cles of the larynx to be stronger in the nightingale than in any other bird of the same size; and in all those instances where he dissected both cock and hen, the same muscles were stronger in the cock.

It is an observation as ancient as the time of Pliny, that a capon does not crow. Some ascribe the singing of the cock in the spring solely to the motive of pleasing his mate during incubation; others, who allow that it is partly for this end, believe it is partly owing to another cause, viz. the great abundance of plants and insects in spring, which are the proper food of singing birds at that time of the year, as well as seeds. Mr. Barrington remarks, that there is no instance of any singing bird which exceeds our blackbird in size; and this, he supposes, may arise from the difficulty of concealing itself, should it call the attention of its enemies, not only by its bulk, but by the proportionate loudness of its notes. He further observes, that some passages of the song in a few kinds of birds correspond with the intervals of our musical scale, of which the cuckoo is a striking and known instance; but the greater part of their song cannot be reduced to a musical scale; partly because the rapidity is often so great, and it is also so uncertain when they may stop, that we cannot reduce the sages to form a musical bar in any time whatsoever; partly also, because the pitch of most birds is considerably higher than the most shrill notes of those instruments which have the greatest compass; and principally, because the intervals used by birds are commonly so minute, that we cannot judge of them from the more gross intervals into which we divide our musical octave. This writer apprehends, that all birds sing in the same key; and he found by a nightingale, as well as a robin which was educated under him, that the notes reducible to our intervals of the octave were always precisely the same. Most people, who have not attended to the notes of birds, suppose, that every species sing exactly the same notes and passages but this is not true; though there is a general resemblance. Thus the London bird-catchers prefer the song of the Kentish goldfinches, and Essex chaffinches; and some of the nightingale fanciers prefer a Surrey bird to those of Middlesex.

pas

Of all singing birds, the song of the nightingale has been most universally admired; and its superiority consists in the following particulars: its tone is much more mellow than that of any other bird, though, at the same time, by a proper exertion of its musical powers, it can be very brilliant. Another superiority is, its continuance of song without a pause, which is sometimes twenty seconds; and when respiration becomes necessary, it takes it with as much judgment as an opera singer. The skylark, in this particular, as well as in

compass and variety, is only second to the nightingale. The nightingale also sings with judgment and taste. Mr. Barrington says, that his nightingale began softly, like the ancient orators, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which thus had a most astonishing effect. He adds, that the notes of birds which are annually imported from Asia, Africa, and America, both singly and in concert, are not to be compared to those of European birds. He has also formed a table, to exhibit the comparative merits of the British singing birds; wherein twenty being the point of perfection, he states the nightingale at nineteen; the woodlark and skylark at eighteen; the blackcap at fourteen; the titlark, linnet, goldfinch, and robin, at twelve; with some variations respecting mellowness, sprightliness, execution, &c. for which, with the proportional differences of other birds, we refer to his work.

We cannot resist the temptation to insert the following wellknown

INVITATION TO THE

FEATHERED RACE.

Written at Claverton, near Bath

AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove;
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,
And shun the noontide heat;

My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray,

Or weave the mossy nest,

Here rove and sing the live-long day,

At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fil

And revel in the shade.

No schoolboy rude, to mischief prone

E'er shows his ruddy face,

Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet sings:

The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares,
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,
Yon distant woods among,

And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless redbreast fear,
Domestic bird, to come

And seek a sure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve:
O let me thus your friendship bribe!
Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect,
To you these plums belong;

Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd,
But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made,
Our mutual int'rest guard;

Mine be the gift of fruit and shade
Your songs be my reward.

Graves

CHAP. XXII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.

THE HONEY BEE.

To their delicious task the fervent bees,

In swarming millions, tend; around, athwart,
Through the soft air the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they, soaring, dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grow,
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

What various wonders may observers see
In a small insect-the sagacious bee!
Mark how the little untaught builders squar

Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear;
Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive

And fill, with curious labyrinths, the hive.

See what bold strokes of architecture shine

Thomson.

Through the whole frame, what beauty, what design! Blackmore.

THIS important insect has been long and justly celebrated for its wonderful polity, the neatness and precision with which it constructs its cells, and the diligence with which it provides, during the warmth of summer, a supply of food for the support of the hive during the rigours of the succeeding winter. The general history of this interesting insect has been amply detailed by various authors, as Swammerdam, Reaumur, &c. &c. Among the most elaborate accounts of later times, may be mentioned that of Mr. John Hunter, which made its appearance in the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1792;

and that of M. Huber, contained in his Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles, addressed to M. Bonnet, the celebrated author of the Contempla ions de la Nature." The following account drawr principally from Hunter and Huber.

There are three periods, observes Hunter, at which the history of the bee may commence: first, in the spring, when the queen begins to lay her eggs; in the summer, at the commencement of a new colony; or in the autumn, when they go into winter-quarters. We shall begin the particular history of the bee with the new colony, when nothing is formed. When a hive sends off a colony, it is commonly in the month of June; but that will vary according to the season, for, in a mild spring, bees sometimes swarm in the middle of May, and very often at the latter end of it. Before they come off, they commonly hang about the mouth of the hole or door of the hive for some days, as if they had not sufficient room within for such hot weather, which we believe is very much the case; for if cold or wet weather come on, they stow themselves very well, and wait for fine weather. But swarming appears to be rather an operation arising from necessity; for they do not seem to remove voluntarily, because if they have an empty space to fill, they do not swarm; therefore, by increasing the size of the hive, the swarming is prevented. This period is much longer in some than in others. For some evenings before they come off, is often heard a singular noise, a kind of ring, or sound of a small trumpet; by comparing it with the notes of a piano-forte, it seemed to be the same sound with the lower A of the treble. The swarm commonly consists of three classes; a female or females, males, and those commonly called mules, which are supposed to be of no sex, and are the labourers; the whole, about two quarts in bulk, making about six or seven thousand. It is a question that cannot easily be determined, whether this old stock sends off only young of the same season, and whether the whole of their

or only a part.

young ones.

As the males are entirely bred in the same season, part go off; but part must stay, and most probably it is so with the others. They commonly come off in the heat of the day, often immediately after a shower. When one goes off, they all immediately follow, and fly about, seemingly in great confusion, although there is one principle actuating the whole. They soon appear to be directed to some fixed place; such as the branch of a tree or bush, the cavities of old trees, or holes of houses leading into some hollow place; and whenever the stand is made, they immediately repair to it till they are all collected But it would seem, in some cases, that they had not fixed upon any resting-place before they come off, or, if they had, that they were either disturbed, if it was near, or

that it was at a great distance; for, after hovering some time, as if undetermined, they fly away, mount up into the air, and go off with great velocity. When they have fixed upon ther future habitation, they immediately begin to make their combs for they have the materials within themselves. "I have reason, says Mr. Hunter, "to believe that they fill their crops with honey when they come away, probably from the stock in the hive. I killed several of those that came away, and found their crops full, while those that remained in the hive had their crops not near so full: some of them came away with farina on their legs, which I conceive to be rather accidental. I may just observe here, that a hive commonly sends off two, sometimes three swarms in a summer, but that the second is commonly less than the first, and the third less than the second; and this last has seldom time to provide for the winter.

"The materials of their dwelling or comb, which is the wax, is the next consideration, with the mode of forming, preparing, or disposing of it. In giving a totally new account of the wax, I shall first shew it can hardly be what it has been supposed to be. First, I shall observe that the materials, as they are found composing the comb, are not to be found in the same state (as a composition) in any vegetable, where they have been supposed to be got. The substance brought in on the legs, which is the farina of the flowers of plants, is, in common, I believe, imagined to be the materials of which the wax is made, for it is called by most, the wax: but it is the farina, for it is always of the same colour as the farina of the flower where they are gathering; and, indeed, we see them gathering it, and we also see them covered almost all over with it like a dust: nevertheless, it has been supposed to be the wax, or that the wax was extracted from it. Reaumur is of this opinion.

"I made several experiments, to see if there was such a quantity of oil in it, as would account for the quantity of wax to be formed, and to learn if it was composed of oil. I held it near the candle; it burnt, but did not smell like wax, and had the same smell when burning, as farina when it was burnt. I observed, that this substance was of different colours on different bees, but always of the same colour on both legs of the same bee; whereas a new-made comb was all of one co lour. I observed, that it was gathered with more avidity for old hives, where the comb is complete, than for those hives. where it was only begun, which we could hardly conceive, admitting it to be the materials of wax. Also we may observe, that at the very beginning of a hive, the bees seldom bring in any substance on their legs for two or three days, and after that, the farina gatherers begin to increase; for now some