perately to defend it, but in vain; the lion was too strong for her, and besides was fighting on his own ground, with his magazine of artillery around him. After a long and furious contest, the spider was overpowered, and lay buried with her eggs under the sand. In this terrible battle the pit was so damaged that it could not be repaired, and the lion was obliged to make a fresh one. This time, though he worked very hard, as you would if you were working for your dinner, he did not succeed immediately; for just as he had nearly finished digging, a round smooth pebble came in his way. With a great deal of trouble he contrived to raise it upon his back, and balancing it as well as possible, he clambered slowly up the steep side, and had nearly reached the edge, when away rolled the provoking stone sheer to the bottom again. You have heard, or you will some time or other read, the fable of Sisyphus, who was condemned by way of punishment to carry up a high hill a heavy stone, which always rolled back the moment he reached the top. The poor ant-lion worked as hard and to as little purpose as Sisyphus for a long time; till at last, finding his labour quite in vain, he gave up the point.

I must defend my lion in this instance, for he did not give up till he had tried patiently every possible means. I should call it obstinacy to persist in an undertaking that no labour

The

and pains could accomplish. The ant-lion left his pit half finished; but he was not discouraged: he immediately set to work in a fresh spot. Here again he met with a stone, which gave him a great deal of trouble; but as it was not so smooth and round, he succeeded in carrying it out, after several trials, and his new den was completely finished. However, after all his fatigue, he waited several days without food. No ant chanced to pass that way; and I am sorry to say, he made his first meal in the new pit, off one of his own relations—a giddy young creature just hatched, who was wandering by, and not, I suppose, making good use of his six eyes, or he would not have stumbled into this old cannibal's den. next victim was a mason bee, that came flying from the wall, and unconscious of any danger, settled upon the ground hard by, and busied herself in preparing her ball of sand. The enemy lay still, watching her drawing nearer and nearer, and the instant she came within reach, threw up a shower of sand with such force, that it brought Mrs. Mason tumbling backwards into the pit. There she lay floundering and trying to rise, but the ant-lion, not heeding her struggles, or her loud angry hum, seized her by the back, and holding her aloft in the air, so that she could not use her sting, despatched her in a minute. And now, while he was feasting on this large sweet morsel,

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and glorying in his victory, his own turn for misfortune came. He was taken prisoner by a butterfly-hunter, a great collector of curiosities, who had come to the garden in search of insects; and chancing to spy the little lion's pit, pounced upon him, carried him home, and confined him in a box full of sand. You may suppose that our fierce lion was very much terrified at finding himself carried off so suddenly. However, in a little time, finding he was not further molested, he recovered his spirits, and dug his snare as usual; for with all his cunning, he did not find out that he was enclosed by four wooden walls, through which no other insect could pass. Here he patiently watched day after day, and week after week; for his jailor had a mind to try how long it was possible for an ant-lion to live without food, and therefore kept him close confined, not allowing him to hear so much as the buzz of an insect. At the end of several weeks, he offered him a fat bluebottle fly, that had been just killed, expecting that he would seize it greedily. But no such thing; starving though he was, the lion was still too proud or too nice to accept a dead insect; and without deigning to taste the bluebottle, he tossed it out of his pit. At last, after several months' fasting, he grew so thin and looked so miserable, that the virtuoso took compassion on him, and supplied him pretty regularly with live insects. Having plenty of food,

he did not pine for liberty, and soon grew, not very plump, but as fat as it was his nature to be. The following spring he retired completely under the sand, and made his cocoon, which was quite round, and on the outside merely a rough crust of sand and glue. For the inside he spun a lining of pearl coloured silk, as soft and as glossy as satin; and within this richly furnished apartment he changed into a chrysalis. About five-and-twenty days after, when his master as usual visited his prisoner, he found in his place a large and beautiful fly, not unlike a dragon fly, which was so dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, that it did not attempt to escape, but remained for a minute or two as motionless as the lion in the pit. Presently, however, it began to stir, looked about it a little, fluttered its new wings, and charmed with the power of flight, rose into the air and made for the window, where, to its great disappointment, it found itself checked by a boundary of light. In vain it beat itself against the glass; it was not fated to enjoy the beautiful world beyond. The insect fancier had no other specimen of a lion fly in his collection; so he caught the poor insect by its glittering wings, put it to death, and preserved its remains in a glass case in his museum.

THE ROSE.

WHAT a pity, said a boy to his father, that the rose when it has blossomed, does not produce a fine fruit, and thus pay a tribute of thanks to nature in summer for the fair season of its flowering in spring. Thou hast called it the flower of innocence and joy; then would it be an emblem of gratitude also.

Doth it not then, replied the father, furnish its beautiful flower, for the adornment of spring, the favourite child of nature? And for the dew and the light which descend upon it from above, doth it not give to the air its delicious fragrance? Created for the spring, doth it not expire with it?My dear child, silent, invisible gratitude is the best -and how could innocence prove ungrateful?

FILIAL DUTIES.

THE piety of a child is sweeter than the incense of Persia offered to the sun; yea, more delicious than odours wafted from a field of Arabian spices by the western gales.

Forget not thy helpless infancy, nor the frowardness of thy youth, and indulge the infirmities of thy aged parents; assist and support them in the decline of life.