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Title: The Perambulations of a Bee and a Butterfly,

Author: Elizabeth Sandham

Release date: July 20, 2013 [eBook #43270]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Dianna Adair, John Campbell and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERAMBULATIONS OF A BEE AND A BUTTERFLY, ***




Produced by Dianna Adair, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)







TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Obvious spelling, typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the
text and consultation of external sources. More detail can be found at
the end of the book.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.




  THE

  PERAMBULATIONS

  OF A

  _Bee and a Butterfly_,

  &c. &c.

  [Illustration]

  Published by Tabart & Co. 12, Clifford Street, May 1812.




  THE

  PERAMBULATIONS

  OF A

  _Bee and a Butterfly_,

  In which are delineated

  THOSE SMALLER TRAITS OF CHARACTER WHICH
  ESCAPE THE OBSERVATION OF LARGER
  SPECTATORS.

  _BY MISS SANDHAM_,
  AUTHOR OF THE TWIN SISTERS, &c.

    "The daily labors of the Bee
    "Awake my soul to industry."

                            GAY.

  LONDON;

  _Printed by W. Lewis, Paternoster-row;_

  FOR B. TABART AND CO. CLIFFORD-STREET, NEW BOND-STREET;
  AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS.

  1812.




  CONTENTS.


     CHAP. I.

     A young Bee, deceived by fine weather, leaves the Hive too early,
     and contrary to the advice and commands of his Mother--His
     sufferings and close confinement, the result of his disobedience:
     excites the compassion of a Butterfly--a friendship formed between
     them in consequence of it.


     CHAP. II.

     The Bee gets again on the wing--Is introduced by his friend to a
     field of cowslips--Interrupted by Children--Instance of vanity
     in the Butterfly--Conversation of the Bee and his Friend as they
     return--He resolves to find his Hive.


     CHAP. III.

     The Bee out early in search of his former abode, accompanies the
     Butterfly to a bed of Tulips--Farther discovery of vanity in the
     latter--Children in pursuit of him--The Bee appears in his defence
     and commits a great _outrage_--He sees his Hive at a distance--His
     Joy on beholding it--His Return and Re-admission there--The
     consequence of a Bee in danger.


     CHAP. IV.

     The farther flights of the Bee and the Butterfly--Visit
     to a Cottage--Such abodes not always the dwelling of
     Peace--Disagreement between two Friends--The meanness of an
     Informer--The Bee's observation on their conduct--Regard to
     appearances observable in Creatures superior to the Butterfly--His
     triumph on perceiving it.


     CHAP. V.

     The Butterfly deceived by a Flower--Their visit to a
     conservatory--The alarm occasioned by their joining a Party after
     Dinner--A Battle ensues--The Bee puts the Ladies to flight--His
     confinement--The Butterfly's anxiety--His Friend regains his
     Liberty and returns late to the Hive--The Butterfly detects
     flattery in a Gentleman to a Lady, and is alarmed by a hint from
     his Friend as they separate for the Night.


     CHAP. VI.

     The Bees swarm--Their fondness for their Queen--The Bee
     in waiting--The Butterfly goes into the Country on a
     party of Pleasure, is overtaken by a Storm--Returns in a
     Stage-coach--An Officer exercising his genius in _hoaxing_ his
     Fellow-travellers--The Butterfly recounts his adventures to his
     Friend--Their remarks on what passed during his Journey.


     CHAP. VII.

     The Butterfly's alarm, and account of a _Naturalist_--Wasps
     ensnared in a Bottle--A Bee drowning in a Pot of Honey, is
     extricated by his Friend--Flies--The Bee's remarks upon them,
     nearly offends his Friend by comparing them with him--The
     Butterfly foretells the approach of Winter, and notwithstanding
     the kind endeavours of his Friend, dies--The Bee's Regret--He
     performs the last Office for him, and returns to the Hive, where,
     after remaining the Winter, he persuades the whole Community to
     remove their Quarters--They forsake their Hive and retire beyond
     the reach of Men.




PREFACE.


The flattering pictures of men and manners, which are drawn in most of
the present publications for youth, can alone be well applied, when
they are considered not as what mankind are, but what they ought to
be; and, indeed, we may search the world through before we find their
likeness.

Such is the simplicity of unguarded youth, that even when disappointed
in their expectation of happiness from one quarter, they seek it in
another equally fallacious; and, drawing all their ideas from fancied
excellencies, fondly imagine, that while looking only for mental
satisfaction, and the pleasures arising from friendship, rational
society, and the exercises of humanity, they cannot be mistaken in the
pursuit; though too often the frequent inconsistencies observable in
those whom they have been led most to admire, excites a sigh of sad
surprise, till from a more enlarged judgment, matured and exercised
with a feeling sense of what they view, they learn that continual and
glaring absurdities are all the fruit produced in nature's soil.

It is to open this lesson to them that the following pages are
written, and with the hope that if Folly does not blind their eyes,
and Prejudice (who, whichever way she turns, chooses to see things
_only_ through her own medium,) has not yet erected her throne in their
breasts, they may receive even from the limited remarks of a Bee and
a Butterfly a gentle hint or two of what they may expect to meet with
in their future walks through life; and thus warned of the strange
contrarieties, perceivable in human nature, escape the additional pang
their being totally unexpected would produce.




THE

PERAMBULATIONS,

&c. &c.




CHAP. I.

  "Imagination to his view
  "Presents it, deck'd with every hue,
  "That can seduce him not to spare
  "His pow'rs of best exertion there."

                             COWPER.


A Bee who had passed the first winter of his life under the fostering
care of his mother, though often warned by her of mistaking a fine day
early in the spring for the summer, or the time in which it would be
of any use to make an excursion from the hive, was eager to begin his
travels; he heard his companions talking of the flights they had taken
in the former summer, and had tasted of the honey they had at that time
brought home, and laid up in store for food when none other could be
procured: he had also enjoyed some of those flights with them, and had
helped to gather in the common stock, (for Bees, though ever so young,
are seldom idle;) but he was not aware that many a cold and wint'ry day
would yet precede the time of gathering in a fresh store; even after
the sun had shone, and the birds had sung, as if it was nearly come.

During the severity of winter he remained quietly in his cell, rejoiced
in the shelter it afforded him, and joined the crowded hive in paying
every respect to their queen and mother, who, while she treated them
with the care and tenderness of a parent, kept up her dignity as a
sovereign, and ruled her subjects with the greatest order. Every part
of her dominions was thoroughly known to her, and nothing suffered to
remain within them that could annoy her numerous family; she rejoiced
in their prosperity, and all were happy under her government except the
little fellow who is to be the hero of my tale. He would often creep to
the entrance of the hive and peep, first on one side and then on the
other, of the covering placed before it by its careful owners, while
the blustering winds were raging around; but no sooner did the least
warm weather appear than it was removed for the inhabitants to have
more air, and this, to our young one, was a joyful sight; he looked
upon it as a prelude to the summer, and running to his companions, he
said, "we shall soon be able to get out, the way is open."

"Be not too eager;" replied one of more experience than himself, "by
the time one winter has passed over your head you may be a little
wiser."

"It _is_ passed, I think," returned the young one, "don't you feel
the warmth of the sun? It reminds me of the pleasant rambles we took
together last summer, and I am impatient to renew them."

"You are indeed _impatient_," replied the hoary Bee, "but time
enough yet; don't you know that our cities are always placed in such
advantageous situations that we have the earliest benefit from the
sun's rays? but let not this make you suppose the season farther
advanced than it is."

"Well, now," replied the conceited chatterer, "only put your head out
and feel how very warm it is."

"No, I thank you," returned the other, with a shrug; "I know what it is
to trust to appearances, and can feel even here that the cold weather
is not gone, and if you go only to the back of the hive you may hear
how the wind still whistles behind it."

"I had rather look at the sunshine," returned the simple one, and
leaving his sage adviser he determined to think that it was because he
was old and lazy he wished to stay at home, and keep others there also,
as an excuse for his own idleness; "let them stay then," said he, "but
for my part I am inclined to make the most of my time, and no doubt
shall bring home many a load before these old creepers will believe
that there is anything to be gathered."

This resolution of the young Bee was not long a secret in the
community; he buzzed it about among all his acquaintances; nor was it
hid from the queen, who, acting in the two-fold character, first warned
him of the danger, and then, on pain of their not being re-admitted,
absolutely forbade any one's going out of the hive without her leave.
But what can deter the obstinacy of a conceited youngster? Nothing. If
experience obliges him to confess that in _one_ thing he is wrong, he
still continues as firmly bent upon another; and if once inclined to
think that he must know as well as others, will continue to think so,
till experience teaches him that in all things he is liable to mistake.
But my little hero was not yet brought to this conclusion, neither
perhaps are many who will read his history; but, as our ingenious
fabulist tells us,--

  "Every object of creation
  "Can furnish hints for contemplation,"

who knows whether something may not be learnt from the history of a Bee?

In spite of the remonstrances of her majesty, he still wished to get
out, and after daily visiting the front of the hive for nearly a month,
during which time the fine weather continued, he began to persuade
himself the interdiction could not extend so far as this; "It has
been fine a great while," said he to himself, "and if we stay within
at this rate we shall let all the summer pass away;" and again his
former surmise returned, "they are old and lazy," continued he, "and
while they have any food left, are determined not to seek for more; I
will not stay, however;" and he was still farther confirmed in this
resolution, when boldly advancing quite out on the block he saw other
Bees, from a neighbouring hive, taking the air, and appearing like
himself to be thinking it high time to get abroad. A swarm of insects
also were enjoying themselves, and frisking about in the warm sun.
Struck with shame that these should be on the wing before him, he at
that moment forgot all the kind admonitions of his mother, and the
punishment that awaited him if he disobeyed them; and mounting in the
air, his loud humming testified his joy at being again at liberty.
But alas! where was he to go? or to what flower could he now pay his
court? The fluttering insects he had seen were but the dancers of the
day, just born to frisk a few hours, and then return to their original
nothingness; and our young adventurer disdained to join the giddy
train, or even to appear to notice what was so unlike the character of
a busy Bee.

It was now the latter end of April, when the thorn is in blossom,
violets and primroses also decorate the hedges, and the hypatica, and
polyanthus "of unnumbered dyes," already appeared in the gardens; but
very few leaves were yet on the trees, though the buds were bursting,
and many of the fruit-trees were in full bloom; to these our little
wanderer winged his way, and as he flew from blossom to blossom, and
from one branch to the other, he could not but acknowledge with regret
that his limbs felt cold, and very different from the vigour they
possessed the former summer. He wished to attribute it to his having
been kept so long within the hive, but a sudden blast soon checked his
ardour; a shivering came over him, and a drowsiness, which he could
not account for, succeeded; presently a pelting shower obliged him to
creep for shelter into a wall, against which the trees were nailed, and
here he began to see his error; "Can I go back again?" said he; "Ah!
no, they will not receive me; my absence is by this time known, and I
am never to be admitted more. Oh, my mother! would that I had followed
your counsel!"

He had scarcely spoken these words, when a mist spread itself before
his eyes; his breath appeared failing, and he found himself still more
inclined to sleep, yet instinct told him that in such a state to give
way to the inclination was dangerous; he feared the cold would seize
him while insensible, and his life must pay for it, but all his efforts
to keep himself awake were vain; the rain continued so, that he could
not get out to use his wings, and at length lost to all recollection,
he sunk stupid and senseless to the bottom of his retreat.

How long he continued in this torpid state I cannot say, but his
friends he had left, after anxiously expecting his return from day
to day, and being disappointed, gave him up for lost; and though he
often awoke during his confinement, it was only to a keener sense of
his misery; his limbs were still too stiff to move, his eyes dim,
and each time that he closed them to return to sleep, (now the only
alleviation of his sorrows,) he concluded he should never open them
again: he breathed a sigh of regret on the remembrance of the home he
had quitted, and would gladly have returned, and in the presence of the
whole community acknowledge his rashness; but alas! he could not now
move a wing: yet as the warm weather came on, he felt himself revive
beyond his hopes: he could look out from the place of his confinement,
and though not so ardent in his expectations as a few weeks before,
he began again to feel a pleasure in the rays of the sun, and to
anticipate a future enjoyment of them. "I shall not die," said he to
himself, "but shall yet be able to accomplish my desire, and shew
myself an industrious Bee."

The trees on which he had before observed only blossom were now full
of leaves; where the bloom had first appeared, he saw the fruit, yet
in its infant state. "This is not now the food for me," said he, and
he looked wishfully around to observe if there were any flowers near,
from which he could gather his accustomed nourishment. While thus
engaged, a Butterfly, on sportive wing, came frisking by, and though he
settled first on one leaf, and then on another, was unmindful of him,
till he fixed directly on that which shaded the place from which our
poor invalid was examining the neighbouring plants. "Oh!" said he, with
a heavy sigh, as he marked the light wing of this new comer, "Oh! that
I could fly like him and ramble from flower to flower, without pain or
dread of any."

The attention of the Butterfly was attracted by the mournful tone in
which this was uttered, and unlike many of his kind, he even stopped
to listen to the complaining insect, and ask if he could relieve him;
"Perhaps," said he, "you are entangled in a spider's web; and though I
am unused to the art of war, I will endeavour to liberate you."

"An offer like this," replied the Bee, "I should not have expected
from one of your nature; but you can give me no assistance; it is not
a web which keeps me here, but ill health, and which I have brought
upon myself by my own folly: I have no one else to blame, that I am not
flying about as you are, though I hope to some better purpose."

"Do not be too sure of that," replied the good-humoured Butterfly, "nor
despise the help of one so insignificant as you suppose I am; if I can
in any way assist _you_, I shall not have been flying about in vain."

"I beg your pardon," returned the Bee, conscious that he should not
have answered in such a manner; "pray let the pain I feel plead my
excuse; I have been confined within this place for I don't know how
long, and now I feel the enlivening beams of the sun without being able
to enjoy them, and must even starve for want of food, after I have
escaped death from the cold that first seized me."

"Do not be discouraged," replied the Butterfly, "look at the border
just below you, where there are many of the most beautiful flowers;
surely they will afford you nourishment; you need not fear starving in
the midst of plenty."

"I can't extend my wings," said the Bee, very mournfully.

"If not your wings," replied his cheerful comforter, "can't you use
your feet and crawl down the wall, and then upon the ground, till you
reach the flowers; don't be afraid, I'll venture my life that you will
be able to fly after taking a little of the delicious food they offer
you."

Animated by the Butterfly's words, the poor half-starved Bee
endeavoured to follow his advice, and slowly creeping forth, he reached
at length the desirable haven of a beautiful convolvulus, whose head
rested on the ground, whilst his compassionate adviser waited on the
nearest bud to observe his progress; "did not I say you could reach
it?" said he, fluttering his wings for joy, "who shall despise the
counsel of a Butterfly?"

"I will not for the future," replied the Bee, as he felt himself
reviving from the sweet smell of the flowers, and the warm rays of the
sun shining full upon his back, and again he entreated him to pardon
the churlishness with which he at first received it.

"Oh, say no more of that," returned the Butterfly, "but tell me if you
do not find yourself better already? what, because you could not fly,
were you to starve? Though it may be a disgrace for one who has wings
to crawl, yet surely it is better to do this than lie down and die; but
I do not despair of seeing you fly to-morrow;" and, as he said this,
extended his wings, as if to depart.

"You will not leave me," said the Bee, who the longer he nestled in the
bell of the flower and tasted the food it afforded, felt his affection
increase for the means through which he had procured it; "Won't you
stay and see me return to my habitation? I think you'll already observe
an alteration for the better."

The Butterfly received this invitation with pleasure; indeed he had
only pretended to be going that he might observe if he was still of so
little consequence in the eyes of the Bee, as for him not to wish his
stay. He therefore readily accepted it, attended him home, and had the
pleasure of seeing him much better able to get up the wall than down
it: and from this time a lasting friendship commenced between them, no
less singular in its kind than in the cause of it; for naturally these
insects do not notice the other.

The Butterfly, after seeing his new friend safely landed at his old
resting-place, and with him a little store of the delicate food he had
been tasting, marked the place, and kindly promised to see him again
the next morning, "when," said he, "I hope I shall find you both able
and willing to take a short flight with me," and then left him.




CHAP. II.

  "Excuse me then if pride, conceit,
  "The manners of the fair, and great,
  "I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
  "Fleas, owls, goats, _butterflies_, and hogs;
  "I say that these are proud; what then?
  "I never said they equal men."

                            GAY.


The Bee thus returned began to feel something like pleasure, and as the
morning sun lighted the place in which he had been so long a prisoner,
his hopes revived that he should yet feel a greater benefit from them.

He had not room to move his wings freely, yet he thought them rather
more pliable, and creeping upon the branch of the tree which shaded the
entrance of his habitation, he endeavoured to cleanse them from the
dirt and stiffness which had incumbered them, and after repeatedly
stroking his back with the little brushes with which Nature had
supplied his feet, he succeeded, and was able to fly from his station
to a neighbouring flower.

He had not forgotten the Butterfly, but he did not suppose that he
would remember him or his engagement of the preceding evening, but
again he had to acknowledge the mistake of prejudice, for he had not
been long upon the flower, (made more sweet by his having found the
use of his wings to obtain it,) before he saw his friend approaching,
flying through the air, and never fixing till he had found the spot on
which he had left him.

The loud humming of the Bee soon discovered that he was not far off,
and the Butterfly hastening towards him, congratulated him on having
found his liberty. "You are taking your breakfast," said he, "I give
you joy of a fine morning," and after the kindest enquiries of how
he now found himself, he expressed his hope that he would be able to
accompany him to a field of cowslips which he had passed at a little
distance; "they smell so sweet, and look so beautiful," continued he,
"hanging down their yellow heads, that though I certainly admire a
greater variety of colours, I could not but be pleased with these, and
had I not wished for your company, could have flown from one to the
other for some time; I am sure one day's feasting on their sweets will
restore you to perfect health; come, shall I lead the way?"

"I cannot but be grateful for your solicitude," returned the Bee, "and
that you should so far forget your nature as to be anxious for me who
am of so different an one; I am able to fly but very slowly, if at
all, and _you_ will like to extend your rambles much farther than I
can accompany you; do not, therefore, think of tying yourself to me."
The Butterfly was evidently disappointed; "I know," said he, "that
our natures are different; I am not held in such high estimation as
yourself, nor am I half so useful, or my life so long as your's; 'the
creatures but of a day,' is what we are generally called, yet that
_day_ it is my wish to spend well, and as far as is in my power to be
of benefit to another; if it was to one meaner than myself it would be
gratifying, but when I consider that it is to a _Bee_ that my services
are useful, it is doubly so; why then will you deny me this pleasure?"

The Bee could not but be struck with this singular proof of friendship
in one from whom he had not deserved it, and though he might be
unwilling that any of his old companions should see him associating
with one whom they were mostly inclined to treat with contempt, he
could no longer resist his importunity, and therefore promised to
accompany him to the place he had mentioned, and where he was amply
recompenced by the delicious food he found there, for the fatiguing
though short flight he had taken to procure it, whilst the good-natured
Butterfly was equally gratified by seeing his friend enjoy the
fragrance he had introduced him to. "You will stay here all day," said
he, "and by night I expect to see you strong and hearty; if you please,
I will fly about a little, and perhaps shall be able to bring you
intelligence of food for to-morrow, but promise me to remain here till
my return."

"Undoubtedly," replied the Bee, half lost in one of the sweet recesses
he was thus enjoying, "believe me I feel your kindness! If you had not
visited me last night, and encouraged my feeble efforts to move, I
should have laid still and died, and all these bounties of Nature would
have been spread in vain for me; indeed, I am obliged to you, and feel
that though you may never be of such service to me again, I should be
sorry to lose your acquaintance."

This acknowledgement was sufficient for the Butterfly, who fluttered
about in grateful joy, and in the course of the day made many
excursions, from all of which he returned with good humour and kind
enquiries; while the Bee continued to fly from flower to flower, and
though he was sometimes ready to regret that he had not a hive, to
which he could carry the produce of his labours, and receive the
commendations of his mother for so doing, he felt that he was yet too
weak to work to much advantage, and therefore tried to be content with
what was necessary for himself.

Several Bees came to this field of sweets, in which he was thus
revelling; but none of his old acquaintance were among them, and he
forbore to speak to them; "though idle myself," said he, "I will not
make others so by engaging them in talk with me;" and indeed so anxious
was he not to disgrace the character of what a Bee _should be_, that
if he thought any of them were noticing him, he would pretend to be
earnestly at work also, lest they should suppose him an idle drone.

In his next visit, the Butterfly brought him such intelligence as he
thought would be agreeable to him; "We are in the land of plenty," said
he, "every thing is flourishing, and innumerable flowers are every
where to be seen."

"I shall soon be able to visit them," returned the Bee, "and after one
more night's rest I shall almost forget that I have been ill; I have
already recovered my spirits, and my health will soon return."

As they were thus talking, they observed a troop of children with
baskets in their hands, and an old man at their head, who seemed to be
directing their steps to the field they were in.

"These are some of my tormentors," said the butterfly, "though they
appear to admire me, and to wish me no harm, they are in reality my
greatest enemies; even the sound of their voices puts me in a fright:
Oh! how sick I am of hearing them singing, "Butterfly, butterfly, come
to me," though you may be very sure I never accept their invitation;
once I was shut up in a box for nearly a whole day by one of these
_kind_ admirers, with a few green leaves for me to eat and sleep upon;
and I suppose she thought she was doing me a very great favor to
procure me such a residence; but I was much more obliged to another
little girl, who in her absence let me out of my confinement, and since
that time I have been more than ever anxious to escape their notice."

"I know nothing of an alarm of that sort," replied the Bee, "children
are in general afraid of me, and I have sometimes been half inclined to
regret it, though in reality I believe it is the best thing that could
happen, but these," continued he, "if I am not mistaken, are going to
be otherwise employed than in admiring either you or me, for I think we
shall see them gathering the flowers on which we have been feeding,"
and this was actually the case, for as they entered the field, the old
man encouraged them to begin by promising that when the wine was made
for which these cowslips were to be gathered, they should all have a
glass of it.

"What devouring creatures are these men," observed the Bee, "every one
of these sweet flowers will be destroyed to make their wine; but they
are 'the Lords of the Creation,' and take away at one stroke what would
satisfy us more moderate creatures for months and months; but see, the
children are coming, had you not better take to your wings?"

"Not yet," replied the Butterfly, "they are going to be otherwise
engaged; 'tis when they are idle, or at play, that I have most reason
to be alarmed, and besides here are a great many more of my race
frisking about, though among ever so great a number, I am the most
admired."

The Bee smiled at this discovery of vanity in his friend, though he
made no reply, and as the children began clearing the field at the
other end of it, they continued a little longer to enjoy the sweets
they were so soon to be deprived of, till the shades of the evening
began to advance, when the Bee proposed returning home, and bade
adieu to those charming flowers from which he had gathered health and
strength, and a sufficient stock of honey to take home with him.

"Where do you repose for the night?" said he to his friend, "have you
no settled place of abode, or do you rest upon the first flower you
meet with?"

"I generally pass the night under a green leaf, or in the cup of a
flower," replied the Butterfly, "and may this evening find a place to
repose in near _your_ habitation, if you have no objection."

"I should be glad of your company within it," returned the Bee, "were
it large enough to admit us both, but what do you live upon? cannot you
taste some of the provision I am going to carry home? you shall be very
welcome."

The Butterfly testified his thanks by a fluttering of his wings; "but I
do not particularly relish that food," said he, "and you would perhaps
wonder what it is we do eat, for it is no uncommon opinion that we live
upon air; however, in our reptile state, we make up for our little
eating now; were you to see the devastation we make in the vegetable
world, you would be surprised; three or four dozen of us will destroy
a bed of cabbages in an hour or two, and we often strip a shrub of all
its leaves in the course of a morning."

"And do you boast of this?" replied the Bee; "surely it is exulting in
mischief."

"It is our _nature_," returned the thoughtless Butterfly; "and what
is the mischief, as you call it, compared to that which men are daily
doing? do they not destroy us by thousands, whenever they have an
opportunity? and why should _you_, of all others, plead for them, who,
when you have spent your lives in their service, and procured for
them that food which they can obtain from no other quarter, burn and
destroy your hives and yourselves too? Oh! I have passed one of these
monuments of their ungrateful cruelty, and seen the mangled remains of
your fellow-creatures till my wings have quite trembled again, and yet
you never do them harm; they form your habitation, and encourage you to
build in them by pretending to shelter you from all evil, yet after all
this fancied kindness, if they think you are too old to labour for them
any longer, as a reward for all you have done, they set fire to your
houses, and destroy thousands of you in the flames! talk no more of
mischief in eating a few cabbages, or devouring the leaves of a tree."

"These are shocking truths," replied the Bee, "my blood runs cold to
think of it, and yet such is my nature that, though I know I am safe
from such devastations where I now am, I would rather add my labours
to the common stock of my native hive, could I but find the way to
return to it, and share the fate of my fellow-labourers, if such a fate
awaits them; but who knows that we may not escape? it is not every Bee
that is thus destroyed."

"Nature," returned his friend, "has armed you with a defensive weapon
with which I think you might soon repel your destroyers: but as for us
poor _Butterflies_, we can do nothing to defend ourselves."

"'Tis true," returned the Bee, "we have this weapon, and we have often
made our enemies fly by using it; but you must know, such is their
cunning cowardice, that they will not attack us on equal terms; they
must have the covert of the night for their cruel work, and when we are
all in our hives, each enclosed in their waxen cell, they begin the
horrid massacre; I should feel it more, but that I believe they take as
great delight in destroying each other as they do in killing us; for
I have heard them rejoicing together that so many of the _enemy_ were
slain, and I know they mean their fellow men by _this_ appellation, for
they don't _dignify_ us with that title; their great enmity to insects
arises from what they destroy; and yet, in one day, they themselves
devour more than any of them, but then they think every thing that can
be useful to them was only made for that purpose, and no one can say
they do not take care to make it fulfill that end, whatever else is
left undone."

"But the question is, whether they have any right to destroy you, after
that is done?" rejoined the Butterfly.

"A question too hard for me to answer," returned the Bee; "but this I
know, that we have a right to defend ourselves against them whenever
we can; and I know also, that for the kindness you have shown me I'll
defend you from their attacks as long as I am able: but we are arrived
at my dwelling, let us rest upon this tree while the sun is taking its
last peep at the horizon."

After refreshing themselves with a little of the honey the Bee had
brought home, and of which the Butterfly just tasted a little, because
he would not appear to refuse what was kindly meant, they parted for
the night, the Bee resolving to travel farther the next day, and, if
possible, to find out his old habitation, though not without assuring
the Butterfly that if he should be so happy as to be re-admitted, it
should make no difference in his friendship for him.




CHAP. III.

  "And thus a never-ceasing pleasure flows,
  "Or to the human, or the bestial race,
  "From those ideal charms we all attach to place."

                             LOCAL ATTACHMENT.


The next morning our two friends awoke with the sun, and before half
my readers are out of their beds, their peregrinations commenced, one
in quest of whatever he could turn into something useful, the other to
find what was new and entertaining. When they met, the Bee was still
desirous of finding his old habitation. "But why?" said the Butterfly,
"surely the little cell you now live in will do very well for the
summer; you are in no danger where you are, and have the delightful
privilege of calling it all your own."

"All this is true," replied the Bee, "but what a life am I now
leading? adding nothing to the general stock; while all my brethren are
busily employed in gathering what will be of equal benefit to each,
no, no: there is a pleasure in being thus mutually assistant to others
which only those who have experienced it can know; and I am resolved,
if possible, to enjoy it again."

The Butterfly looked surprised, for though capable of that attachment
which proceeds from finding an agreeable companion; and with some idea
of the services bestowed upon those we love, and which endears the name
of friend, he could not imagine that any pleasure could arise from
spending his time in labour; but as long as his friend had assured
him of the continuance of his regard, he was desirous that he should
obtain what he wished, and willingly offered to assist him in the
search.

During their airy rounds they often stopped to refresh themselves on
some favorite flower, and though seldom fixing on the same, and to a
casual observer did not appear to be at all connected, they were never
out of sight of each other. It was from one of these resting places,
in which the Bee was delightfully employed extracting sweets from an
"extended field of blossomed beans," that the Butterfly stretched his
wings to a neighbouring garden; here such various beauties met his eyes
that he could not help returning to call his friend to enjoy them with
him. "Such a bed of tulips, I have met with," said he, "whose splendid
colours can only be equalled by my wings; pray come, and see what
lovely flowers."

"Have you not yet learnt that there is something more valuable in a
flower than its colour?" returned the Bee, with a smile; "for my part
I would prefer these honeyed beans, though I suppose you would think
them hardly worth looking at, but of all other flowers tulips have
the least sweetness about them, and are fit only to please the eye of
those men and butterflies who judge only by appearance; but though I
have seen the former admiring a bed of tulips, I have often observed
that if they wish to ornament themselves, or their houses, the flowers
which we chiefly prefer are also the objects of their choice! as for
these beans, though I believe they admire their smell, men are, as I
said before, such destructive creatures, that while they are enjoying
what is sweet they are at the same time destroying it; and as they
expect something still more valuable from these flowers, they are
content to let them remain upon their stalks; but we can have our fill
of their sweets, and yet not injure what they will hereafter produce.
Oh! had I but a hive to go to," continued he, as he stretched his
wings to accompany his friend, "how many times should I have gone
thither yesterday, and to-day from the cowslips and the beans, and what
repeated loads should I have carried home."

"Surely, surely," thought the idle Butterfly, "you need not regret
that; to fly hither and thither as you like, with no incumbrance of any
kind, and, no care beyond to-morrow, is far better;" so thought the
Butterfly, and so perhaps think many Butterflies of the human race; but
he forbore to repeat his sentiments on this subject, for, unconscious
to himself, he was awed by the superiority of his friend, while he felt
no wish to be of the same opinion.

"And so these are the flowers you admire," continues the Bee, as they
alighted, "and which can only be equalled in Beauty by _your_ wings?
Ah, my dear friend, would not your wings be just as useful if they
were not covered with red and purple? look at the plain white ones of
numbers of your race, who are now flying around us; _you_ cannot extend
your flight farther than _these_; but see, some children are entering
the garden, I question if you will not soon have a greater cause to
regret the beauty of your wings than to admire it, and that you will be
the object of their pursuit as soon as you meet their eyes, while your
plainer brethren will pass unregarded."

This prediction was soon verified, for no sooner did the little ones
perceive this self-admiring Butterfly than they all exclaimed, "Oh!
what a beauty! let us catch it."

"If _you_ get on that side of the bed, and _I_ on this," said a boy,
who appeared to be the eldest of the party, "I will throw my hat at it,
and we shall soon have it in our possession."

"Not for the world, master Henry," said the maid, who accompanied them;
"you would destroy those beautiful flowers at once if you did, and your
papa would be so angry."

"The flowers then are more admired than you are my friend," observed
the Bee, "for you see the maid will not let them be injured, not even
to procure a sight of your still _more_ beautiful wings."

"Don't laugh at me," replied the Butterfly, somewhat mortified; "I am
glad, however, that I have found a place of safety; if I take care not
to quit this station, they will not be able to get at me."

Altho' it was his intention to remain there, his young pursuers would
not let him be at rest, but with one thing and another so contrived
to shake the flowers upon which he settled, that, at last, wearied
out with these repeated removals, he took to his wings, and flew to a
neighbouring rose-tree.

"Now, now," cried all the children, "we shall have it; don't let it get
upon the tulips again, and we shall certainly catch it."

The Bee lay all this time in the bell of a hyacinth, not unmindful of
his friend, or his pursuers, but thinking his present alarm might be an
useful evidence of what he had been saying, and a check to his vanity,
he resolved to let him feel a little more of the dangerous effect
his much-admired beauty was likely to produce; but after the young
folk had given him one or two hasty flights round the garden, he came
forward, and appearing in front of all the young ones, soon checked the
eagerness of their chace.

"A Bee, a bee," exclaimed they, "take care, or it will sting you,"
while the poor trembling Butterfly began to take fresh courage on
seeing his friend approach; and, seating himself on the branch of an
honey-suckle, endeavoured to regain his breath.

The oldest boy was now resolved to make one more effort, and creeping
slowly to the place, put forth his hand to reach the prize, when the
Bee, perceiving his intention, again darted before his eyes, and made
him retreat. "Thank you, thank you, my dear friend," said the poor
Butterfly, "surely they will not attempt to pursue me any more; you
must have sufficiently frightened them."

"I'll do something more than frighten them if they do," replied the
Bee; "they shall feel what it is to enrage one of us;" nor would these
children, animated by the presence of each other, give up their chace,
till the Bee had absolutely fulfilled his threat, by just touching the
hand of one of them with his sharp sting: and Oh! what a clamour was
instantly raised by the whole party for this cruel act, as it was
called; the child cried, and the maid declared it was a shame of the
_nasty_ Bee to sting one who never thought of hurting _him_: while all
the others gathered round their _wounded_ brother to express their pity
and abhorrence of the deed; and while they retired from the garden to
get something to alleviate the smart, our two friends were left to
recover themselves and congratulate each other on their safety. "I
never was so near being taken in my life, and escaped at last," said
the Butterfly; "but to _you_, my friend, I am indebted for my present
liberty; if you had not exerted yourself in my behalf I must have been
in their possession; I tremble at the thought of it, and am completely
tired out in the chace they have given me."

"Now, then, I hope you will acknowledge that your beauty is no real
advantage to you," replied the Bee, "but till you are recovered I will
visit yonder beautiful acasia which seems to court my notice; besides,
I am not without a hope that from it I shall see my ardently desired
home; I seem to remember its being near it."

Our airy traveller spoke this with peculiar animation, but on reaching
the tree, his pleasure was still higher, for, from thence, he beheld
the spot he was in pursuit of; although many hives were near it, he
could distinguish his own from all the rest by a thousand little marks
known only to those who inhabit it. His heart beat with transport;
it appeared to him the abode of peace and plenty, and it was within
his _reach_ also; the flower on which he had rested was entirely
disregarded, and he stood gazing on the well known spot, "stung with
the thoughts of home."

The endearments of his mother returned to his mind with double force,
nor could he fear being well received by her, and if by her, all
the rest he knew dared not use him differently; "I will acknowledge
my disobedience to her commands," said he, "and when she knows what
I have gone through she will forgive me; I shall again receive
her commendations, and repose myself under her mild and equitable
government."

With these thoughts he could scarcely forbear flying away, and rushing
at once into the presence of his friends; but he recollected the poor
Butterfly, and though there was nothing in their natures which could
assimilate, he still remembered that in a great measure he owed his
present health and strength to him; "when first we met," continued he,
"there was nothing in me to induce his affection; I was poor, sick, and
helpless, and yet _he_ was interested for me, and shall I leave him
now? no, I will return and tell him what I have seen, and that though
for the future I shall reside with more suitable associates, we may
still often meet."

Thus determined, he hastened back, with all the liveliness of joy, to
inform his friend, who observed his coming, and the cheerful air with
which he approached; "I have seen my hive," cried the Bee, without
giving him time to make the enquiry, "I have seen it! come, won't you
go with me, and at least see the place to which I am going to return,
and though I cannot ask you to enter with me, (none but bees being
permitted to come in there) I shall never see you when I am out of it
without pleasure."

"My dear friend," replied the Butterfly, "after the kindness you have
shewn me this morning, it would be ungrateful not to rejoice in what
gives you pleasure; I think I am now able to use my wings again, and
will readily accompany you; and though I know I must stand at an humble
distance while you enter, yet I shall be anxious to hear how you are
received, and whether your old companions will forgive your leaving
them."

"I have but the displeasure of _one_ to fear," replied the Bee, "and if
she forgives me, the rest have nothing to do with it, nor have I much
to apprehend from that quarter, since the authority of a sovereign is
tempered by the affection of a parent."

Thus conversing they pursued their flight till arriving at a short
distance from the well-known hive, "Don't you see it?" said the Bee,
fluttering his wings for joy; "don't you behold the welcome spot?"

"I see a number of hives," returned the Butterfly, not quite so
enraptured as his friend, "but which is yours I cannot tell."

"Mark the one into which I fly," said the Bee, "and then you'll know
it."

"But when shall I see you again?" enquired the Butterfly in a
melancholy tone, on seeing his friend preparing for flight; "to-day?"

"Perhaps not," replied the other; "I may not be permitted to come out
again, or I may be indulged with a day's rest, and conversation with
my mother, but do not suffer yourself to doubt my friendship for you,
because I do not fly out every hour and repeat my professions of it;
to-morrow, at farthest, I shall renew my labours for the general good,
and then if you like to accompany me in my flights, I shall be glad of
your company."

With these words he stretched his wings, while the Butterfly bade him
farewell, and watching his approach and entrance to the hive, resolved
to hover round the place in hopes of learning what reception he had met
with.

As the returning vagrant advanced towards the centre of all his hopes
and fears, he felt the latter sensibly encrease, yet he could not
but advance; at first he settled on the block upon which the hive
was placed, every part of which was perfect in his recollection; he
observed no one near, for as it was now the middle of the day, almost
all were out, busily employed, except a few, whom he knew were always
on the watch to keep out every intruder; at length he ventured within
the hive, and immediately all the humming inmates which were then at
home flocked around him; some concluded that he had mistaken his hive,
while others imagined they could recollect his form and figure. "Do
you not know me?" said he, "I once belonged to your fraternity, and my
heart is still knit towards you."

On hearing an unusual murmur the mother queen appeared, with all
her attendant train, to enquire who the bold intruder was? The way
was cleared for her approach, and a solemn silence prevailed, while
the stranger, with unfeigned humility, answered to the question. No
sooner did her majesty know her returning child, than in one loud hum
she expressed her satisfaction, and this was heard and attended to
by all around, and presently the general voice was that he should be
re-admitted.

"I am not returned unto you sick, or unable to work," replied the
delighted Bee, after he had expressed his thanks for their generous
reception of him; and then related to his attentive and sympathyzing
parent all he had gone through since he had so rashly left the hive,
whilst the rest waited till the close of the day before they indulged
their curiosity by hearing it, nor did he forget to acknowledge that
it was to the attention of a Butterfly that he owed his life.

"A Butterfly," returned the queen, whose dignity felt hurt that any of
her race should be indebted to so trifling a creature, "sure you must
have been sunk very low indeed, to need the assistance of a Butterfly."

"I have learnt, my dear mother," replied the young one, "that there is
no creature, however mean, but may be of service some time or other;
the Butterfly is well aware of the great difference there is between
us."

"And sensible, I hope, of the honour done him, in being permitted to
assist a Bee?" rejoined the mother.

This important affair being settled, though not entirely to the
satisfaction of the queen, who while she forbore to say more upon the
subject, resolved narrowly to watch the conduct of her son, fearing
he would gain too much of the frivolity of the Butterfly if he long
associated with him: and after shewing him a cell in which he might for
the future reside, she left him to prepare it for his reception.




CHAP. IV.

  "Think not that treachery can be just;
  "Take not informers' words on trust."

                                GAY.


As the winged inhabitants flocked towards home, laden with their
honeyed store, the return of the wanderer was announced to each; and
the labors of the day being ended, they all gathered round him to hear
the account of his adventures.

In the mean time the Butterfly continued without the hive, not
unpleasantly situated, as a number of flowers were about the place, had
he not been yet in suspense respecting his friend, when, as he was just
going to give up all hopes of meeting with him till the next morning,
he had the pleasure of seeing him come out upon the block, in company
with two or three other Bees. "Will he speak to me now, that _these_
are with him," thought the Butterfly, and he fluttered round the place,
half afraid that he should find the promises of his friend forgotten;
but not so, the Bee, (though perhaps he might feel a little at the
opinion he judged would be formed by his present associates on seeing
him speaking familiarly to one so much beneath them,) flew towards
him, to tell him he had been well received, directing him to a place
of safety in which he might pass the night; "to-morrow," said he, "we
shall meet again."

The Butterfly was much pleased at this unexpected interview, and after
thanking him for his attention, promised to join him in the morning.
The Bee then returned to his companions, and the Butterfly retired to
the place which had been pointed out to him, and from whence he could
see the entrance of the hive, and watch the coming of his friend when
they were next to meet.

I shall now proceed to acquaint my reader with the future travels of
our two friends, and without attending to the minute occurrences of
each day, enter at once upon those events which more particularly
belong to my design. As soon as the sun was sufficiently above the
earth, the inhabitants of the hive hastened forth, eager to pursue
their daily task--

  "Around, athwart,
  "Thro' the soft air the busy nations fly."

And among the first came our young adventurer, whom the Butterfly
immediately prepared to accompany; though till he saw him a little
separated from the others, he did not presume to approach. "How do
you do, my friend?" said the Bee, as soon as he drew near; "are you
inclined for a long flight to-day? I have now a double motive to work
hard, having a wish to make up for my lost time, as well as to shew my
sense of gratitude for the reception I have met with from the friends I
am returned to."

"I am willing to accompany you," replied the Butterfly, "and am glad
to see you in such spirits; but you are already eyeing some of those
beautiful flowers, and while you are engaged with them I will visit the
nearest cottage, and return before you have finished your task."

"That's right," replied the Bee, "and tell me if you find the
inhabitants as well, or as busily employed, as I am going to be."

The Butterfly departed, and on entering the window of the humble
dwelling, he perceived a woman sweeping out the lower room, "which
served them for parlour, kitchen, and hall," and preparing the
breakfast; three or four children were entrusted to the care of another
somewhat older than themselves, and who was endeavouring to keep the
little ones from entering, and interrupting their mother. The Butterfly
was unnoticed by the woman, but no sooner did the children see it, who
(like all others, wanting what is denied them,) were peeping in at the
door and enquiring when they might come in, than a little boy begged
to enter, promising to catch it in a minute, and his entreaties at
last prevailed, though he did not find it quite so easy to take the
nimble creature as he had fancied. He had again and again to watch its
settling, and to experience disappointment in his endeavour to secure
it; while the rest of the little ones were at the door eagerly looking
on, and the mother sometimes fretting, and sometimes laughing at his
fruitless efforts; when all at once the eldest girl gave notice of her
father's approach to breakfast.

[Illustration]

No sooner was this intelligence heard, than the Butterfly was suffered
to rest in quiet; the mother declared that "nothing was ready;" she
scolded the child and blamed herself for being so foolish as to be
stopped in the middle of her work by the chacing of a Butterfly, and
before any thing was in proper order the _master_ entered, who by
his rough voice and peremptory manner seemed determined to keep up the
authority of that title. While he was grumbling at not finding his
breakfast ready, and his children standing silent around the table, the
Butterfly, happy to escape, extended his wings, and returned to his
companion, whom he found still employed at his accustomed task.

"Well, what discoveries have you made," enquired the Bee, "have you
seen any one so busy as me?"

"_One_ was," replied the Butterfly, laughing, "till I put an end to
her work; a little humoured brat of a boy was suffered to enter into
the midst of it, and hunt me from one side of the room to the other,
and this foolish pursuant took the attention of the woman, who stood
with the broom in her hand, admiring the dexterity of her aukward
cub, I suppose, till the approach of the father was announced; then
the scene was entirely changed, the hunt was given over, and she was
cross with herself and every one else because she had been interrupted,
which after all was her own fault; the man came in still more out of
humour, and thus the house which at your first entrance you might have
imagined the abode of peace and domestic comfort, was made directly
otherwise; and _my harmless_ visit, I dare say, they would say was the
cause of it; when to a reasonable observer it would be plain that the
whole of his disturbance arose from the wayward fancy of the child, the
indulgence of the mother, and the ill temper of the father: however,
such is my happy lot, having wings, I could fly away from all their
troubles, but those are to be pitied who cannot escape them."

"During your absence," said the Bee, "I have seen two friends in this
garden, who appeared so happy in the society of each other that I am
anxious to see more of them, such friendship being rather rare among
the human race, and as soon as I have carried home this load of honey,
I intend to visit the house I saw them enter."

"Do, do," replied the Butterfly, pleased to find his friend could
attend to any thing besides his work, "and while you are thus engaged,
I will amuse myself with an old acquaintance or two whom I see yonder."
With these words they parted for a little while, promising to meet
again in the same place, and to which the Bee returned long before
the fluttering Butterfly, who had flown to a neighbouring field,
and there among the daisies and king-cups with which the ground was
nearly covered, he continued with his former associates nearly the
whole morning, idly chacing each other in airy rounds till he had
almost forgot the engagement he had made, and was still less inclined
to regret his living an idle life. "I am not born to work," said he,
"and if the place I fill in the world is not of such importance as my
friend's, as a Butterfly I have an equal right to live, and to follow
my own inclination;" he therefore returned to meet him without an
apology for being behind the time, and on finding him busily employed,
and nearly ready to take home another load, "what," said he, "you could
not leave your favorite work to make your intended visit? surely you
are too intent in gathering that food which I fear you will never be
allowed to enjoy?"

"You are mistaken," replied the Bee, "I have been, and seen the two
ladies, but they are no longer friends." Oh what fickle creatures these
men and women are! young and old, they are all changeable alike. One
was sitting at an open window, and the other walking up and down the
room apparently much distressed; "what not one word?" said she to the
other; "I did not mean to offend you."

No answer was returned, and she continued to express her sorrow, which
was received with the utmost indifference; at length she made another
attempt, and offering her hand to her offended friend, she said, "Come,
Charlotte, will you not be reconciled?"

This also was equally disregarded, and the feelings of the poor
offender seemed entirely altered; she no longer solicited forgiveness,
but left the room, saying, "It is not necessary for me to acknowledge
more; you do not treat me like a friend; talk no more of your regard
for me."

As soon as she was gone the other began singing, as loudly as she could
raise her voice, though the words she uttered now, so far from being in
unison with her mind, as expressed in her countenance, that I could not
help smiling; they were descriptive of content and self-satisfaction,
neither of which I think _she_ could at that time feel.

On leaving her, and entering another window, I was sorry to see the one
I had been interested for in earnest conversation with a third person,
who, pitying her dejected and melancholy appearance, asked if she might
not attribute it to the ill humour of her friend, and while her mind
was thus hurt with the treatment she had received, drew from her a
complaint which perhaps she would not have made at any other time. "She
does not deserve your regard," said the stranger, "and you give up too
much to her;--if you continue to do so, she will by and bye expect you
to say or do nothing but as she directs; and her friendship for you can
never be real if she requires such subjection."

"These are very odd things," observed the Butterfly; "we poor
insignificant creatures never have any thing of this sort; if we
associate together, we do not spend our time in complaining of each
other."

"I have not done with them yet," returned the Bee, "but mean to pay
them another visit, and I fancy shall see still more reason to conclude
that these wonderful creatures, whom the animal race hold in such
respect, are not so steady and constant in their conduct and pursuits
as either they, or we, the still meaner insect tribes, are, though I
must say those of the latter order are not in so much awe of them.
We do not fly from them if they come in our way, but in many things
consider them as subservient to us, and that which _they_ look upon as
exclusively their own, and which a cat or a dog would not venture to
touch, _we_ have most likely made many a meal from before it comes to
their table."

A few days after this, the Bee renewed his visit, as he had proposed,
and there was astonished to see the very same third person now engaged
with the other lady, and relating to her with many exaggerations all
that her offending friend had repeated to her, while smarting under the
effect of her ill humour, though all the pains she took to draw it out
of her, and the encouragement with which she listened to her complaint,
were entirely omitted in the recital. "Only think of this," said the
Butterfly, on hearing an account of his friend's second visit. "Is this
the use they make of the power of speech, and which they imagine sets
them so completely above the animals? surely they had better be without
it, than use it to such a purpose; but what will be the end of this?
will not the eyes of the two friends be opened, think you? and they
will leave the acquaintance of that mean incendiary, who, under such a
show of friendship, endeavours to widen the breach between them?"

"Perhaps not," replied the Bee. "Their conduct may yet want that
consistency; I hope they will be reconciled to each other, but I doubt
whether they will give up this perfidious acquaintance, though the more
their regard for each other increases, the more must their contempt
for her be increased. I question, also, if the tale _she_ has this day
told will not rankle in the breast of the hearer for many future years,
and whether there will ever again be that mutual confidence in the two
friends which once appeared."

The next house they saw, the Butterfly entered alone, as the Bee
observed some flowers at a distance which appeared more worthy of his
attention. While he was busily employed in extracting their sweets,
his friend returned laughing, "Oh!" said he, "I wish you had been with
me. Smile no more at the regard I shew to outward appearance; why
there is a young man who is storming and raging about the house,
because his neckcloths and shirts are not brought home so nicely as
he expected, and he is throwing them from one end of the room to the
other, while the poor woman, who has, perhaps, been working hard to
make them what they are, stands trembling before him, as if she had
committed the greatest trespass in the world. The beauty of my wings
if once destroyed, is lost for ever, but these evils, if they are any,
are soon remedied; and, at the next house," continued he, "is another
instance of the vanity of the sex; _there_ is a boy who has got a new
coat just brought home from the taylor's, and because the day is rather
lowering, and his father won't let him wear it out, he is determined
not to go out at all, and he is now sitting in his own room with the
coat on, though there is no one but himself to admire it. I have seen
females carry their fondness for dress as far as this," continued he,
"but I thought men and boys were above such vanity; I declare I am half
ashamed of them."

At this moment a heavy shower came on, and the Butterfly hastened to
the shelter of a large leaf on a cucumber bed, where also the Bee was
obliged to secure himself, nor could he take home the honey he had
gathered till the rain had ceased.

On his return, he found the Butterfly just ventured from his retreat,
and stretching his wings, he was enquiring of one of his own species,
"if their colours had received any injury?"

The Bee heard the enquiry, and though he believed his friend would
not have made it had he thought him within hearing, he was not now so
inclined to laugh at him as formerly on account of it, "for," said he,
"since I have heard such instances of vanity in a race so superior, I
can forgive it in a Butterfly."

On finding that the drops still continued on the flowers, so as to
prevent his gathering any thing from them, he determined to return to
the hive, and there assist in forming some cells with the wax he had
been busy in procuring, though the Butterfly was earnest in desiring
him to take an afternoon's flight with him, "and enjoy a little
pleasure."

The Bee smiled at what his friend called by that name; "my enjoyment
is to be usefully employed," said he, "and to receive my mother's
approbation; but as I know this is a pleasure _you_ cannot understand,
I would not wish to deprive you of what you can enjoy; go, therefore,
and take your fill of it while you may, and to-morrow perhaps we may
meet again."

His friend departed with this encouragement, yet not able to comprehend
why all creatures did not find a pleasure in the same thing, though
to the eye of reason such a distinction of enjoyments in the various
objects of creation, is an evident token of the Wisdom with which they
are formed.




CHAP. V.

  "If chance a mouse came in her sight,
  "She finely counterfeits a fright,
  "So sweetly screams if it come near her,
  "It ravishes all hearts to hear her."

                                 SWIFT.


The next day the Bee had taken home two or three loads before his
friend made his appearance, who, when he came, expressed his surprise
at finding him where he was. "I have been in such a beautiful
conservatory," said he, "and surely I saw _you_ there, almost buried in
the heart of a flower; and so intent were you upon your labour, that
you would not even answer me when I called; there must certainly have
been something very attractive to have kept you there so long, but how
you got here before me is what I most wonder at."

"I don't understand you," returned the Bee, "I have been in no
conservatory, the utmost of my flights to-day have been from the hive
to this place."

"And have you _really_ been no where else?" said the Butterfly in
astonishment; "why I never saw anything so like you in my life; I
concluded that you were so buried in the flower that you did not hear
my call, or was unwilling to move, lest you should alarm some ladies
and gentlemen who were very near you."

"I think I can tell what has deceived you," returned the Bee, "you have
seen a Bee-Orchis, as they are called, a flower which bears both the
form and resemblance of _our_ species. And so you really took it for
_me_?"

"If it was _not_ yourself," replied the Butterfly, "and you wish to see
your _own_ likeness, pray come with me, and behold it; for never did I
see one Bee so like another, as that flower is like you."

"I have known many of our young ones who are not acquainted with
it," said the Bee, "so deceived by the resemblance, that if they
happen to meet with one, they pass it by, thinking, that one of their
fellow-laborers is engaged there already; but if you will shew me the
spot I will not be so put off."

So saying, he followed the Butterfly, who was immediately on the wing;
and soon arrived at a very large house, one end of which formed the
conservatory. The fragrancy of the flowers it contained, the great
variety of them, and those of the most delicate nature, made the Bee
clap his wings for joy.

"Why, my dear friend," said he, "you have brought me to a
treasure-house indeed; a store of sweets, I can hardly forbear
returning to call all my companions to share it with me; I am sure
there would be work enough for the whole hive were they here."

While he was thus expressing his delight, the Butterfly was searching
for the flower he had noticed before, hardly satisfied, till he had the
testimony of his own eye-sight in seeing them together, that his friend
had told him the truth; however, when he discovered it, and saw the Bee
still flying about in admiration, he was obliged to acknowledge he had
been wrong.

The Bee employed himself here for some hours, during which he had gone
and returned from the hive several times, bringing with him a few of
his companions, who were attracted by the account he gave of this
charming place; the Butterfly also met with much to amuse him, and
continued uninterruptedly to enjoy themselves, till, as the evening
advanced, they resolved to visit some other part of the house, and
the Butterfly led the way to the dining parlour, where some ladies
and gentlemen were sitting after dinner, with a variety of fruits and
wines before them. The attention of the Bee was immediately attracted
by a very fine peach one of the ladies had just taken on her plate, and
little thinking of the consequence of his temerity, he flew towards it:
the lady screamed, and pushed back her chair, while the company eagerly
enquired the cause.

"Oh, a Bee!" exclaimed she, "I am frightened to death if I see one."

"And I," said another, who sat opposite to her, "shall faint, if it
comes near _me_; I really cannot bear it in the room."

At this moment the Bee, as if desirous of seeing whether she spoke
truth or not, flew directly across the table, and alighted on her head.

"Oh where is it?" said she, jumping off her seat, "I am sure it is on
me! dear Mr. Wippersnap," addressing the gentleman who sat next her,
"for goodness sake take it off! what shall I do?"

While the other lady sat fanning to recover her alarm, and the rest of
the party with anxious looks watched the motions of the bold intruder,
the gentleman, proud of his superior courage, "begged them not to be
alarmed, for he would destroy it in a moment;" and giving it a gentle
touch to drive it from its present station, he began the attack with an
open knife he held in his hand, professing that he would cut it asunder
at one blow; his blows, however, were not so decisive, for though he
aimed several, the Bee contrived to escape them all.

At this one or two other gentlemen, with more regard to the imaginary
feelings of the ladies than to the reality of those belonging to the
Bee, raised the same weapons in their defence, but all their efforts
served only to exasperate the object of their rage, while the Butterfly
sat trembling under the most cruel apprehensions for his friend's
safety.

During this alarming battle the ladies were happy to leave the room;
and no sooner were they retired than the fight was over, the weapons
of war were laid aside, and the enraged Bee suffered to rest upon
the table, and recruit his strength: his fierce opponents declared
they were never so foiled before, till one, less courageous than the
rest, wisely, as he thought, turned an empty wine glass over him, and
thus was our unfortunate adventurer again in a close confinement. The
Butterfly was now alarmed for his friend from another cause, and feared
the want of air would be too much for him.

"Cruel monsters," said he to himself, as he observed the gentlemen draw
their chairs closer to the table, and filling their glasses appeared
determined to suffer no other interruption to their cheerfulness; "do
they call themselves humane, who can leave a poor creature in that
situation, and after they have cut and slashed at him in such a manner,
that if their dexterity had been equal to their will, they would not
have left a whole bone in his skin. Oh! that I had the sting of a
thousand Bees, I would use them all to revenge his cause."

With these words he fluttered round the table, and viewed his friend
(who lay motionless at the bottom of his transparent prison) on every
side; "he will certainly die," thought he, "if he is not dead already.
Oh my friend! would that I could release you! but the attempt would be
fruitless."

The gentlemen were too agreeably engaged to observe the anxious
Butterfly, who every time he saw them extend their hands towards the
place, hoped some little compassion had touched their breasts, and that
they were going to liberate his friend; but no such thing, the evening
closed in, and he was yet in confinement, till the tea being announced,
the gentlemen jumped up to attend the ladies, and soon after the
servants entering to take away the bottle and glasses, give the poor
prisoner an opportunity to escape. The window was still open, upon the
edge of which sat the expecting Butterfly, but it was some time before
the Bee, who had been insensible the greatest part of the time, could
so far recollect himself as to know where he was, or who was waiting
for him. On seeing him slowly crawling on the table, the Butterfly
concluded he was too much hurt to fly, and coming towards him, with the
utmost tenderness he said,

"Oh! my friend, are you not cruelly wounded?"

"Not so much as I expected," returned the Bee, greatly revived at the
sight of his old companion. "I am very stiff from the blows I have
received, but luckily my wings are not hurt; pray lead the way from
this detested spot, and I will follow with the greatest pleasure."

With this request the Butterfly gladly complied, rejoicing to hear his
friend speak so cheerfully, who was no sooner out of the house than he
begged to rest upon a neighbouring tree.

"You have been very roughly handled," said his friend, "by these
_superior_ sort of people; I had hoped better things of them, because
they are called so, but I do not find their hearts are better, or their
conduct towards us less reprehensible than those of a lower order; but
why did you not use your sting, my friend? I think it then would have
made even those courageous gentlemen sound a retreat."

"I am very careful of extending that," replied the Bee, "as it is very
seldom we can use it to any advantage without leaving it in the wound,
and that in general is fatal to us; a gentle touch is sufficient in
our defence, but _here_ it would have had no effect but to enrage
them still the more, and I must either have died by their hands, or
soon afterwards by losing it; but what a fuss the ladies made at my
approach, did they not? did you ever see any thing so foolish, as all
to run away from my presence? Why many of their fellow-creatures, whom
they judge inferior in education and ideas to themselves, would have
been ashamed to have acted so."

"If you are inclined to put them to flight again," said the Butterfly,
"I think I see the same party in the room above."

"No, I thank you," returned the Bee, "I must hasten to the hive as
fast as my bruises will let me; they will be quite alarmed at my being
out so late, or fancy that my old fondness for wandering is come on
again, and I should be sorry that should be their opinion; besides,"
continued he, shrugging his shoulders, "I have had enough of the
company of ladies and gentlemen for to-day, though no doubt I lost much
entertaining conversation during my captivity."

"I believe not," replied the Butterfly, "for my part I heard them say
very little else than "the bottle is with you Sir," and "let us have
another;" and "will you give us a toast, Sir?""

"And is it thus these men of _education_ converse together?" replied
the Bee; "I am astonished at it, but were we to sit and talk of it the
whole of the night we should not make them better; we will therefore go
home; I have only to say that I am glad I have escaped their malice,
and am obliged to you, my friend, for the affection which prompted
you to stay for me;" and now extending their wings they soon arrived
at the hive, which the Bee entered, and accounting for his late return
received the congratulations of all his companions on his safety.

The Butterfly found a resting-place near it, and the next day met his
friend with anxious enquiries of "how he found himself?" The Bee was
still stiff, and felt too much of the ill effects of his last visit to
wish to accompany him on another, at present, therefore he remained but
just without the hive, and left the Butterfly to make 'the voyage of
observation' by himself. In the evening, as they again met, he enquired
into the result of his rambles.

"I am more and more astonished at the weakness of mortals," returned
the Butterfly, "and am convinced that a _fine lady_ will believe any
thing, and will be pleased with the greatest nonsense, if said to her
by way of compliment; though I have visited but one house to-day, and
that was with one of my old acquaintance, with whom I flew about till
we chaced each other into a spacious drawing-room, in which sat a young
lady, who was endeavouring to lay the imitation of flowers upon a small
table; I believe they call it _painting_, and it was nearly finished; a
gentleman sat by her, and seemed to admire every stroke of her pencil,
though for my part I could not see any thing so very admirable in it;
the colours, to my eye, were put on very roughly, and I could not have
thought he would have paid so ill a compliment to her understanding, as
to suppose she would have believed him, when on our settling on them
after we had sported round the room, he declared that we took them for
natural flowers."

[Illustration]

"And did she believe him?" asked the Bee.

"She smiled," returned the Butterfly, "and seemed very much pleased;
and it is certain that she did not contradict him, though she soon
drove us off again, fearing, I suppose, that we should discover the
deception; but we had done that long before, and only fixt ourselves
there because it was the nearest place to rest on. After this we flew
out, and met with other companions, and I don't know how it was, but
the day seemed gone before we were aware; however, we have enjoyed
ourselves without interruption, and _you_, I hope, are better able
to pursue what affords you pleasure, than when I left you in the
morning?"

"I am recovering very fast," returned the Bee, "and it is quite
necessary I should, for I believe a wonderful change is soon to take
place in my circumstances, and you must not be surprised if you should
not see me in this neighbourhood much longer."

"What do you mean?" enquired the Butterfly, half alarmed, though he
knew not from what cause; "you are not going to hide yourself from me,
are you?"

"No," returned the Bee; "_our_ movements cannot be hid, we shall make
noise enough about it, but I am not at liberty to disclose the secrets
of the hive; to-morrow, perhaps, if you keep a good look-out, and the
weather is fine, you may see what will unravel this mystery; in the
meanwhile assure yourself of the continuance of my friendship, and do
not think, after the attention I experienced from you last night, and
on a former occasion, I can forget you."

With this assurance the Butterfly suffered his friend to depart without
making any farther enquiry, and sheltering himself for the night under
a large holly-hock, resolved not to let the sun arise without his
awaking to observe the movements of the Bee, and his companions; and,
if possible, to find out the meaning of what he had heard.




CHAP. VI.

  "When nought but balm is breathing through the woods
  "With yellow lustre, bright, that the new tribes
  "Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad
  "On Nature's common, far as they can see,
  "Or wing their range and pasture."

                                  THOMPSON.


The next morning all was bustle and activity in the hive at a very
early hour, and the Butterfly also arose, and shook his wings,
determined to let nothing escape his observation which could discover
the occasion of it: but though there seemed much noise within, no
one came out; and, after waiting a great while, he began to think
that nothing particular was intended by what his friend had said, or
that some confusion among themselves prevented their putting it in
execution. He frisked about among the flowers, yet still contrived
to keep the hive in view; till at length he saw a Bee advance, whom,
from her majestic appearance, he concluded was the queen; a number of
attendants immediately followed her; and, among the rest, his friend.
She turned as if to take a last look at the home she was about to
leave for ever, and on seeing multitudes of its inhabitants flocking
out, as fast as the narrow entrance would allow, appeared to glory in
the exulting throng; till raising her wings she led the way to seek
some other habitation. Immediately all the train followed her example,
and the air was filled with the numerous retinue; who, by the noise
they made, appeared to vie with each other in paying her respect. All
were earnest in their endeavours to get near her, and to the eye of
the Butterfly, who followed at an humble distance, they appeared a
formidable phalanx; eager not only to prevent the approach of danger,
but that even the eye of a stranger should be fixt upon her. Presently
a crowd of people, from the neighbouring houses, came running towards
them, with pot-lids in their hands, with which, as the whole body
were slowly hovering round the trunk of an old tree, they endeavoured
to drown their humming noise with a much louder one of their own;
and this, from what they said, and their calling for the hive, the
Butterfly learnt was to make them sooner settle. All this time it
would have been difficult to have said who watched their motions most
attentively, the men and women, or the Butterfly. As soon as her
officious attendants would give her an opportunity, her majesty fixt
her feet upon a projecting branch, and happy were those who could cling
the closest to her. All were now as desirous of fixing with her, as
before they were of flying; and when they could no longer see or touch
this sole object of their attention, they were still eager to press,
and hang upon each other, as if pleased to touch but the back of a bee,
who perhaps touched another that had hold of their Queen.

The noise now ceased, and the bees were suffered to hang, unmolested,
for nearly an hour, in a large round cluster; still and motionless, as
if no life or power was in them. Their proceedings were so entirely new
to the Butterfly, that, had not his friend been amongst them, he should
have wished to see the end; but he saw a man approach, whose face and
arms were entirely covered, and placing a new hive under them, he shook
the branch till the whole united body fell into it. A cloth was then
thrown over them, and he bore it away in triumph.

"And will they suffer themselves to be thus taken?" thought his
attentive observer, as he eagerly extended his wings to follow the man;
"will they be content to remain in that desolate habitation without a
cell, or any provision in it? no, no; the man will soon perceive his
mistake," continued he, as he saw him place it on a block, which had
been before prepared for it, "as soon as they can get their liberty,
they will return from whence they came." However, it was himself, and
not the man, who was mistaken; on the whole, the Bees liked their new
abode very well; and it was not till the next day that he saw any of
its inhabitants coming out in search of food; when he met his friend,
who asked him "if he did not think he had given him notice of something
worth seeing?"

"I think I see that you have changed for the worse," returned the
Butterfly; "you have left a full hive with comfortable cells, and
plenty of food, for one which is destitute of both!"

"We shall soon get this as well stocked as the other," replied the Bee;
"but did you not see our Queen? a sight of her is seldom had; were you
not charmed with her majestic appearance?"

"Upon my word, no," said the Butterfly with a smile; "but you must
recollect that I am not one of her numerous progeny; and to the eye of
a Butterfly she is no more than another of her species; but why did
you leave your home? is it grown old, and crazy; or does it let the
rain in?"

"I fancy we understand building better than for that to be the
case," answered the Bee, somewhat offended; "but we were too full;
we encreased so fast that there was not room for us all in one hive.
We have therefore chosen another queen, in whom, by the bye, I am
astonished that you see nothing to admire; and we young ones are come
forth with her, to form another settlement. Happy shall we be to
contribute to her tranquillity and comfort, and to supply her every
want; while she is kind enough to permit us to call her ours, for
the present; therefore, you must not expect to see me one moment at
leisure; till we have, in some degree, given our abode the appearance
of an habitation, we cannot be comfortable; we have already formed
a cell for our beloved Queen, and a few others for her principal
attendants; among which number, I am proud to say, I am; you must
excuse me if I now leave you abruptly, as I am on the search for
something nice for her to eat."

"Proud, indeed," thought the Butterfly, as he saw his friend hastily
depart. "Why, I am hardly spoken to now this new queen is come in the
way. Well," continued he, "I am glad _we_ have no sovereign, in whose
service we might spend our lives. Our time is our own, and we enjoy it
as we like," added he, clapping his wings, and flying off in pursuit of
some companion as thoughtless as himself. The next morning he returned
very early to the hive in hopes of seeing his old friend, though he
did not suppose he would allow him his company for more than a minute.

"We can converse together as we fly," said the Bee, who advanced to
meet him, "but I must fetch some honey for her majesty's breakfast;
won't you accompany me? we still go on building very fast, and wax is
brought in great abundance for that purpose."

"While you are thus employed, I do not expect to have much of your
company," said the Butterfly, "and have therefore made an agreement
with some of my old acquaintance to take an excursion into the country,
and enjoy ourselves there for a few days. The summer is passing quickly
away, and our lives, supposing no accident cuts us off, must end with
it; we must, therefore, frisk while we may."

"Certainly," replied the Bee, "_you_ were made for that purpose, and
by the time you return I shall probably be more at liberty; we have a
great deal to do, but there is likewise a number of hands, all able and
willing to assist;" and directing his friend to find out the hive when
he came back, he wished him much pleasure, and thus they parted for a
short time, the one to play, and the other to work, though both equally
pleased with the pursuit they were about to follow.

The Butterfly soon after joined his gayer friends, and sailing high in
air, they winged their way, to "range the forest's green retreat."

  "These thro' the tangled wood-walks play,
  "Where no rude urchin paces near,
  "Where sparely peeps the sultry day,
  "And light dews freshen all the air."

Thus sported the happy party, uninterruptedly enjoying the live-long
day, and resting at night within "the lily's bell!" They skimmed the
purple heath, visited the rivers' brink, and each day brought some new
pleasure in their view, till at length the weather began to change,
a cold wind blew, and there was every appearance of an approaching
tempest; and now it was that the Butterfly began to think of his friend
the Bee, and of his warm comfortable hive; though he knew he could
not be admitted there, he felt that it must be very pleasant to have
such an asylum to retreat to. Every one of his fluttering companions
were now flying away, each desirous of finding a place of safety for
himself, and _he_ still bent upon returning to his more _steady_
friend, endeavoured to gain the way which led to his abode, though
the wind was now so powerful that he could scarcely bear against it,
or see the way he was taking. At this moment a stage-coach passed him,
and though he did not know it would convey him from the place he was
then in, he was glad to take the shelter it afforded, and flying in at
one of the open windows he soon found a resting-place. After recovering
from the disorder and confusion the rough wind had put him into, he
had time to examine where he was, and noticed two young ladies, and an
officer very gayly drest, apparently confined within this very small
space.

"What's this?" exclaimed the gentleman; "a Butterfly! we want no such
intruders here; ladies, are you alarmed? is the creature disagreeable?"

"Let the poor thing alone," said an elderly man, whom the Butterfly
had not observed before, "it's as free to live as you are; 'tis true
we have _frivolity_ enough in our cargo, but the horses won't feel this
addition to it."

"It has taken shelter from the storm," said one of the ladies, not at
all regarding what he said; "and if it does not settle on _me_ it is
welcome to remain." The coachman now got off his box, and opening the
door, begged to know if there was room for a young woman, who was on
the outside.

"It rains hard," said he, "and she will be wet to the skin if she stays
there." Instead of answering his enquiry the officer, in a low voice,
replied thus: "I say, who is this old fellow in the corner? any one of
consequence? hey?"

"Oh bless you, no Sir, _he_ won't mind her coming in, if you don't."

"Mind her coming? no, I suppose not," replied he, "but the ladies are
to be consulted; what say you ladies? have you any objection?" They
looked at each other as if hesitating for an answer, which the old
gentleman observed, and immediately offered to get out, and let her
have his place; at this the whole party seemed rather ashamed, and one
of the ladies replied, "Oh dear no! we only thought her clothes might
be wet."

"And spoil yours, I suppose?" returned the old gentleman rather
roughly, "but I dare say you will have no objection to this young
officer's sitting between you, and then she can take his place, and you
will be in no danger."

This proposal was readily acceded to, and the young woman came in with
many thanks, while the gallant gentleman seated between the two ladies
declared, that "if he did not incommode them he was the happiest man
alive, and only wished that they were going to travel hundreds of miles
together."

"An enviable situation truly," said the old man, with an air of
contempt, and folding his arms, as if preparing to sleep; "I," said one
of the ladies, "shall soon be at my journey's end," naming the place at
which she was to be set down; "and I," replied the other, "am to go but
one mile further."

"Oh! Heavens! and what shall I do then?" returned their admiring beau,
"shut up in this place by myself; I shall certainly hang myself if
I have an opportunity! what lose such charming companions so soon?"
At this the ladies both smiled, and seeing such sort of conversation
pleased, he plied them with it very freely, while the old man slept,
or pretended so to do, and the young women looked rather inclined to
blush for those of her sex who could receive such flattery.

When one of the ladies left the coach, the other seemed fearful that
their complimenting admirer would hurt himself, in straining his neck
to look after her, as she ran through the rain to a house which stood
at a little distance from the road. On drawing his head in again,
he praised her beauty exceedingly, till fearing he should carry his
encomiums too high, so as to offend the other, whose countenance
already bespoke an approaching gloom; he dissipated the very appearance
of it in a moment, by "begging to know if they were not sisters, their
likeness to each other was so great?" This had the desired effect,
for though she assured him they were not, yet if her companion was
handsome, and they were alike, she must be so likewise. To be handsome
is as much as some people desire, thought the Butterfly, on observing
her face resume a smile, "no wonder that we Butterflies should wish
it." After some more conversation equally foolish, she also arrived at
the place of her destination, and the gentleman, not at all regarding
his other companions, again deplored the melancholy situation he should
be left in.

As soon as the lady was gone, the old gentleman thus addressed him,
"Young man, I think you have shown your folly whilst you have been
attempting to hoax those women; _that's_ the word, is it not?"

"Poor country girls!" replied the officer, laughing, "how pleased they
were; they believed every word I said; they look as if they had never
been beyond their own country town, and yet I made one of them think
that I supposed she had lived in London all her life."

"And where have you lived?" replied the old man, "to learn that there
is any wit in making people appear more ridiculous than they really
are?"

"Oh," said the other, "they'll go home and talk of me for days to come;
I should not wonder if they expected to see me returning in search
of them within a short time, as not being able to live out of their
company." The old gentleman then turned to the young woman, who had
sat a silent spectator like the Butterfly, and bade her take a lesson
from what she had seen and heard, not to believe what was said to
her; "_you_ may perhaps one day or other meet with an idle fellow,"
continued he "who may think proper to amuse himself by talking thus,
but do not you pay so ill a compliment to your own understanding, as to
sit with a simper on your countenance at whatever nonsense he may chuse
to utter."

The young woman expressed her thanks, while the disconsolate beau
sat with his head half out of the window, as if wishing to avoid any
farther conversation.

The weather seemed now cleared away, the wind and the rain had ceased,
and the Butterfly began to prepare for flight. On seeing this the old
gentleman said, "Ah, go, poor harmless creature, I am glad for your
sake, and this young woman's, that I have travelled this way to-day,
or neither of you would have been admitted."

Our adventurer would have thanked him if he could, and leaving the
window had the pleasure of seeing he was very near the place he wished
to be in; he saw some hives at a distance, and among them was his
friend's abode, who, on seeing his approach, came to meet him, and to
whom the Butterfly, after they had expressed their pleasure at again
being together, related the adventures he had met with, particularly
the way in which he had been brought back, and many were the moralizing
remarks occasioned by the recital of what had passed during his ride.

"The race of human beings must certainly be degenerated," observed the
Bee, "since all other creatures were first put under their subjection,
and in no other way can I account for the superior conduct, and in
many respects the superior wisdom also, of those whom they think so
much below them."

The Butterfly then asked in what state of forwardness the new hive was
in, and was happy to learn, that during his absence they had nearly
completed the building within it, and that his friend was now ready to
accompany him on his flights as usual.




CHAP. VII.

  "Not all that tempts your wandering eyes,
  "And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,
  "Nor all that glitters gold."

                           GRAY.


In the course of the next day the two friends met again, and while the
Bee did not forget the more important work of gathering food for the
approaching winter, he did not so earnestly pursue it as to make him
unmindful of other things.

"See here," said he to the Butterfly, as they flew towards a house
whose open windows seemed to invite their entrance; "let us go in, I
think we shall meet with something worth our notice?" The Butterfly
hastened on, but no sooner had he reached the window than turning back,
he winged his flight another way, with much greater speed, calling to
his friend to follow him.

"What have you seen that has so alarmed you?" enquired the Bee, as he
hurried after him, "what is in that house so very frightful?"

"It belongs to a _naturalist_," replied the Butterfly, "and don't you
know what detestable creatures these are? had he seen me I should have
lost my life in the cruelest manner."

"A naturalist!" returned the Bee, "I never heard of one, what does he
do?"

"Do?" replied the trembling Butterfly, "why, he would tear me limb from
joint if I was in his power, and yet endeavour to preserve my life only
to try how much he could make me suffer; did you not see how many of my
species were pinned up against the walls of his room, whose peculiar
form or colour had attracted his attention? he thinks nothing of taking
the life of any thing he admires. Oh! it turns me sick to think of it;
had I flown one inch farther I might have been thus impaled, and _you_
also; no doubt you would not have escaped his observation, and for the
sake of your sting, or examining what you carry your honey in, you
would have been quickly dispatched; various are the instruments he has
got about him, and numberless insects does he daily destroy."

"These are detestable creatures indeed," answered the Bee; "what can't
they be satisfied with viewing our forms as we pass along, but must
they pull us to pieces, by way of admiration? I fancy when they have
taken the most accurate survey, they could not make either a Bee, or
a Butterfly; it is a pity therefore that they should destroy that life
which they can never give. I declare the more I see of these human
beings, and think of their cruelty, as well as absurdities, it makes me
almost determine to quit the haunts of men, and if it ever should be my
lot again to seek another habitation, I would use all my influence with
my fellow Bees in order to remove to some wild wood where they might
never find us."

"You would be perfectly right," returned the Butterfly; "as for us, if
we escape them one summer, we willingly resign our lives at the end of
it, and led by instinct seek a place in which we die unlamented, and
soon forgotten; but this is not the case with _you_; while you live you
are useful, and at your death a whole society feels your loss; but
look," continued he, pointing towards a bottle that hung tied to the
branch of a fruit-tree, in which were several wasps decoyed thither by
the liquid it contained, and dying in the sweets they sought, "there is
another instance of their malice, don't you see those poor creatures?"

"Oh! yes," returned the Bee, "and though I am no friend to wasps, who
are often wishing to share the fruits of our labour, without having any
right to them; and in many things are striving to imitate us, though
I believe their chief aim is to do mischief, yet I cannot justify men
who use such _mean arts_ to entrap them to their destruction; but
what is that I see in yonder window?" continued he with a hurried
air, "something that more particularly demands my attention, a Bee in
distress; and hark, he calls to me for assistance;" so saying, without
waiting for the Butterfly to accompany him, he flew towards the place,
where was a Bee nearly drowning in a pot of honey. "And one of my own
hive too!" exclaimed he, as he drew nearer; "my dear brother, how came
you in such a situation?"

"Surely we are to see nothing but shocking sights to-day," observed
the compassionate Butterfly, who had hastily followed his friend, half
afraid that something still more terrible had happened, "but," said he,
on seeing the struggling captive, "he will not die; 'tis certain he can
keep his head above the edge till you have procured more assistance; I
fear I am not strong enough to help to pull him out."

While he was speaking, his companion had flown to the hive, and
with incredible swiftness returned with more of the community, who
altogether lent their aid, and after much toil and pains extricated the
poor exhausted Bee from the ill effects of seeking too large a share of
those sweets which only proved so, when moderately enjoyed, 'safe in
themselves but dangerous in the excess.'

"I only rested on the edge of the pan," said he, as soon as he could
speak, "and after an unsuccessful flight was glad to see a store of
that which I had been so long searching for in vain; I thought I would
just take a sip or two, and perhaps bring home a little of it to the
hive."

On hearing this one of the oldest of the throng thus addressed him:
"Know, my brother, that what we make ourselves is only welcome there,
and that food for which we labour hardest, is the sweetest to the
palate of every industrious Bee; idle drones and wandering wasps may
sip the honey which others have prepared, but let the danger you have
escaped to-day teach you to use the powers nature has given you, and
taste the sweets of your own procuring rather than that of others."

The trembling Bee thanked him for his advice, and promising to follow
it, he was escorted home by all the train, where he met with other
assistants, who cleared away the clammy substance that still encumbered
him, and he was suffered to rest within all that day to recover
himself. Meanwhile, the Butterfly waited without the hive, till his
friend returned, and they renewed their flight.

Nothing particular met their eye till they passed some flies, who were
round a piece of horse-flesh, the smell of which discovered where it
lay, and its half devoured state shewed the avidity with which these
buzzing insects fed upon it. "See," said the Bee, "what opposite
natures are within the circle of creation. These devouring flies find
as much pleasure in eating from this stinking carrion, as from the
choicest honey; nay, perhaps _this_ is more agreeable to them, though
nothing in which they can thrust their devouring trunks escapes their
taste, but with this _delicious morsel_, that really poisons the
surrounding air, they are so delighted, that they even chuse it for an
habitation likewise. Here they lay their eggs, and bring forth their
young, and having no trouble to hunt for food for them, they spend
their time in flying round it, till their habitation and provision
being gone together, they are obliged to seek another residence
equally convenient. Though you bear the same name, my friend,"
continued he, "I am witness that you have not their nature."

"Their nature!" interrupted the Butterfly, half offended at being
mentioned together, "no! I hope not, or their name either! what, shall
the beautiful winged tribe of Butterflies be put upon a footing with
these carrion-eaters, who live upon what, even in our crawling state,
we should reject with disgust. If I may speak my opinion, I think their
form, and the noise they make while flying, is more like your race than
ours, though alas! in one respect, I feel myself too closely allied to
them, that is, I must shortly resign my being; the date of my life will
soon be ended; I have felt the chilling blast of the morning air long
before you are out of your hive, and if you are not already aware of
it, can give you notice that winter is approaching."

"Indeed," replied the Bee, "I have seen some tokens of it myself; the
flowers are not in such plenty, and as their faded leaves fall off,
no young buds are seen to supply their place; however, such is the
use which we have made of the summer, that we are not afraid to look
forward to the time when every outward resource shall fail: but, my
friend, I fear you are of too delicate a frame to live through the
winter, though the place of your retreat be ever so warm; but have you
not thought of where you will retire to?" continued he.

"A place to die in is easily found," replied the Butterfly, "and you
must not be surprised if you see me no more; the damps of the night
will soon prove fatal, and I know not if I shall survive another."

"Do not speak so," returned the Bee, "how gladly would I afford you an
asylum if it was in my power; however, I cannot let you resign your
life so easily; green leaves are yet to be found, and now, within our
reach, I see a convenient crevice, into which you may creep; _there_
cherish life as long as you can, my friend, and by only venturing out
when the sun shines brightly, you may perhaps extend your days beyond
their usual period, and have your name recorded, as a Butterfly who has
survived the summer."

"Thank your kindness," returned the short-lived insect, "my life has
been already lengthened through your means, but you cannot renovate my
nature; may yours be extended."

"As long as it can be useful," said the Bee, interrupting him, "but to
you I owe all that I have gathered this summer," added he; "for had it
not been for your friendly and compassionate encouragement when first
we met, I should have sunk a victim to the consciousness of deserved
destruction; say not, therefore, that you have been of no use in the
world."

"I will not," returned the Butterfly, faintly fluttering his wings, as
if with his last breath he was desirous of rejoicing it had been in his
power to do good.

From this time the poor Butterfly was still more sensible of the
weakness of his frame, and flying towards the place his friend had
pointed out, he entered, never to quit it more, "self-buried 'ere he
died," for in the morning when the Bee visited the spot he was deaf
to his voice, and his pitying friend had to lament the sudden change
in one he had so very lately seen frisking about in all the gaiety of
health and spirits.

"Poor fly," said he, "thou hast been faithful to me, and has even
forgot thy wonted pleasures to afford me assistance; I will not leave
thee to the devouring jaws of thy fellow insects, at least thy little
body shall be preserved from being so destroyed," and with this
resolution he spent one whole day in gathering wax, and stopping up the
crevice which contained the remains of his friend--all the return he
could now make for his former kindness. After having given this last
proof of affection, he returned to the hive, and there in the busy
labors of the Commonwealth soon forgot the shock which the unexpected
death of his airy companion had occasioned.

During that winter they were suffered to remain unmolested, and as the
ensuing summer approached, (according to the plan he had formed so long
ago,) he proposed their taking a farther flight, and seeking a refuge
in some solitary wood; "I have seen more of mankind than you have, my
friends," said he, "and have observed both their customs and manners;
believe me, they are inconsistent fickle creatures; their conduct
towards one another shows that they are not to be trusted; much more,
then, have _we_ reason to be afraid of them. You very well know it is
in our power to live without their assistance; what is it which they
procure us but just an empty shell for our habitation? for this they
expect our stock of honey, and to obtain it scruple not to take our
lives! We have already seen, in the destruction of one or two of our
neighbouring hives, the fate which awaits us; but could I persuade all
of my species to wing their flight beyond their reach, they might be
taught a little more humanity, and would perhaps spare our lives, if we
were again in their power. Content to share with us what our labours
have produced, they might then leave us to die when our exhausted
nature fails, and for their own sakes also would not cut us off in the
prime of life, and while we have health and strength to add to the
stock, which would be as much for their benefit as our own."

This speech had the desired effect; the whole community seemed roused
by it, and entering into his scheme, on the appointed day not a Bee
was left behind, but altogether mounting the air they winged their
flight far beyond its usual extent, nor could all the clattering of
pots and kettles make them settle, till clear of the noise and out of
the sight of man they found an habitation for themselves, and under the
covert of a thick wood passed the remainder of their days in peaceful
industry.

THE END.

W. Lewis, Printer, Paternoster-row, London.




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


Obvious spelling, typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the
text and consultation of external sources.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

Changed 'Tabart & C[superscript]o.' to 'Tabart & Co.'; frontispiece

Moved 'CHAP VI' heading in Chapter Summary Section from incorrect place
to before 'The Bees swarm'; pg vii

Spacing retained in 'every where' and 'every thing'; pg 26 and pg 34

Spacing retained in 'well known'; pg 48

Spacing retained in 'any thing'; pg 65 et al.

Added missing end quotes, 'been feeding,' to 'been feeding,"'; pg 28

Added missing end quotes, 'no longer friends.' to 'no longer
friends."'; pg 67

Added missing second end quotes, 'a toast, Sir?"' to 'a toast,
Sir?""'; pg 89

Added missing end quotes, 'creature disagreeable?' to 'creature
disagreeable?"'; pg 106

Added missing start quotes, 'I never' to '"I never'; pg 46

Removed bad quotes, 'hurting _him_:"' to 'hurting _him_:'; pg 46

Removed bad quotes, '"Though you bear' to 'Though you bear'; pg 125

Added missing end and start quotes, '"Oh! said he, I' to '"Oh!" said
he, "I'; pg 73

Typo; changed 'laid' to 'said'; pg 29

Typo; changed 'littles' to 'little'; pg 42

Typo; changed 'flowers' to 'flower'; pg 47

Typo; changed 'gardon' to 'garden'; pg 65

Typo; changed 'surservient' to 'subservient'; pg 70

Typo; changed 'Bee,' to 'Bee.'; pg 72

Typo; changed 'he weapons' to 'the weapons'; pg 83

Archaic use of 'an' before 'h' retained; for example 'an humble';
pg 50 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'chace', 'chaced' and 'chacing' retained;
pg 44 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'aukward' retained; pg 64

Archaic spelling of 'taylor' retained; pg 74

Archaic spelling of 'incumbered' and 'incumbrance' retained; one
occurrence of 'encumbered' also retained; pg 19 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'chuse' retained; one occurrence of 'choose' in
preface also retained; pg 113 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'fixt' retained; one occurrence of 'fixed' also
retained; pg 92 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'encrease' and 'encreased' retained; three
occurrences of 'increase' etc. also retained; pg 52 et al.

Archaic spelling of 'gayly drest' retained; pg 106







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