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he ascribed to me; but rather the gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the echo of it; and though I had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away, resolved to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will be as great as mine.
C. P. CRANCH.
The hours are viewless angels,
That still go gliding by,
To Him who sits on high.
And we who walk among them,
As one by one departs,
Forever round our hearts.
Like summer-bees, that hover
Around the idle flowers,
Those viewless angel-hours.
The poison or the nectar
The heart's deep flower-cups yield,
And leave us in the field.
And some flit by on pinions
Of joyous gold and blue,
Of sorrow's darker hue.
But still they steal the record,
And bear it far away;
No magic power can stay.
That God to us hath given,
The tale is told in heaven.
These bee-like hours we see not,
Nor hear their noiseless wings;
That they have left their stings.
To meet each flying hour,
So, when death brings its shadows,
The hours that linger last
Unfetter'd by the past.
THE CATERPILLAR AND THE BUTTERFLY.
CHRISTOPHER CHRISTIAN STURM.
The transformation of caterpillars into butterflies is one of those phenomena which have great claims upon our attention. The preparatory state previous to this change is very surprising: the caterpillar having cast its skin three or four times, it gradually sinks into a state of torpor, assuming a form that bears no resemblance to a living creature. The insect remains in this state one, two, or three weeks, sometimes even ten months, until its transformation is completed, when it makes its way out of its shell, and soars in the air as a beautiful butterfly.
There are two kinds of butterflies: the wings of the one kind close perpendicularly, those of the other horizontally;
the former fly during the day, the latter at night. The caterpillars from which the nocturnal insects (moths) issue spin themselves a cone as the time approaches for their change, or else they bury themselves. Those which are, properly speaking, butterfly caterpillars, suspend themselves in the open air, to a plant, a lath, a wall, or some such thing; to effect this they spin a very fine web, in which they envelop themselves; they then drop themselves down, and are suspended with their head inclining a little upwards. Other kinds attach themselves by a thread passed round the middle of their bodies, and which is fastened at each end. In one or the other of these ways all butterflies prepare for the grand transformation they are about to undergo. Thus both butterflies and moths may be said to bury themselves alive, and prepare quietly to await the end of their caterpillar state, as if foreseeing that, after a short repose, they should receive a new existence, and appear
under a more beautiful form. The death and resurrection of the just cannot be better typified than by a comparison with this change of the caterpillar: to the true Christian death is but a sleep, a state of calm repose after the troubles and miseries of this world, a momentary torpor, a transitory privation of life, from which they shall rouse and awake to a life of glorious immortality. What is a caterpillar ? A crawling insect, blind and despised, which, while it drags on its joyless existence, is exposed to an infinity of accidents and persecutions. Has man a better fate in this world?
The caterpillar prepares for its change with the greatest care. In like manner the just conduct themselves : having death always before their eyes, they await with tranquillity and joy the happy instant which shall open to them the prospect of a better world.
The sleep of the caterpillar is not lasting : it is but the forerunner of a state of perfection. Formerly it crawled on the ground; now it soars aloft, clothed in the loveliest form, and adorned with the most brilliant hues; no longer blind, it enjoys a thousand pleasures unknown to it in its former state; instead of the most homely food, it now wanders from flower to flower, extracting delicious honey, and sipping the rosy dew.' In all this I see a lively picture of the resurrection of the just; their weak and terrestrial frame is exchanged for one of glory; while enveloped in their earthly coil, they were subject to passions, and occupied with sensual grovelling objects; but, after their resurrection, their body shakes off its earthly particles, and, light and glorious, it ascends above the stars, and at a glance embraces all nature. The souls of the virtuous rise towards the heaven of heavens; they approach the dwelling of the Omnipotent, and, wrapped in sublime meditations, contemplate their Maker face to face: before their death truth was concealed from them : now it appears clearly to their view, and they can support its dazzling brilliancy. Their bodies being now spiritualized, glorified, and incorruptible, they no longer demand gross food to satisfy their thirst and hunger : other sensations compose their felicity; a pure joy swells their heart, and celestial food forms henceforth their support.
What an important lesson does this furnish? If, my Christian friend, such is the happy revolution you are to expect, prepare duly for it. If your present state is imperfect and momentary, consider that it is not final, and that the short time you have to pass here below is as nothing when compared with eternity.
The republic of caterpillars, which are divided into two general classes, that is to say, into moths and butterflies, are subdivided into divers families, each of which has its peculiar properties and character. The
name given to one of these families is that of silkworm; this caterpillar is composed like the others, of several moveable rings, and it is provided with twelve feet, with which it moves or fastens itself; it has two rows of teeth, which do not move up and down like ours, but from right to left; with these it tears, cuts, and craunches the leaves on which it feeds; down the back of the insect a vessel is plainly distinguished through the skin, swelling and sinking alternately, acting as the heart does in other animals; on each side the silkworm has nine little apertures, which answer the purpose of lungs, assisting the circulation of the chyle and nutritious juices; under its mouth it has two openings, through which it exudes the drops of the gum that its bag contains; these may
be called the storehouse, constantly supplying the matter with which it forms its silk. The gum which exudes from these two openings takes the form of two threads, losing immediately all fluidity, acquiring a consistency sufficient to envelop and suspend the caterpillar; the two threads are united into one by the two fore paws. This double thread is not only very thin, but also very strong, and is of an astonishing length: the silk thread of every cone is nearly five hundred yards long; and, as this thread is double in its whole length, one thousand yards is the actual quantity of silk one worm will spin; the weight of this silk is two grains and a half only. The life of this insect in its worm state is very
short: it passes, however, through several stages of existence, approaching by degrees its state of perfection. When it is first hatched it is a very small black worm, the head being conspicuous from its peculiar depth of colour. In a few days it assumes an ashy tint; this in the course of a little time becomes soiled and wrinkled, and then the insect throws it off; by degrees it increases in size, and its skin is of a greenish white; this arises from its feeding upon green leaves. Some short time after this, the length of which varies according to the degree of heat and the quality of its food, it ceases to