"Uncle Philip, as the day is fine, instead of sitting here, will you walk with us, this morning?"

"Yes, boys; let me get my cane and hat, and we will take a ramble; perhaps we may see something, if we will use our eyes. Where do you wish to go?"

"Oh, we do not care much, if you are with us, which way we walk; any course will be pleasant."

"Come on, then; we will cross the river, and go down on the other side beyond the old mill, where you found the wasp's paper. And now, such of you as will, may keep a look-out for curious things, while the rest of us will talk together.—Boys, do any of you know Tom Smith?" "Know him! Why, Uncle Philip, everybody in this part of the country knows him; he is such a shocking drunkard, and swears so horribly, that nobody can forget him; and what makes it worse, he is an old man, too. His hair is almost as white as yours, Uncle Philip."

"Yes; he is just about my age. We were both born here, and I have known him ever since we were boys; and when we played together as children, over this very field which we are now crossing, or caught fish in the river down yonder by the rocks, there was not a more decent, well-behaved, handsome boy among us than was Tom Smith. Poor Tom lost his father when he was about twelve years old, and his mother, having no other child, indulged him, until he was sent to the city to go into a store. But Tom then, boys, had good principles; he neither swore nor got drunk. In a little time he fell into bad company, and they led him astray by degrees. He was so good-natured (as they call it), boys, that he had never the firmness to say no to the proposals of his companions. He went with them to places of amusement; and instead of spending his evenings in his own room, reading, he was at the theatre, or dancing in some place, or at a supper with his young companions; and finally he began to play cards and billiards with them; while the inside of the church was a place which he never saw. He was cheated by his companions; and too honest he was then not to pay what he lost by gaming: he wrote to his poor mother, and told her the truth, as to his losses, and she sent him money to pay his debts, and told him to come home. He did come home; and even after all that had happened, poor Tom might have been respectable and happy; for his friends were all willing to forget the past, and encourage him for the future. For a time he went on pretty well, and married an affectionate and good young woman, and his prospects were bright enough: but one thing, boys—one single thing, ruined his comfort for ever. In the city he had learned to drink strong liquors.

"I remember, too, soon after he came home and married, that a man was hung not far from here for murdering his wife. The man was a drunkard, though he was quite sober when he killed the poor woman; and drunkenness had hardened his heart. I have no doubt, as it will the heart of any man. Tom was talking to me about that man, and I remember he said then that when a man began to drink, he could never say where it would end, nor what he would do: 'therefore,' said Tom, 'beware of the first drink.' But Tom, though he talked like a Christian and a man about it, did not act like one: for it was not long before he began to follow his bad habit, and he soon killed his poor mother; for she died of grief and sorrow, I think. His excellent wife speedily followed her to the grave; and Tom Smith left the village, a perfect vagabond, whom no one cared for. Where he went, or what he did for a long time, no person here knows. I went to other countries, and neither heard of nor saw Tom Smith until my return home, when I found him wandering about here, a gray-headed swearer and drunkard. He did not know me, and I never should have known him, had not some one told me who he was. And last night I received a letter from one of my nephews in the city, which informed me that Tom Smith had been tried in the court, and found guilty of stealing, and was sent to the state prison for ten years to hard work. There I suppose he will die for he is now old; and it is awful to think of what is then to become of his soul. Ah, my dear boys! I could not help thinking, when I read my letter, of what that man said to me years ago—and I have told you his story, hoping that you will remember his words, 'Beware of the first drink.' The man who does that will never be a drunkard. And when old Uncle Philip is laid in the grave, boys, which must be before many years, remember, as you look upon the place, that he told you the story of Tom Smith, and charged you to 'beware of the first drink.'

"But here come some of the boys, running towards us; I suppose they have found something."

"Oh, Uncle Philip! Uncle Philip! Do come with the boys this way. Under that fence yonder there are a great many beautiful wild flowers, and a number of bees are as busy as they can be about them; pray come and see them."

"Well, I will; but not so fast, boys; you forget that I am an old man, and cannot run as you do.—So, here are, indeed, a great many industrious little workmen."

"What are they doing, Uncle Philip?"

"These are workers among the bees, and they are gathering the dust out of the flowers, to work it up into what is commonly called bee-bread. More tools here, boys!"

"Tools, Uncle Philip! Ah, we like that: pray let us hear of them; what are they?"

"Why, there is a brush and a basket in the legs of these little fellows; but they are so small that you cannot see them without a microscope."

"What is a microscope?"

"It is an instrument, made by fixing glasses in such a way to look through, that small things will seem to be very large. Do you not see how some of these little fellows are rolling themselves over in the inside of the flowers, so that the yellow dust is sticking to them? Now their breasts, and legs, and many other parts of their bodies are covered with very short hairs, which catch the dust. The last joint but one of each leg is made exactly like a brush, the hairs being longer there than on any other part; and with these they brush off the dust, and get it into two little heaps. The bags into which they put it, or rather the baskets, are in the thighs of the last pair of legs. These are hollow, so as to form a three-sided basket. The bottom of it is smooth and shining, and appears like horn, and all around the edges are placed very strong, thick-set hairs, like bristles."

"What are these for?"

"To keep things from falling out of the basket; and these bristles are so strong that even if they heap up more than the basket will hold, the bristles will keep it from falling. Here is a drawing of these legs.

Besides carrying this dust, they also carry what is called propolis."

"What is propolis, Uncle Philip?"

"It is a gum which is found upon some trees. This they work up into little balls, and knead it until it is a little dry, so as not to stick. This takes the bee sometimes as much as half an hour. When the balls are ready, she passes them backwards with her feet to the basket, puts them in, and gives them a pat or two to make them lie close; and when she adds more, she pats it still harder, and when the basket is full, away she goes to the hive. But there is another curious instrument about the bee. I mean its sting: this is like the head of a barbed or bearded arrow. There is a sheath for it when the bee does not wish to use it; and here is a picture of it.

But let us now continue our walk."

"Well, Uncle Philip, it is really very pleasant to walk with you: it seems as if you met nothing which could not teach us things worth knowing."

"Why, my dear boys, there are, as I told you once before, a great many things which I do not know; and what I do know I am very willing to tell you. But you may learn just as I did,—by reading, by taking notice of things around you, and by thinking for yourselves. And I do not know any thing more pleasant to notice than the works of God. I see his wisdom and his goodness in every thing which he has made. I see them in the insects, and the birds, and the larger animals; I see them in the grass, and the flowers, and the trees; and I see them in the rocks and the stones upon the ground. All these things are well worth our attention, boys; the study of all these things around us is called the study of 'Natural History;' and I think it is apt to make him who loves it a better man; at any rate, I believe that there have been very few who have been fond of it, who have not been amiable and benevolent men. But, hark! Do you hear that noise?"

"Yes, Uncle Philip; it is the sound of men chopping wood in that clump of trees."

"No, boys; it is like the sound of a wood-cutter; and it is a wood-cutter, but he does not use one of our hatchets."

"What is it that he uses, then?"

"He uses the tool which God gave him. It is a bird, boys, which you hear: it is the woodpecker. See, there it is on yonder tree, and look, at the foot of it, there is something like a bushel of the bird's chips or dust. Its bill is a complete chisel; it is straight, hard, and sharp, with edges too upon the sides. It is not a very broad chisel, but still it is one, and used as we use ours. But the chisel is not the only instrument of that workman. Its tongue is worth examining. It bores a hole into a tree that is dead or decaying, to look for insects whose nests are in the tree; and when it reaches the cell where the young insect is, it uses its tongue to get it out, and it suits exactly for the business. In the first place, it is so long that the bird can shoot it out three or four inches longer than the bill is; in the next place the end of it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, long thorn; and in the last place, that thorn has little teeth on both sides of it, like that which you see on the point of a fish-hook: these teeth are to keep the insect from falling off when it puts its tongue in the hole and sticks its sharp point into it to draw it out for food. So that besides the chisel, the woodpecker has a spear, or lance, or arrow, barbed (as it is called) or bearded at the point.

"But we are some distance, boys, beyond the old mill: suppose we now turn back towards home; I find the gnats rather troublesome."

"So do we, Uncle Philip; they have been biting us for some time: it would be well if there were no such tormenting things in the world."

"I am not sure of that, boys. We may not always be able to find out the exact use of some of these little animals; but that only shows that we are ignorant, not that they are of no use. God would never have made them if he had not some wise purpose in doing so: I do not believe he ever wastes his power in making useless things. But what will you say about gnats, when I tell you that they have a tool to work with, and a very perfect one, too?"

"Why, we will almost forgive them for biting us."

"Biting you! They have not been biting with teeth: they are doctors, boys; they have only been bleeding you, and cupping you."

"And what have they been bleeding us with?"

"Why, with a lancet, to be sure; what should a doctor use but a lancet to let blood?"

"And has the gnat really a lancet?"

"Yes, it has: this instrument forms a part of what you may call the tongue of the gnat: it is made up of five pieces, which are shut up in a case, split from one end to the other; these give steadiness to the lancet when it is used. But the reason of the pain is not so much the wound of the lancet, as it is the fluid or poisonous juice which the gnat puts into the wound to make the blood thin enough for the insect to suck it up through a tube or case, which makes part of its mouth. Here is a drawing of part of a gnat's mouth.

And here is a picture of the lancet or knife of a horse-fly.

"We have now reached the bridge,—and here we must part; your homes are in one direction, and mine is in the opposite. I hope, however, that you have learned something in our morning's walk."

"We have, Uncle Philip, and we thank you much, and bid you, good day."

"Good day, boys."