creatures do. Then, though they do not assist one another in building, they are mutually serviceable in many ways. Should a large bird of prey hover about a rookery, for the purpose of carrying off any of the young ones, they all unite to drive him away. When they are feeding in a flock, several are placed as sentinels upon the trees all around, who give an alarm if any danger approach. They often go a long way from home to feed; but every evening the whole flock returns, making a loud cawing as they fly, as though to direct and call in the stragglers. The older rooks take the lead; you may distinguish them by the whiteness of their bills, occasioned by their frequent digging in the ground, by which the black feathers at the root of the bill are worn off.

Fr. Do rooks always keep to the same trees?

Mr. St. Yes they are much attached to them; and when the trees happen to be cut down, they seem greatly distressed, and keep hovering about them as they are falling, and will scarcely desert them when they lie on the ground.

Fr. Poor things! I suppose they feel as we should, if our town were burned down or overthrown by an earthquake.

Mr. St. No doubt! Societies of brute animals greatly resemble those of men; and that of rooks is like those of men in a savage state, such as the communities of the North-American Indians. It is a sort of league for mutual aid and defence, but in which every one is left to do as he pleases, without any obligation to employ himself for the whole body. Others unite in a manner resembling more civilized societies of men. This is the case with the beavers. They perform great public works by the united efforts of the whole community; such as damming up streams, and constructing mounds for their habitations. As these are works of great art and labour, some of them must probably act under the direction of others, and be compelled to work, whether they will or not. Many curious stories

are told to this purpose by those who have observed them in their remotest haunts, where they exercise their full sagacity.

Fr. But are they all true?

Mr. St. That is more than I can answer for; yet what we certainly know of the economy of bees may justify us in believing extraordinary things of the sagacity of animals. The society of bees goes farther than that of beavers, and, in some respects, beyond most among men themselves. They not only inhabit a common dwelling, and perform great works in common, but they lay up a store of provision, which is the property of the whole community, and is not used except at certain seasons and under certain regulations. A bee-hive is a true image of a commonwealth, where no member acts for himself alone, but for the whole body. Fr. But there are drones among them, who do not work at all.

Mr. St. Yes-and at the approach of winter they are driven out of the hive, and left to perish with cold and hunger. But I have not leisure at present to tell you more about bees. You shall one day see them at work in a glass hive. In the mean time, remember one thing, which applies to all the societies of brute animals; and I wish it did as well to all those of men likewise.

Fr. What is that?

Mr. St. The principle upon which they all associate, is to obtain some benefit for the whole body, not to give particular advantages to a few.

*The researches and observations of entomologists, however, tend to show that the government and modes of action of bees, beautiful and interesting as they are, and displaying the wisdom and goodness of the Creator in an eminent degree, are the results of instinct rather than of any reasoning or intellectual power. The labours of the beaver, on the contrary, and also the conduct of some of the monkey tribes,

may be regarded as flowing from an intellectually controlling power: in other words, that those creatures, with the elephant and some others, possess the attribute of reason, in a degree. Ants, also, in their forms of government-in their method of leading, under regularly-appointed officers, their squadrons in hostile array to battle-in their taking of prisoners in the hour of victory-and in their making slaves of those prisoners, which they condemn to the performance of menial offices, though they treat them kindly—all indicate the possession of a loftier intellect than that of bees.-EDITOR.

THE SHIP.

CHARLES OSBORN, when at home in the holidays, had a visit from a schoolfellow who was just entered as a midshipman on board of a man-of-war. Tom Hardy (that was his name) was a free-hearted, spirited lad, and a favourite among his companions; but he never liked his book, and had left school ignorant of almost everything he went there to learn. What was worse, he had imbibed a contempt for learning of all kinds, and was fond of showing that contempt. What

does your father mean," said he to Charles, "by keeping you moping and studying over things of no use in the world but to plague folk ?-Why can't you go into his majesty's service like me, and be made a gentleman of? You are old enough, and I know you are a lad of spirit." This sort of talk made some impression upon young Osborn. He became less attentive to the lessons his father set him, and less willing to enter into instructive conversation. This change gave his father much concern; but, as he knew the cause, he thought it best, instead of employing direct authority, to attempt to make a new impression on his son's mind, which might counteract the effects of his companion's suggestions.

Being acquainted with an East-India captain, who

was on the point of sailing, he went with his son to pay him a farewell visit on board his ship. They were shown all about the vessel, and viewed all the preparations for so long a voyage. They saw her weigh anchor and unfurl her sails; and they took leave of their friend amidst the shouts of the seamen and all the bustle of departure.

Charles was highly delighted with this scene; and as they were returning, could think and talk of nothing else. It was easy, therefore, for his father to lead him into the following train of discourse.

After Charles had been warmly expressing his admiration of the grand sight of a large ship completely fitted out and getting under sail; "I do not wonder," said his father, "that you are so much struck with it :—it is, in reality, one of the finest spectacles created by human skill, and the noblest triumph of art over untaught nature. Nearly two thousand years ago, when Julius Cæsar came over to this island, he found the natives in possession of no other sort of vessel than a sort of canoe, called a coracle, formed of wicker-work covered with hides, and no bigger than a man might carry. But the largest ship in Cæsar's fleet was not more superior to the coracle of the Britons, than the Indiaman you have been seeing is to what that ship was. Our savage ancestors ventured only to paddle along the rivers and coasts, or cross small arms of the sea in calm weather; and Cæsar himself would probably have been alarmed to be a few days out of sight of land. But the ship we have just left is going by itself to the opposite side of the globe, prepared to encounter the tempestuous winds and mountainous waves of the vast Southern Ocean, and to find its way to its destined port, though many weeks must pass with nothing in view but sea and sky. Now what do you think can be the cause of this prodigious difference in the powers of man at one period and

another ?"

Charles was silent.

"Is it not," said his father, " that there is a great deal more knowledge in one than in the other ?" "To be sure it is," said Charles.

Father. Would it not, think you, be as impossible for any number of men, untaught, by their utmost efforts, to build and navigate such a ship as we have seen, as to fly through the air?

Charles. I suppose it would.

Fa. That we may be the more sensible of this, let us consider how many arts and professions are necessary for this purpose. Come-you shall begin to name them, and if you forget any, I will put you in mind. What is the first?

Ch. The ship-carpenter, I think.
Fa. True-what does he do?
Ch. He builds the ship.

Fa. How is that done?

Ch. By fastening the planks and beams together. Fa. But do you suppose he can do this as a common carpenter or joiner makes a box or set of shelves? Ch. I do not know.

Fa. Do you not think that such a vast bulk requires a great deal of contrivance to bring it into shape, and fit it for all its purposes?

Ch. Yes.

Fa. Some ships, you have heard, sail quicker than others-some bear storms better-some carry more lading-some draw less water—and so on. You do not suppose all these things are left to chance? Ch. No.

Fa. In order with certainty to produce these effects it is necessary to study proportions very exactly, an to lay down an accurate scale, by mathematical line and figures, after which to build the ship. Much ha been written upon this subject, and nice calculations have been made of the resistance a ship meets with in making way through the water, and the best means of overcoming it; also of the action of the wind on the sails, and their action in pushing on the ship by means