was enclosed by an amphitheatre of rocky mountains, so precipitous, that nothing save the white clouds and the dwindling eagle could pass over them. On the other side, it looked out on the bulging expanse of the immeasurable main. At the time we speak of, a pestilence had broke out, which made fearful havoc all through the population. It was a dreadful disease, before whose touch the sturdiest manhood crumbled down, and the brightest beauty withered away. It was not long till two appalling discoveries were made. First, it was found that no one had escaped it; for, though some exhibited its virulence more fearfully than others, the little child in the cradle and the shepherd in the distant plain were smitten, as well as the grown people in the village streets; and next, the doctors declared that it was beyond their skill-they could do nothing for it. Just at the time the plague was raging worst, a stranger appeared, and told them there was a cure. He said that there was a plant which healed this disorder, and he described it. He mentioned that it was a lowly plant, not conspicuous nor very interesting to the eye, that it had a red blossom, and sweet-scented leaves, and a bruised-looking stem, and that it was ever-green. He told a number of other particulars regarding it; and, as he could not tarry longer at that time, he left a paper, in which, he said, they would find a full description of it, and directions how to find it. The tidings diffused considerable activity through the sickly colony. A plant of such efficacy deserved the most diligent search. Almost all agreed that it must be far away, but a discussion arose whether it lay beyond the cliffs or across the sea. Most thought the latter, and some set to work and built a ship, and when they had launched her, they christened her 'Ecclesia,' hoisted a red-cross flag, and sent round word that the fine ship 'Ecclesia' was about to sail in search of the famous plant, and all who wished to escape the plague were invited to take passages in this good ship. A few others, however, thought that the ship was going the wrong way, and that they would have better success by trying to get over the cliffs. This was an arduous enterprise, for the precipices were beetling steep, and extremely high. A few attempts were made to escape by ravines and gullies, which, however, ended in walls of glassy smoothness; and, after many weariful efforts, the climbers either grew dizzy and fell back, or allowed themselves to slide down again to the crumbling debris at the bottom. But others, more inventive, busied themselves constructing artificial wings and aerial engines of various kinds, imitatio Christi, aceticism, penitential prayers, and such like; and some of them answered exceedingly well for a little, and rose so high, that their neighbours really thought they would reach the top; but, after getting a certain heightwhether it was owing to the weakness of the materials, or a powerful current which they always met at a certain elevation, and which by a sort of down-draught blew them back from the brow of the mountain-they uniformly found themselves again on the spot from which they first ascended. A long time had now passed on, and multitudes had died of the plague, without any clearer views of the specific plant, when a poor sufferer, who had already gone a fruitless expedition in the ship, and, from the severity of his anguish, was eager in trying every scheme, lay tossing on his bed. He got hold of a large paper-roll which lay on a shelf beside him. It was very dirty, and the ink was faded; but, to while away the time, he began to unfold it, and found from the beginning that it was the Book of the Balm of Gilead. He at once suspected that it was the book which the stranger had left so long ago, and wondered how they had suffered it to fall aside; and he had not read far till it told him, that, if he would only read on, it would put him on the way of finding the Plant of Re