TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
Obvious spelling, typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the
text and consultation of external sources. More detail can be found at
the end of the book.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
THE
PERAMBULATIONS
OF A
_Bee and a Butterfly_,
&c. &c.
[Illustration]
Published by Tabart & Co. 12, Clifford Street, May 1812.
THE
PERAMBULATIONS
OF A
_Bee and a Butterfly_,
In which are delineated
THOSE SMALLER TRAITS OF CHARACTER WHICH
ESCAPE THE OBSERVATION OF LARGER
SPECTATORS.
_BY MISS SANDHAM_,
AUTHOR OF THE TWIN SISTERS, &c.
"The daily labors of the Bee
"Awake my soul to industry."
GAY.
LONDON;
_Printed by W. Lewis, Paternoster-row;_
FOR B. TABART AND CO. CLIFFORD-STREET, NEW BOND-STREET;
AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1812.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. I.
A young Bee, deceived by fine weather, leaves the Hive too early,
and contrary to the advice and commands of his Mother--His
sufferings and close confinement, the result of his disobedience:
excites the compassion of a Butterfly--a friendship formed between
them in consequence of it.
CHAP. II.
The Bee gets again on the wing--Is introduced by his friend to a
field of cowslips--Interrupted by Children--Instance of vanity
in the Butterfly--Conversation of the Bee and his Friend as they
return--He resolves to find his Hive.
CHAP. III.
The Bee out early in search of his former abode, accompanies the
Butterfly to a bed of Tulips--Farther discovery of vanity in the
latter--Children in pursuit of him--The Bee appears in his defence
and commits a great _outrage_--He sees his Hive at a distance--His
Joy on beholding it--His Return and Re-admission there--The
consequence of a Bee in danger.
CHAP. IV.
The farther flights of the Bee and the Butterfly--Visit
to a Cottage--Such abodes not always the dwelling of
Peace--Disagreement between two Friends--The meanness of an
Informer--The Bee's observation on their conduct--Regard to
appearances observable in Creatures superior to the Butterfly--His
triumph on perceiving it.
CHAP. V.
The Butterfly deceived by a Flower--Their visit to a
conservatory--The alarm occasioned by their joining a Party after
Dinner--A Battle ensues--The Bee puts the Ladies to flight--His
confinement--The Butterfly's anxiety--His Friend regains his
Liberty and returns late to the Hive--The Butterfly detects
flattery in a Gentleman to a Lady, and is alarmed by a hint from
his Friend as they separate for the Night.
CHAP. VI.
The Bees swarm--Their fondness for their Queen--The Bee
in waiting--The Butterfly goes into the Country on a
party of Pleasure, is overtaken by a Storm--Returns in a
Stage-coach--An Officer exercising his genius in _hoaxing_ his
Fellow-travellers--The Butterfly recounts his adventures to his
Friend--Their remarks on what passed during his Journey.
CHAP. VII.
The Butterfly's alarm, and account of a _Naturalist_--Wasps
ensnared in a Bottle--A Bee drowning in a Pot of Honey, is
extricated by his Friend--Flies--The Bee's remarks upon them,
nearly offends his Friend by comparing them with him--The
Butterfly foretells the approach of Winter, and notwithstanding
the kind endeavours of his Friend, dies--The Bee's Regret--He
performs the last Office for him, and returns to the Hive, where,
after remaining the Winter, he persuades the whole Community to
remove their Quarters--They forsake their Hive and retire beyond
the reach of Men.
PREFACE.
The flattering pictures of men and manners, which are drawn in most of
the present publications for youth, can alone be well applied, when
they are considered not as what mankind are, but what they ought to
be; and, indeed, we may search the world through before we find their
likeness.
Such is the simplicity of unguarded youth, that even when disappointed
in their expectation of happiness from one quarter, they seek it in
another equally fallacious; and, drawing all their ideas from fancied
excellencies, fondly imagine, that while looking only for mental
satisfaction, and the pleasures arising from friendship, rational
society, and the exercises of humanity, they cannot be mistaken in the
pursuit; though too often the frequent inconsistencies observable in
those whom they have been led most to admire, excites a sigh of sad
surprise, till from a more enlarged judgment, matured and exercised
with a feeling sense of what they view, they learn that continual and
glaring absurdities are all the fruit produced in nature's soil.
It is to open this lesson to them that the following pages are
written, and with the hope that if Folly does not blind their eyes,
and Prejudice (who, whichever way she turns, chooses to see things
_only_ through her own medium,) has not yet erected her throne in their
breasts, they may receive even from the limited remarks of a Bee and
a Butterfly a gentle hint or two of what they may expect to meet with
in their future walks through life; and thus warned of the strange
contrarieties, perceivable in human nature, escape the additional pang
their being totally unexpected would produce.
THE
PERAMBULATIONS,
&c. &c.
CHAP. I.
"Imagination to his view
"Presents it, deck'd with every hue,
"That can seduce him not to spare
"His pow'rs of best exertion there."
COWPER.
A Bee who had passed the first winter of his life under the fostering
care of his mother, though often warned by her of mistaking a fine day
early in the spring for the summer, or the time in which it would be
of any use to make an excursion from the hive, was eager to begin his
travels; he heard his companions talking of the flights they had taken
in the former summer, and had tasted of the honey they had at that time
brought home, and laid up in store for food when none other could be
procured: he had also enjoyed some of those flights with them, and had
helped to gather in the common stock, (for Bees, though ever so young,
are seldom idle;) but he was not aware that many a cold and wint'ry day
would yet precede the time of gathering in a fresh store; even after
the sun had shone, and the birds had sung, as if it was nearly come.
During the severity of winter he remained quietly in his cell, rejoiced
in the shelter it afforded him, and joined the crowded hive in paying
every respect to their queen and mother, who, while she treated them
with the care and tenderness of a parent, kept up her dignity as a
sovereign, and ruled her subjects with the greatest order. Every part
of her dominions was thoroughly known to her, and nothing suffered to
remain within them that could annoy her numerous family; she rejoiced
in their prosperity, and all were happy under her government except the
little fellow who is to be the hero of my tale. He would often creep to
the entrance of the hive and peep, first on one side and then on the
other, of the covering placed before it by its careful owners, while
the blustering winds were raging around; but no sooner did the least
warm weather appear than it was removed for the inhabitants to have
more air, and this, to our young one, was a joyful sight; he looked
upon it as a prelude to the summer, and running to his companions, he
said, "we shall soon be able to get out, the way is open."
"Be not too eager;" replied one of more experience than himself, "by
the time one winter has passed over your head you may be a little
wiser."
"It _is_ passed, I think," returned the young one, "don't you feel
the warmth of the sun? It reminds me of the pleasant rambles we took
together last summer, and I am impatient to renew them."
"You are indeed _impatient_," replied the hoary Bee, "but time
enough yet; don't you know that our cities are always placed in such
advantageous situations that we have the earliest benefit from the
sun's rays? but let not this make you suppose the season farther
advanced than it is."
"Well, now," replied the conceited chatterer, "only put your head out
and feel how very warm it is."
"No, I thank you," returned the other, with a shrug; "I know what it is
to trust to appearances, and can feel even here that the cold weather
is not gone, and if you go only to the back of the hive you may hear
how the wind still whistles behind it."
"I had rather look at the sunshine," returned the simple one, and
leaving his sage adviser he determined to think that it was because he
was old and lazy he wished to stay at home, and keep others there also,
as an excuse for his own idleness; "let them stay then," said he, "but
for my part I am inclined to make the most of my time, and no doubt
shall bring home many a load before these old creepers will believe
that there is anything to be gathered."
This resolution of the young Bee was not long a secret in the
community; he buzzed it about among all his acquaintances; nor was it
hid from the queen, who, acting in the two-fold character, first warned
him of the danger, and then, on pain of their not being re-admitted,
absolutely forbade any one's going out of the hive without her leave.
But what can deter the obstinacy of a conceited youngster? Nothing. If
experience obliges him to confess that in _one_ thing he is wrong, he
still continues as firmly bent upon another; and if once inclined to
think that he must know as well as others, will continue to think so,
till experience teaches him that in all things he is liable to mistake.
But my little hero was not yet brought to this conclusion, neither
perhaps are many who will read his history; but, as our ingenious
fabulist tells us,--
"Every object of creation
"Can furnish hints for contemplation,"
who knows whether something may not be learnt from the history of a Bee?
In spite of the remonstrances of her majesty, he still wished to get
out, and after daily visiting the front of the hive for nearly a month,
during which time the fine weather continued, he began to persuade
himself the interdiction could not extend so far as this; "It has
been fine a great while," said he to himself, "and if we stay within
at this rate we shall let all the summer pass away;" and again his
former surmise returned, "they are old and lazy," continued he, "and
while they have any food left, are determined not to seek for more; I
will not stay, however;" and he was still farther confirmed in this
resolution, when boldly advancing quite out on the block he saw other
Bees, from a neighbouring hive, taking the air, and appearing like
himself to be thinking it high time to get abroad. A swarm of insects
also were enjoying themselves, and frisking about in the warm sun.
Struck with shame that these should be on the wing before him, he at
that moment forgot all the kind admonitions of his mother, and the
punishment that awaited him if he disobeyed them; and mounting in the
air, his loud humming testified his joy at being again at liberty.
But alas! where was he to go? or to what flower could he now pay his
court? The fluttering insects he had seen were but the dancers of the
day, just born to frisk a few hours, and then return to their original
nothingness; and our young adventurer disdained to join the giddy
train, or even to appear to notice what was so unlike the character of
a busy Bee.
It was now the latter end of April, when the thorn is in blossom,
violets and primroses also decorate the hedges, and the hypatica, and
polyanthus "of unnumbered dyes," already appeared in the gardens; but
very few leaves were yet on the trees, though the buds were bursting,
and many of the fruit-trees were in full bloom; to these our little
wanderer winged his way, and as he flew from blossom to blossom, and
from one branch to the other, he could not but acknowledge with regret
that his limbs felt cold, and very different from the vigour they
possessed the former summer. He wished to attribute it to his having
been kept so long within the hive, but a sudden blast soon checked his
ardour; a shivering came over him, and a drowsiness, which he could
not account for, succeeded; presently a pelting shower obliged him to
creep for shelter into a wall, against which the trees were nailed, and
here he began to see his error; "Can I go back again?" said he; "Ah!
no, they will not receive me; my absence is by this time known, and I
am never to be admitted more. Oh, my mother! would that I had followed
your counsel!"
He had scarcely spoken these words, when a mist spread itself before
his eyes; his breath appeared failing, and he found himself still more
inclined to sleep, yet instinct told him that in such a state to give
way to the inclination was dangerous; he feared the cold would seize
him while insensible, and his life must pay for it, but all his efforts
to keep himself awake were vain; the rain continued so, that he could
not get out to use his wings, and at length lost to all recollection,
he sunk stupid and senseless to the bottom of his retreat.
How long he continued in this torpid state I cannot say, but his
friends he had left, after anxiously expecting his return from day
to day, and being disappointed, gave him up for lost; and though he
often awoke during his confinement, it was only to a keener sense of
his misery; his limbs were still too stiff to move, his eyes dim,
and each time that he closed them to return to sleep, (now the only
alleviation of his sorrows,) he concluded he should never open them
again: he breathed a sigh of regret on the remembrance of the home he
had quitted, and would gladly have returned, and in the presence of the
whole community acknowledge his rashness; but alas! he could not now
move a wing: yet as the warm weather came on, he felt himself revive
beyond his hopes: he could look out from the place of his confinement,
and though not so ardent in his expectations as a few weeks before,
he began again to feel a pleasure in the rays of the sun, and to
anticipate a future enjoyment of them. "I shall not die," said he to
himself, "but shall yet be able to accomplish my desire, and shew
myself an industrious Bee."
The trees on which he had before observed only blossom were now full
of leaves; where the bloom had first appeared, he saw the fruit, yet
in its infant state. "This is not now the food for me," said he, and
he looked wishfully around to observe if there were any flowers near,
from which he could gather his accustomed nourishment. While thus
engaged, a Butterfly, on sportive wing, came frisking by, and though he
settled first on one leaf, and then on another, was unmindful of him,
till he fixed directly on that which shaded the place from which our
poor invalid was examining the neighbouring plants. "Oh!" said he, with
a heavy sigh, as he marked the light wing of this new comer, "Oh! that
I could fly like him and ramble from flower to flower, without pain or
dread of any."
The attention of the Butterfly was attracted by the mournful tone in
which this was uttered, and unlike many of his kind, he even stopped
to listen to the complaining insect, and ask if he could relieve him;
"Perhaps," said he, "you are entangled in a spider's web; and though I
am unused to the art of war, I will endeavour to liberate you."
"An offer like this," replied the Bee, "I should not have expected
from one of your nature; but you can give me no assistance; it is not
a web which keeps me here, but ill health, and which I have brought
upon myself by my own folly: I have no one else to blame, that I am not
flying about as you are, though I hope to some better purpose."
"Do not be too sure of that," replied the good-humoured Butterfly, "nor
despise the help of one so insignificant as you suppose I am; if I can
in any way assist _you_, I shall not have been flying about in vain."
"I beg your pardon," returned the Bee, conscious that he should not
have answered in such a manner; "pray let the pain I feel plead my
excuse; I have been confined within this place for I don't know how
long, and now I feel the enlivening beams of the sun without being able
to enjoy them, and must even starve for want of food, after I have
escaped death from the cold that first seized me."
"Do not be discouraged," replied the Butterfly, "look at the border
just below you, where there are many of the most beautiful flowers;
surely they will afford you nourishment; you need not fear starving in
the midst of plenty."
"I can't extend my wings," said the Bee, very mournfully.
"If not your wings," replied his cheerful comforter, "can't you use
your feet and crawl down the wall, and then upon the ground, till you
reach the flowers; don't be afraid, I'll venture my life that you will
be able to fly after taking a little of the delicious food they offer
you."
Animated by the Butterfly's words, the poor half-starved Bee
endeavoured to follow his advice, and slowly creeping forth, he reached
at length the desirable haven of a beautiful convolvulus, whose head
rested on the ground, whilst his compassionate adviser waited on the
nearest bud to observe his progress; "did not I say you could reach
it?" said he, fluttering his wings for joy, "who shall despise the
counsel of a Butterfly?"
"I will not for the future," replied the Bee, as he felt himself
reviving from the sweet smell of the flowers, and the warm rays of the
sun shining full upon his back, and again he entreated him to pardon
the churlishness with which he at first received it.
"Oh, say no more of that," returned the Butterfly, "but tell me if you
do not find yourself better already? what, because you could not fly,
were you to starve? Though it may be a disgrace for one who has wings
to crawl, yet surely it is better to do this than lie down and die; but
I do not despair of seeing you fly to-morrow;" and, as he said this,
extended his wings, as if to depart.
"You will not leave me," said the Bee, who the longer he nestled in the
bell of the flower and tasted the food it afforded, felt his affection
increase for the means through which he had procured it; "Won't you
stay and see me return to my habitation? I think you'll already observe
an alteration for the better."
The Butterfly received this invitation with pleasure; indeed he had
only pretended to be going that he might observe if he was still of so
little consequence in the eyes of the Bee, as for him not to wish his
stay. He therefore readily accepted it, attended him home, and had the
pleasure of seeing him much better able to get up the wall than down
it: and from this time a lasting friendship commenced between them, no
less singular in its kind than in the cause of it; for naturally these
insects do not notice the other.
The Butterfly, after seeing his new friend safely landed at his old
resting-place, and with him a little store of the delicate food he had
been tasting, marked the place, and kindly promised to see him again
the next morning, "when," said he, "I hope I shall find you both able
and willing to take a short flight with me," and then left him.
CHAP. II.
"Excuse me then if pride, conceit,
"The manners of the fair, and great,
"I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
"Fleas, owls, goats, _butterflies_, and hogs;
"I say that these are proud; what then?
"I never said they equal men."
GAY.
The Bee thus returned began to feel something like pleasure, and as the
morning sun lighted the place in which he had been so long a prisoner,
his hopes revived that he should yet feel a greater benefit from them.
He had not room to move his wings freely, yet he thought them rather
more pliable, and creeping upon the branch of the tree which shaded the
entrance of his habitation, he endeavoured to cleanse them from the
dirt and stiffness which had incumbered them, and after repeatedly
stroking his back with the little brushes with which Nature had
supplied his feet, he succeeded, and was able to fly from his station
to a neighbouring flower.
He had not forgotten the Butterfly, but he did not suppose that he
would remember him or his engagement of the preceding evening, but
again he had to acknowledge the mistake of prejudice, for he had not
been long upon the flower, (made more sweet by his having found the
use of his wings to obtain it,) before he saw his friend approaching,
flying through the air, and never fixing till he had found the spot on
which he had left him.
The loud humming of the Bee soon discovered that he was not far off,
and the Butterfly hastening towards him, congratulated him on having
found his liberty. "You are taking your breakfast," said he, "I give
you joy of a fine morning," and after the kindest enquiries of how
he now found himself, he expressed his hope that he would be able to
accompany him to a field of cowslips which he had passed at a little
distance; "they smell so sweet, and look so beautiful," continued he,
"hanging down their yellow heads, that though I certainly admire a
greater variety of colours, I could not but be pleased with these, and
had I not wished for your company, could have flown from one to the
other for some time; I am sure one day's feasting on their sweets will
restore you to perfect health; come, shall I lead the way?"
"I cannot but be grateful for your solicitude," returned the Bee, "and
that you should so far forget your nature as to be anxious for me who
am of so different an one; I am able to fly but very slowly, if at
all, and _you_ will like to extend your rambles much farther than I
can accompany you; do not, therefore, think of tying yourself to me."
The Butterfly was evidently disappointed; "I know," said he, "that
our natures are different; I am not held in such high estimation as
yourself, nor am I half so useful, or my life so long as your's; 'the
creatures but of a day,' is what we are generally called, yet that
_day_ it is my wish to spend well, and as far as is in my power to be
of benefit to another; if it was to one meaner than myself it would be
gratifying, but when I consider that it is to a _Bee_ that my services
are useful, it is doubly so; why then will you deny me this pleasure?"
The Bee could not but be struck with this singular proof of friendship
in one from whom he had not deserved it, and though he might be
unwilling that any of his old companions should see him associating
with one whom they were mostly inclined to treat with contempt, he
could no longer resist his importunity, and therefore promised to
accompany him to the place he had mentioned, and where he was amply
recompenced by the delicious food he found there, for the fatiguing
though short flight he had taken to procure it, whilst the good-natured
Butterfly was equally gratified by seeing his friend enjoy the
fragrance he had introduced him to. "You will stay here all day," said
he, "and by night I expect to see you strong and hearty; if you please,
I will fly about a little, and perhaps shall be able to bring you
intelligence of food for to-morrow, but promise me to remain here till
my return."
"Undoubtedly," replied the Bee, half lost in one of the sweet recesses
he was thus enjoying, "believe me I feel your kindness! If you had not
visited me last night, and encouraged my feeble efforts to move, I
should have laid still and died, and all these bounties of Nature would
have been spread in vain for me; indeed, I am obliged to you, and feel
that though you may never be of such service to me again, I should be
sorry to lose your acquaintance."
This acknowledgement was sufficient for the Butterfly, who fluttered
about in grateful joy, and in the course of the day made many
excursions, from all of which he returned with good humour and kind
enquiries; while the Bee continued to fly from flower to flower, and
though he was sometimes ready to regret that he had not a hive, to
which he could carry the produce of his labours, and receive the
commendations of his mother for so doing, he felt that he was yet too
weak to work to much advantage, and therefore tried to be content with
what was necessary for himself.
Several Bees came to this field of sweets, in which he was thus
revelling; but none of his old acquaintance were among them, and he
forbore to speak to them; "though idle myself," said he, "I will not
make others so by engaging them in talk with me;" and indeed so anxious
was he not to disgrace the character of what a Bee _should be_, that
if he thought any of them were noticing him, he would pretend to be
earnestly at work also, lest they should suppose him an idle drone.
In his next visit, the Butterfly brought him such intelligence as he
thought would be agreeable to him; "We are in the land of plenty," said
he, "every thing is flourishing, and innumerable flowers are every
where to be seen."
"I shall soon be able to visit them," returned the Bee, "and after one
more night's rest I shall almost forget that I have been ill; I have
already recovered my spirits, and my health will soon return."
As they were thus talking, they observed a troop of children with
baskets in their hands, and an old man at their head, who seemed to be
directing their steps to the field they were in.
"These are some of my tormentors," said the butterfly, "though they
appear to admire me, and to wish me no harm, they are in reality my
greatest enemies; even the sound of their voices puts me in a fright:
Oh! how sick I am of hearing them singing, "Butterfly, butterfly, come
to me," though you may be very sure I never accept their invitation;
once I was shut up in a box for nearly a whole day by one of these
_kind_ admirers, with a few green leaves for me to eat and sleep upon;
and I suppose she thought she was doing me a very great favor to
procure me such a residence; but I was much more obliged to another
little girl, who in her absence let me out of my confinement, and since
that time I have been more than ever anxious to escape their notice."
"I know nothing of an alarm of that sort," replied the Bee, "children
are in general afraid of me, and I have sometimes been half inclined to
regret it, though in reality I believe it is the best thing that could
happen, but these," continued he, "if I am not mistaken, are going to
be otherwise employed than in admiring either you or me, for I think we
shall see them gathering the flowers on which we have been feeding,"
and this was actually the case, for as they entered the field, the old
man encouraged them to begin by promising that when the wine was made
for which these cowslips were to be gathered, they should all have a
glass of it.
"What devouring creatures are these men," observed the Bee, "every one
of these sweet flowers will be destroyed to make their wine; but they
are 'the Lords of the Creation,' and take away at one stroke what would
satisfy us more moderate creatures for months and months; but see, the
children are coming, had you not better take to your wings?"
"Not yet," replied the Butterfly, "they are going to be otherwise
engaged; 'tis when they are idle, or at play, that I have most reason
to be alarmed, and besides here are a great many more of my race
frisking about, though among ever so great a number, I am the most
admired."
The Bee smiled at this discovery of vanity in his friend, though he
made no reply, and as the children began clearing the field at the
other end of it, they continued a little longer to enjoy the sweets
they were so soon to be deprived of, till the shades of the evening
began to advance, when the Bee proposed returning home, and bade
adieu to those charming flowers from which he had gathered health and
strength, and a sufficient stock of honey to take home with him.
"Where do you repose for the night?" said he to his friend, "have you
no settled place of abode, or do you rest upon the first flower you
meet with?"
"I generally pass the night under a green leaf, or in the cup of a
flower," replied the Butterfly, "and may this evening find a place to
repose in near _your_ habitation, if you have no objection."
"I should be glad of your company within it," returned the Bee, "were
it large enough to admit us both, but what do you live upon? cannot you
taste some of the provision I am going to carry home? you shall be very
welcome."
The Butterfly testified his thanks by a fluttering of his wings; "but I
do not particularly relish that food," said he, "and you would perhaps
wonder what it is we do eat, for it is no uncommon opinion that we live
upon air; however, in our reptile state, we make up for our little
eating now; were you to see the devastation we make in the vegetable
world, you would be surprised; three or four dozen of us will destroy
a bed of cabbages in an hour or two, and we often strip a shrub of all
its leaves in the course of a morning."
"And do you boast of this?" replied the Bee; "surely it is exulting in
mischief."
"It is our _nature_," returned the thoughtless Butterfly; "and what
is the mischief, as you call it, compared to that which men are daily
doing? do they not destroy us by thousands, whenever they have an
opportunity? and why should _you_, of all others, plead for them, who,
when you have spent your lives in their service, and procured for
them that food which they can obtain from no other quarter, burn and
destroy your hives and yourselves too? Oh! I have passed one of these
monuments of their ungrateful cruelty, and seen the mangled remains of
your fellow-creatures till my wings have quite trembled again, and yet
you never do them harm; they form your habitation, and encourage you to
build in them by pretending to shelter you from all evil, yet after all
this fancied kindness, if they think you are too old to labour for them
any longer, as a reward for all you have done, they set fire to your
houses, and destroy thousands of you in the flames! talk no more of
mischief in eating a few cabbages, or devouring the leaves of a tree."
"These are shocking truths," replied the Bee, "my blood runs cold to
think of it, and yet such is my nature that, though I know I am safe
from such devastations where I now am, I would rather add my labours
to the common stock of my native hive, could I but find the way to
return to it, and share the fate of my fellow-labourers, if such a fate
awaits them; but who knows that we may not escape? it is not every Bee
that is thus destroyed."
"Nature," returned his friend, "has armed you with a defensive weapon
with which I think you might soon repel your destroyers: but as for us
poor _Butterflies_, we can do nothing to defend ourselves."
"'Tis true," returned the Bee, "we have this weapon, and we have often
made our enemies fly by using it; but you must know, such is their
cunning cowardice, that they will not attack us on equal terms; they
must have the covert of the night for their cruel work, and when we are
all in our hives, each enclosed in their waxen cell, they begin the
horrid massacre; I should feel it more, but that I believe they take as
great delight in destroying each other as they do in killing us; for
I have heard them rejoicing together that so many of the _enemy_ were
slain, and I know they mean their fellow men by _this_ appellation, for
they don't _dignify_ us with that title; their great enmity to insects
arises from what they destroy; and yet, in one day, they themselves
devour more than any of them, but then they think every thing that can
be useful to them was only made for that purpose, and no one can say
they do not take care to make it fulfill that end, whatever else is
left undone."
"But the question is, whether they have any right to destroy you, after
that is done?" rejoined the Butterfly.
"A question too hard for me to answer," returned the Bee; "but this I
know, that we have a right to defend ourselves against them whenever
we can; and I know also, that for the kindness you have shown me I'll
defend you from their attacks as long as I am able: but we are arrived
at my dwelling, let us rest upon this tree while the sun is taking its
last peep at the horizon."
After refreshing themselves with a little of the honey the Bee had
brought home, and of which the Butterfly just tasted a little, because
he would not appear to refuse what was kindly meant, they parted for
the night, the Bee resolving to travel farther the next day, and, if
possible, to find out his old habitation, though not without assuring
the Butterfly that if he should be so happy as to be re-admitted, it
should make no difference in his friendship for him.
CHAP. III.
"And thus a never-ceasing pleasure flows,
"Or to the human, or the bestial race,
"From those ideal charms we all attach to place."
LOCAL ATTACHMENT.
The next morning our two friends awoke with the sun, and before half
my readers are out of their beds, their peregrinations commenced, one
in quest of whatever he could turn into something useful, the other to
find what was new and entertaining. When they met, the Bee was still
desirous of finding his old habitation. "But why?" said the Butterfly,
"surely the little cell you now live in will do very well for the
summer; you are in no danger where you are, and have the delightful
privilege of calling it all your own."
"All this is true," replied the Bee, "but what a life am I now
leading? adding nothing to the general stock; while all my brethren are
busily employed in gathering what will be of equal benefit to each,
no, no: there is a pleasure in being thus mutually assistant to others
which only those who have experienced it can know; and I am resolved,
if possible, to enjoy it again."
The Butterfly looked surprised, for though capable of that attachment
which proceeds from finding an agreeable companion; and with some idea
of the services bestowed upon those we love, and which endears the name
of friend, he could not imagine that any pleasure could arise from
spending his time in labour; but as long as his friend had assured
him of the continuance of his regard, he was desirous that he should
obtain what he wished, and willingly offered to assist him in the
search.
During their airy rounds they often stopped to refresh themselves on
some favorite flower, and though seldom fixing on the same, and to a
casual observer did not appear to be at all connected, they were never
out of sight of each other. It was from one of these resting places,
in which the Bee was delightfully employed extracting sweets from an
"extended field of blossomed beans," that the Butterfly stretched his
wings to a neighbouring garden; here such various beauties met his eyes
that he could not help returning to call his friend to enjoy them with
him. "Such a bed of tulips, I have met with," said he, "whose splendid
colours can only be equalled by my wings; pray come, and see what
lovely flowers."
"Have you not yet learnt that there is something more valuable in a
flower than its colour?" returned the Bee, with a smile; "for my part
I would prefer these honeyed beans, though I suppose you would think
them hardly worth looking at, but of all other flowers tulips have
the least sweetness about them, and are fit only to please the eye of
those men and butterflies who judge only by appearance; but though I
have seen the former admiring a bed of tulips, I have often observed
that if they wish to ornament themselves, or their houses, the flowers
which we chiefly prefer are also the objects of their choice! as for
these beans, though I believe they admire their smell, men are, as I
said before, such destructive creatures, that while they are enjoying
what is sweet they are at the same time destroying it; and as they
expect something still more valuable from these flowers, they are
content to let them remain upon their stalks; but we can have our fill
of their sweets, and yet not injure what they will hereafter produce.
Oh! had I but a hive to go to," continued he, as he stretched his
wings to accompany his friend, "how many times should I have gone
thither yesterday, and to-day from the cowslips and the beans, and what
repeated loads should I have carried home."
"Surely, surely," thought the idle Butterfly, "you need not regret
that; to fly hither and thither as you like, with no incumbrance of any
kind, and, no care beyond to-morrow, is far better;" so thought the
Butterfly, and so perhaps think many Butterflies of the human race; but
he forbore to repeat his sentiments on this subject, for, unconscious
to himself, he was awed by the superiority of his friend, while he felt
no wish to be of the same opinion.
"And so these are the flowers you admire," continues the Bee, as they
alighted, "and which can only be equalled in Beauty by _your_ wings?
Ah, my dear friend, would not your wings be just as useful if they
were not covered with red and purple? look at the plain white ones of
numbers of your race, who are now flying around us; _you_ cannot extend
your flight farther than _these_; but see, some children are entering
the garden, I question if you will not soon have a greater cause to
regret the beauty of your wings than to admire it, and that you will be
the object of their pursuit as soon as you meet their eyes, while your
plainer brethren will pass unregarded."
This prediction was soon verified, for no sooner did the little ones
perceive this self-admiring Butterfly than they all exclaimed, "Oh!
what a beauty! let us catch it."
"If _you_ get on that side of the bed, and _I_ on this," said a boy,
who appeared to be the eldest of the party, "I will throw my hat at it,
and we shall soon have it in our possession."
"Not for the world, master Henry," said the maid, who accompanied them;
"you would destroy those beautiful flowers at once if you did, and your
papa would be so angry."
"The flowers then are more admired than you are my friend," observed
the Bee, "for you see the maid will not let them be injured, not even
to procure a sight of your still _more_ beautiful wings."
"Don't laugh at me," replied the Butterfly, somewhat mortified; "I am
glad, however, that I have found a place of safety; if I take care not
to quit this station, they will not be able to get at me."
Altho' it was his intention to remain there, his young pursuers would
not let him be at rest, but with one thing and another so contrived
to shake the flowers upon which he settled, that, at last, wearied
out with these repeated removals, he took to his wings, and flew to a
neighbouring rose-tree.
"Now, now," cried all the children, "we shall have it; don't let it get
upon the tulips again, and we shall certainly catch it."
The Bee lay all this time in the bell of a hyacinth, not unmindful of
his friend, or his pursuers, but thinking his present alarm might be an
useful evidence of what he had been saying, and a check to his vanity,
he resolved to let him feel a little more of the dangerous effect
his much-admired beauty was likely to produce; but after the young
folk had given him one or two hasty flights round the garden, he came
forward, and appearing in front of all the young ones, soon checked the
eagerness of their chace.
"A Bee, a bee," exclaimed they, "take care, or it will sting you,"
while the poor trembling Butterfly began to take fresh courage on
seeing his friend approach; and, seating himself on the branch of an
honey-suckle, endeavoured to regain his breath.
The oldest boy was now resolved to make one more effort, and creeping
slowly to the place, put forth his hand to reach the prize, when the
Bee, perceiving his intention, again darted before his eyes, and made
him retreat. "Thank you, thank you, my dear friend," said the poor
Butterfly, "surely they will not attempt to pursue me any more; you
must have sufficiently frightened them."
"I'll do something more than frighten them if they do," replied the
Bee; "they shall feel what it is to enrage one of us;" nor would these
children, animated by the presence of each other, give up their chace,
till the Bee had absolutely fulfilled his threat, by just touching the
hand of one of them with his sharp sting: and Oh! what a clamour was
instantly raised by the whole party for this cruel act, as it was
called; the child cried, and the maid declared it was a shame of the
_nasty_ Bee to sting one who never thought of hurting _him_: while all
the others gathered round their _wounded_ brother to express their pity
and abhorrence of the deed; and while they retired from the garden to
get something to alleviate the smart, our two friends were left to
recover themselves and congratulate each other on their safety. "I
never was so near being taken in my life, and escaped at last," said
the Butterfly; "but to _you_, my friend, I am indebted for my present
liberty; if you had not exerted yourself in my behalf I must have been
in their possession; I tremble at the thought of it, and am completely
tired out in the chace they have given me."
"Now, then, I hope you will acknowledge that your beauty is no real
advantage to you," replied the Bee, "but till you are recovered I will
visit yonder beautiful acasia which seems to court my notice; besides,
I am not without a hope that from it I shall see my ardently desired
home; I seem to remember its being near it."
Our airy traveller spoke this with peculiar animation, but on reaching
the tree, his pleasure was still higher, for, from thence, he beheld
the spot he was in pursuit of; although many hives were near it, he
could distinguish his own from all the rest by a thousand little marks
known only to those who inhabit it. His heart beat with transport;
it appeared to him the abode of peace and plenty, and it was within
his _reach_ also; the flower on which he had rested was entirely
disregarded, and he stood gazing on the well known spot, "stung with
the thoughts of home."
The endearments of his mother returned to his mind with double force,
nor could he fear being well received by her, and if by her, all
the rest he knew dared not use him differently; "I will acknowledge
my disobedience to her commands," said he, "and when she knows what
I have gone through she will forgive me; I shall again receive
her commendations, and repose myself under her mild and equitable
government."
With these thoughts he could scarcely forbear flying away, and rushing
at once into the presence of his friends; but he recollected the poor
Butterfly, and though there was nothing in their natures which could
assimilate, he still remembered that in a great measure he owed his
present health and strength to him; "when first we met," continued he,
"there was nothing in me to induce his affection; I was poor, sick, and
helpless, and yet _he_ was interested for me, and shall I leave him
now? no, I will return and tell him what I have seen, and that though
for the future I shall reside with more suitable associates, we may
still often meet."
Thus determined, he hastened back, with all the liveliness of joy, to
inform his friend, who observed his coming, and the cheerful air with
which he approached; "I have seen my hive," cried the Bee, without
giving him time to make the enquiry, "I have seen it! come, won't you
go with me, and at least see the place to which I am going to return,
and though I cannot ask you to enter with me, (none but bees being
permitted to come in there) I shall never see you when I am out of it
without pleasure."
"My dear friend," replied the Butterfly, "after the kindness you have
shewn me this morning, it would be ungrateful not to rejoice in what
gives you pleasure; I think I am now able to use my wings again, and
will readily accompany you; and though I know I must stand at an humble
distance while you enter, yet I shall be anxious to hear how you are
received, and whether your old companions will forgive your leaving
them."
"I have but the displeasure of _one_ to fear," replied the Bee, "and if
she forgives me, the rest have nothing to do with it, nor have I much
to apprehend from that quarter, since the authority of a sovereign is
tempered by the affection of a parent."
Thus conversing they pursued their flight till arriving at a short
distance from the well-known hive, "Don't you see it?" said the Bee,
fluttering his wings for joy; "don't you behold the welcome spot?"
"I see a number of hives," returned the Butterfly, not quite so
enraptured as his friend, "but which is yours I cannot tell."
"Mark the one into which I fly," said the Bee, "and then you'll know
it."
"But when shall I see you again?" enquired the Butterfly in a
melancholy tone, on seeing his friend preparing for flight; "to-day?"
"Perhaps not," replied the other; "I may not be permitted to come out
again, or I may be indulged with a day's rest, and conversation with
my mother, but do not suffer yourself to doubt my friendship for you,
because I do not fly out every hour and repeat my professions of it;
to-morrow, at farthest, I shall renew my labours for the general good,
and then if you like to accompany me in my flights, I shall be glad of
your company."
With these words he stretched his wings, while the Butterfly bade him
farewell, and watching his approach and entrance to the hive, resolved
to hover round the place in hopes of learning what reception he had met
with.
As the returning vagrant advanced towards the centre of all his hopes
and fears, he felt the latter sensibly encrease, yet he could not
but advance; at first he settled on the block upon which the hive
was placed, every part of which was perfect in his recollection; he
observed no one near, for as it was now the middle of the day, almost
all were out, busily employed, except a few, whom he knew were always
on the watch to keep out every intruder; at length he ventured within
the hive, and immediately all the humming inmates which were then at
home flocked around him; some concluded that he had mistaken his hive,
while others imagined they could recollect his form and figure. "Do
you not know me?" said he, "I once belonged to your fraternity, and my
heart is still knit towards you."
On hearing an unusual murmur the mother queen appeared, with all
her attendant train, to enquire who the bold intruder was? The way
was cleared for her approach, and a solemn silence prevailed, while
the stranger, with unfeigned humility, answered to the question. No
sooner did her majesty know her returning child, than in one loud hum
she expressed her satisfaction, and this was heard and attended to
by all around, and presently the general voice was that he should be
re-admitted.
"I am not returned unto you sick, or unable to work," replied the
delighted Bee, after he had expressed his thanks for their generous
reception of him; and then related to his attentive and sympathyzing
parent all he had gone through since he had so rashly left the hive,
whilst the rest waited till the close of the day before they indulged
their curiosity by hearing it, nor did he forget to acknowledge that
it was to the attention of a Butterfly that he owed his life.
"A Butterfly," returned the queen, whose dignity felt hurt that any of
her race should be indebted to so trifling a creature, "sure you must
have been sunk very low indeed, to need the assistance of a Butterfly."
"I have learnt, my dear mother," replied the young one, "that there is
no creature, however mean, but may be of service some time or other;
the Butterfly is well aware of the great difference there is between
us."
"And sensible, I hope, of the honour done him, in being permitted to
assist a Bee?" rejoined the mother.
This important affair being settled, though not entirely to the
satisfaction of the queen, who while she forbore to say more upon the
subject, resolved narrowly to watch the conduct of her son, fearing
he would gain too much of the frivolity of the Butterfly if he long
associated with him: and after shewing him a cell in which he might for
the future reside, she left him to prepare it for his reception.
CHAP. IV.
"Think not that treachery can be just;
"Take not informers' words on trust."
GAY.
As the winged inhabitants flocked towards home, laden with their
honeyed store, the return of the wanderer was announced to each; and
the labors of the day being ended, they all gathered round him to hear
the account of his adventures.
In the mean time the Butterfly continued without the hive, not
unpleasantly situated, as a number of flowers were about the place, had
he not been yet in suspense respecting his friend, when, as he was just
going to give up all hopes of meeting with him till the next morning,
he had the pleasure of seeing him come out upon the block, in company
with two or three other Bees. "Will he speak to me now, that _these_
are with him," thought the Butterfly, and he fluttered round the place,
half afraid that he should find the promises of his friend forgotten;
but not so, the Bee, (though perhaps he might feel a little at the
opinion he judged would be formed by his present associates on seeing
him speaking familiarly to one so much beneath them,) flew towards
him, to tell him he had been well received, directing him to a place
of safety in which he might pass the night; "to-morrow," said he, "we
shall meet again."