employ a magnifying power of ninety-five diameters, or upwards of nine thousand times, and then what do you see? A number of small entrances, each surmounted with a hair, while the end joint is clubbed, and very hairy at its margin.

These antennæ are believed to be compound organs, as much of smelling as talking.

Remember, it is not really needful to have a tongue to talk with, for how do we talk to our deaf and dumb friends? Do we not this most effectually with our fingers?

Now, I quite believe that insects generally, and ants particularly, understand each other by means of the communications they make with their antennæ; and what I

shall tell you of my experience with my live ants will, I think, prove the truth of the remark.

When Professor Tyndall looked at the antennæ of Sir John Lubbock's ants, he declared the antennal sacs- -that is, those little entrances you saw on each joint of the

antennæ resembled "microscopical stethoscopes." Now, you know that a stethoscope is an instrument like a small trumpet, and is used by medical men in listening to the sounds produced by the action of the chest, and the word, coming to us from the Greek, means "I view the breast."

Here, then, we get an idea that these organs are those of hearing; but I believe they are also organs of communication. The bee's antennæ have been removed from a queen, and her majesty is no longer able to express her royal wishes or issue her commands, and there is anarchy and confusion all over the hive; and I believe there is much greater evidence in favour of the antennæ being organs of communication than there is of their being organs of hearing, as my story presently will prove.

And this subject-antennal communication of insectswill introduce another which is so full of interest that we shall be astonished at the wisdom of God in creation; and we shall, I hope, declare with David, first, that "the works of the Lord are great;" secondly, but that they must be "sought out ;" and thirdly, it must be by "those who have pleasure therein."

That other subject will be a comparison of the intelligence of man with the instinct of the brute.

Assuming, then, that the antennæ are organs of communication, let us inquire how they are employed.

Come with me into my garden, and let us go over, in our minds' eye, an instructive lesson I learned one day there which first drew my attention antwards.

The gardener has been at work, and has upset a vase, at the bottom of which was a nest of the garden ant. My attention was called to the débris, and so let me call your attention to it also.

See, among the particles of earth there are a number of ants all running over each other, half crazed, it would appear, at the wreck and ruin of their home. Let us throw some of the mould into a saucer, and with a hand

magnifier watch the movements of the insects as they madly run about in it.

Look, one has a small whitish object in its mouth, about the shape and size of a grain of rice, rushing wildly round the margin of the saucer and among the ruins, never letting the object of its anxiety go. Presently it meets with another ant; then it stops, and the antennæ of the two friends begin to touch each other and move about with nervous rapidity.

Presently, ant-let us say-number two, rushes away from the first ant, leaving it still with its charge fixed firmly between its big jaws; and if you have watched number two ant closely you will have observed that presently it meets with a third of its unfortunate family. Number two and number three now begin a chat, and number three hurries off, you see, to number one; and then, after a little antennal talk with their fingers after the deaf and dumb fashion, number one gives its tiny load to number three, and then goes about its business.

Now, what becomes of number three? Do you notice that amongst the earthy débris a very small piece of straw lies there, half-split, so that the under part is concave, and therefore the upper convex, a little mimic covering?

Well, look now! the number three ant carefully hides its load under this bit of straw; then, covering it over with surrounding earth, goes away apparently quite satisfied with having done its duty.

You say,

"What does all this mean?" And that was just what I said. Now I can tell you.

The most important part of a family of ants, which family often consists of many thousands, are those who are chosen to do the work of nurses, for ants, like human infants, require the greatest care in their babyhood.

I cannot tell you whether it is by election or compulsion, but certain of the worker ants are told off for nurses,

and these have almost exclusively to discharge all the duties of a nurse proper.

These are, first, a general charge concerning the insect in the first stages of its transformation-that is, cleaning it, taking it out for an airing, putting it to rest at night, defending it against all its enemies, and, above all, preparing and administering its food.

The wisdom of the ant, like that of the bee, is intuitive: that is, the mind, if mind it must be called, of the insect sees as much directly it arrives at perfection as it ever sees. An ant or a bee at five minutes old knows as much as another at a year old; it has nothing to learn. So that nurse ants have not to be taught their business; it is born with them, and they know exactly what they have to do directly it is decided that they shall do it.

Now, as you have seen, when our gardener upset their home there was a terrible scramble among our friends: it was to them what an earthquake would have been to us, scattering our work, demolishing our dwelling, and sending our children and our household to wreck and ruin.

Ant number one, not being a nurse, was scampering over the confused remains of the colony, when a baby-that is, a larva or pupa-was discovered. Ordinary human workers, not being nurses, might have exclaimed, "Let the nurse look after her own business, it's no affair of mine;" and so the baby might have been neglected. Did you observe how very differently the little people-who are "exceeding wise," you know-act?

Taking up the helpless baby-ant, number one scampers off with it after a nurse, and meeting with number two hopes it is she. Alas, no! Then it asks number two to fetch one immediately, while it retains its charge; accordingly off runs number two, when, luckily, just like the mother and sister of Moses, the right nurse is found at last, who, having received the proper directions, hurries off to number one, receiving the precious charge; then carefully putting

it to bed under the tiny bit of straw, goes off in search of other employment.

Tell me, now, isn't that a romance in real life?

Now, do you see what I meant by "antennal communication"? And do you see these compound organs are to the little insects just what fingers and thumb are to the poor deaf and dumb? They talk with them; and you will observe on the specimen we are still examining the antennæ articulate immediately in the creature's brain. And how large the brain is!

The ant is not only very big-headed and big-brained, but it makes good use of both, as you and I should do ; for it is my faith, the better we use the gifts we have received the oftener do we get a repetition from the Giver.

Before we leave this chapter about antennal communication, let me tell you that the form of the antennæ settles the question as to whether Lepidopterous insects (that is, "Scale-wings," such as moths and butterflies) are really one or the other; for whilst the latter are clubbed at the end something like a drum-stick, the former are often feathered and fan-like, and of forms of extreme beauty.

A very extensive page in natural history is open to the study of him who will observe the movements of insects in this branch of their anatomy. Much has been already done, but the experience of all observers unites in the opinion that when deprived of the antennæ the insect is nowhere. The singular diversity of these organs would almost suggest to us either that insects have a sense of which we know nothing, or else that their sense of feeling and hearing is infinitely finer than our own; and it surely suggests above all things what the spiritual body we shall have may be, and that "it doth not yet appear what we shall be." You observed the antennæ of our friend to consist of eleven joints, the basal joints articulating with the head; in those of the lace-wing fly-a creature of bewildering beauty, whose eye when fresh caught is like