ABRIDGMENT OF THE CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE
BY Mr. Bonnet, of GENEVA

CHAPTER XII
CONTINUATION OF THE INDUSTRY OF ANIMALS

  1. We shall, in the next place, treat of the proceedings of solitary animals. If they do not affect that extraordinary air of reflec­tion and prudence, that brightness of genius, and that appearance of policy and legislation which we admire in sociable animals, they never­theless attract our regard, either by their simplicity and singularity, or their diversity and appropriation to one common end, for the attaining of which they use the ingenious and natural means. After having contemplated the government,, manners, and labours of a republican community, we may still find some pleasure in considering the life and occupations of a solitary one, thus passing from the monuments of Rome to the cottage of a Robinson. Those works that are performed by the sociable animals, and which astonish us as much by their size as by the beauty of their disposition, result from the concurrence of a number of individuals- They all pass through various hands: some sketch them, others bring them to q greater perfection, and a third sort finish them. The works of solitary animals spring from one bead only; and the same hand that begins them, continues, finishes and repairs them. Each individual has his particular talent and degree of skill, whereby he provides for his own subsistence, and furnishes himself with all necessaries.

We will here confine ourselves to the proceedings relative to the metamorphosis: this is an affair of great importance for one of our hermits to prepare himself for, the most interesting to him of any during his whole life. Caterpillars alone exhibit to us the examples of almost all the proceedings which nature has taught to insects of this kind. We will limit our examinations to this class in particular.

2. There are some caterpillars whose bodies are supported by a prop, and nature has taught them the method of effecting this. They wind a girdle round their body, composed of a number of silk threads collected together, whose ends are fixed to the prop that sustains them. By this means they fasten their hind legs in a little heap of silk. It is easy to imagine after this, that the chrysalis must be tied and grappled as the caterpillar was. The girdle is loose, and leaves the chrysalis sufficient room to perform its little operations.

3. Other caterpillars form cones. Some of these give their cone a more exquisite form, so as to resemble that of an inverted boat. The cone of a silk-worm is made, f we may be allowed the expression, of a single piece. The cones made boat-wise consist of two principal parts, shaped like shells, and joined together with great skill and pin priety. Each shell is worked separately, and formed of an almost infinite number of very minute silk rings. On the fore part of the cone, which represents the hind part of the boat, is a ledge that juts out a little, in which we may perceive a very narrow crevice, which denotes the aperture contrived for the exit of the butterfly. Bt means of that the two shells may part asunder, and leave room for the butterfly to pass through them. They are constructed and put together with so much art, that they are of the nature of a spring; and the cone from whence the butterfly has lately issued, appears as close as that which it still inhabits. By this ingenious artifice, the butterfly is always free, and the chrysalis in safety. We shall hereafter come to treat of proceedings which are analogous to these, but more singular.

4. Our spinners have not all an equal provision, yet all seem to, endeavour at concealing themselves from sight. Such as are not rich enough to make themselves a good lodgment of silk, supply the want of it by different matters of a coarser or finer texture, which they are sufficiently skilful to cause to contribute towards the construction of the lodge. Some content themselves with giving it a covering of. leaves, which they connect together without any art. Others do not confine themselves to the amassing these leaves, and disposing them indiscriminately: but range them with a kind of regularity. Others think proper to powder the whole of their cone with a matter they yield from behind them, and which they cause to penetrate betwixt the thread. Others strip themselves of their hairs, and form a mass of a mixture of silk and hairs. Others, after having stripped themselves, plant their long hairs about them, and make of them a sort of cradle-fence. Others add a greasy matter, which they procure from their inside, to the silk and hairs ; with this they stop up the rings of the weft, and it serves as a varnish for them. Others thrust themselves into sand or small gravel, and there construct for themselves cones of sand, whose grains are connected with the silk. Others, lastly, which have no silk, pierce the earth, make a cavity in it like a cone, and smear the sides of it with a kind of glue or paste.

Another species, which is far more industrious than the former, perform a work which we cannot too much admire. You have lately seen described those cones which resemble an inverted boat; this is likewise the form that this species give to their cone; but they do not make it entirely of silk. They strip off little pieces of bark with their teeth, of a rectangular figure, nearly even and alike, and dispose them with all skill and propriety; with these they compose the principal parts of the cone. These great parts are likewise formed of a consi­derable quantity of very small inlaid work, placed end to end, and joined together with silk. In a word, we are apt to fancy that we are looking at an inlaid floor, or a piece of inlaid work.

5. The most solitary of all insects are such as live in the inside of fruits. Each fruit lodges only one caterpillar or worm. We are ignorant of the cause of this remarkable fact. We only know, that a curious observer, having attempted to cause caterpillars of this spe­cies to live together they furiously engaged each other as often as they met It is then incontestibly true, that the disposition of these cater. pillars is anti-sociable. Several have metamorphosed themselves in the very fruit that has served them for a retreat and for provision; they dig cavities in it, which they line with silk, or in which they spin their cones. Others, which are the greater part of them, quit the fruit, and metamorphose themselves in the earth.

6. Those insects that roll up or fold the leaves of a great number of plants, are also perfect hermit& This proceeding is common to many caterpillars. They thus procure for themselves little cells, which are convenient lodgings for them, in which they are always sure to find nourishment; for they eat the walls of the cell; but they are always very careful never to touch that part which is destined to cover them. The different methods in which these caterpillars lodge them­selves, give room for distinguishing them into tiers, folders, and rollers.

The art of the tiers is in general the most simple. It consists in joining several leaves together with silk threads, in order to form them into one entire parcel, in the centre of which is the lodge of the little hermit.

 The procedure of the folders supposes more refined operations. They fold the leaves either in the whole, or in part. In the whole, when the portion folded is turned back flat upon another part of the leaf: and in part, when they only simply bend the leaf more or less.

But the labour of the rollers is most of all to be admired. They live in a kind of roll, whose dimensions, form, and position vary in different species. Some give it a cylindrical figure; others, the form of a cone, which is likewise as well made as those the grocers use. The leaf is always rolled spirally, or as wafers are. The roll or cone is commonly laid on the leaf; but sometimes, which is very remark­able, it is fixed on it like a nine-pin.

Does my reader imagine that mechanism presides over the con­struction of these various works? Does he conceive in what manner an insect, that has no claws, is able to roll up a leaf, and to keep it so? We know in general, that caterpillars spin: and can in some measure discover, it is by the assistance of their threads, that our skilful roll­ers cause the leaves to take the form of a cylindrical or conical tube. We see in effect, parcels of threads distributed from one distance to another, which hold the roller confined to the leaf But how can these threads, which seem only to perform the office of small cables, he capable of rolling up the leaf? This we imagine ourselves able to guess at, but without effect. We suppose, that by fastening threads to the edge of the leaf, and drawing those threads towards her caterpillar forces the edge to rise and turn itself; which is by no means the case. The use the industrious insect makes of its strength consists of a more refined mechanism. He fixes a number of threads to the border of the leaf, but does not draw it to him. By means of them he bends the other extremity to the surface of the leaf The threads of one and the same parcel are nearly parallel, and compose a little ribband. By the side of this ribband the insect spins a second. which passes over and crosses the former. This then is the secret of its mechanism. In passing over the first ribband in order to ex­tend the second, it bears on the first with the whole weight of its body this pressure, which tends to force down the ribband, obliges the edge of the leaf, to which it is fastened, to rise. The second ribband, Which is at the same time struck on the flat part of the leaf, preserves on the edge that alteration or bending which the insect was disposed to give it.  If we narrowly examine these two ribbands, their effect will be visible. The second will appear very tight, and the first very slack; the reason is, because the latter has no greater degree of action, nor indeed ought to have. You now comprehend that the roll is gradually formed by the repetition of the same operations on different parts of the leaf. But it often happens that the coarser edges resist too much; the insect knows how to weaken them by gnawing them here and there. In order to form a cone, some more performances are necessary. The roller cuts with her teeth on the leaf, the part that is to compose it. She does not detach it altogether from it; it would then want a base; she only separates that part which is necessary to form the foldings of the cone. The part is properly a slip, which she rolls as she cuts it. She raises the cone on the leaf, almost in the same manner as we erect an inclined obelisk. She fixes threads or little cables near the point of the pyramid; she presses on them with the weight of her body, and thus forces the point to raise itself. You may form an idea of the rest; the mechanism is the same as that employed in making a roll.

These cells, in which the caterpillar lives, serve likewise as a retreat for the chrysalis. This latter would not probably be suffi­ciently well accommodated with a bare covering of leaf. The cater­pillar lines the cell with silk tapestry. Other species spin a cone for themselves in it.

7. Some leaves of plants are scarcely thicker than paper. Would any one imagine there were insects skilful enough to provide a lodging in such thin leaves as these, so as to shelter themselves from the inju­ries of the weather? A leaf is to them a vast country, wherein they make roads for themselves that are more or less winding; they mine in the substance of the leaf as our miners do in the earth. From hence also they have taken the name of miners of leaves. They are extremely common: some belong to the class of caterpillars; others to that of worms.’ They cannot bear to be naked; and it is for the sake of covering themselves, that they insinuate themselves between the two foldings of a leaf. They find their subsistence there at the same time. They eat the pulp of it, and in eating, trace out a way for themselves. Some dig there straight or crooked trenches. These are gallery miners. Others mine round about them, in circular or oblong spaces; these are miners at large. Their teeth are the instruments they mine with, but some worm-miners dig by means of two hooks resembling our pick-axes. Several of these insects spin within the mine, the cone wherein they are to transform themselves. Others quit the mine, and metamorphose themselves elsewhere. Butterflies that proceed from  mining caterpillar, are little miracles of nature. She has lavished gold, silver, and azure upon them; with other colours that are more or less rich; though we regret that she has not performed these masterpieces in a more extensive form.

8. But miners have something still more wonderful to offer us. Bestow your attention on those vine leaves that are before you. They are pierced with oval holes, which seem to be made in them by a gimblet. The mining caterpillars bored these holes, by stripping two pieces of skin from the leaf, with which they make a cone: that cone is placed perpendicularly on a vine prop, at a pretty considera­ble distance from the leaf that furnished the materials. How was it cut, fashioned, detached and conveyed? Let us not vainly attempt to guess this: let us rather endeavour to surprise the industrious labourer on her working bench. She mines by way of gallery, and constructs her cone at the extremity of the gallery. It is composed of two pieces of leaf of an oval form, very thin, even, and like each other. The caterpillar prepares these places; makes of them a thin texture, by clearing them of the pulp; she models them, lines them with silk. cuts them with her teeth as with scissors, joins and unites them. They already have no connexion with the leaf, notwithstanding which the cone does not fall: the caterpillar has taken the precaution to sustain it by some threads of the same species with its border. When the cone is finished, the caterpillar applies herself to disengage and transport it from its place. She has left a small aperture at one end of it. She causes her head to come out at this opening, bears it for­ward, seizes a part of the prop with her teeth, and by an effort draws the cone to her. The threads that hold it give way, and the caterpillar carries her little house about with her as the snail does her shell. Behold her walking; her march is a new mystery. It has been said. that all caterpillars have at least ten legs: this is absolutely without any, and shows us what an opinion we ought to entertain of such naturalists. Let us lay in her way a finely polished glass, placed perpendicularly. She is not in the least retarded by this, but climbs over the glass as on a leaf. By what secret art is she enabled to cleave to it, for she has neither legs nor claws to grapple it? You have seen caterpillars that spin little heaps of silk which they fix themselves to. Our miner spins the like, at certain distances, according to the track the is to pass over. She seizes one of these heaps with her teeth, which becomes in part a support for her: she draws the cone to her, and carries it towards the little heap: fastens it to it; thrusts her head forwards; spins a second heap; fixes herself to it in the same manner as to the first; makes an effort to discharge the cone, which she effects, drags it towards the new heap, fastens it likewise to it, and this second step being taken, unravels to you the secret of her lingenious mechanism. By this means, she leaves on the bodies over which she passes, little tracks of silk, which she spins from space to space. When she has arrived at the place she is inclined to fix herself at, she here stops the cone intended for a habitation, and places it in a vertical situ­ation. There afterward issues from it a very pretty butterfly, as richly clothed, and of the same genus, as those of other miners.

9. Other insects live in great galleries of silk, which they lengthen, and widen as they grow. They cover them with gross matter, and frequently with their excrements. They construct those galleries on the various bodies they feed upon, and which differ according to the species of the insect. The name of false moths has been given to all such species as make those enclosures. You are sensible, that those of true moths are portable. The most remarkable false moths are such as settle in bee-hives, and destroy the combs; They are with. out defensive arms, and are only secured with a soft and delicate skin; notwithstanding which, nature has appointed them to live at the ex­pense of a little warlike people, that are well armed, and equally well disposed to defend their settlements. Our engineers have frequently recourse to mines and saps in the reduction of places. It is, indeed abundantly necessary that our false moths should excel in this kind of attack, and their works prove that they do. They never march but under cover. They scoop long trenches in the thick part of the combs, in what direction they think proper, wherein they are always in safety from the enemy. The galleries of this kind are lined within with a very close silk tissue, and covered on the outside with a thick layer of grains of wax and excrements. Thus the fine works of the laborious bees are destroyed in silence, by an enemy which they are not able to discover, and that sometimes compels them to abandon their hive. The false moths have no intention to procure honey : they never penetrate into the cells that contain it. They only eat the wax, and their stomachs analyzes the matter which the chemists cannot dissolve.  When they have attained their full growth, they make a silk cone at the end of the gallery, which they never fail to cover with grains of wax.

Other false moths establish themselves in our granaries, where they multiply excessively. They covet our most valuable commodity. They connect together several grains of corn ; they spin a little tube in the midst of this heap, where they lodge. By that means they are always within reach of a plentiful stock of nourishment. They feed at their pleasure on the grains of which they have been careful to form their case, and which are like a covering to it. When their metamor­phosis approaches, they abandon this case; they nestle in the inner part of a grain, or in the little cavities they dig in the ceilings: these they line with silk, and there transform themselves into a chrysalis.

10. There are few insects which claim so good a right to our admi­ration as those that are equally skilful with ourselves in making clothes, and that undoubtedly learned the art before us. Like us, they are brought forth naked; but they no sooner come into the world, than they set about clothing themselves. They do not all dress in the same uniform manner, nor do they use the same materials in their clothing. There is perhaps a greater diversity with respect to this in the modes of different species of moths, than in those of different people on the earth. The form of their dress is very convenient: it corresponds exactly with that of their body. It is a little cylindrical case, which opens at both ends. The stuff is manufactured by the moth: the ground of it is composed by a mixture of silk and hair: but this would not be soft enough for the insect, it is therefore lined with pure silk. Our woollen furniture and furs supply these moths with the hair they employ in manufacturing their stuffs. They make a careful choice of these hairs; cut them with their teeth, and artfully incorporate them in the silk tissue. They never change their clothes; those they wore in their infancy, they continue to wear when arrived at maturity. They can lengthen or widen them as they find convenient. They meet with no difficulty in extending them; this they do by only adding new threads and hairs to each end. But the widening them is not so easy a matter. They proceed therein exactly as we do in the like case. They slit the case at the two opposite sides, and skilfully insert two pieces of the width required. They do not slit the case from one end to the other: if they did, the sides would start asunder, and be exposed. They only slit each side about the middle of it. Reason itself could not exceed this. Their dress is always of the colour of the stuff from whence it was taken. If there. fore, a moth, whose clothing is blue, passes over a red piece of cloth, the widths will be red ; she will make herself a harlequin’s habit, if she passes over cloths or stuffs of several colours. They live on the same hairs they clothe themselves with. It is remarkable, that they are able to digest them; and it is still more extraordinary that the colours do not suffer the least alteration by digestion, and that their’ excrements are always of as fine a tincture as the cloth they feed on Painters may collate from our moths powders of all colours, and all. kinds of shades of the same colour. They make little journies -those that settle in cases, do not love to walk on long hairs, but cut all they meet with in their way, and are always provided with a scythe as they march. They rest themselves from time to time, when they this case with small cords, and thus cause it as it were to ride at anchor. They fasten it more firmly, when they are disposed to meta morphose themselves. They close up entirely both ends of it, is order to close in it tbe form of the chrysalis, and afterward that of the butterfly.

11. Field moths greatly exceed the domestic moths in point of industry. They take the substance of their clothing from the leaves of plants: but it becomes necessary for them to prepare this matter, and give it that lightness and flexibility proper for the garments. These moths are of the species of miners; and they insinuate them selves betwixt the two membranes of a leaf, which are to them what a piece of cloth is to a tailor; with this difference, that the latter has occasion for a pattern, which the moths can dispense with. They remove from these membranes all the pulpy substance that adheres to them, which membranes they make thin and polish. They after­ward cut in them, thus prepared, two pieces, which are nearly equal, and like each other: they labour to give them the hollowness, windings, and proportions which the form of their case requires, and this form is often of an exquisite kind. They connect and unite them ­with incredible skill, and conclude by lining them with silk. They have then nothing to do but disengage the clothing from within the leaf where it was taken and cut, and that requires but a few efforts.

12. Many field and aquatic moths do not prepare the stuff for their clothing. Bits of wood, little sticks, fragments of leaves, pieces of bark, &c. placed on each other like titles, compose the external cloth­ing of the case, which consists of pure silk. At other times it is covered with gravel, pebblestones, pieces of wood, little bits of reed, and small shells either of muscles or snails, and, what is scarce credi­ble, the snails and muscles continue to live in these shells; for being, in a manner chained to the case, they are obliged to follow the moth that carries them wherever it pleases. Thus a moth in its clothing, does not appear unlike certain pilgrims. Those that are covered with wood, gravel, stones, and other unwieldly matters connected together, pretty nearly resemble a Roman soldier in heavy armour. You rightly judge, that such kinds of clothes must needs be very roughly formed: but some of them, nevertheless, look very pretty, in which the arrangement of the materials make amends for their coarseness.

Aquatic moths reap some advantage by dressing themselves in such  strange manner. They must be always in equilibrio with the water in the midst of which they live, if their case prove too light, they 2dd a little stone to it: if too heavy, they fasten some bits of reed to it. All these moths metamorphose themselves in their case; some into butterifies, others into flies, and others into beetles.

13.  Some field moths borrow no strange matter to clothe them­selves with : they dress entirely in silk : but their tissue is much closer, finer, and more glossy, than that of the most beautiful cater­pillars. It has a still greater singularity; being composed of little scales, like those of fishes, partly placed on each other. The case has sometimes for its last covering a kind of mantle, which almost entirely encloses it, and is composed of two principal pieces, whose figure resembles that of a bivalve shell. Moths that procure the matter for their clothing from their own fund must be able to lengthen and widen it at pleasure; the expense attending the obtaining of it was too great to admit of their making a new one as often as there should be occasion. So that they are able to enlarge it in a wonder­ful manner. They do not add breadths to it, as the domestic moths do: but slit it from one part of it to another, according to its length, and immediately fill up the intervals with new threads, of a length proportioned to the space required. This case serves them likewise as a kind of cone, wherein they transform themselves into but­terflies.

You have taken a survey of the produce of a multitude of different insects, and are with good reason astonished at the prodigious variety contained in them, all relative to one and the same general end, and all of them likewise as much diversified as those of our artizans. How does it happen, that among so many insects as prepare them­selves for their metamorphosis, some hang by their hind part, others fasten themselves by a girdle, whilst others make themselves cones? How came it to pass, that of those that construct these cones, some form them of pure silk, and others compose them of matter of differ­ent kinds? Why is the form of these cones so various in different species? Wherefore do some insects so artfully roll up the leaves of plants, and others only fasten or fold them together? How can %ye account for the mining of these leaves by some only, and that the rest should not all mine them in the same manner! In short, how shall we assign a reason why the moths are not all clothed in the same dress?

All these wherefores, and a thousand others that may be performed on the productions of nature, are so many enigmas proposed to beings that are banished into a corner of the universe, and whose sight, as short as that of the mole, can only perceive the nearest objects. and the most direct and most striking relations.

It behoves us to remain in the place that has been allotted for us, from whence we can only discover some links of the chain. One we shall discover more of them, and shall see them more distinguishes Meanwhile we may consider these proceedings of insects, so diversified and replete with industry, as an agreeable spectacle exhibited nature, to the eyes of the observer, that furnishes him with an inexhaustible source of reflective pleasure and useful instruction. led to the Author of the universe by the thread of the caterpillar, and he admires in the variety of their means, and in their tendency to the same end, the fecundity and wisdom of the Ordaining Mind.

This sight becomes still more interesting, when the observer undertakes to bewilder insects, and draw them from their natural track, They then show him resources, which he had not foreseen, and that surpass his expectation. When false moths of the wax species are want of wax, they can make galleries of leather, parchment or paper A caterpillar has been seen to construct a cone of little pieces of paper which have been given him, and that have been cut at pleasure. It has taken hold of them with the teeth and fore legs, transported them to the place where it intended to fix, ranged them there, fastened them with threads, laid some of them edgewise, others flat, forming of the whole, it is true, an assemblage that appears a little strange; but answering perfectly to a cone. It would have given it a more regular figure, had it worked with materials suited to its species. Ere we had learned to prepare and dress woolens and skins of animals, the domestic moths were not without clothing. They were then perhaps habited in the same manner as the field moths.

14.  We do not expect to make any material discoveries from shell fish that are shut up in an almost stony enclosure; they seem very stupid; but they are not all so senseless as they appear to be: we shall with pleasure contemplate the proceedings of some of them.

Divers species of sea shell-fish are furnished with two pipes, by means of which they suck in the water, and which they take great care to keep raised above the vessel they are accustomed to sink into more or less. Some spirt out the water to the distance of several feet. That particular part, which in some performs the progressive or retrograde motion, very much resembles a real leg with a foot joined to it ; but this leg is a Proteus, which assumes all kinds of forms to supply the necessities of the animal. It does not only make use of it to crawl with, sink into a vessel, or retire from it; but employs it with much greater skill to perform a motion that one would not imagine a shell-fish capable of. A shell-fish that leaps, must appear very extraordinary. It is a tellina that you are now seeing. You may observe that she has placed the shell on the top or point. She stretches out her leg as far as possible; she causes it to take hold of a considerable part of the circumference of the shell, and, by a sudden motion, similar to that of- a spring that is slackened strikes the ground with her leg, and thus leaps to a certain distance

15. The cutter never creeps: it penetrates perpendicularly into the sand. It there digs itself a sort of cell, which is sometimes two feet long, in which it goes up and down at pleasure. Its shell, whose form a little resembles that of a handle of a knife, has occasioned it to receive the name of cutler. It is composed of two long pieces, hol­low like a gutter, and joined together by membranes. The body of the animal is enclosed in a case. The part whereby it exercises all its motions, is placed in the centre. This is principally designed to perform the office of a leg, and acquits itself exceedingly well. It is fleshy, cylindrical, and pretty long. The extremity of it, when necessary, can roll itself up like a ball. View the cutler when ex­tended on the sand. You behold it working, in order to pierce into it. It thrusts out its leg at the lower end of the shell; stretches it, and causes the extremity of it to assume the form of a shovel that is sharp on both sides, and terminates in a point. It directs it towards the sand, and applies the edge and point for introducing it farther. After the aperture is made, it extends its leg still more, and causes it to penetrate deeper into the sand: he bends it like a hook, with which taking hold of a support, he draws the shell to him, forcing it upright by degrees, and afterward causes it to descend into the hole. Is he disposed still to continue sinking; he thrusts his whole leg out of the shell; fixes in the sand the ball which is then at its extreme part; immediately contracts this leg; his large head, which is strongly fixed in the whole, being less inclined to reascend than the shell is to go downwards, the cutler descends into the sand, which is his first step into it; he has nothing to do but to repeat the same operations, in order to advance farther and farther into it. Is he disposed to go up again to the surface; he pushes forth the ball, and at the same time makes an effort to extend his leg; the ball, which is averse to a descent, presses the shell towards the top of the hole,

It is pretty remarkable, that the cutler, which lives in salt water dreads the touch of salt. If a pinch of it be cast into his hole, he will come out of it immediately. But if he be caught, and afterward permitted to re-enter his cell, it will be in vain to throw salt into it, since he will not quit it on that account. it is said by some, that he remembers having been taken; and this is so true, that when people do not catch him, he may be made to come out at one’s pleasure, by throwing some fresh salt into the hole. It seems, then, that he is aware of the snare that is laid for him, and is unwilling to be taken by it.

16. Cast your eyes on this stone, which I have just now taken up from the sea shore. A shell-fish fixes his habitation in it. Observe, that en the surface of the stone there is a very little hole it is by that the shell-fish has entered, and you may judge of the smallness of it by that of the aperture. We will break the stone asunder, that we may see the animal that dwells in it. How great must your surprise be! You behold a great shell-fish, near three feet in length, whose shell is formed of three smooth pieces joined together by a ligamentary membrane. It is lodged in a great cavity, that is hollow like a funnel The upper part of the cone is in the little hole you see on the surface of the stone. This shell-fish is a dail or pholas. How could it be able to pierce so hard a stone? Or how go through so narrow a passage? Draw near this clayey shell which the wave has just left. It is pierced through with a multitude of such holes as you see in the stone you have in your hand. All these holes are inhabited by young dails, which are only a few lines long. They had then no occasion to penetrate into a hard stone. Moist clay makes but little resistance. But the sea insensibly converted this clay into stone: the dail, which at first found himself lodged in a soft earth, afterward perceived that he was within a stone cell. We have seen that the cutler can come out of his hole when he pleases: the dail never quits his; nor indeed can he; since the form of this kind of cell will not admit of it. All that he can do, is to stretch out two pipes at the opening of the bole, with which he receives and rejects the water. The cutler does the same. You are impatient to be informed of the instrument with which the dail hollows his cell. This instrument has no edge to it: it is purely fleshy, and shaped like a lozenge.

17.  We will quit shell-fish for a time. Divers animals of the sea will likewise entertain us with the wonders of their Author. Let us bestow on them the attention they deserve: what we are about to relate concerning them, will be found well deserving notice in natural theology.

On the rocks near the sea shore you may perceive little fleshy masses, of the size of an orange, whose form is like that of a counter-bag, and pretty nearly resembling that of a cone when cut. All these masses seem immovable, and connected with the rock by their base. Some of them are rough, others smooth. We have just now compared them to a bag, or purse, in which counters are put; but this bag is not folded together, and is likewise without strings. They are nettles that you see; a very singular kind of animals, that demand a closer attention. The body of the animal is in effect enclosed within a sort of fleshy purse, of a conic figure; at the top of the cone is an opening, which the nettle increases or contracts at pleasure.

Let us consider the sea-nettles that we have now before us. There is one that opens and unfolds itself like a flower: it has put forth a hundred and fifty fleshy horns, like those of snails, distributed in three rows round the aperture. You remark, that little water.spouts issue from these horns; consequently they do not perform the same functions as those of snails; they are analogous to the pipes of cutlers, and other shell-fish which you have seen. You also remark’ that the form of these nettles varies greatly, that their base is some times circular and sometimes oval, and that the height of the cone varies according to the dimensions of its base. It rises or falls as the base grows narrower or wider. Touch one of these blown nettles see with what quickness it closes and contracts itself. But you per­ceive no progressive motion: are the nettles then condemned to pass their whole life fixed to the same spot? The ancients thought so. What are we to think of them? About an hour ago, this large nettle, which you see on your right-band, touched this point of the rock: observe that it is now above an inch distant from it. You are sur­prised that you did not perceive it walk, for you looked at it more than once; the reason of this is, because its progressive motion is as slow as that of the hand of a clock. We may be curious to know how the nettle perform it. All its body is externally furnished with various orders of muscles. Those of the base go, like rays from the centre to the circumference; others descend from the top towards the base. These muscles are also canals full of liquor, which issues out on pricking them. They are emptied and filled at the pleasure of the nettle. By the exercise of these muscles or canals the progressive motion is performed. Let us follow the nettle when she is disposed to go forwards. Her base is circular. She swells the muscles that are on that side whither she is tending. She injects her liquor into them, which, by inflating, lengthens them. They cannot extend them­selves unless the edge corresponding with the base, shifts its place and advances a little way. At the same time she loosens the opposite muscles, and empties their canals. They contract. This they cannot do, except the edge of their corresponding base goes in a little, and exactly in the same degree as the opposite one projects. Such is the mechanism whereby the first step of our nettle is performed. In order to make a second, she causes the base again to receive a circular form, by puffing up equally all the canals; she afterward repeats the same operations we have just taken a view of.

The whole progressive motion of nettles is not confined to this. They have another method of walking, which nearly resembles that of insects. They are able to make use of their horns like legs. But these horns are on the upper part of their body: the nettle is fixed by its base against the rock: bow do these horns perform the office of legs? The nettle you are following will show von the method. She turns herself upside down; the base abandons the rock, and the cone is placed on its top. All the horns shoot forth, and you see them fix themselves to the rock. They are gluey and rough to the touch: for which reason they meet with no difficulty in fastening to it.

18. Would you believe that an animal which is entirely of a fleshy nature, and is provided with no instrument to open or pierce the shells feeds upon shell-fish? Nettles that are but of a middling size swallow great shell-fish, and it is difficult to conceive how they are capable of being lodged within the nettle. It is true, the latter being entirely fleshy is susceptible of a great distention. It is a sort of supple purse that may be stretched occasionally. The opening of the purse is pro­perly the mouth of the nettle. Its inside not being transparent, one can not see what passes therein, or by what means the nettle voids the shell-fish. The moment she has swallowed it, she closes herself Look at this young nettle that is shut up quite close: she has just swallowed a pretty large snail, and is busy in digesting it. She is now opening herself again, and discharging the empty shell. On the side of her is another nettle which bespeaks your attention: she has swallowed a great muscle, and is making ineffectual efforts to void the shell. She is not able to effect it: the shell presents itself in an unfavourable position at the aperture, and you begin to be in pain for the unhappy nettle. She has a resource that you did not imagine. Cast your eyes towards the base; the shell is evacuated through a large wound; the nettle is delivered from it by that means, and is no more affected by the great gash made thereby, than we are by a scratch.

10. All nettles do not procure a discharge by so violent a method they have another which they commonly use with success. They turn themselves inside out like a glove or stocking, so that the edges of the opening, which resemble lips, fold themselves on the base. The mouth is then of a prodigious width, and the bottom of the purse almost uncovered.

Nettles do not thus shift themselves merely to get rid of hetero­geneous bodies; they put themselves into the same posture when they bring forth. They are viviparous. The young are produced com­pletely formed; and we see nettles in miniature appear. The aper­ture through which they pass, is so wide as to admit a multitude of them at the same time. Notwithstanding which they always come forth singly. They are at first enclosed in certain folds concealed at the bottom of the purse.

Do nettles resemble polypuses by the singular property of being multiplied and grafted by slips? Experiments have put this beyond all doubt. Of a single nettle, divided according to its length or width are made two or three, which at the end of a few weeks are perfect and complete. They may likewise be grafted; ‘but it will be neces­sary to have recourse to seaming. You are now no longer surprised at the consolidation of that enormous wound made at the base of a net-tie that issues out thereat. A wound of this nature is nothing, when compared to that which another animal sustains when cut in pieces, without ceasing to live and multiply in each piece. Nettles may then be called a species of polypuses, with arms of a monstrous size; or, If you prefer the expression, polypuses with arms are a species of very minute nettles.

Let us quit these rocks that swarm with nettles, and betake ourselves to that little creek where the sea is very calm. Stoop  little, and observe the surface of the water. What do you per­ceive? A kind of greenish jelly floating upon it. Its form is like that of a broad mushroom. It is near two feet in diameter. Take a piece of it betwixt your fingers; handle it for a few minutes: you will see it dissolve into water. The heat of your hand was sufficient to melt it. Does it enter into your thoughts that this jelly is a real animal, and even a species of nettle? It has been called wan­dering nettle, because it never fixes, and floats from one side to the other. Its convex surface presents us only with an infinite number of little grains or nipples. But its inferior surface, which is concave, is extremely organized: in that we may see a great number of canals, which are regularly disposed, and made with great art, some being circular, and others disposed regularly, like the felloes of a wheel, and which are full of watery liquor, which passes from one to the other.

This strange animal wanders about in the sea. It is specifically much heavier than water. He cannot therein sustain himself without the assistance of a spontaneous motion, which is worth observing, and cannot be seen but in places where the water is calm. It is so in this little creek, on the extremity of which we are sitting. Look with attention on the surface of that jelly which offers itself to your view. Observe that it has certain motions, which you are tempted to compare with those of the systole and diastole. However, they are not the same. Their only end is to cause the nettle to float. You see that in the systole kind, the surface of the animal becomes very convex, and that in the diastole it becomes suddenly fiat and wide. Such is our glutinous nettle’s method of floating. When dried in the sun, it is reduced almost to nothing. We imagine that we see a little piece of parchment or very transparent paste. There is no room to doubt that (his species of nettle multiplies like the rest, by slips; but I do not know that there has been any expe­riment made concerning this. A jelly must be attended with greater ease in regenerating itself than organized bodies of the same genus, that are of a more firm or close consistence.

20. There are no regular or strange forms of which the animal kingdom does not afford us models. Here is an animal whose form is precisely that by which we paint the stars in the firmament. It is nearly flat. From the middle of its body proceeds four or five rays which are almost equal, and resembling each other. Its upper surface is covered with a hard, callous, and very rough skin. In the centre of the inferior surface is placed the mouth, which is provided with a sucker, that the star makes use of to imbibe the substance of the shell-fish she feeds upon. Five small teeth or pincers hold it confined whilst she such them, and perhaps assists in the opening his shell. The legs of the star are a real curiosity. They are joined to her inferior surface’ and distributed with symmetry in four rows, each consisting of seventy. six feet; so that each ray is furnished with three hundred and four feet, and the whole star with fifteen hundred and twenty. Yet with such a number of feet, the star goes but little faster than the muscle, which has only one. These legs perfectly resemble the horns of the snail, both by their figure, consistence, and exercise. When the star is disposed to walk, she spreads her legs as the snail does her horns, and with the extremity of them seizes the various marine bodies on which she crawls. She commonly puts forth only one part of her legs; the remainder are kept in reserve against those necessities which. may happen. The mechanism which presides over their motions Is an illustrious proof of a Creative Mind. Let us open one of the rays by slitting it lengthwise, and we shall display the principal springs of the machine. An almost cartilaginous partition, made in the form of, vertebrae divides the whole ray. In every part of this partition, you perceive two rows of little balls, like pearls of the finest water. The number of these little balls is precisely equal to that of the legs. Thus you see that each ball answers to a leg. You can distinguish a limpid liquor in these balls ; press your finger upon them ; they empty themselves; the liquor passes into the corresponding legs, and they immediately extend themselves. The star then need only press the balls in order to spread the legs. But they are capable of contraction, and when they contract themselves, ‘they force the liquor back again into the balls, from whence it may be driven afresh into the legs, to procure a progressive motion.

You conjecture, that these eggs, which resemble these tubes, through which divers kinds of shell-fish respire, serve likewise for the same uses. But nature who has been so lavish in providing the star with legs, has also been liberal in bestowing on it the organs of respiration. She has even multiplied them in a greater degree. They are very small conic tubes, disposed in knots, and produce an equal number of little water-spouts.

Amongst our stars, you observe there are some which have only two or three rays, and by looking more narrowly at them, you disco­ver several very minute rays, just beginning to shoot out. Are then animals that are formed by a repetition of such a great number of parts both outward and inward, regenerated like polypuses, whose structure appears so simple? Nothing is more true, and the stars you are now looking at, will afford you a proof of it. These animals often chance tb lose two or three of their rays, and they are no more affected by this loss than polypuses are by parting with some of their arms. We may mangle stars or cut them in pieces, hut cannot destroy them by that method. They will recover from their ruins, and each piece becomes a new star.

21. Sea-hedgehogs, like the land ones, derive their names from their prickles. But those of the former are quite different from such as belong to the latter.

The form of these hedgehogs is that of a round button. It is hollow within, and its surface is elaborately wrought. We might compare the workmanship of them to that of certain copper or wire buttons. A multitude of tubercles. like little triangles, divide the whole surface of the button. These triangles are separated by stripes, which are regularly spaced, pierced with holes, and distributed with great sym­metry in several lines. These holes pass through from one part to another, the whole thickness of the skeleton, for the body of our hedgehogs is a kind of bone-box. Each hole is a socket, wherein is a fleshy horn, like those of a snail, and susceptible of the same motions. There are therefore as many horns as holes, and there are reckoned to be at least three hundred. The hedgehog, like the snail, makes use of her horns for feeling the earth, and the various bodies it meets with in its passage. But it particularly employs them to fasten with and cast anchor. The tubercles are the bases of many prickles or legs, and their number amounts to at least two thousand one hundred. So that there is hardly any part of the body of a hedgehog that is desti­tute of a leg. It can for that reason walk as well on the back as on the belly; and in general, let it be in what posture it will, it has always a great number of legs able to carry it, and horns to ‘fix it with. The legs it uses with the greatest ease, are those which surround the mouth; but when it pleases, can walk by turning on itself like a wheel. On the back or the top of the button, is another aperture which is thought to be the anus. This then is an animal that is provided with at least thirteen hundred horns, and two thousand one hundred legs. What a great number of muscles must it require to move so many horns and legs? How many fibres must there be in each of these muscles ? What an astonishing multiplication of parts in this little animal! What regularity, what symmetry, and even harmony in their distribution ! What variety in their exercise

When the hedgehog would advance, he draws himself forwards with those legs that are nearest the place he would go to, and pushes himself towards it with the opposite ones. All the rest remain at that time in a state of inaction. At the same time that one part of his legs are at work, the horns that are nearest to them exert themselves sound the way, or find anchorage for the animal.

22. Most shell-fish are produced with their clothing. The shell they bear grows with them and by them. But Bernard, the hermit, a kind of crayfish, so called, comes into the world without a shell, though he has need of one in order to cover the greater part of his body; whose thin and delicate skin would suffer too much from being naked. Has nature then behaved to it as a step mother, by denying it so necessary a garment? By no means: as she is beneficent to wards every other animal, so has this likewise been the object of her attention. It is true, she has not provided it with a shell; but has made it amends by enabling it to ‘clothe itself with one. Taught’ by so great a mistress, our hermit has the sagacity to take up hit lodging in the first empty shell he meets with. He applies him self indifferently to all that are of a spiral construction. He often retires so far into them, as not to be perceived, whereby the shell appears empty. If the shell should prove too narrow, be quits it, in order to seek for another, more suitable to his bulk. It is said, there’ sometimes happen contests between our hermits about a shell, and that victory is decided in favour of him who has the strongest claws. Our battles have scarcely ever a cause of equal importance for their object.

23. You have been already astonished at the skill displayed in the progressive motion of several shell-fish, your amazement will be redoubled when you learn that some of them can spin: and you are impatient to see them at work. Let us walk on the sea shore. You there discover a number of muscles, ‘some by themselves, and others joined in companies. Consider them more attentively, you will ob­serve that some of them are fastened to stones or to each other, by a great number of small slender strings. Let us select one of these muscles, that we may observe it more closely; the better to discover their operations. Here is one of them endeavouring to fix itself to this stone, that is near the surface of the water. The shell is partly open; it has thrust out from it a kind of supple tongue, which it lengthens and contracts alternately. Remark that it often applies the ends of it to the stone, and immediately draws it back again into the shell, that it may again put it forth at the next moment. From the root of this kind of tongue there issue certain threads, which are equal in size to a hog’s bristle. These threads part from each other as they come out, and their extremity sticks to the stone. These are as so many cables which hold our muscle at anchor. There are fre­quently an hundred and fifty of these little cables employed in moor­ing a muscle. Each cable is scarcely two inches long.

The muscle herself has spun all these cords. The tongue not only serves them as it does other shell-fish for arms to fasten themselves with, and for legs to creep with; but is also the spinning instrument which produces those numerous threads, by means of which the muscle resists the impulse of the waves. From the root of the tongue to its extremity, there is a groove, which divides it according to its length into two equal parts. This groove is a real channel, furnished with a great number of small muscles that open and shut it. Is this channel is contained a viscous liquor, which is the matter of the threads emitted by the muscle. At its first appearance, this chan­nel is exactly cylindrical, and is, properly speaking, the place where the threads are moulded. The various motions the tongue of the muscle we are observing gave itself a minute ago, all tended to fix it to the stone. Those threads which are the whitest and most transpa­rent are such as are newly spun. She has not yet finished anchoring herself, wherefore you perceive her tongue is again extended about two inches, and the tip of it drawing towards the stone. The viscous liquor runs in the channel, and arrives at the extremity of it. This liquor is now consolidated, and becomes a cylindrical thread. The muscle sticks the end of his thread to the stone; but is desirous of applying it by a wider surface, in order to render it more adherent. For that purpose, she adds to it with the tip of her tongue, that little paste which you observed. Her business now is to extend another cable to some distance from the last. The tongue therefore, must quit this latter, in order to work elsewhere. How will she be able to effect this? The channel opens itself to its utmost length, and dis­charges the thread. The tongue being disengaged from his thread, quickly draws itself together, re-enters the shell, and the next mo­ment again issues from it, to fix a new cable a little farther off.

Did you take notice of a mark of skill expressed by our muscle; she has just now spread the first thread; to assure herself of the goodness of it, she immediately puts it to the proof; drawing it strongly towards her, as though she would break it. It has resisted this effort, and, satisfied with the experiment, she has proceeded to stretch out the second thread, which she has tried like the first.

These cords, which the sea-muscles spin with so much art are, in reality, as serviceable to them as cables are to a ship. You ask me, whether they can weigh anchor? Divers experiments prove they are not endowed with that ingenuity. It was not necessary for them. But they sometimes drive with their anchors; it therefore behoves them to have fresh cables in reserve.

Thus the sea has its spinners as well as the earth. Muscles are at sea the same as caterpillars are on land. There is, nevertheless, a remarkable difference between them. The work of caterpillars answers exactly to that of gold wire-drawers. The silk thread is moulded by passing through the mouth of the spinner, and the cater­pillar gives it what length she pleases, which in certain cones consists of several hundred feet. The labour of muscles may rather be compared to that of workmen who cast metals. The spinning instrument of the shell-fish is a real mould, which does not only determine the thickness of the thread, but also its length, which is always equal to th at of the spinning instrument or tongue

The pinnae marinae, which are species of very large muscles, are more dexterous spinners still. Their threads, which are at’ least seven or eight inches long, are extremely fine, and curious works are made with them. If muscles are caterpillars of the sea, pinnae are its spiders. The threads of the pinnae serve, like those of muscles, to moor them with, and defend them from the agitations of the waves. They are prodigiously numerous, and being united, kind of tuft or skein, weighing about three ounces. The instrument that prepares and moulds them, resembles, in the essential proper­ties of it, that of other shell fish of this kind: except that it is much larger, and the groove that divides it lengthwise is much narrower At the root of it there is a membraneous bag, composed of several fleshy layers, that separate the silk layers from whence the tuft results.

24.  If all kinds of shell-fish and sea-animals have not been enabled to moor themselves with as much skill as muscles and pinnae, nature has made them amends for that by affording them means that are less efficacious. Before we quit this shore, let us stop a little while and examine this small shell-fish which you see fastened to this rock. It is a goat’s eye, or a limpet. Its shell, which consists of one piece only, is made like a conic chapter, under which the whole body is sheltered, as under a roof. The animal can raise or lower this covering as it pleases. W hen it lowers it, the body is entirely. con­cealed, and it rests immediately on the stone. A large muscle that occupies the whole extent of the shell, and that is, as it were, the base of it, fastens the animal to this stone. Try to disengage it from. it: you are not able to effect it. It is nevertheless only fixed to the stone by a base of an inch and a half in diameter. Let us hoist cord round the shell; and suspend a weight of twenty-eight or thirty. pounds to this cord, the shell-fish will not quit its hold till after some seconds, and you are surprised that so small an animal should be endowed with so great a power of adhesion. You are curious to know from whence he derives this: you examine the stone, and it appears to you to be finely polished, whereupon your astonishment is redoub!ed. Can it be that the muscle is able to insinuate itself into the insensible parts of the stone? Divide the animal trans­versely: it still adheres as strongly as before. Does it cleave to the stone as two pieces of polished marble cleave to each other? But, pieces of marble easily slip each other; and you cannot cause the shell-fish so to do. This thee is the secret cause of that adhesion which astonishes you. The muscle is furnished with a viscous hu­mour, which agglutinates it to the surface of the stone, and which is sensibly felt by touching it with the finger.

But the goat’s eye has not been condemned to remain its whole life affixed to the same place. It is necessary for it to go in search 0f its food. There is one now creeping on the rock: its great muscle serves him instead of legs, and performs the same functions as that you have been made acquainted with in the snail. The goat’s eye then can disengage himself when he pleases. It is able to break those strings which are with difficulty disjoined by a weight of eight and twenty pounds. Moisten your finger,. and stroke the muscle with it; the natural glutinous substance, with which it is endowed, can no longer retain its hold. This glue is dissoluble by water. The whole surface of the muscle abounds with little seeds, filled with a dissolvent liquor. When the animal is disposed to shift his quarters, he need only press his numerous glands, the dissolvent issues from them, and the cords are broken.

The goat’s eye has but one certain provision of gluey matter. If it be loosened from its place several times together, its stock will be exhausted, and it will not fix any more.

This method of mooring is common to divers sea animals. it is particularly so to nettles. Its whole skin is one entire mass of glue, which dissolves very speedily in aqua vitae. It is with this abundant glue that these extraordinary animals fasten themselves to the rocks.

Star-fishes also fix themselves by the same method. A viscous matter is conducted to the extremity of the horns that serve them instead of legs. These legs become strong ties to them by means of the glue that exudes from them, and when they are once fastened, it is easier to break than separate them. The horns of hedgehogs are exactly of the same nature.

All these adhesions are voluntary, and depend solely on the good pleasure of the animal. He joins or disjoins himself as circumstan­ces require. But there are other adhesions, which are altogether involuntary. Sea-worms that are called pipe-worms, are enclosed in a round tube of a substance resembling that of shells, and fastened to stones or hard sand, or even to other shell-fish. This tube fol­lows the turnings of the surface to which it is fixed. The worm never quits this shell, which lie lengthens or widens as he grows. They recall to your remembrance, the false moths: this may be termed a false moth of the sea. It emits from its whole body a stony juice, which is the matter whereof the tube is formed.

Other worms of this species, whose juice is not of a stony nature, but glutinous, make use of it for collecting round them grains of sand, or bits of shells; and this shell of inlaid pieces is not withstanding wrought in pretty exact proportion.

Oysters, and many other shell-fish, adhere by a stony liquor to bodies whereon they rest, and are often by this means cemented to one another. Of such a species is that universal cement which nature makes use of as often as she would erect in the sea, or establish therein a shell-work against the violent motion of the waves.

We have acquired but little knowledge of the industry of fishes They are not sufficiently within our reach. The greatest part of their inhabit gulfs that are inaccessible to our researches. We do not presume to think, that all their intelligence is confined solely to the devouring of each other. Their migrations are also as remarkable those •f birds. They may have need of a kind of genius to enable them to chase their prey with success, and elude the pursuit of their enemies. The cuttle-fish scatters about; at a proper season, a black liquor, which troubles the water, and hides her from the sight of such fish as attempt to take away her life. Perhaps this liquor may be ser­viceable to her in seizing with the greater ease those she feeds upon. Other fishes can with abundance of art penetrate into very hard shells, and extract from thence the fleshy substance contained in them. We are not yet acquainted with the use the sword-fish, the saw-fish, and the narval, or unicorn-fish, make of those enormous instruments they wear at the end of their snouts; but they are undoubtedly able to handle them. Has not the cramp-fish which so suddenly benumbs the hand that touches it, a very remarkable method of providing for its safety, and an excellent art to propose to the meditation of the natural philo­sopher? The flying-fish, when pursued by others, darts out of the watery element to take refuge in the air, where it is for a time sus­tained by its great tins.

It is well known that carp are capable of being tamed, and that they will hasten like fowls, at a certain signal, to receive food from the hands of their provider.

It is probable that fishes are of all other animals endued with the longest lives. We have seen carp of an hundred and fifty years old. Fishes transpire and harden but little; they have, properly speaking, no bones. But they live in a state of perpetual warfare. They all devour, or are devoured by others. Those who attain to their age, must acquire an extensive knowledge of things relating to the sea. Such nestors as these may be able to procure us some good memoirs of the secret history of the people so Little known.

25. We conjecture that the emigration of birds depend principally on the winds. An exact naturalist at Malta has assured himself of this : that the same species always change their climate with parti­cular winds. In April the south-west wind brings into that island a species of plovers, and the north-west, cardinals and quails. Nearly at the same time, falcons, buzzards and other birds of prey come with the north-west wind, without stopping and depart in October with the south and west. In summer, the easterly wind conducts the snipes to Malta, and, towards the autumn, the north and north-west bring thither numerous squadrons of woodcocks. These birds cannot fly, like the quails before the wind; since the north wind, which might carry them into Barbary, obliges them to remain in the isles. Quails, on the con­trary, emigrate before the wind from one country to another. The south-east enables them to pass, in the month of March, from Barbary into France. They return from France in September, and go to Malta by a south-east. The winds, therefore, are the signals employed by nature for reminding divers kinds of birds of the time of their departure. In obedience to this voice, they set out, and follow the direction it points out to them.

What a series of interesting circumstances would not the construc­tion of their nests also present us with! A chaffinch or goldfinch’s nest would take us up whole hours in contemplating it. We should inquire where the goldfinch could furnish itself with a cotton so fine, silky, and soft, as lines the inside of its pretty nest. After many re­searches, we should find, that by covering the seeds of certain willows with a very fine cotton, nature has prepared for the goldfinch the down she employs. We should never be weary of considering that kind of embroidery with which the chaffinch so agreeably adorns the outside of his nest, and on viewing it more narrowly, we should perceive that it is owing to an infinity of little liverworts, artfully interwoven together and applied with the utmost propriety over the whole surface of the nest. The colour of these liverworts, which is most commonly that of the bark of the tree on which the nest is situate, would indicate that the chaffinch seems to intend her nest should be confounded with the branch that bears it.

26. Shall we visit the retreats of rats, field-mice, badgers, foxes, otters, bears. We should undertake thereby too tedious a journey. Let us limit ourselves to the rabbit and monkey, as the most curious after those of the beaver.

The rabbit and hare, which bear so near a resemblance to each other, both in their exterior and interior part, teach us not to trust to appearances. They easily couple together, and produce nothing. They are therefore distinct species.

Moreover, the feeble hare contents herself with the lodging she makes for herself on the surface of the earth. The more industrious rabbit penetrates into the earth, and there procures an assured asylum. The male and female live together in this peaceable retreat, fearless of the fox or bird of prey. Unknown to the rest o the world, they spend their days in happiness and tranquility.

The hare might also dig the earth, but does not, neither does the dometic rabbit since he has no occasion; his dwelling place being pro­vided for him. he behaves as if he were sensible of it. The warren­rabbit seems to know that he is unprovided, and procures for himself a lodging. But to perceive the relations those retreats have to their preservation, anti to judge that they will shelter them from all inconveniences they labour under, is an operation of the soul that borders on reflection, if it be not reflection itself.

When the hare is ready to kindle, she digs for herself a burrows This is a winding trench, or one made in zigzag. At the bottom of trench she works a great cavity, lining it with her own hairs. That. is the soft bed she prepares for her young. She does not quit them during several of the first days ; and only goes out afterward to pro­cure nourishment. The father at that time knows nothing of his family he does not dare to enter the burrow. When the mother goes into the fields, she often takes even the precaution to atop up the. entrance of the burrow with earth steeped in her urine. When they are grown somewhat larger, the leverets begin to browse the tender grass. The father at that time acquires a knowledge of them, takes them up in his paws, licks their eyes, polishes their hair, and distributes his caresses and cares equally amongst them all.

Observations prove that paternity is greatly respected amongst bares. The grandsire continues to be the chief of the whole nume­rous family, and seems to govern it like a patriarch.

27. The tricks of the monkey are known to every body. No one is ignorant with what facility she is tamed, and taught to dance and show postures on a staff. Her ingenious proceedings on the tops of the Alps. where she fixes her abode, in the midst of snow and frost, are not so generally known.

Towards the month of October, she enters into winter quarters, and shuts herself up for the remainder of the season. Her retreat is worthy of observation. On the brow of a mountain, the industrious monkey establishes her dwelling. It is a great gallery dug under ground, and made like a Y. These two branches, which have each of them an opening, terminate at a corner. Such is the apartment of the monkey. One of the branches descends below the apartment, according to the sloping of the mountain; it is a kind of aqueduct that receives and carries off the excrements and filth. The other branch, which rises above the habitation, serves for an avenue and place to go out at. The apartment is the only part of the gallery which is horizontal. It is lined with a thick layer of moss and hay. It is certain that monkeys are sociable animals, and that they work in common on their lodging. They amass, during the summer, ample supplies of moss and hay. Some mow the grass, others gather it, and by turns they supply the office of a cart to convey it to the storehouse. One of the monkeys lies on his back, opens his paws to serve instead of racks, suffers himself to be loaded with hay, and drawn by the rest, who hold him by the tail, and are careful to prevent the carriage being overturned on the road.: Their feet are armed with claws, which enable them with great ease to dig into the earth. As soon as they have made a hollow place in it, they throw behind them the dirt they extract from the mine. They pass the greatest part of their life in their habitation; they retire into it during the rain, or on the approach of a storm, or at the sight of some imminent danger. They seldom quit it except in fine weather, and go but a little way from it. Whilst some are sporting on the turf: others are busy in cutting it, arid a third party are acting as scouts on the eminences; to give notice to the foragers, by a whistle, of the enemy’s approach.

During the winter, monkeys eat nothing. The cold benumbs them, suspends or greatly diminishes perspiration, and other excretions. The fat with which their belly is well provided passes into the blood and restores it. We might affirm that they foresee their lethargy, and are apprized that they shall then have no need of nourishment ; for they do not think of hoarding up provisions, as they do materials for furnishing their lodging.

28. We have greatly admired the ingenious and almost intelligent mechanism, by which divers caterpillars roll up the leaves of trees. You see these ash leaves that are rolled up like a coffin. They are inhabited by a little caterpillar, that has formed for itself therein a cone of pure silk, nearly resembling a grain of corn. We cannot examine this cone without opening the coffin. Let us do it with caution. The cone is lodged in the centre. You perceive little gutters on the exterior part of it. Observe particularly in what manner this little cone is suspended in the middle of the coffin, by the help of a thread, one of whose extremities is fixed to the top of the cone, and the other to its base, or the flat part of the leaf. Look narrowly at the place where the thread joins to the flat part of the leaf; you will perceive a small piece in it exactly circular, bored in the thick part of the leaf, and that seems’ to conceal some secret design. This you will find in many coffins; but it often happens that you will see in that place a little round hole, well turned, that appears to have been made by a gimblet. The circular piece is the work of the caterpillar; it has skillfully gnawed that part of the leaf; and has cut a little piece of it in a circular form, which it has been very careful to leave in its place. You seem to discern the end of this labour. It is contrived for a private passage for the caterpillar to go out at, at the same time that it prevents the entrance of any mischievous insects. Our industrious caterpillar then makes a little door into its cell. The door is not to be opened till after the last metamorphosis. The winding parts of it being interwoven with the leaf, it remains as it were subservient to it. In issuing from the cone, the caterpillar descends by the whole length of the thread, which holds it suspended; it follows the direction of it, arrives at the door, and bursts it open by pushing its head against it. These coffins, which you see pierced through, have been abandoned by the caterpillars.

29.  Our grain is liable to be eaten by a very small insect, that lodges within it, and is there metamorphosed. The covering of corn is a kind of very close box, which the caterpillar lines with silk. the caterpillar is provided with no instrument to pierce through this box, and would remain prisoner therein, if the insect were not instructed how to prepare a passage from it. It proceeds in the same manner as the roller of the ash ; it cuts with its teeth a little round place in the’ covering of the grain, which it is very careful not to’ disengage entirely from it. The butterfly need only press against this part, in order to obtain its liberty.

In the centre of the capper-thistle there is a large oblong cavity, which is commonly inhabited by a small caterpillar, that makes a sort of cone therein, where she transforms herself. The rind of the thistle is much harder than that of our corn. It would be impossible for the butterfly to force a passage through it. It would have occasion for very strong teeth for that purpose, and is furnished with no analogous instruments. The caterpillar, which seems sensible of this, makes a skilful provision for the necessities of the butterfly. It pierces in different parts the walls of its lodge, and makes a small round hole in it, opposite the extreme part of the cone which the butterfly is to go out at. But, were this whole to remain open, the chrysalis would be too much exposed. The caterpillar contrives a very simple expedient for stopping up the aperture. The whole exterior part of the head of the thistle is covered with the seeds of the plant. The caterpillar brings some of these little bodies to the outside of the hole.

In treating of the proceedings of aquatic moths, we have remarked that they transform themselves in their case, There must be a continual fresh supply of water in this enclosure: yet, no voracious insect should be allowed access to it. Instead of placing a full made door at the entrance of its lodge, the moth puts a grated one there, which answers every end. Let us not attribute our method of rea­soning to this moth. Does she know that voracious insects have a design against her life? Is she sensible that she will put on a form under which she will not be able to fly? No; she is ignorant of all this; nor does it concern her to know it. She has been taught to spread threads that are capable of growth; she does spread them; in so doing, she provides by a machine against the inconveniences which she neither knows or can know. Judge on the same principle of other facts of this kind. It is always the Author of the insect who alone is to be esteemed wonderful.

30. I need not then endeavour, from the end which we discover in the work of an industrious animal to find a reason for this work.  The spider catches the flies because she spreads a net, &c. and she forms a net because she has occasion to spin. The end is not less certain, or less evident; only, it is not the animal that has proposed it, but the Author of the animal. What loss would natural theology sustain by this method of reasoning? Would it not, on the contrary, acquire a greater degree of exactness? Let us reason then on the operations of animals as we do on their structure. The same Wisdom which has constructed and arranged with so much art their vari­ous organs, and has caused them to concur to one determinate end, has likewise caused those numerous operations, which are the natural effects of the economy of the animal, to contribute to one end. He is directed towards his end by an invisible Hand he executes with precision, from the very beginning, the works which we admire; he seems to act as if he was capable of reasoning, to turn about with propriety, and to change his method as there is occasion, and in all this only obeys those secret springs by which he is actuated; he is only a blind instrument that cannot judge of his own action, but is excited to it by that Adorable Mind which has traced out to every insect his little circle, as he has marked out to each planet its proper orbit. When therefore I see an insect working on the construction of a net, a cone, or a chrysalis. I am seized with respect, because I am beholding a sight where the Supreme Artist is concealed behind the scene.

31.   Many species of solitary bees content themselves with pene­trating into the earth; scoop out cylindrical cavities therein, and polish the walls. They deposit an egg there and amass a sufficient quantity of nourishment.

There is another species of these worms that pierce the earth. whose industry is much more remarkable. They do not content themselves, like the others, with an entire naked cavity. On visiting the inside of the lodge, immediately after its construction, we are agreeably surprised to see it hung quite round with tapestry of the most beautiful crimson sattin, affixed to the sides as our tapestry is to the walls of our apartments, but with much more propriety. The bee does not only line in this manner the whole inside of her dwelling; but also spreads the same kind of tapestry round the entrance, to the distance of two or three lines. We have observed many caterpillars that line the inside of their cone or enclosure with silk : our bee is the only insect at present known, which properly speaking, hangs her nest with tapestry, as we do our apartments. It is therefore with good reason that this industrious animal has received the name of the tapestry bee.

You seem at a loss to know from whence she procures the rich tapestry. Look at the flowers of this wild poppy, which are newly blown: observe that they are sloped here and there. Compare them’ with the tapestry whose tissue you are desirous of knowing, you can find no difference between them: this tapestry is no other than the fragments of the flowers of the wild poppy; and that is the secret origin of those slopings you remark on the poppies that border upon the nest. Your curiosity is not yet satisfied; you are desirous of ob serving a little the labour of our skilful worker in tapestry.

The hole which she digs perpendicularly into the earth, is about three inches in depth. It is exactly cylindrical, as far as to seven or eight lines of the bottom. There it begins to open wider, which it does more and more. When the bee has made an end of giving it the suitable proportions, she proceeds to line it with the tapestry.

With this view, she applies herself to cutting, with abundance of art, pieces of petals, of an oval form, from the flowers of the wild poppy, which she seizes with her legs, and conveys into her hole. These little scraps of tapestry, when transported thither, are very much crumbled; but the tapestry-bee knows how to spread them out, display them, and affix them to the walls with astonishing art.

She applies at least two layers of the petals. She spreads two tape­stries on each other. The reason of her furnishing herself with it from the flowers of the wild poppy, rather than from those of many other plants, is, because in them are united, to a higher degree, all those qualities which are requisite for the use to which the bee de­signs to put them.

When the pieces which the bee has cut and transported are found to be too large for the place they are intended to occupy, she cuts off the superfluous parts of them, and conveys the shreds out of the apartment.

After hanging the tapestry, the bee fills the nest with paste, to the height of seven or eight lines. This is all that is necessary for the nourishment of the worm. The tapestry is designed to prevent the mixture of particles of earth with the paste.

You expect undoubtedly that the prudent bee should not fail to close up effectually the aperture of the nest, in order to hinder the access of those insects into it that are fond of the paste : this she takes proper care to do: and it is utterly impossible for you to dis­cover, from the surface of the ground, the spot where the nest was, whose construction you have just been contemplating, such is the skill employed by the bee in closing it. This little white pebble was at the edge of the hole, or very near it; it has not changed its place, and indicates to us the part beneath which the nest is we are search­ing for. It seems then as if we should have nothing more to do than to raise up a light layer of earth, in order to expose to view the entrance of the bole, which has been so well close. Nothing can be easier or less doubtful. How great is your surprise! you have already taken up two or three inches of the earth in depth, and you cannot find the least appearance either of the hole or the tapestry. What can this mean? What is become of the nest that was so skillfully constructed, so properly lined, and was upwards of three inches deep? A few hours since, you admired the ingenious contrivance of’ it, and now the whole has disappeared, so that you cannot discover the least trace of it. What mystery then is this! It is effected as follows:

  * This is the name given by botanists to the leaves of flowers

When the bee has done laying, and amassed her quantity of paste, she takes down the tapestry, folds it over the paste, which she wraps together in it pretty nearly as we fold on itself a coffin of paper that is half full. The egg and paste are by this means enclosed within a little bag of flowers. The bee has then nothing farther to do, but to fill up with earth all the void space that is above the bag; and this she performs with such wonderful activity and exactness, as utterly to conceal the place where the nest was.

If a hare does not possess, like the rabbit, the art of digging for himself a burrow, he does not however want a sufficient degree of sagacity to enable him to secure himself, and escape from his enemies. He can choose for himself a form, and conceal himself betwixt