ction of
insects. In the first transports of his anger, he resolved to strangle
the monkey in his arms: but his rage immediately gave way to pity, when
he perceived that the crime of its voracity had carried the punishment
along with it. In eating the beetles, it had swallowed several of the
pins on which they were transfixed. Its agony, consequently, became
great; and all his efforts were unable to preserve its life."

"Poor creature! How unfortunate, Uncle Thomas. It must, however, have
been a very stupid animal to mistake a wig for its mother."

CHAPTER IX.

Uncle Thomas concludes Stories about Instinct with several
Interesting Illustrations of the Affections of Animals,
particularly of the Instinct of Maternal Affection, in the course
of which he narrates the Story of the Cat and the Black-Bird; the
Squirrel's Nest; the Equestrian Friends; and points out the
Beneficent Care of Providence in implanting in the Breasts of each
of his Creatures the Instinct which is necessary for its Security
and Protection.

"Good evening, Uncle Thomas? We were so delighted with the adventures of
Kees, that we wish to know if you have any more such amusing stories to
tell us."

"Oh yes, Boys, plenty such, but it is now time to bring these STORIES
ABOUT INSTINCT to a close. I am therefore going to conclude by narrating
one or two stories about the affections of animals. I wish to impress
your minds with feelings of kindness towards them, and I think that the
best way to do so is to exhibit them to you in their gentleness and
love; to show you that they too partake of the kindlier emotions by
which the heart of man is moved, and that the feelings of maternal
affection, and of friendship, and of fidelity, are as much the
prerogatives of the lower animals as they are of man himself. Perhaps
one of the most amiable lights in which the affections of animals are
exhibited is their love and attachment to their offspring. You have all
seen how regardless of danger a domestic hen, one of the most timid and
defenceless of animals, becomes when she has charge of a brood of
chickens. At other times she is alarmed by the slightest noise--the
sudden rustle of a leaf makes her shrink with fear and apprehension.
Yet, no sooner do her little helpless offspring escape from the shell,
than she becomes armed with a determination of which even birds of prey
stand in awe."

"Oh yes, Uncle Thomas, I have