low-worms. The sea-star, cockles, and muscles,
are the great enemies of the oyster. The first gets within the shell
when they gape, and sucks them out.

While the tide is flowing, oysters lie with the hollow side downwards,
but when it ebbs they turn on the other side.[6]

[6] See Bishop Spratt on Oysters.

_Swarming of Bees._

An interesting communication was read, at a recent sitting of the Royal
Society, from T.A. Knight, Esq. describing the precaution taken by a
swarm of bees, in reconnoitering the situation where they intend to
establish their new colony, or swarm from the parent hive. The bees do
not go out in a considerable body, but they succeed each other in going
and returning, until the whole of the swarm have apparently made good
the survey, after which the whole body take their departure in a mass.
If by any chance a large portion of a swarm take their departure without
the queen bee, they never proceed to take up the ulterior quarters
without her majesty's presence. The result of Mr. Knight's observations
tends to prove, that all the operations of a swarm of bees are dictated
by previous concert, and the most systematic arrangement.

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

LADDER OF LOVE.

Men and women,--more or less,--
Have minds o' the self-same metal, mould, and form!--
Doth not the infant love to sport and laugh,
And tie a kettle to a puppy's tail?--
Doth not the dimpled girl her 'kerchief don
(Mocking her elder) mantilla wise--then speed
To mass and noontide visits; where are bandied
Smooth gossip-words of sugared compliment?
But when at budding womanhood arrived,
She casts aside all childish games, nor thinks
Of aught save some gay paranymph--who, caught
In love's stout meshes, flutters round the door,
And fondly beckons her away from home,--
The whilst, her lady mother fain would cage
The foolish bird within its narrow cell!--
And then, the grandame idly wastes her breath,
In venting saws 'bout maiden modesty--
And strict decorum,--from some musty volume:
But the clipp'd wings will quickly sprout again;
And whilst the doating father thinks his child
A paragon of worth and bashfulness,--
_Her_ thoughts are hovering round the precious form
Of her sweet furnace-breathing Don Diego!--
And he, all proof 'gainst dews and nightly blasts,
In breathless expectation waits to see
His panting Rosa