If it be granted, that making discoveries is one of the most satisfactory of human pleasures, then we may, without hesitation, affirm that the study of Entomology will open a wider field for this than either Botany, Mineralogy, or the higher branches of Zoology. However limited the manor upon which you can pursue your game, you will find that your efforts are often rewarded by the capture of some nondescript or rarity at present not possessed by other Entomologists. The "gilded summer-flies" are numerous as "leaves in Vallumbrosa." No recess of the forest is so obscure but there the "winged messengers" are seen to sport and play. Every pool of water is pregnant with life, and each lonely moor and secluded dell is the chosen abode of thousands of these little creatures. sequence, show a written document of a hundred years' existence. Again, there are beetles which deposit their larvæ in trees in such formidable numbers, that whole forests perish beyond the power of remedy. The pines of the Hartz have thus been destroyed to an enormous extent; and in North America, at one place in South Carolina, at least ninety trees in every hundred, upon a tract of two thousand acres, were swept away by a small, black, winged bug. Surely the study which teaches us how to avert such calamities as these cannot be deemed insignificant! Lastly, if we attend to the history and manners of insects, they will furnish us with many useful lessons in ethics, and from them we may learn to improve ourselves in various virtues. If we value diligence and indefatigable industry; judgment, prudence, and foresight; economy and frugality,-if we look upon modesty and diffidence as female ornaments,—if we revere parental affection,-of all these and many more virtues, insects, in their various instincts, exhibit several striking examples. With respect to religious instruction, also, insects are far from unprofitable; indeed, in this view, entomology seems to possess peculiar advantages above every other branch of natural history. "In the larger animals, though we admire the consummate art and wisdom manifested in them, and adore that Almighty power and goodness which, by a wonderful machinery, kept in motion by the constant action and reaction of the great positive and negative The various beauties of insects-their glittering colours, their graceful forms,-supply an inexhaust ible source of attraction. To use the expressive but somewhat exaggerated language of Messrs. Kirby and Spence, "They appear to have been nature's favourite productions, in which, to manifest her power and skill, she has combined and concentrated almost all that is either beautiful or graceful, interesting or alluring, curious or singular, in every other class and order of her children. To these, her valued miniatures, she has given the most delicate touch and highest finish of her pencil. What numbers vie with the charming offspring of Flora in various beauties! Some in the delicacy and variety of their colours, colours not like those of flowers, evanescent and fugitive, but fixed and durable, surviving their sub-powers of nature, maintains in full force the circulaject, and adorning it as much after death as they did when it was alive; others, again, in the veining and texture of their wings; and others in the rich cottony down that clothes them. The velvet tints of the plumage of birds are not superior to what the curious observer may discover in a variety of Lepidoptera; and those many-coloured eyes which deck so gloriously the peacock's tail, are imitated with success by one of our most common butterflies. In variegation, insects certainly exceed every other class of animated beings. Nature, in her sportive mood, when painting them, sometimes imitates the clouds of heaven, at others, the meandering course of the rivers of the earth, or the undulations of their waters; many are veined like beautiful marbles; others have the semblance of a robe of the finest net-work thrown over them; and others are blazoned with heraldic insignia." We might enlarge upon this subject, but we think that we have said enough to show that great pleasure may be derived from an examination of the exterior form and decorations of insects. Again, the injuries which they inflict upon us are extensive and complicated; but a knowledge of their general habits may lead, as it often has led, to the means of guarding against these injuries. A small ant, according to Humboldt, opposes almost invincible obstacles to the progress of civilization in many parts of the torrid zone. "1 tions necessary to life, perception, and enjoyment; MISSIONS. HAVE you a mission, dear reader? - or, rather, have you discovered what your mission is ? If you have, why-"tant mieux pour vous," but it will not be so well for me; as I must inevitably incur your contempt by the These animals devour paper and parch-mission is. Every body seems to have a mission plain declaration, that I do not know what my ment; they destroy every book and manuscript. Many provinces of Spanish America cannot, in con (1) Kirby and Spence. Introd. to Entom. in these days; so it is probable that I, too, have one, though, to my shame be it spoken, I have given myself very little trouble about it. The fact is, that I have been much too busy all my life, with work which could by no possibility be avoided, to have any time for considering whether or not such work were my own proper mission. Like Miss Monflathers' young ladies, I have been employed In work, work, work, Such people are drudges and not missionaries. As yet my mission has not been revealed to me; en attendant such a revelation, I am willing to assist other people in the fulfilment of theirs. If, my respected reader, you have an important mission and can make any use of me, be so good as to look upon me as your willing slave, and tax my energies in the cause, forthwith. always command our best feelings ;-the latter excites dislike and suspicion, which are among our lowest feelings. For instance, when a man whose whole and sole object-whose self-elected mission, in fact, is to get on in the world, becomes a philanthropy-monger, as a means of fulfilling that mission, he can never pass for a true philanthropist to the discerning observer. His love for this or that particular class of sufferers, is always bien calculé; so well calculated as never to stop short of the paying point. His hatred of unpopular parties, and measures, and men, is intense :-he may be quite aware that these very men, measures, or parties, are friendly to the best interests of humanity,-they are unpopular, and therefore are contrary to his interests, and he hates them. His mission is to get on in this world, and it will not do to It is a pleasant thing to talk to people about recognise the good of unpopular things. Loudly their missions. One man's mission is to raise he proclaims his belief in the axiom, "Vox the working classes ;-another man's is to lower populi, vox Dei ;" softly he whispers to himself, the taxes; this person believes that to venti- (so softly that he scarcely hears it, perhaps,) late mankind thoroughly is his "being's end being's end" Vox auri, vox Dei." In general a clever philand aim;" and that one considers the promo- anthropy-monger speculates successfully, and tion of Ragged Schools as his peculiar mission. makes a figure and a fortune in the world, and Yes, it is pleasant to talk with such people! fulfils his mission.-" Verily he shall have his -Ought we not, perhaps, to say, it is pleasant reward"-the reward of the self-seeker. to let them talk to you? for it is seldom that a man with a mission does not get all the talk to himself. A further qualification, too, may be thought necessary. It is pleasant for a time -say, two hours, at the utmost; after that period it is not so pleasant; as the listener begins to have a horrid suspicion that the talker, like the man with the cork leg, will never stop, but will go on to all eternity. I appeal to your own experience, most candid reader-have you never been talked dead by a man with a mission?—or, (confess now, and be pardoned,) have you not prosecuted your mission till the listening faculty of your hearer broke down? Of course you have. And now let me tell you my private opinion on this matter. It is better, far better to be seized by the button by a man with a mission similar to those indicated above,-which are unselfish and take his thoughts out of himself,-than to be carefully and courteously talked over by some men whose missions are more difficult to ascertain and to approve. Of two evils, it is perhaps the lesser to know what a man is going to say before he begins to speak, than not to know what he is driving at, after he has spoken. You are in the former condition when in conversation with a man whose mission is plain, straightforward and benevolent; you are in the latter condition with one whose mission is mysterious, doubtful, or selfish. The former you have a respect for, and sympathy with, ay, even though he bore you ;-for enthusiasm and forgetfulness of self Again, some people seem to believe it to be their mission to reform others, while they forget that reformation, like charity, ought to begin at home. In these, vanity, that haughty element in our nature, shows itself in its most disagreeable form. They are admirers and lovers of themselves, but with La Fontaine's qualification, "sans avoir de rivaux." It is well to warn those who are born with a love of faultfinding, that it is by no means a necessary consequence that their mission is to reform their fellow-creatures. One thing concerning missions has been generally admitted by all parties :—that mistakes are often made about them. A man will go on covering an acre or two of canvass with soulless, tasteless daubs, and never discover that he is mistaking his mission,—that Nature never intended him for a painter, but for a merchant, or a chemist, or a comic actor. An excellent prose writer will firmly believe that he was born a poet, and will persist in writing verses, to the regret of all his friends and the exasperation of the reviewers. A successful novelist will take it into his head that he is born to regenerate the drama-and he writes detestable plays to prove his mission. An able king, whose mission was, as every one thought but himself, to rule his kingdom and head his armies, firmly believed that he was born te be a great author, and spoiled reams and reams of paper in furtherance of that notion. History affords us numerous examples of people who have mistaken their missions. Perhaps you will ask me to define exactly what is meant by the word. I was once requested by a little girl of six years old to tell her, what her papa and I meant by the word "mission," which had struck on her ear frequently in the course of our conversation. I told her that "it meant, doing that which we considered best; that which gave us the greatest satisfaction, and made us thoroughly contented." " And has every body a mission ?" asked the child; "little girls and all ?" "Yes; if they can find out what it is." "Then I have got a mission, for I know what it is that I consider best, and what gives me the greatest satisfaction." ." "Well, my dear, what is it?" "Why, it is to eat plum-cake, and dabble my feet in the pond!" Since that time I have avoided defining the word "Mission." "Here!" replied a most piteous voice. “I am just at the foot of the stairs," replied the youth. "Have a moment's patience." And in two or three bounds he was by the side of a man, whose features he was prevented from distinguishing by the darkness, but who caught his hand, as he exclaimed, "Every bone in my body is broken; I am bruised all over!-Help me, I implore you, to extricate my leg from the stirrup!-Above all, do not let the horse stir, or I am lost!” Seeing the animal standing by uninjured, the young man immediately concluded that the horse had not fallen, but descended so rapidly, that the shock, as he reached the bottom, had thrown his rider. He soon extricated the latter from the stirrup, and assisting him to rise, begged of him to lean on him; and taking hold of the horse's bridle, he easily regained Those who have not yet learned to know the steps, cut rather by the feet than by the hands of their mission, are apt to prefigure it to them-men, and having placed horse and man once more on selves as something great and noble; vanity terra-firma, he inquired of the rider where he intended says, something worthy the missionary. But we must not indulge in such vague prophecies, lest pride have a fall; and I who have once or twice perhaps indulged a wild hope of being some day a great poet, or philosopher, or a true artist, may discover that I have no such mission, and that I am beginning to bore the amiable reader, who is curious on the subject of Missions. J. M. W. EARLY DAYS OF JEAN GUDEMBERG. CHAPTER I. age, A YOUTH, between fourteen and fifteen years of was ascending, with the lightness of a roe, the steep sides of a hill, from the top of which might still be distinguished, notwithstanding the darkness which was fast closing around, the embattled towers of an old castle. A piercing cry, which rang through the air, suddenly arrested the steps of the nocturnal wanderer. He looked around, listened for a repetition of the sound, and was just about to recommence his almost aërial ascent, when a second cry, followed by a groan, again struck upon his ear. "Who calls?" said he, listening with breathless attention. A voice, which seemed to proceed from the bottom of a ravine, formed by the waters which had formerly lodged at the foot of the mountain, but which the heat of several summers had gradually dried up, replied:— "Whoever you may be, come to the help of an unfortunate traveller, who, with his horse, has fallen into a bottomless abyss!" "Methinks it must have a bottom, since you have found it;" replied the young pedestrian, now descending the mountain as quickly as he had at first been ascending it; then, with a thorough knowledge of the place, which proved him to be an inhabitant of that country, he advanced towards the ravine, and, leaning over the entrance of it, exclaimed, "Where are you?” to go. "To Yum Gudemburg;" replied he; "I have a message from my mistress, the Baroness Von Praet, to Mademoiselle de Sulgeloch." "To my sister!" exclaimed the youth, in astonishment. "Are you, then, Jean Gensfleisch, son of the late Lord of Sulgeloch?" inquired the servant. Yes," answered Jean, examining, by the light of the moon, the speaker, whose features had suddenly assumed an expression of constraint and reserve. "I am not acquainted with this Countess, and cannot guess what she wants with my sister!" said Jean. The servant's lips moved as if going to reply, but, changing his mind, he drew a parchment from his gipsire,' saying simply, "This will explain all." Then, as if finding his strength sufficiently restored to permit of his walking alone, he dropped the arm which had served him as a support, and began to ascend the mountain, on the summit of which the castle was situated. From feelings too vague to define, Jean now became absent; his heart began to beat; and it was not mere curiosity that made him quicken his steps; for, trifling and unimportant as this incident seemed, yet to any one acquainted with the mode of life of the inhabitants of Yum Gudemberg, it would not be matter of surprise that it excited uneasiness and appre hension. Jean Gensfleisch de Sulgeloch had lost his father a short time after his birth, and his mother, left a widow with two children, himself and a daughter ten years older, having gradually beheld the immense fortune bequeathed by her husband swallowed up by the demands of a swarm of creditors, died of grief, leaving her two children alone in the world. Méline was then eighteen, and Jean eight. Since this event six years had flowed on, and from the time the coffin of the widowed lady of Sulgeloch had passed through the gates of Yum Gudemberg, they had never (1) A kind of pouch, then worn at the girdle. opened to admit a friend, a neighbour, or even a casual visitor. The young girl and the boy were everything to each other; he protected her-she cheered him. Méline had grown up in the shade of the lonely woods which adorned the property transmitted from descendant to descendant of the Sulgelochs: she had never passed the gate of the park; her days were spent in walking, reading, and tending her birds and flowers. Jean rambled about like a wild deer until evening beheld the brother and sister together in the large hall of the castle, where, being joined by their two old servants, Gobert and Gertrude, husband and wife, Méline prayed aloud, and then, summer as well as winter, one hour after daylight had fled from the horizon, the four inmates of this old manor-house retired to rest. We may now understand why the arrival of a stranger, bearing a message from a person wholly unknown to him, should have appeared an event of some importance to the young Sulgeloch. On reaching the entrance to the first court of the castle, Jean knocked pretty loudly, which brought old Gobert quickly to the steps. A shade of displeasure clouded his features on seeing the stranger accompanying his young master. "Some other learned man, I suppose, that you have picked up in some hole," said he, in a cross tone," whom you have forced into accepting your hospitality." "Picked up out of a hole, sure enough; but, as to learning, I cannot pretend to know as much as a comma;" replied the strange servant. "And, far from pressing him to accept hospitality, he has himself craved it of me," said Jean. But, Gobert, take this man to the kitchen, and put up his horse, and I will let my sister know of the arrival of a messenger from the Countess Von Praet." At the mention of this name, Gobert drew off the woollen cap which covered his old bald head; and, bowing respectfully, repeated-" The Countess Von Praet?" "You know her?" demanded Jean. "She is the noblest, richest, and most haughty lady in all Mentz," said Gobert; " and gladly would I hasten to offer to her servant a repast worthy of the house he represents, but we have had so many people at dinner to-day, in the parlour, and so many servants in the kitchens, to say nothing of the peasants of the neighbourhood, who have cleared the rest, that it is a chance if anything can be found in our spacious larders, save a bit of bread and some chestnuts." At those words, wholly incomprehensible to him, Jean looked in astonishment at his old servant, who, passing near him as if to take the horse's bridle, said, quickly, “What can the Countess want with me?" said she, entering the large reception-room with her brother, and sinking, in much agitation, into one of those wooden high-backed chairs, pretended by antiquarians to belong to the time of Dagobert. "The surest way of finding out is to ask;" said Jean, as he left the room. Notwithstanding her emotion, Méline raised the wick of the lamp, which lighted up but a very small part of the immense hall, leaving the rest in darkness which the eye could scarcely penetrate; then, uneasy and anxious, she awaited the appearance of the strange servant. He soon approached, preceded by the young Sulgeloch, and followed by Gobert and Gertrude. "Believe, mademoiselle," said the valet, bowing almost to the ground, "that I am grieved to the heart at the commission I am about to fulfil, especially after the service rendered me by your brother; for, had it not been for him, I should have been devoured by the wild boars, which, it is said, infest this country." Then, making a second obeisance, during the silence caused by the singularity of these words, he drew a parchment from his gipsire, and respectfully laid it on the table, at the corner of which Méline, leaning on her elbow, was listening to the messenger. The young girl took it up, broke the seal with feverish haste, opened it, and, approaching the lamp, began to read; but hardly had she glanced at the first few lines, than she became quite pale, uttered a cry, and fainted. CHAPTER II. BEFORE Méline had recovered from her swoon the inhabitants of the castle had been made aware of the contents of the letter by its bearer. The manorhouse of Yum Gudemberg, put up for sale by the creditors of the late Lord of Sulgeloch, had been purchased by the Countess Von Praet. The letter was to apprise the poor descendant of this ancient family of this fact, at the same time warning her that the new proprietor was coming to take possession of the demesne. Say to your mistress that possession shall be given," said Méline, regaining her composure; and gathering, from the very extent of her misfortune, strength to repress unavailing tears, she added: "I ask eight days for removal; it is not a very long time," said she, in a tone so sad, that the listeners melted into tears. "It is not too long to bid adieu to the place where I was born, where my ancestors have died!" Then, dismissing the bearer with a dignified gesture, she turned, as the door closed upon him, to embrace her brother. Courage, Jean!-Courage!" said she. No tear dimmed the boy's eye as he gazed upon "Hush!-you are too young to know what I am her, and simply said, "My poor sister!" about; so say nothing." Jean went off, laughing to himself, and, advancing to his sister, who, having heard his voice, was coming to meet him, he related to her his adventure, and the absurd boast of Gobert. Méline smiled, but a cloud appeared on her brow. Méline turned quickly towards the two old servants, who were weeping bitterly. "Let us pray to God, my friends!" said she, kneeling down. Her example was followed by Gobert and Gertrude; as to Jean, he remained for a moment standing, gazing thoughtfully, yet tenderly, on his sister. "So," said he, in a tone of gentle reproach, "you | hours since, we ceased to be the owners of this house, have concealed everything from me!" Why should I have saddened your happy life, my child?" replied she, as, still kneeling, she bent towards him, and gave him her hand. "Child!" replied young Gudemburg, bitterly. "Child! This moment, Méline, has made me a man!” And none could look upon the boy's kindling brow, or gaze upon his flashing eye, without feeling that it was indeed so. He took the hand held out by his sister, and, pressing it to his lips, he added: "Méline, it is I who ought to protect you; and from this moment I pledge myself to do so." He then knelt down beside her; and Méline, with an effort to steady her voice, which the scene with her brother had made to falter, was just about to commence the prayer, when a quick step sounded upon the passage which led to the apartment, and old Gertrude, suddenly and angrily starting up, exclaimed,— "See!—we are not left in peace this evening, even to say our prayers. Here is the sorcerer!" At this moment the small green velvet door of the room opened, and a man of lofty stature, with venerable white hair, and a white beard flowing down upon his breast, appeared, pausing a moment before he entered. "Come, mingle your prayers with ours, Master Lawrence Coster," said Méline. Yum Gudemberg (or, the House of the Good Mountain). There is no remedy, dear friends. We once had both parents and wealth: The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"" "Be that as it may," said Gobert, concealing, under an appearance of roughness, the tears which trembled in his eyes, "the Lord gave you, in my wife and myself, two servants-he has not taken them away from you, and therefore you must not put them away." "I have already told you, Gobert," replied Méline, gently, "that I am left a beggar, without a roof even to shelter my brother, without bread." "Once for all," said Gobert, energetically, "where you and our young master go, we will go. We are as much a part of you as the eyes in your head. We cannot be separated. Under a thatched roof as well as in a palace, Gobert and his wife must still be there to serve you, to obey you, and, if need be, to labour for your support." Gertrude said nothing, but the hot tears fell from her eyes. Jean stood lost in thought, while Laurence Coster, who had hitherto listened in silence, when Gobert ceased to speak, advanced to him, and grasping his hand, "You are a worthy fellow, Gobert,' said he. "In my estimation you rank amongst the noblest of the land.--Lady," added he, turning to "His prayers!" said Gertrude, crossing herself; Méline, whose face was buried in her hands, but "do sorcerers pray to God?" "Gertrude," said the descendant of the Sulgeloch, in a stern tone," this gentleman is our guest, and as such, has a right to your respect as well as to our protection." "Yes, my children," said the old man, who seemed not to have heard what had passed between the mistress and servant. "Yes, I come to mingle my prayers and tears with yours." "You know --?" said Méline to him. "All!” replied the old man, kneeling beside Méline, who now offered up the evening prayer with more than her usual fervency. Each time her lips pronounced the Sacred Name, peace seemed imparted, and she arose from her knees without having betrayed any emotion, but her face of marble paleness was sad to look upon in its calmness. "Gobert, and you also, my faithful Gertrude," said she, addressing her two old servants, who in deep dejection were awaiting the orders of their young mistress, "the time has now arrived when we must part." "You are not going to dismiss us, mademoiselle!" exclaimed Gobert, taking advantage of the pause occasioned by the emotion of Mademoiselle Sulgeloch. "I have no longer the power of retaining you in my service, my good old friends!" said she, extending a hand to each, which they eagerly seized and respectfully kissed. "Our family possessed but two manors; one, the most beautiful, that of Yum Gensfleisch (House of the Goose's Flesh) was sold some time before the death of my dear mother; and two VOL. VI. whose heaving bosom betrayed the emotion she felt, "it is now a year since your brother found me dying on the road; he took pity on me, he brought me here, where I was received as a father, as a cherished guest; and I met here, what during a long life I had vainly sought, an angel of beauty and of goodness, with such total unselfish devotedness, such angelic piety,-with, in truth, every Christian virtue! I would have left in a few days, but I could not. My heart was bound up with you. Each day I intended my adieu should be on the morrow, and still next day I put it off till the next. I was able to read all the manuscripts contained in the chapel of the house, and knew how to trace letters on paper with the pen. Your people--but I forgive them-took me for a sorcerer. You, lady, regarded me simply as I am, a man desirous of knowledge, and knowing how to read and write. You and your young brother wished to be initiated in this great art, which transmits thoughts from country to country, from generation to generation. I was happy to be able thus to requite your hospitality, in some little measure. I was happy at not being obliged to leave Jean Gudemberg, whom I love as a son. Lady, though I am not a sorcerer, I have that in my head which might not merely make the fortune of a man, but transmit his name to posterity as one whose triumphs were not the blood-stained glories of the conqueror, but such as he might humbly ask a blessing upon as permanently useful to his fellow-creatures. It is true that it is still but an imperfect idea-but a problem; and I have, as yet, but a glimpse of the solution. It may remain with Jean Gudemberg to solve Q |