The following rapid observations are addressed to those whom it is the desire that this series of volumes may induce to take up the study of Nature in a methodical manner. With this view, the merest summary of the principles upon which scientific arrangement is based, is here exhibited. The study requires method as a lodestar to guide through its intricacies, but it is one which, pursued simply as a recreation, yields both much amusement and gratifying instruction. It shows us that when we unclasp the book of nature, and wherever we may turn its leaves, every word, the syllables of which we strive to spell, is pregnant with the fruitfulness of wonderful wisdom, whose profound expression the human intellect is too limited thoroughly to comprehend.

Is there an arrangement that human skill could mend? Is there an organization that man can fully solve, or a combination that his mind can wholly compass? Do we not behold limitless perfection everywhere, but all so deeply mysterious. So exquisite are the feelings which the contemplation commands, that they imbue us deeply with the sense of the high privilege conferred upon the intellect by its being permitted to embrace a study, which, even pursued merely as a relaxation, inculcates in so serene and pleasing a manner such profound veneration and reverence.

To acquire the prospect of a possibility to unravel the exuberant profusion of the natural objects surrounding us, successive students of nature have endeavoured to systematize the seeming confusion in which her riches are spread about. Like has been brought to like, and gradation made to succeed gradation. Resemblances have been combined and disparities disjoined, until the labour of centuries has constructed of all the natural objects within the ken of man a vast and towering edifice, whose basis is seated at the lowest substructure of the earth which research has yet reached, but whose head ascends high into the empyrean.

All things have been collected, and arranged, and classed. Method has endeavoured to give them succession according to an assumed subordination. The labour of the great minds which framed the large theories of this vast branch of human knowledge, has permitted men of lesser powers of combination to abstract parts for special examination and investigation.

The study of natural science has progressively reached an extraordinary development, spreading in every direction its innumerable tentacula; to which the perfection of the telescope and of the microscope have still further added by the discovery of new worlds of wonder.

Just as language is systematized and made easier by grammar methodizing its co-ordinates and their relations, so natural science arranges its subjects into subdivisions of which genera and species are the lowest terms. The higher and more complicated are of many denominations, which, notwithstanding, have for their chief purpose the simplification of the survey by assisting accurately to determine accurately natural objects individually. Once the clue of the labyrinth caught, the seeming intricacy of its involution vanishes; for when a clear conception of the general scheme is obtained, the solution of the parts is comparatively easy. The same principle rules throughout, however variously treated.

The large divisions of nature appear simple and distinct enough in their great frame, but when we approach their confines, close investigation discovers analogies and affinities, which, where the separation seems most apparent, create insuperable difficulties, and render linear succession, or distinct division, nearly an impossibility. Here we find parallelism, and there radiation, and elsewhere a complicated reticulation without subordination; and this is one of the great problems, which it is the office of the mature naturalist to endeavour to solve. The present work has to do, however, with but one small portion of the whole.

Thus we see that, in order to arrive at a knowledge of natural objects, a method must be pursued to avoid being overwhelmed by their multiplicity, whereby confusion would be produced in the mind which their methodical investigation tends to dissipate. Their abundance precludes the possibility of their being all equally well known, although it is very desirable to have a general, if even superficial acquaintance with them, that is to say, in the broad and distinguishing features of their large groups, for as to an accurate knowledge of all their species, it would be futile to attempt it. Possessing this general knowledge, the attention may be turned with greater advantage in any special direction, and that pursued to its entire acquisition.

Natural objects have been arranged in Kingdoms, Orders, Classes, Families, and Genera, all deduced in their successive and collateral groups from characters exclusively derived from SPECIES; therefore to the accurate knowledge of species all endeavours must be directed, they comprising within themselves all the rest, although the characters upon which they themselves depend for separation from their congeners are the most trivial of any. Each combination, in its analytical descent, contains characters of wider compass than those which succeed it, and consequently embraces in that descent more species than the successive divisions; just as in the ascent, or synthetical method, the characters of every successive group gradually expand. Species being thus the only real objects in nature from which all knowledge springs, and in which exclusively all uses lie, other combinations being perhaps as merely imaginary as are the many lines which are drawn over the surface of the globes, it would imply that subdivisions merely lend aid to acquire more rapidly the details upon which they depend. We will, therefore, first turn our attention to species.

Both combination and subdivision are intended to facilitate identification, by aiding us to arrive at this knowledge of species; for each species represents a distinct idea, whose correct definition is important to the progress of accurate science. This alone permits observation to be attributed to its right object, and when properly recorded, the information is secured for ever from error or obscurity. It is not, however, the gift of every mind to discern accurately even specific differences, or to form skilfully generic combinations. The very best favoured by nature,—for it is a natural gift, although under high cultivation,—have sometimes a bias towards seeing more than actually exists. Hence varieties are often elevated into species, and species thus overwhelmingly multiplied; and genera are frequently framed upon vague distinctions.

Species are the basis of all natural science.

A species in zoology is a combination of creatures which unites the sexes, and these being two, the assumed existence of neuters in some instances does not invalidate this, it comprises two individuals having independent existence, but whose co-existence is indispensable to perpetuation, but which often, from their great differences, no single set of scientific characters will bind together, yet which must exist in some undiscovered peculiarity, that individuals may be able to distinguish their legitimate partners. The species, therefore, is a complete unit in its entirety, although consisting of two distinct beings, for in the large majority of cases in zoology these sexes are distinct, although their conjunction is, in the higher forms of life, indispensable for their continuance. In some of the lower forms of animal life they exist in union, and in the vegetable kingdom we perceive every possible combination and modification of this conjunction, and in both of these life may be perpetuated also by simpler processes.

The species may consist of any indefinite number of individuals, and no law has hitherto been discovered which regulates the relative proportions of the sexes, although it is very apparent that some recondite influence operates to control it. It is also extremely remarkable to observe how eccentric nature is in some species, and the extent to which she sometimes carries the variation of some particular specific type, and to which some species are singularly prone, and yet how rigidly in other cases she adheres to the particular specific form in the succession of generations, that even the shadow of a deviation from the typical distinction is scarcely to be discovered: a reason for this it is hard to surmise. We may, nevertheless, conclude it to be certain that true species are ever distinct, and can no more coalesce, however closely they may approach together, than can asymptotes.

Specific differences result from many characteristics,—from colour, clothing, size, and sometimes from peculiarities of structure; but these last are usually of a higher order, tending to indicate an aberration, slight though it be, from the normal generic character which holds the group together, thus implying a distinctive economy. This is sometimes called a subgeneric attribute, and there might be a reason, certainly, for not elevating such species to the full rank of genera, were genera equivalents, which they are not, and it merely remains an evasive admission of the doubt that attaches, except for the sake of convenience, to any subdivision, but the specific.

The species is thus the very last term of subdivision, the very elemental principle itself, which unites together as one, solely for the purposes of perpetuation, the two sexes of similar individuals, and without whose intercourse the kind or species would die out.

That some species greatly abound in individuals, as before observed, whilst others appear to be extremely limited, is an absolute fact, and not merely suggested by a defective observation of their occurrence, resulting from their rapid dispersion. It is verified by being noticed to occur where we know they would resort, as is exemplified in the case of some of the parasitical species of the insects herein treated of, and which are sometimes rare, even in the vicinity of the metropolis of their sitos, and where this also greatly abounds. In other cases, other species absolutely swarm where the similar attraction lies.

Even supposing species to be the sole natural division, we may accept the superior combinations as means to aid us to a gradually extending survey of the whole. Perhaps did we possess all the links of the vast chain of beings we should find genera, and every other superior combination, melt away through the intimate alliance of the succession of species that would obliterate the lines of separation, by making the sutures imperceptible; but what mind could compass the detail of such a limitless unbroken series? Their subdivision may therefore be accepted as a positive necessity, to enable us to compass their investigation. As it at present stands, with our imperfect knowledge of the entire series of species, these higher groups are indispensably requisite.

The specific diagnosis being the only sure basis upon which all our knowledge can rest, its accuracy is all-important, and requires a few observations. It comprises two parts—the specific character, and the specific description. The difference between these is, that the first is constructed with the extremest brevity consistent with its utility, is fluctuating and not permanent. The latter permits all the diffuseness needful to embrace a full description of the creature.

The object of the first is to establish the present identity of the species amongst all its known congeners—those associated in the same genus;—and that of the second to secure it in its perpetual identity, and segregate it from all future and contingent discoveries. The specific character admits, consequently, modifications to suit any extension of the genus, and in fact exacts it at the hands of all who describe new species. This many naturalists undertake without any apparent consciousness of the scientific responsibilities that attach to it, and whence results the confusion so much to be deplored, of the synonymy that prevails, constituting, as it does, such a DÆdalian labyrinth. The describer of a new species is bound to cast around, and endeavour to know all that has been previously done upon the subject of the genus. He has to revise all the specific characters within the genus, and mould them to those he introduces, and he must insert these closest to their evident affinities. Thus, therefore, the describer’s labour is not light, if to be of any value. The specific character, although thus varying, becomes a permanent utility, and only so fulfils its object,—that of rapidly showing, at a glance, the known species of a genus, and thereby permitting the speedy determination of the identity or distinctness of a compared object. If doubt should exist from this brevity, the specific description is at hand to solve it, by the amplitude and completeness of its details. Of course this mode of treatment is only suitable to monographs, or portions of the science discussed separately, and not to a general or universal survey.

The amount of toil thus saved to the describing naturalist, and to those who wish to name their specimen, the experienced only can estimate. This brevity of specific character is one of LinnÆus’s terse and valuable axioms, who limits its length to twelve words. The best examples, I think, that I can adduce in entomology, of valuable and exemplary specific descriptions, is Gyllenhal’s ‘Insecta Suecica’ which contains exclusively a description of Swedish Coleoptera; Gravenhorst’s large monograph of European Ichneumons; Erichson’s elaborate work upon the StaphylinidÆ; and our own Kirby’s ‘Monographia Apum AngliÆ.’ Their perfection consists in fulfilling thoroughly all the above conditions, for if any doubt exist upon comparing your insect with their descriptions, you may be fully assured yours is not identical. The only drawback to the utility of Mr. Kirby’s book is that he had to deal with insects variable in condition from many causes, and the variable state of the insect that may have to be compared; his description has evidently been made sometimes from a worn specimen, one that had been exposed to wind and weather, and sometimes from an insect in fine condition. Thus it is important that compared insects should be in an identical state to substantiate the comparison,—a difficulty which this family has specially to contend with, as these insects are more liable than almost any others to vary, owing to their specific character depending much upon pubescence, which is extremely subjected to many modifying influences, for the tinges and positive colour of the hair will much vary by exposure, as it is not possible always to capture a bright individual.

Taking specific description thus practically in its full and wide sense, it is requisite, for the purpose of avoiding repetition, that all the characters of the superior combinations should be eliminated, leaving it with those only which have not been thus absorbed, which now constitute its sole remaining distinctive specific peculiarities. Every species necessarily contains within itself, every character of every combination in direct line above it, although these have been gradually abstracted to form those several combinations which are arrived at successively in the synthetical ascent. Analytically, species are the last but combining element of all, although their most remote members. The whole system is an ingenious contrivance for breaking down a complex multiplicity of characters, to simplify the means of reaching all the collateral or adjacent species, that we may be able to determine identity or difference.

Entomology, and indeed natural history generally, uses three words, very much alike, but very different in signification and application. These are, habit, habits, and habitat. The habit is that peculiar character of identity, that je ne sais quoi, which marks all the species of a genus collectively, and which, in some cases, only the trained eye can detect. It is then seen instantaneously, and forcibly illustrates the extreme precision the study of the natural sciences tends to cultivate. Their utility, also, as a discipline to the mind, conjunctively with the keen accuracy which practice gives the sight, are qualifications not lightly to be esteemed.

It is from such absolute control of detail that the most efficient power of generalizing emanates, which, when it has once become habitual, gives, from its rapidity, an almost instinctive facility, as its inevitable concomitant, for both synthetical and analytical survey. The mind thus becomes strengthened by vigorous exercise, and has always, for every purpose, a powerful instrument at command, often used unconsciously, but always effectively. Thus is habit, once correctly perceived, ever retained.

The habits are the peculiar manners and economy of a species; and the habitat is the kind of locality the creatures affect, such as hill or plain, wood or meadow, forest or fell, hedgebank or decaying timber, sand or chalk or clay, and ground vertical or horizontal; and the metropolis of a species—another term in use—is the centralization of the general habitat where the insect either nidificates collectively with its fellows, or, where, from any other cause, it may be found in its season, usually in profusion. But good fortune does not always attend the discovery of this locality.

It is by the acquired skill of perceiving habit, that a large and confused collection may be sorted rapidly, or fresh captures immediately placed with their congeners, without the necessity of going tediously through all the descriptive characteristics. Incidental errors are afterwards speedily corrected. It is then that the specific character exhibits its utility by enabling us at once to distinguish the new from the old.

The concentration and summary of the specific character is the name of the species, or trivial name as it is sometimes called, which is, as it were, the baptismal designation that attaches to it always afterwards, and is contemporaneous with the introduction of the creature into the series of recognized beings.

Upon the revival of the study of natural history, when learning dawned after the night of the Middle Ages, much difficulty attached to the imposition of discriminative names. The works of the ancients were ransacked, and endeavours made to verify and apply the names they had used. Ray published a vocabulary of such names. But the ancients never studied natural history in the systematic way pursued by the moderns; they did not want the skill, but they wanted the facilities. Anatomy and physiology had not made the progress necessary to aid them in the pursuit, and the assistance all these sciences obtain from optical instruments was barred from them. The names they gave to natural objects were vernacular names, which, like our own vernacular names, applied rather to groups than to species, and have in consequence ultimately become the names of genera. But this was the work of time, with which discovery progressed. As these discoveries were made by the new cultivators of natural history, they added them to those which they resembled, by some brief distinctive character adapted to the momentary exigency, such as major, or minor, etc.; and these additions were constantly treated as varieties of the species, whose name headed the list by the designation first adopted. Discoveries still continued, which were compulsively arranged with the predecessors they most nearly resembled, until resemblances vanished, and the boundaries fixed by the assumed correct application of the names thus derived from the ancients were passed, and there was an overflow on all sides.

To meet this difficulty, the new discriminative name had to be moulded into a phrase to correct its exceptive peculiarities, and specific names became descriptive phrases, the bulk of which no memory could retain, and which usually were neither clear nor expressive. Thus genera were continually treated as species, and species as numbered varieties, with long distinguishing descriptive phrases.

So it remained till day dawned, and the great luminary of systematic natural history rose with a bound to irradiate the obscurity of science with his subtile and vivifying beams.

This was LinnÆus, to whom we owe the binomial system, wherein, by means of two words only (the generic or surname, and the specific or baptismal name), the recognition of a species is perpetuated; for LinnÆus truly says, “Nomina si nescis, perit et cognitio rerum.”

By a law tacitly admitted, but universally recognized, for the sake of securing to a name its intangibility, no two genera in the same kingdom of nature may be named alike. There is, therefore, if this rule be observed, no fear of similar names coming into collision in the same province, and thus producing confusion. A ready means to prevent the possibility of such mischance is the admirable work which has been published by Agassiz, with the assistance of very able coadjutors, in the ‘Nomenclator Zoologicus,’ which is a list of all the generic names extant in zoology, exhibiting what names are already in use either appropriately or synonymously in this great branch of the natural world, and if this work receive periodically its necessary supplements and additions, no excuse will remain for the repetition of a name already applied. The most defective character in this laborious work, is the frequent incorrectness of its etymology of the names of genera. It would be, perhaps, without such aid, too great a labour to require of the describing naturalist, or it might not be otherwise even practicable for him, to ascertain whether the generic name he purposes to impose be, or not, anticipated. The penalty of its being superseded is understood to attach to the imposition of such a name, for the alteration may be made with impunity, and thereby it becomes degraded to the rank of a mere synonym.

Nomenclature has thus, by the happy invention of LinnÆus, been made a matter of the greatest simplicity, conciseness, and lucidity, and to him, therefore, our gratitude is due.

An indispensable branch of nomenclature is Synonymy, which, briefly, is the chronological list of the several names under which species or genera may have been known. This diversity of names has originated in several ways,—from indolence, or ignorance, or excessive refinement. The views of systematists will differ in the collocation of creatures; hence, sometimes what had been previously divided will be recombined, or divisions into further groups be made of what had been before united. Both processes will necessarily produce synonyms; the recombination of what had been separated reduces the names of such groups to the rank of synonyms of the old one from which they have been disjoined. In the latter case the old name will be retained to the typical species merely, and be also made a partial synonym of the names of the new generic groups: or, indeed, it may happen that the same creature has been described generically, unknowingly, by two different persons, about the same time. By another recognized rule in nomenclature, the ‘law of priority,’ the name given by the first describer is accepted, and the other consequently falls to the condition of a synonym.

With respect to specific synonymy, many causes conduce to it; namely, an imperfect description which cannot be clearly recognized, reducing it to that category, with a mark of interrogation appended; subsequent description when want of tact has not discerned the identity of the old one; indolence in looking about for works upon the same subject; inability to obtain access to books wherein they may be described, owing either to their costliness or to their obscurity, or by lying buried in some collapsed journal, or the poverty of our public libraries, etc. etc. But however thus lost sight of, or wilfully ignored, the name still retains vital elasticity, for the describer has not thereby lost his rights, but revives to them with all due justice upon the cessation of this coma. The really culpable among such describers are those who neglect to look around them to ascertain what has been done, and this course is sometimes illicitly adopted to obtain a fleeting and meretricious fame, by the description of ostensibly new species, which critical investigators soon detect to have been long since known and very ably described.

Thus, a complete synonymy, which can almost only come within the province of a monograph, would give, chronologically, the entire history of a species under all the names it has been known by in the several works in which it has been published. Nature is so uniform and stable that Aristotle’s descriptions can be clearly recognized, therefore there is no fear that whatever may have been synonymously, but yet correctly recorded of the economy of a species, can possibly be lost when once registered in the archives of science.

The working out of a correct synonymy is an ungrateful task of much labour, for few appreciate it, and not many use it, although when thoroughly elaborated it is so extremely valuable.

A further rule in nomenclature is, that the generic name must always be a substantive; and it is always desirable that the specific name should be an adjective. In the event of the imposition of a proper name, which is sometimes done to record a private friendship, but improperly so, for it is a distinction due only to promoters of the science, the genitive form must be adopted.

The next grade in ascent from the species is invariably the Genus, for subgenera, like varieties in species, are not uniformly present, but are mere contingencies, even if they do properly exist.

Why some genera abound in species and others are so limited is as difficult to determine as the differing numerical abundance of individuals in species. That long genera (genera numerous in species) may be the result of natural selection, as Mr. Darwin surmises, and the offspring of a common parentage, is contradicted, not merely by peculiar although sometimes slight dissimilarities of habit, combined with size and colour, but also if any lines of demarcation are to be admitted, it is possible, were their generic similitude to be subjected to severe test, they might present characteristics normally discrepant and suggestive of further division, although the habit may be very like.

The generic grouping is effected by structural peculiarities, which are essentially of a higher class than the characters of specific separation, these being determined by colour, pubescence, sculpture, etc. etc.; specific characters combining only individuals with such peculiar inferior resemblances. The generic characters thus establish groups of species allied only by such more general character and similarity, but conjunctively of one permanent habit, although the members of the genus may differ somewhat in habits, and so on of the higher groups into which insects are collected, each group in its ascent upwards presenting characteristics of a wider range than those of the descending series. And so, by degrees, we rise until we reach the characters which combine the whole order. The process is necessarily and imperatively synthetical, for the whole foundation is based upon species, and thence emanates the supposition that only species exist.

The type of a genus is that species upon the characters of which the genus was originally framed and named, and theoretically, however generic groups may be subsequently divided to suit views or to meet systems, the primitive generic type is assumed to retain the primitive generic name. It is much to be doubted whether, in every case, the type is the true pattern, or leader, or centre of the group called the genus; nor is it likely if genera be natural groups. It has usually been accident which has dropped upon the favoured species, and not a well-calculated and thoroughly digested selection, and which, although accepted, will require emendation or change if the whole collective series should ever be obtained.

It is the necessary result of the imperfection of our intellect, and one of the dominant conditions of overruling time, that one thing must follow the other. It is, therefore, neither an expressed nor even an implied inferiority that puts one species before the other in a generic group; or one genus before the other in their successive order. Affinities may lead both species and genera in varying directions, although treated descriptively as of linear succession, in which order they are usually arranged, but this is unavoidable and therefore not derogatory. It is for the mind to conceive their radiation from a type, or their parallelism with other forms, even in the connection of affinity, and not merely of analogy, for the latter can be expressed even in arrangement.

Thus encouragement attends the beginner at the very outset of his study, and the prospect of a wide field for discoveries, in all directions, lies open to him.

The Family, after the Genus, is the next natural group at which we arrive, proceeding synthetically. Its characters, succeeding to those of the Order, group together collectively the largest numbers of forms that in their several combinations are the most nearly equivalents, and may be almost paralleled in that quality to the alliance of species. Ascending from species, the naturalist scarcely hopes to find in the groups formed above them strict parallelism, although, to be logical, it should be so, and, where the combinations are most natural, it is most nearly so. Thus we do not again distinctly reach equivalents until we arrive at these families, which from linking together associations usually combined by an identity of instinct and functions, attach to themselves greater interest, and form alliances pointed out by the finger of nature itself, which are therefore exempted from the arbitrary caprice of the constructive systematist.

It does not follow that families should be even nearly numerically equivalent, for a family may contain a few or a multitude of genera and species, or a multitude of genera and few species, or also a multitude of species and few genera. Families comprise groups of forms to which nature delegates the execution of certain duties and offices, and whether specifically numerous or few, we may assume they are sufficient for the object intended. If we can reach the motive that controls the peculiarities of the group, it is a golden key to the explanation of the structure of its constituents, and, perhaps might furnish us, if not with a positive clue, yet with a surmise as to the functions of the collateral groups of which it forms a member, and which diligent observation may accurately determine.

Families, to be natural divisions, should stand in the same relationship to genera as species do, but from the opposite side, whatever the subdivisions are into which they may be separated, for the sake of convenience, and as descending grades whereby to arrive with greater facility at their genera, just as the species of the latter are also sometimes grouped, that they may be reached with greater ease. These subdivisions of families have no analogy with the varieties which species occasionally throw off, although they may be as irregular in their occurrence; that is to say, in the association of a group of families arranged in their series of most proximate affinities, the first may present subdivisions, others, in irregular occurrence, may not require them,—just as in the species of a genus, arranged also in the series of their closest resemblances, one will present a stringent adherence to the specific type, or all may do so, or all or some may have a tendency to vary. Groupings of species are, however, of a less natural character usually than are those of families, and generally are artificial, being capriciously made to break down long genera, that the required species may be more readily arrived at.

The characters which group families differ inter se. Thus in the Order Hymenoptera, the family of the bees is essentially framed upon their most distinguishing peculiarity—the tongue,—which in other families becomes of secondary importance. In some the neuration of the wings, their mode of folding, the form of the eyes, conjunctively with other peculiarities of general structure, etc. etc., which point to the differences in the economy that accompany all these, have successively the same prominent position which the trophi take in the family of the bees.

I have already recently alluded to the relations of affinity and analogy, and it is desirable that some notion of the meaning and bearing of these terms should be given, as, in the majority of modern works on natural history, use is frequently made of them.

On carefully surveying any class or order of creatures, the mind speedily becomes impressed by observing certain similitudes out of the direct line of continuous connection, and therefore remote from the strongest connecting links of positive relationship in the methodical series. Induced thence to inspect them more closely, we presently ascertain that what we at first conceived might be an error in their collocation, arises from very strong resemblances in certain particular features, but which are less important than those which directly unite them, and may not be permitted to interrupt the order established. It is, however, equally evident that they indicate relations which may not be neglected.

Thus, although the succession be direct in the evolution of its primary characteristics, the prominent features which so present themselves establish the conviction of the existence of connections oblique to the straight line, but all embraced within the normal conditions which bind the group together. These are called relations of affinity. Pursuing them, it is sometimes observed that nature, as it were, returns upon itself, reproducing similar notes in another key.

These indications have led philosophical naturalists to surmise that the true arrangement of natural objects is in groups, and not in a straight and continuous line.

Several schemes have been suggested for the purpose of giving uniformity to these groups, making them equivalents by associating together the same numbers of allied forms, which again return in a circular series upon themselves, and impinge upon other circles at the parallel points of their circumference by affinities less direct than those which unite them within their own circle.

Many novel views and interesting combinations have been thus elicited, showing that very strong affinities lie in very divergent directions, but no system has been hitherto devised which overrules the conflicting difficulties that attend these arrangements. Whatever number may have been adopted to bring nature within this circular system, it has always been found that some, or several members, both in the circles themselves, or in their series, is as yet deficient, and awaits either discovery or creation.

The pursuit of such views stimulates profound investigation, and may lead to valuable discoveries that will eventually give a loftier and more philosophical character to the study of natural history than it has hitherto possessed, and make it an attraction to the highest class of mental powers. The key to the universe hangs at the girdle of the veiled goddess; and happy the student who shall achieve possession of it, and unlock the mysteries to the reverential gaze of mankind.

The relation of analogy is different in kind, although the general affinities which bind a class together are necessarily affinities in the widest construction of the term; but the class being resolved into its elements, those affinities, thus dissevered, no longer retain the uniting links whereby the mass coheres. They, more correctly, stream from their origin in parallelisms rather than in a continuous and uninterrupted current; and these parallelisms present resemblances often of a merely superficial character. As strong an instance as I can adduce is possibly the analogical parallelism of the Pentamera and the Heteromera in the Coleoptera, which are, however, bound by the common affinity of being all beetles.

It is, nevertheless, often difficult to determine between the relationships of affinity and analogy, for groups even in close contiguity may also possess both. Thus, the normal Ichneumones have their analogues in the Ichneumones adsciti, if the comparison be restricted to themselves, but these revert into the relationship of affinity when a comparison is instituted between them and the adjacent groups on the one side of the Tenthredines, or on the other of the Aculeata, with which, when a relationship presents itself, it is merely one of analogy. So, also, within the pentamerous Coleoptera we have a relationship of analogy between the StaphylinidÆ and the HisteridÆ, but it becomes one of affinity when it unites them within this section of the class.

Innumerable other instances might be given readily, but these will suffice to convey a notion of the relative meanings of the terms, ‘relation of affinity’ and ‘relation of analogy,’ which is all here aimed at.

The problem naturalists have to solve is, “What is the natural system?” We can clearly see that the systems adopted are not Nature’s, that they are essentially imperfect, and that the science, even with all the force of the intelligence that has been applied to it, is far from having attained perfection. It still awaits the master mind that shall cope with its difficulties, determine its intricacies, and, threading the labyrinth, guide his enthusiastic disciples into the adytum of the temple.

The subjects here brought under view admit of very considerable development, and of strictly didactic and methodical treatment. It has been my object only to gossip upon them, that I might stimulate curiosity to undertake systematic study, by showing how interesting it may become if earnestly pursued, being so fraught with instruction of large compass.

Works on natural history have divers objects in view, and may be intended either for popular and general distribution, or for special scientific purposes, and in each case the mode of treatment will materially differ. Many purposes may also be intended to be severally met in the strictly and rigidly scientific treatment. They may be either general methodical arrangements treated superficially, having no other design than to give a sort of bird’s-eye view of the subject in its wider distributions and broader landmarks, or they may treat of portions of the large subject more specially; again, they may constitute monographs of varying extent from a family to a genus; or they may comprise loose descriptions of new species of old and well-established genera; and some such, conjunctively with new species, establish likewise new genera, indicating, at the same time, their proximate position in the general series. The two latter classes are usually the appendages to voyages and travels in distant unexplored countries, or are the result of a careful collection of neglected tribes at home. Each, thus, with its special application has its special construction; but in the case of new species, I would strenuously counsel a full and complete description, and urge as imperative the construction of a specific character, formally framed to meet the condition of the science, based upon the precise antecedents and existing state of the genus to which such species belong.

Even assuming that the knowledge of species is the essential foundation of the science, the preceding observations show that there is a higher knowledge connected with the pursuit than this mere knowledge of species, and yet from which it emanates. There is a higher object to be achieved than the accumulation of a store of them, arranged in seemly order, set with manifest taste, and named in accordance with the accepted nomenclature. These are extremely pleasing to the eye, but the intellect languishes over them in unsatisfied desire, craving more solid aliment. There is besides room for observation on every side, either confirmatory or original, and both are much needed, and must be considerably augmented before it is accumulated in satisfactory abundance; and until this be procured, existing systems can be viewed merely as temporarily useful, for until all that nature can teach shall be exhausted, perfection cannot be attained.

The many kinds of knowledge which the study subserves, and the recreation and pleasure each affords, are a sufficient reply to the sneering Cui bono? of its detractors, who, when they urge that it occupies time which might be more profitably employed, present themselves but as the priests of the Fetish of the age, and may be told that we use it only as a relaxation to necessary worldly toils. When pursued, in cases where it can be so, in unmolested security, is there a more salutary pursuit than that which inculcates the high veneration and love which the study of nature should inspire towards the Great Parent of all? What can compete with it in other studies? The investigation of the works of the Almighty lead directly to the steps of the altar of religion, and there we find the study of the Works confirmed by the precepts of the Word, both inculcating humble reverence and fervent love. Thus pursued, is it not a reply to every cavil?