workers, that kings have counted golden cups, ɔrnamented with enamel, among their chiefest treasures.

Nature's great repertory has probably suggested to the mind of man most of the objects he reproduces by his art. The first idea of a picture was, perhaps, conceived by seeing a reflection of the surrounding scenery in the quiet waters of a pellucid lake. The classic columns of ancient Greece, with their leafy capitals, were introduced to the human mind by the straight bare stems of trees crowned with their foliage. What more graceful arch can be imagined than that made by the branches of trees meeting, above our heads, across a path or roadway?

Where, then, must we look for a visible tangible thing in Nature which could suggest the art of enamelling?

Perhaps the most familiar example of such an object is the pretty little lady-bird who has so often delighted our hearts as children.

No enamelling can exceed in beauty the manycoloured, polished surface of this little insect. Almost a perfect hemisphere in shape, some of these creatures look more like a tiny burnished knob of brilliant red coral inlaid with jet and amber, than the embodiment of life and action.

Not only as children, but as grown-up responsible beings, we have every reason to love and cherish the pretty beetle. Its whole active life, as a grub and as a perfect insect, is one long devotion to the service of man.

Some farmers think that when lady-birds are very abundant their crops will suffer in consequence. Never was a greater mistake made, as we shall presently learn.

There are a number of different-looking insects, such as green-fly, plant-lice, blight, &c., which infest our beautiful rose-trees, fruit-trees, delicate hot-house plants, and hardier garden shrubs. "The fly," as it is called, is the terror of hop-growers, and other kinds of the same insect are the farmers' greatest enemies. These pests are all called by the same general name, aphis, and, except to act as honey-producers for the industrious little ants, their sluggish but very reproductive lives are spent in doing damage.

Now, the lady-bird is extremely fond of aphidesin fact, her only nourishment consists of these lazy devouring creatures, whose sole object in existence seems to be to eat. Nothing disturbs them. They fall a prey to many kinds of insects, birds, &c.; but they still eat on, heedless of the ravages made in their ranks by their enemies. They keep in one spot all their lives, probably never moving an inch along the leaf or stalk whereon they were born. Where they fall, there they stay and feed.

The lady-bird knows all about their inactivity, and also what trees or plants aphides infest. She is likewise aware that, as grubs, her children can only eat aphides. Therefore it is that she fixes her little. patch of twenty or more bright yellow, oval eggs

where their favourite food is likely to be plentiful when they are hatched. Farewell to a great proportion of the plant-lice when the little lead-coloured, yellow-spotted grubs emerge from their golden shells; and good riddance to bad rubbish.

After a few weeks spent in feasting and revelry, the satiated larvæ fix themselves by a kind of natural glue to the under side of a leaf, and there remain for some time in a perfectly motionless and apparently lifeless state. Inwardly, however, a great work is being carried on. The dead-looking chrysalis is pregnant with life; and when the full time has come, a living, beautiful lady-bird breaks through the outer skin, and flies away to continue the work it began as an ugly little grub.

LARVA OF THE LADY-
BIRD.

It flies away! How? As it creeps along one's hand we can see no sign of wings. The shining, dome-shaped surface looks as solid as a glass bead. The little beetle in preparing for flight appears to split her brilliant rounded back down the centre, and when the two parts are extended we see, crossed over her back, the transparent gauze-like members which, when spread, serve to carry their owner through the air. The tough, enamelled-looking wings are in reality wing-cases; the true wings with which the insect is enabled to fly are, when not in use, carefully folded away beneath the many-coloured outer coverings.

admiration. It abounds in Britain, and the larger kinds are prevalent throughout the hotter parts of Europe. When the cold weather begins, many of these little beetles may be found in the crack of a gate-post, or any other snug corner, all huddled together for the sake of warmth or company. Should a bright sunny day chance to come, out they fly in search of their one dainty. As perfect insects, however, they have nothing like such voracious appetites as are possessed by them as grubs.

Grieved as one must be to sully the stainless reputation generally claimed for the lady-bird, there is one little particular in connection with the pretty, useful little beetles which suggests unpleasant thoughts. The odour which they give off is of such a nature as to bring to mind another insect, neither pretty nor useful, but the abhorrence of all good housewives. It is not necessary to mention

names.

The disagreeable smell has been given to the lady-bird most likely as a weapon of defence. If it is as obnoxious to the animals who prey on it as it is to mankind, it must be a safe protection to the possessor.

For the insect it may be a defence; but it is an offence to us, especially when, while resting on our hand, the beetle exudes from between the rings of its body the yellowish fluid which is the secret of its bad odour.