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.