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This small beetle was at one time looked on by collectors of insects, as 'rare,' that is to say, it was not often to be met with. The fact is, the little insect is not a 'common' insect at all. It is not 'common,' as a white butterfly is common, or as a house-fly, a clothesmoth in summer, or one of those little glossy beetles you often see on the pavement or on a road on a sunny day, may be called common. The beetle, now alluded to as rare, was in a different family from those beetles, called by some 'sun-shiners,' and by entomologists a species o Amara and Pacilus, or allied genera of small Coleoptera, that is to say, members of the great order of beetles.1

You may pass or puzzle over these hard names, and simply give me your attention, while I try to tell you a story of a small beetle being, under Divine Providence, distinctly the means of saving a valuable life from a sudden and ignominious death. The incident that follows occurred about seventy or seventy-five years ago.

It was at Bordeaux, that fair city of France, whence came some of our Queen Mary's attendants. That Queen Mary, whose fine old castle at Craigmillar is so conspicuous from Edinburgh, had brought attendants from fair France, who resided in two small hamlets, the sites of

1 Coleoptera, i.e. shielded, winged; from two Greek words for a shield and for wings, the wings being generally covered with hard scales or shields. A little work on British Beetles, by my friend Mr Rye of London, although I have not seen it,—indeed cannot find a copy of it in Edinburgh,—I might heartily recommend. Mr Rye loves his subject, and knows it thoroughly. His book surely will. tell, and ought to sell. Read Mr Carlyle's striking lines to a beetle. Doubtless, it was 'a sun-shiner' that met him. How that great writer laments, that he did not learn the names and natures of the created things around him, is known to me, and to those who have read a letter of his, addressed to a Scottish naturalist in Edinburgh, some months ago. This letter attracted some notice at the time, and was copied into and commented on by the press generally. It is surely matter of regret that Zoology in the Scottish rapital, excepting the marine branch of it, under Professor Allman, Dr Strethill Wright, and the able Mr Peach, has fallen for a time into the background. But one must not despair.

which are still called 'Little France' and 'Burdiehouse,' --for that is only the Scottish country people's way of pronouncing Bordeaux (Boordo). So much for preface. Well, some seventy-five years ago, in the prisons of Bordeaux, there lay many helpless Frenchmen. These 'citizens' had fallen on evil days, and were suspected of being secretly attached to, as some of them were openly defenders of, the deposed royal family. Most members of the clerical order were especially suspected, and two at least of these lay in the prisons of the great commercial city of the Garonne. One was the Abbe Hauy, a distinguished philosopher and naturalist, who studied minerals, and was among the first who arranged them by their optical peculiarities and crystals. The other was the naturalist · Peter Andrew Latreille, well known to those who study insects, spiders, and crabs, for his fine works on them. Latreille had been educated for the priesthood in the Romish Church, but had abandoned the profession, and was known by a little work on the classification of insects, which he had printed at Brives, his native place. Suspected of being. a Royalist, he was arrested, and lay a prisoner in Bordeaux. The story goes, that a batch of prisoners had been ordered off for Cayenne, the French penal settlement. Many shiploads had been drowned in the Bay of Biscay, at least so they say, to save expense, and to prevent trouble in future days. Be this as it may, Latreille was in prison, when a surgeon of Bordeaux, on one of his visits, saw him eagerly looking at the wall of his prison, and putting up his hand to get something crawling on the wall. What is it you are looking at?' asked M. Dargelas the surgeon. 'C'est un insecte trés rare!' 'It is a very rare insect!' replied Latreille. Dargelas had a young friend in Bordeaux fond of collecting beetles and other natural objects for his little museum. He asked the prisoner for the insect, which was given to the kindly Bordeaux citizen-surgeon. Dargelas inquired his name, and took the insect to young Bory de St Vincent, the youth alluded to. Bory knew M. Latreille by his

little published book on his favourite subject of entomo logy, that is to say, the knowledge of insects. He went to the mayor of the town, or to other authorities, and obtained the ransom of Latreille, and eventually of Hauy, if I am not mistaken.

Latreille never forgot this. He never forgot his little 'insect saviour,' as he called it. In his famous work quoted below, after describing the in

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sect named Necrobia ruficollis,' he thus speaks of it: An insect very precious to me, for in those most unhappy days, when France, from civil distresses and every kind of calamity, quaked to its very foundation, this little animal became, through the very friendly aid of Bory de St Vincent and Dargelas, but especially the latter, the means of rescuing me from prison and from death.'1

He never forgot it. I saw in 1841, on my first visit to Paris, specimens of this insect preserved in the cabinets of some of the leading French entomologists. These specimens had been presented to them by Latreille as memorials of friendship, and bore his label on the pin which transfixed them. Latreille never forgot his deliverers. In the last edition of Cuvier's Animal Kingdom, which was the work of the great Baron and of himself, he has alluded to M. Dargelas as lately as 1829. In mentioning a spider named Micrommata Dargelasii, in compliment to him, he says: 'Named after Dargelas, one of our most zealous savans, whom I have pointed out to their regard as my deliverer in the Revolutionary troubles.'

Surely, children, this little beetle crawling on the wall of Latreille's dungeon one day, seventy-five years ago, was to Latreille a messenger of God. Assuredly Dargelas

1 P. A. LATREILLE, Genera Crustaceorum et Insectorum, vol. i. p. 275 (1806). Necrobia, from two Greek words, 'life among dead bodies;' ruficollis, 'red-necked,' from the red colour of its neck or thorax.

and Bory St Vincent were his delivering angels. Some one has said that a fly with God's message could choke a king. You have here an instance of a small beetle saving the life of a great European naturalist.

Trifling though the study of these creatures may seem to some now, let them look at them with an observing eye. They are the works of God, and worthy of being sought out.' That great art-writer John Ruskin, in a letter received, as a naturalist was writing this, says, speaking of natural history as an element of early educa tion: 'I believe there is no child so dull, or so indolent, but it may be roused to wholesome exertion, by putting some practical and personal work on natural history within its range of daily occupation; and, once aroused, few pleasures are so innocent, and none so constant. I have often been unable, through sickness or anxiety, to follow my own art-work, but I have never found natural history fail me, either as a delight or as a medicine.' These last two sentences may strike the parents, guardians, or teachers of the youths who read this. The story given above is true. Is it not wonderful?

COME HOME!

THE day is drawing nearly done,

Come home, children, come home!

The night lamps shine out one by one,

Come home, children, come home!

The Elder Brother stands at the threshold of the door, He holdeth out his loving hands,—come in for evermore : Come home, children, come home!

For the twilight closes quickly round, and the day is nearly o'er.

The streets are growing dark and cold,

Come home, children, come home! White mists rise up o'er moor and wold, Come home, children, come home!

But the Father's house shines out with light and pleasant heat,

A loving welcome speaketh He His little ones to greet: Come home, children, come home!

The Elder Brother is so kind,-Oh, children, home is sweet!

Ye must be tired of playtime now,

Come home, children, come home!

With tear-stained cheek and heated brow,

Come home, children, come home!

What mean ye, weary little ones, that ye should wail and weep?

The Father's arms are very strong, His tender lambs to keep:

Come home, children, come home!

Ye need no more to toil and strive, He gives His loved ones sleep.

The golden gates stand open fair,

Come home, children, come home!

The Elder Brother taketh care,

Come home, children, come home!

His name was called Jesus in the ages that are past,
And we all shall call Him 'Jesus' while eternity shall last:
Come home, children, come home!

For the setting day is nearly done, and the night is gathering fast.

BESSIE.

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