on rocks near the sea shore, in which lights are exhibited all night for the direction of mariners." 66 They are sometimes called pharos, are they not?" asked Agnes. "That name," said Mrs. Merton, "was given to them from the first light-house of which we have any record, having been erected on the Island of Pharos, near Alexandria, about two hundred and eighty years before Christ. The principal light-houses in Britain, however, are that on the Bell rock, opposite the Firth of Tay, and that on the Eddystone rocks, opposite to Plymouth Sound." 66 Why are light-houses made so high?" asked Agnes. "In order that the light may be seen to a greater distance," replied her mother; "and for the same reason the light is always placed in the upper part of the building." "Of what does the light consist ?" "It is an Argand lamp,” replied Mrs. Merton, "with a reflector behind it made of silver strengthened with copper and highly polished." "I wonder," said Agnes," how the sailors know when it is a light-house. I should think that when they are at sea, they must be in danger of mistaking it for the light of a common house." "Yes," said Mrs. Merton, " that has been done; and to prevent the possibility of such a mistake occurring again, as it would be a very serious one, contrivances have been devised for making the lights turn round, or of placing two in the light-house of different colours, so that the light of the light-house can never be mistaken for any other." "I suppose that on the Bell rock is one of those that turn round," said Agnes, " for I remember when I was in Edinburgh and down at Leith, seeing it appear, disappear, and then appear again, till I was tired of looking at it." They now reached the light-house where they found Mr. Merton, who had been amused during their absence, hearing the history of the old couple who formerly lived there, and who, for nineteen years, had never, either of them, had a single hour's illness. They now resumed their seats in the carriage, and returned in the way they came, till they were within a short distance of Freshwater, when they turned to the left to take the road to Black Gang Chine. The road was extremely uninteresting, consisting of a series of narrow lanes between high hedges like those of Devonshire; but without the beautiful views, which in that country delight the eye, whenever a fieldgate makes a break in the hedge. “What a dull country!" cried Agnes. "It is a very fertile one, however,” said her father, "as it has been found on calculation, that the Isle of Wight produces seven times as much corn and other articles of human food as would suffice for the wants of its inhabitants." To relieve the monotony of the road, Agnes now began to tell her papa what she had seen at the Needles; and even their surly driver mingled in the conversation. "Ah! miss," said he, "the greatest sight that was ever seen near the Needles was a whale that was cast on shore on the Shingles in the year 1814. It was before my time," continued he, "but I have often heard talk of it." Agnes yawned; and her mother advised her to get out of the carriage, and walk a little, as she had been so much amused in gathering wild flowers the previous day. Agnes willingly complied, and soon returned with a piece of the weed called Crosswort, with an insect feeding on it. "What can this be?" cried she. "It does not look like a common caterpillar." PLANT OF CROSSWORT (Gallium cruciatum), with the larva and perfect insect of THE BLOODY-NOSED BEETLE (Timarcha tenebricosa). "It is the larva of the bloody-nosed beetle," said Mrs. Merton. "Its colour is a deep green, and it has six legs near the head, with two other legs at the extremity of the body which assist it in climbing from leaf to leaf." "But why has the beetle to which it belongs such a strange name?" asked Agnes. "Because when attacked it ejects from its mouth some drops of a reddish fluid which look like blood. The eggs of this insect are of a bright orange, and its pupa case is green." Agnes now shook the insect off, and was about to tread on it, when her mother stopped her. "Do not hurt it," said she, it only feeds on weeds;-do you not remember what Cowper, who was pre-eminently the poet of Nature, says: 'I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners, and fine sense, Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.' Yet I would not wish you to show a morbid sensibility. As when it is necessary that animals should be killed, even the same poet says: |