«‘ Observe the Insrct Race ordained to keep 
The lazy Sabbath of a half-year’s sleep. 
Entombed beneath the filmy web they lie, 
And wait the influence of a kinder sky. 
When vernal sunbeams pierce their dark retreat 
The heaving tomb distends with vital heat ; 
The full-formed brood, impatient of their cell, 
Start from their trance, and burst their silken shell; 
Trembling awhile they stand, and scarcely dare 
To launch at once upon the untried air. 
At length assured, they catch the favouring gale, 
And leave their sordid spoils and high in ether sai 
Mrs. BaRBAUED. 
‘“‘ Even in favour of the mere butterfly-hunter—he who has no higher aim 
than that of collecting a picture of Lepidoptera, and is attached to insects solely 
by their beauty or singularity—it would not be difficult to say much. Can it be 
necessary to declaim on the superiority of a people, amongst whom intellectual 
pleasures, however trifling, are preferred to mere animal gratifications? Is it 
a thing to be lamented that some of the Spitalfields weavers occupy their 
leisure hours in searching for the Adonis butterfly, instead of spending them 
in playing at skittles or in an alehouse? Or is there, in truth, anything more 
to be wished than that the cutlers of Sheffield were accustomed thus to employ 
their Saint Monday ys; and to recreate themselves, after a hard day’s work, by 
breathing the pure air of their surrounding hills while in pursuit of this, their 
‘untaxed and undisputed game’ —Kirpy AND SPENCE. 
