Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donald Dhu,

Sound for the onset!

LVII. -THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET.

NOBLE the mountain stream,

Bursting in grandeur from its vantage ground;
Glory is in its gleam

Of brightness, thunder in its deafening sound.

Mark how its foamy spray,

Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,
Mimics the bow of day,

Arching in majesty the vaulted skies!

Thence in a summer shower

Steeping the rocks around. O, tell me where
Could majesty and power

Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair.

Yet lovelier, in my view,

The streamlet, flowing silently serene;
Traced by the brighter hue.

And livelier growth it gives, - itself unseen!

It flows through flowery meads,

Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse; Its quiet beauty feeds

The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.

Gently it murmurs by

The village churchyard: its low, plaintive tone
A dirge-like melody,

For worth and beauty modest as its own.

More gayly now it sweeps

By the small school house, in the sunshine bright, And o'er the pebbles leaps,

Like happy hearts by holiday made light.

May not its course express,

In characters which they who run may read,
The charms of gentleness,

Were but its still small voice allowed to plead ?

What are the trophies gained

By power, alone, with all its noise and strife,
To that meek wreath, unstained,
Won by the charities that gladden life?

Niagara's streams might fail,

And human happiness be undisturbed ;
But Egypt would turn pale

Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curbed.

LVIII. - THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

BRYANT.

WHEN spring to wastes and woods around
Brought bloom and joy again,

The murdered traveller's bones were found
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch above him hung

Her tassels in the sky,

And many a vernal blossom sprung

And nodded careless by.

The redbird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead,
And fearless, near the fatal spot,

Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,

With watching many an anxious day,
Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,

When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed and hard beset;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,

And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home,

And dreamed, and started as they slept,

For joy that he was come.

Long, long they looked, but never spied
His welcome step again,

Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.

LIX.-INSECT IMPORTANCE.

MANY persons look upon the insect tribe with aversion and distaste, and regard them in no other light than as productive of mischief or annoyance. The mosquito teases us with his bite, and with the restless sound of his little trumpet. Flies in summer are a torment to all good housekeepers. Few persons can tolerate a spider, in spite of the regular beauty of the web it weaves. Beetles, caterpillars, worms, and slugs are all

of them uninviting objects; and, indeed, the pretty butterfly, winging its way from flower to flower, is almost the only specimen of the insect race which we look upon with pleasure.

But insects were created by the same divine hand that fashioned man; and we may be sure that God has made nothing in vain. These little creatures, which appear of so little consequence in the world, perform in many cases the most important services to man. We should not indeed value the lower classes of animals solely by their usefulness to man; but taking even this standard, we shall be surprised to find that insects are by no means the worthless beings that they seem. Individually, the highest of their class is but a feeble instrument either for good or for evil; but their importance is derived from their infinite numbers, and from the fact that they generally act and work together. We shall speak in the present lesson of some of those insects which produce substances which are consumed by man, and thus have a value in com

merce.

By far the most valuable of the products of the insect tribe is silk, which is the gift of a species of caterpillar, known by the name of the silkworm. On acquiring its full growth, it spins for itself an oval-shaped cocoon, formed by a single thread of yellow silk, from ten to twelve yards in length. It is in this state that the material is taken, the insect being destroyed by dipping into hot water, and the cocoon carefully unwound. Silk is, as is well known, the richest and most beautiful of the fabrics from which human clothing is formed; and it is in universal use all over the civilized world. How much are the beauty of the female face, and the grace of the female form, indebted to this splendid fabric, woven by an unsightly worm, which a fine lady would hardly venture to touch with the tip of her parasol!

In some portions of the south of Europe, the culture of silk forms the principal occupation of a large part of the inhabitants. It has the advantage of affording employment to women

and children as well as to men, so that a whole family may work together for their common support. The worms must be fed and sheltered; the cocoons must be unwound; the threads must be sorted; so that much must be done before even the raw material can be produced. Then comes the work of the weaver, of the artist who designs the patterns, and of the dyer who colors them with the brilliant hues which so delight the eye.

It has been supposed that at least a million and a half of human beings derive their support from the culture and manufacture of silk. In Great Britain the annual value of the silk manufacture is not far from fifty millions of dollars; and the value of this rich material imported into the United States during the year ending June, 1856, was not less than thirty-six millions of dollars. Such is the commercial importance of a humble insect which to the ignorant eye would seem of as little value as the common earthworm of our gardens.

In connection with the silkworm we may next treat of the insect from which the brilliant red dye called cochineal is produced. The male of this species is winged, and not much larger than a flea: the female is wingless, and when full grown, about the size of a barley grain. It is the dried body of the female which forms the cochineal of commerce, having in this state the appearance of a shrivelled berry. It is used in dyeing various shades of red; and no other substance gives so brilliant a hue. With the exception of indigo, it is the most important of all dyeing materials. The supply is derived mainly from Mexico and Central America.

The insects feed upon the leaves of a species of plant called the cactus, from which they are gathered several times a year, mostly by Indian women. They are killed either by throwing them into boiling water, or by exposing them in heaps to a hot sun, or by placing them in ovens. Some idea may be formed of the vast numbers and diminutive size of these insects from the fact that a single pound is supposed to contain about seventy