read in a kind of common-place, as out of Dr. Hammond on the New Testament, and most of the best practical treatises. She had read and digested a considerable deal of history and of places (geography). The French tongue was as familiar to her as English: she understood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreet reflections upon what she had observed of the conversations among which she had at any time been, which being continually of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she played a thorough-base on the harpsichord, in both which she arrived to that perfection, that of the scholars of those famous two masters, Signors Pietro and Bartholomeo, she was esteemed the best; for the sweetness of her voice and management of it added such agreeableness to her countenance, without any constraint or concern, that when she sang, it was as charming to the eye as to the ear: this I rather note, because it was a universal remark; and for which so many noble and judicious persons in music desired to hear her, the last being at Lord Arundel of Wardour's. What shall I say, or rather not say, of the cheerfulness and agreeableness of her humour? Condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often read to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved by everybody. Pity was so prevalent an ingredient in her constitution (as I may say), that even among equals and inferiors, she no sooner became intimately acquainted, but she would endeavour to improve them, by insinuating something of religion, and that tended to bring them to a love of devotion. She had one or two confidants, with whom she used to pass whole days in fasting, reading, and prayers, especially before the monthly communion and other solemn occasions. She abhorred flattery; and though she had abundance of wit, the raillery was so innocent and ingenious that it was most agreeable. She sometimes would see a play, but, since the stage grew licentious, expressed herself weary of them; and the time spent at the theatre was an unaccountable vanity. She never played at cards without extreme importunity, and for the company; but this was so very seldom, that I cannot number it among anything she could name a fault. No one could read prose or verse better, or with more judgment; and as she read, so she writ, not only most correct orthography, (but) with that maturity of judgment and exactness of the periods, choice of expressions, and familiarity of style, that some letters of hers have astonished me, and others to whom she has occasionally written. She had a talent of rehearsing any comical part

or pocm; as to them she might be decently free with, was more pleasing than heard on the theatre. She danced with the greatest grace I have ever seen, and so would her master say, who was Monsieur Isaac; but she seldom showed that perfection, save in gracefulness of her carriage, which was with an air of sprightly modesty not easily to be described. Nothing affected, but natural and easy in her deportment as in her discourse, which was always material, not trifling, and to which the extraordinary sweetness of her tone, even in familiar speaking, was very charming. Nothing was so pretty as her descending to play with little children, whom she would caress and humour with great delight. But she was most affected to be with grave and sober men, of whom she might learn something and improve herself. I have been assisted by her reading and praying by me; comprehensive of uncommon notions, curious of knowing everything to some excess, had I not sometimes repressed it. Nothing was so delightful to her as to go into my study, where she would willingly have spent whole days, for as I said, she had read abundance of history, and all the best poets; even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romances and modern poems; she could compose happily, as in the Mundus Muliebris, wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to her sex; but all these are vain trifles to the virtues that adorned her soul: she was sincerely religious, most dutiful to her parents, whom she loved with an affection tempered with great esteem, so as we were easy and free, and never were so well pleased as when she was with us, nor needed we other conversation. She was kind to her sisters, and was still improving them by her constant course of piety. Oh, dear, sweet, and desirable child! how shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without the bitterness of sorrow and reluctancy of a tender parent? Thy affection, duty, and love to me, was that of a friend as well as a child. Nor less dear to thy mother, whose example and tender care of thee was unparalleled; nor was thy return to her less conspicuous. Oh, how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou left us! to the grave we both carry thy memory.

(1) Female World.

Yet time, with magic unconfess'd,
Has moulded feelings in thy breast,
That now like buried music float
With soft and secret under-note ;-
So delicate, they scarce appear
To haunt thy spirit's maiden sphere,
But, waken'd once,-and they shall be
A soul within a soul to thee!-
Emotions of themselves afraid

A temple in thy heart have made,
Wherein they flutter, like a bird
That trembles when a voice is heard!—
And fancy loves a Being now

Whom shaping words cannot avow,→→→
A Form of fine imaginings

To which attracted nature clings,-
At length he comes! that nameless one,
The eye of dreams had gazed upon !
The magic and the mystery

Of life have now begun for thee,
And thou the type of heaven wilt prove,
In primal, deep, and deathless love!

THE CHANGES OF INSECTS.

SHARON TURNER, born in 1799, and known as a useful compiler on the subject of English history.

THE insect-tribes were amongst the "creeping things" which were called into existence by our Almighty Creator, on the sixth day of the creation. In point of number, they are certainly the most remarkable of all living creatures. We may form some opinion of their vast multitude, when we understand that there are at least three thousand different kinds of insects in Great Britain alone; and that every other part of the globe possesses its almost endless varieties. Yet numerous as they are, whoever duly studies their varied forms, their peculiar habits, and their several uses, will naturally come to a full conviction, that they have all been created for some good and benevolent purpose, and such persons may at the same time derive from the study as much pleasing entertainment as valuable instruction.

It would not be just, indeed, to say, that the insect kingdom is the next most favourite production of the Creator after man,

because each class of his creatures equally comes under that description. All his works on earth have been with him favourite operations; though, most of all, our own most highly-favoured race,-Mankind. Yet this we may safely admit, that in no other class has he generally united so much that is curious and wonderful with so much that is beautiful and even graceful, in bodies so minutely small, and yet so exquisitely and perfectly formed, as in the insect-race.

It is well known that most insects undergo, in the course of their existence, a threefold metamorphosis, transformation, or change. Any persons who have amused themselves with keeping silkworms, or have watched the common caterpillar in its changes, will readily understand what is here alluded to.

As the common cabbage-caterpillar is well known to us all, and may be easily observed by all classes, we will take that as an instance for the purpose of illustrating the subject. We have all, I suppose, seen on the leaves of the garden-cabbage the little parcels of eggs, from which the caterpillars come forth. From each of those eggs, in due time, there breaks out a little caterpillar. It is seen, worm-like, crawling along upon sixteen short legs, greedily devouring leaves with its two jaws, and seeing by the means of twelve eyes, which are so minutely small, as scarcely to be discerned without the aid of a microscope. This is the creature's first state of existence.

After a short period, the caterpillar having several times changed its skin, and at length grown to its full size, seeks out some place of concealment, secreting itself in some hole in a wall, or burying itself under the surface of the ground, or sometimes only attaching itself by a silken web to the under-side of a leaf. There it is changed into what we usually call a chrysalis, which in appearance is an animal shut up in a sort of egg-shaped case, of a bright greenish colour, variegated with spots of a shining black. Whilst in this state, the creature is without a mouth or eyes, without legs or wings. It takes no nourishment, but lies in a torpid and dormant condition, showing no other symptom of life than a slight movement when touched. In this death-like torpor the insect exists for several months.

After this it at length bursts through its case, and, as it were, escaping from its confinement, it comes forth a butterfly. Now you view it furnished with beautiful wings, capable of rapid and extensive flights. Of the sixteen feet of the caterpillar, ten have disappeared, and the remaining six are in most respects altogether unlike those whose place they have taken. Its jaws have vanished away, and in their stead we observe a curled-up trunk, suited only for sipping liquid sweets. The form of its head is entirely changed; two long horns rise on the upper part, and instead of twelve almost invisible eyes, you behold two very