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,—

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.