THE Astor Library opens the present high. It is said that no other building of the direction of Mr. Saeltzer, the architect, is apropos to the time. Our readers are doubtless familiar with the chief facts in the history of the institution. We need only refer to a few of them. The bequest of Mr. Astor for its establishment amounted to $400,000; of this munificent sum, $75,000 were appropriated to the erection of the edifice, $120,000 to the purchase of books and other contents of the library, and the remainder, after deducting the expense of the site, was to be permanently invested for its future uses. Mr. Saeltzer's plans for the building are admirable. Its style is Byzantine. It is of brown stone, and is one hundred and twenty feet long, sixty-five feet wide, sixty-seven feet so large an extent, of iron; there is hardly any wood in it. A published account of it says: "The truss-beams, supporting the principal weight of the roof, are constructed of cast-iron pipes, in a parabolic form, on the same plan as Europe, with a view to secure lightness and the iron bridges in France and other parts of strength. The Library Hall, which occupies the second floor, is one hundred feet high, and sixty wide, in the clear. The ascent from the front is by a single line of thirty-eight Italian marble steps, decorated on either side, at the entrance, by a stone sphinx. Upon nearing the summit of these steps, the visitor finds himself near the centre of this immense alcove, surrounded by fourteen brick piers, plastered and finished in imitation of marble, and supporting iron galleries, midway between the floor and the ceiling. The side walls form one visit several domestics, among whom was one "What leads you to suppose that your garden is bewitched," asked the Abbé. 66 continuous shelving, of a capacity sufficient for one hundred thousand volumes. This is reached by means of the main gallery, in connection with which are four iron spiral stairways and an intervening gallery, of a lighter and smaller description, connected by its eight staircases with the main gallery. The whole are very ingeniously arranged and appropriately ornamented, in a style corresponding with the general architecture of the building. At an elevation of fifty-one feet above the floor of the main hall, is the principal sky-light, fifty-four feet long and fourteen broad, formed of thick glass set in iron. Besides this, there are circular side sky-lights of much smaller dimensions. All needful light is furnished by these and by the windows in the front and rear walls. Free ventilation is also secured by iron fretwork, in suitable portions of the ceiling. In the extreme rear are the two rooms for the librarian, to which access is had by means of the main galleries. The first floor contains lecture and reading-rooms, with accommodations for five hundred persons. The latter are on each side of the building, and separated from the library-mended me to apply to you as more skillhall stairway at the front entrance by two corridors leading to the rear vestibule, and thence to the lecture-room, still further in the rear. The basement contains the keeper's rooms, cellars, coal-vaults, air-furnaces, &c. The floors are of richly-wrought mosaic work, on iron beams." It was a good fortune for the library, and therefore for the public, for whom it is designed, that Dr. Cogswell was selected to superintend the collection. He has made repeated and very advantageous purchases in Europe. The rich display of the shelves is his best compliment. The outlay for books has thus far been about $100,000; the number of volumes is about 80,000. NATURE'S WITCHCRAFT. NE of the most distinguished culti dle part of the eighteenth century, was the Abbé Nollet. He was the first to give to his countrymen a popular account of the brilliant discoveries of Newton on Light; and he was associated with Dufay in researches on electricity, then occupying the attention of all Europe. His extensive acquirements in natural knowledge, his simple eloquence, and benevolent disposition, gained him general love and esteem. One day, at the beginning of July, 1736, he was seated in his study, preparing a lecture, when a country gentleman, a landowner of Andelis, a village on the Seine, was announced, requesting permission to ask the advice of the Abbé on a point of importance. He was accompanied by VOL. II, No. 5.—EE "My gardener here," said the proprietor, "has brought me sundry rolls of leaves, which he says have been concealed here and there under the surface of the ground. I took them to my physician, who, though a very skillful man in his profession, was unable to explain the matter; but recom ed in such things than himself." "Let us see these rolls of leaves," said the Abbé. Whereupon the gardener produced a small box, which he opened, and turned out upon the table some half-dozen rolls of leaves, curiously twisted into cylinders, two or three inches long. The Abbé looked at them attentively, and inquired when they were found. "The night before last, your reverence," said the gardener. "How did you happen to find them?" asked the Abbé. "Why, your reverence, I was cleaning up the garden, and, thinking the walks did not look so tidy as they ought to do, I determined to put down a little new gravel. While walking along them, and looking down, my attention was caught by a num cause, I saw something green, like a leaf, sticking out. The gravel about it was very loose, and on removing some of the pebbles I saw one of these rolls. I had not to search far before I found a good many more." "And you think these rolls are the work of a witch ?" asked the Abbé. "Of a witch or a sorcerer," said the gardener, "and the abbé of our village thinks so too, and recommends holy water, and I don't know what." A slight blush and a smile passed over the Abbé Nollett's face at the latter remark. Perhaps he thought the Abbé of Andelis would not be a worse curé if he knew something of natural history. "And why do you think these rolls of leaves the work of a witch, or a sorcerer ?" he asked. 66 "O, because I don't believe a man could make such things; and if he could, why should he bury them in master's garden, if it were not by way of a charm? The whole village is full of alarm about it, and something terrible will happen if your reverence cannot help us." him the reputation, which still attaches to his name, of being the best observer of insects that ever lived.* "You remember," said the Abbé, "our conversation respecting some curious nests formed by insects out of leaves, a single specimen of which was sent me from Martinique." "Perfectly," said Réaumur, “and I have "Have you opened any of these rolls?" been anxiously looking for similar nests in asked the Abbé. "God forbid!" exclaimed the terrified gardener, as if the very mention of the thing was as dangerous as the thing itself. "Well," said the Abbé, "I strongly suspect these rolls are the work of neither witches nor sorcerers, but simply of insects, and are, in fact, nests for their young. I have in my possession some rolls not unlike these, which I know to be the work of insects. I will show them to you." The Abbé then opened a cabinet, and pulled out a sliding shelf, on which various insects, their nests and eggs, were arranged; and among them was a roll similar in construction, but not of the same size, as those which had excited the terror of our honest gardener. This," said the Abbé, "is an insect's nest; now let us open one of these which have caused you so much alarm." Whereupon he pulled one apart, and a large white grub fell out before the astonished eyes of his company. The gardener's face, which before had expressed terror and dismay, now suddenly changed to delight and surprise. He rubbed his hands, laughed, and appeared like a man who had just escaped from some heavy calamity. His master exchanged a smile with the Abbé; and the gardener was beginning to express his gratitude, when the Abbé told him he would do him a great service, if, on his return to Andelis, he would collect as many of these nests as he could find, and pack them carefully in a box, and send them to his friend M. Réaumer, at Bercy, by the mail. This the gardener promised to do, and the party took leave of the good Abbé, well pleased with the result of their visit. At an early hour the next morning, the Abbé Nollet proceeded to Bercy, in the neighborhood of Paris, to the house of his friend and benefactor, M. Réaumur, the celebrated naturalist, who was then engaged in those studies on the habits and economy of insects, which have secured to our own country. My rose-trees are visited every year by some insect which cuts out circular and oval pieces from the leaves; but I have never been able to find how they are used, although I have diligently dug up the ground all about the trees, and watched for hours, both by night as well as by day." “A very odd adventure happened to me yesterday, which I think will help you out of your difficulty," said the Abbé; who then related the adventure of the gardener, and ended by placing a number of the rolls before the delighted naturalist. “Thanks, my kind friend,” he said, and proceeded at once to examine his treasure. It consisted of a roll of leaf, or rather of several large oval pieces of leaf of the elm-tree, perfectly dry and brittle; on removing the first two or three pieces, which appeared to form an outer case or envelop, about half-a-dozen little cups were seen fitting into each other like so many thimbles, the smaller end of one passing into the larger open end of the other, and forming altogether a sort of eylinder. On pulling this apart, a large worm was discovered lodged in a silken cocoon. "Why, this is the nymph of a bee!" said Réaumur, "and I strongly suspect that this is the nest of a solitary bee hitherto unknown in this country. You have, indeed, brought me a treasure. Yes! here is a grub not so far advanced it has not consumed all its bee-bread." His Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire des Insectes extend to six quarto volumes, illustrated by numerous plates. They were published between 1734 and 1742, and contain the result of numer ous observations made principally in his own garden, where he kept insects of all kinds, for the purpose of studying their habits, metamorphoses, &c. His style is somewhat diffuse; but for sagacity of observation, ingenuity of means, and cautious deduction, they are perfect models for the naturalist, and possess all the charms of a romance for the general reader. Bee-bread is a mixture of honey and the pollen of flowers, with which bees feed their young. My honest gardener has engaged to send you some more of these nests," said the Abbé; who did not prolong his visit, since he saw how eager his friend was to study the specimens without interruption. It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader that insects provide for the continuance of their species by depositing their eggs in some safe place, with food at hand for the sustenance of the young grubs as soon as they are hatched. In many cases, the parent insect constructs a separate cell for each individual grub, filling it with food, depositing a single egg in the midst of the food, and then carefully sealing up the cell. In due time-in some species not before the following spring -the grub is hatched, and begins to consume the food provided by its careful mother; it grows rapidly, and fills up its narrow cell in proportion as its food disappears. When nothing more is left to eat, the grub prepares for its metamorphosis; it spins a silken shroud, or cocoon, in which it entirely conceals itself, remaining perfectly motionless and without food often during the whole winter. It is now called a chrysalis, and is the transition state between a caterpillar with perhaps sixteen legs, powerful jaws, and a voracious appetite, and a winged insect with six legs and a tube or proboscis, for sipping the nectar of flowers, or other liquid or juicy food. This is the imago, or perfect insect, which passes a short but active life, employed chiefly in providing for another generation, which she is destined never to behold; for as soon as her nest is complete, and all her eggs deposited, she falls a victim to the first cold of autumn. Such is the general outline of insect existence; there are many variations, it is true, but these need not occupy our attention here. As soon as M. Réaumur had received the promised supply of leaf-nests from Andelis, he examined them very minutely. Each roll contained six or seven little cups of equal size, all concealed under a common envelope of leaves. These cups, as already noticed, fitted into each other, end to end, forming cells, each of which was destined to shelter a single worm from the time of its birth until it had attained the perfect insect form, and containing also the proper supply of liquid honey, or bee-bread, for its nourishment. All this was done with morsels of leaf skillfully arranged, without paste or glue, but simply by lapping over each other in a curved form. The pieces which compose each cell are of nearly the same shape. When cut from the leaf each piece is of course flat, but the bee knows how to bend it to her purpose; and she even folds down a porton of each piece, so as to form a base to the cell. Three similar and equal pieces, of a somewhat oval form, are more than sufficient to form a cell three lines in diameter and about six lines long. Strength is given to the cell by making the pieces that compose it lap over each other, and they are retained in their places by the spring which they acquire in drying. A cell, however, of three pieces is not sufficiently strong to hold the grub securely, and prevent the escape of its liquid food; the careful mother, therefore, folds three more pieces round the cell, and adjusts them in the same manner, and sometimes three or even six more; so that it is not uncommon to find a cell composed of twelve pieces of leaf, all of the same size, or nearly so, skillfully and artistically folded into the form of a hollow cup, capable of holding liquid honey. Nor is this all. The little pot of honey being placed horizontally, a cover must be provided to prevent the liquid from flowing out. As soon, therefore, as the bee has filled the cell with bee-bread, within about half a line of the top, and has deposited an egg, she cuts out a circular piece of leaf, and fits it accurately into the open mouth of the cell. If one does not seem sufficient, she applies another, or even a third of these circular plates, which are kept in their places by the slightly conical form of the cell. The rim of the cell projects above these covers, forming a slight hollow, into which the bee carefully inserts the base of a new cell, which is finished as before; and in this way she completes a pile of six or seven cells, forming a tolerably equal cylinder. Lastly, she covers up these cells with an envelope formed of larger pieces of leaf than those previously used, and thus the nest is complete. M. Réaumur found the bee-bread in the cells to be of a reddish color, of a sweet yet acid taste, and as fluid as honey. He carefully examined his rose-trees, and found that portions had been cut out of the leaves exactly corresponding to the sections which composed the nests. He there fore determined to watch during several hours, at different parts of the day, in hopes of seeing the insect at work. He had not long to wait; for, about noon, on the second day of his watch, he observed a bee alight on a shrub, near the rose-bush to which he chiefly directed his attention, and, apparently finding everything quiet, the insect came over to the rose-bush, placed herself beneath a leaf, seized with her two mandibles the edge nearest to her, and cut it as easily as with a pair of scissors, advancing first toward the principal nervure of the leaf, and then sweeping round again to its edge, soon detached a piece, with which he flew away. All this was done with as much rapidity as one could cut out a similar piece from a sheet of paper with a pair of good scis sors. tance from her nest, the exact size of the little circular lids to her honey-pots, and also to adjust the varying dimensions of the oval pieces for the cells, and for their common envelope. But, before the little insect begins to form her nest, she must excavate a tunnel in the earth for its reception. This is a work of great labor, in which she is entirely unassisted, (the male taking no part in the concerns of the household :) she has to dig and to remove much loose earth before a nicely-rounded cylinder is completed, proper to mold the leaves to the necessary degree of curvature. This being done, M. Réaumur supposed her proceedings to go on in the following order: she first lines the tunnel with leaves, which, in fact, form the outer case or envelope of the pile of cells already noticed. Entering the tun M. Réaumur did not see this operationnel with the piece folded between her legs, repeated more than two or three times during this season; but, in the following spring, no sooner were his rose-trees in leaf, than he cast an eye upon them every time he went into his garden, and, as soon as any of the leaves had been cut, he began to watch them; this was about the end of May, and he soon had the satisfaction of frequently witnessing the little artisans at work in collecting sections of leaves for their nests. During this season he made an immense number of observations, from which we select the following general remarks: When a bee arrives at a rose-bush, it generally hovers over it for some seconds, as if to select a leaf. In the very act of alighting she seizes it between her mandibles and begins to cut, not ceasing until the whole piece is detached. As the piece is cut, the bee bends it between her legs, and, when in the act of separating it from the leaf, she vibrates her wings; then, giving the final cut, she falls through a few inches, recovers herself, and flies merrily away. The facility and precision with which she cuts the different pieces-the oval, the semi-oval, and the circularvarying their size according to circumstances, are truly wonderful; without any guide but the instinct with which the Almighty has furnished her, she cuts out geometric figures in a position which one would think most disadvantageous to correct workmanship. Without rule or measure, and even without seeing the line along which she cuts, she is able to tell, at a dis she spreads it out, pressing it carefully against the sides; she repeats this process many times, always using large oval pieces, until a very compact lining is formed. She then proceeds to construct the first cell at the bottom of this tube, and, having completed it, goes out to collect the nectar of flowers, covering herself at the same time with pollen: she elaborates the one in her stomach into honey, and disgorging it into the cell, mixes the other with it, thus forming her bee-bread. She next deposits an egg, and then once more visits the tree to cut out a disk of leaf, with which she stops up the cell. This cell being completed, and not before, a second is begun and finished in like manner, then a third, and so on until the whole is finished. Although a great number of bees flew away every day with their segments of leaves, M. Réaumur had not as yet succeeded in tracing the locality of any one nest. Were he to follow a bee to her home he would not be able, it is true, to watch her proceedings in her dark abode ; yet, by examining the nest when about half finished, some new circumstances might be developed tending to confirm the view taken of the course of the insect's proceedings in constructing her nest. M. Réaumur was one day at Charenton, watching, with the patience of a naturalist, a bee excavating a tunnel for her nest, when, happening to raise his eyes to the surface of a terrace near him, he saw something green disappear in a crack between two badly-joined stones. On cau |