Part 2

This acknowledgement was sufficient for the Butterfly, who fluttered about in grateful joy, and in the course of the day made many excursions, from all of which he returned with good humour and kind enquiries; while the Bee continued to fly from flower to flower, and though he was sometimes ready to regret that he had not a hive, to which he could carry the produce of his labours, and receive the commendations of his mother for so doing, he felt that he was yet too weak to work to much advantage, and therefore tried to be content with what was necessary for himself.

Several Bees came to this field of sweets, in which he was thus revelling; but none of his old acquaintance were among them, and he forbore to speak to them; "though idle myself," said he, "I will not make others so by engaging them in talk with me;" and indeed so anxious was he not to disgrace the character of what a Bee _should be_, that if he thought any of them were noticing him, he would pretend to be earnestly at work also, lest they should suppose him an idle drone.

In his next visit, the Butterfly brought him such intelligence as he thought would be agreeable to him; "We are in the land of plenty," said he, "every thing is flourishing, and innumerable flowers are every where to be seen."

"I shall soon be able to visit them," returned the Bee, "and after one more night's rest I shall almost forget that I have been ill; I have already recovered my spirits, and my health will soon return."

As they were thus talking, they observed a troop of children with baskets in their hands, and an old man at their head, who seemed to be directing their steps to the field they were in.

"These are some of my tormentors," said the butterfly, "though they appear to admire me, and to wish me no harm, they are in reality my greatest enemies; even the sound of their voices puts me in a fright: Oh! how sick I am of hearing them singing, "Butterfly, butterfly, come to me," though you may be very sure I never accept their invitation; once I was shut up in a box for nearly a whole day by one of these _kind_ admirers, with a few green leaves for me to eat and sleep upon; and I suppose she thought she was doing me a very great favor to procure me such a residence; but I was much more obliged to another little girl, who in her absence let me out of my confinement, and since that time I have been more than ever anxious to escape their notice."

"I know nothing of an alarm of that sort," replied the Bee, "children are in general afraid of me, and I have sometimes been half inclined to regret it, though in reality I believe it is the best thing that could happen, but these," continued he, "if I am not mistaken, are going to be otherwise employed than in admiring either you or me, for I think we shall see them gathering the flowers on which we have been feeding," and this was actually the case, for as they entered the field, the old man encouraged them to begin by promising that when the wine was made for which these cowslips were to be gathered, they should all have a glass of it.

"What devouring creatures are these men," observed the Bee, "every one of these sweet flowers will be destroyed to make their wine; but they are 'the Lords of the Creation,' and take away at one stroke what would satisfy us more moderate creatures for months and months; but see, the children are coming, had you not better take to your wings?"

"Not yet," replied the Butterfly, "they are going to be otherwise engaged; 'tis when they are idle, or at play, that I have most reason to be alarmed, and besides here are a great many more of my race frisking about, though among ever so great a number, I am the most admired."

The Bee smiled at this discovery of vanity in his friend, though he made no reply, and as the children began clearing the field at the other end of it, they continued a little longer to enjoy the sweets they were so soon to be deprived of, till the shades of the evening began to advance, when the Bee proposed returning home, and bade adieu to those charming flowers from which he had gathered health and strength, and a sufficient stock of honey to take home with him.

"Where do you repose for the night?" said he to his friend, "have you no settled place of abode, or do you rest upon the first flower you meet with?"

"I generally pass the night under a green leaf, or in the cup of a flower," replied the Butterfly, "and may this evening find a place to repose in near _your_ habitation, if you have no objection."

"I should be glad of your company within it," returned the Bee, "were it large enough to admit us both, but what do you live upon? cannot you taste some of the provision I am going to carry home? you shall be very welcome."

The Butterfly testified his thanks by a fluttering of his wings; "but I do not particularly relish that food," said he, "and you would perhaps wonder what it is we do eat, for it is no uncommon opinion that we live upon air; however, in our reptile state, we make up for our little eating now; were you to see the devastation we make in the vegetable world, you would be surprised; three or four dozen of us will destroy a bed of cabbages in an hour or two, and we often strip a shrub of all its leaves in the course of a morning."

"And do you boast of this?" replied the Bee; "surely it is exulting in mischief."

"It is our _nature_," returned the thoughtless Butterfly; "and what is the mischief, as you call it, compared to that which men are daily doing? do they not destroy us by thousands, whenever they have an opportunity? and why should _you_, of all others, plead for them, who, when you have spent your lives in their service, and procured for them that food which they can obtain from no other quarter, burn and destroy your hives and yourselves too? Oh! I have passed one of these monuments of their ungrateful cruelty, and seen the mangled remains of your fellow-creatures till my wings have quite trembled again, and yet you never do them harm; they form your habitation, and encourage you to build in them by pretending to shelter you from all evil, yet after all this fancied kindness, if they think you are too old to labour for them any longer, as a reward for all you have done, they set fire to your houses, and destroy thousands of you in the flames! talk no more of mischief in eating a few cabbages, or devouring the leaves of a tree."

"These are shocking truths," replied the Bee, "my blood runs cold to think of it, and yet such is my nature that, though I know I am safe from such devastations where I now am, I would rather add my labours to the common stock of my native hive, could I but find the way to return to it, and share the fate of my fellow-labourers, if such a fate awaits them; but who knows that we may not escape? it is not every Bee that is thus destroyed."

"Nature," returned his friend, "has armed you with a defensive weapon with which I think you might soon repel your destroyers: but as for us poor _Butterflies_, we can do nothing to defend ourselves."

"'Tis true," returned the Bee, "we have this weapon, and we have often made our enemies fly by using it; but you must know, such is their cunning cowardice, that they will not attack us on equal terms; they must have the covert of the night for their cruel work, and when we are all in our hives, each enclosed in their waxen cell, they begin the horrid massacre; I should feel it more, but that I believe they take as great delight in destroying each other as they do in killing us; for I have heard them rejoicing together that so many of the _enemy_ were slain, and I know they mean their fellow men by _this_ appellation, for they don't _dignify_ us with that title; their great enmity to insects arises from what they destroy; and yet, in one day, they themselves devour more than any of them, but then they think every thing that can be useful to them was only made for that purpose, and no one can say they do not take care to make it fulfill that end, whatever else is left undone."

"But the question is, whether they have any right to destroy you, after that is done?" rejoined the Butterfly.

"A question too hard for me to answer," returned the Bee; "but this I know, that we have a right to defend ourselves against them whenever we can; and I know also, that for the kindness you have shown me I'll defend you from their attacks as long as I am able: but we are arrived at my dwelling, let us rest upon this tree while the sun is taking its last peep at the horizon."

After refreshing themselves with a little of the honey the Bee had brought home, and of which the Butterfly just tasted a little, because he would not appear to refuse what was kindly meant, they parted for the night, the Bee resolving to travel farther the next day, and, if possible, to find out his old habitation, though not without assuring the Butterfly that if he should be so happy as to be re-admitted, it should make no difference in his friendship for him.

CHAP. III.

"And thus a never-ceasing pleasure flows, "Or to the human, or the bestial race, "From those ideal charms we all attach to place."

LOCAL ATTACHMENT.

The next morning our two friends awoke with the sun, and before half my readers are out of their beds, their peregrinations commenced, one in quest of whatever he could turn into something useful, the other to find what was new and entertaining. When they met, the Bee was still desirous of finding his old habitation. "But why?" said the Butterfly, "surely the little cell you now live in will do very well for the summer; you are in no danger where you are, and have the delightful privilege of calling it all your own."

"All this is true," replied the Bee, "but what a life am I now leading? adding nothing to the general stock; while all my brethren are busily employed in gathering what will be of equal benefit to each, no, no: there is a pleasure in being thus mutually assistant to others which only those who have experienced it can know; and I am resolved, if possible, to enjoy it again."

The Butterfly looked surprised, for though capable of that attachment which proceeds from finding an agreeable companion; and with some idea of the services bestowed upon those we love, and which endears the name of friend, he could not imagine that any pleasure could arise from spending his time in labour; but as long as his friend had assured him of the continuance of his regard, he was desirous that he should obtain what he wished, and willingly offered to assist him in the search.

During their airy rounds they often stopped to refresh themselves on some favorite flower, and though seldom fixing on the same, and to a casual observer did not appear to be at all connected, they were never out of sight of each other. It was from one of these resting places, in which the Bee was delightfully employed extracting sweets from an "extended field of blossomed beans," that the Butterfly stretched his wings to a neighbouring garden; here such various beauties met his eyes that he could not help returning to call his friend to enjoy them with him. "Such a bed of tulips, I have met with," said he, "whose splendid colours can only be equalled by my wings; pray come, and see what lovely flowers."

"Have you not yet learnt that there is something more valuable in a flower than its colour?" returned the Bee, with a smile; "for my part I would prefer these honeyed beans, though I suppose you would think them hardly worth looking at, but of all other flowers tulips have the least sweetness about them, and are fit only to please the eye of those men and butterflies who judge only by appearance; but though I have seen the former admiring a bed of tulips, I have often observed that if they wish to ornament themselves, or their houses, the flowers which we chiefly prefer are also the objects of their choice! as for these beans, though I believe they admire their smell, men are, as I said before, such destructive creatures, that while they are enjoying what is sweet they are at the same time destroying it; and as they expect something still more valuable from these flowers, they are content to let them remain upon their stalks; but we can have our fill of their sweets, and yet not injure what they will hereafter produce. Oh! had I but a hive to go to," continued he, as he stretched his wings to accompany his friend, "how many times should I have gone thither yesterday, and to-day from the cowslips and the beans, and what repeated loads should I have carried home."

"Surely, surely," thought the idle Butterfly, "you need not regret that; to fly hither and thither as you like, with no incumbrance of any kind, and, no care beyond to-morrow, is far better;" so thought the Butterfly, and so perhaps think many Butterflies of the human race; but he forbore to repeat his sentiments on this subject, for, unconscious to himself, he was awed by the superiority of his friend, while he felt no wish to be of the same opinion.

"And so these are the flowers you admire," continues the Bee, as they alighted, "and which can only be equalled in Beauty by _your_ wings? Ah, my dear friend, would not your wings be just as useful if they were not covered with red and purple? look at the plain white ones of numbers of your race, who are now flying around us; _you_ cannot extend your flight farther than _these_; but see, some children are entering the garden, I question if you will not soon have a greater cause to regret the beauty of your wings than to admire it, and that you will be the object of their pursuit as soon as you meet their eyes, while your plainer brethren will pass unregarded."

This prediction was soon verified, for no sooner did the little ones perceive this self-admiring Butterfly than they all exclaimed, "Oh! what a beauty! let us catch it."

"If _you_ get on that side of the bed, and _I_ on this," said a boy, who appeared to be the eldest of the party, "I will throw my hat at it, and we shall soon have it in our possession."

"Not for the world, master Henry," said the maid, who accompanied them; "you would destroy those beautiful flowers at once if you did, and your papa would be so angry."

"The flowers then are more admired than you are my friend," observed the Bee, "for you see the maid will not let them be injured, not even to procure a sight of your still _more_ beautiful wings."

"Don't laugh at me," replied the Butterfly, somewhat mortified; "I am glad, however, that I have found a place of safety; if I take care not to quit this station, they will not be able to get at me."

Altho' it was his intention to remain there, his young pursuers would not let him be at rest, but with one thing and another so contrived to shake the flowers upon which he settled, that, at last, wearied out with these repeated removals, he took to his wings, and flew to a neighbouring rose-tree.

"Now, now," cried all the children, "we shall have it; don't let it get upon the tulips again, and we shall certainly catch it."

The Bee lay all this time in the bell of a hyacinth, not unmindful of his friend, or his pursuers, but thinking his present alarm might be an useful evidence of what he had been saying, and a check to his vanity, he resolved to let him feel a little more of the dangerous effect his much-admired beauty was likely to produce; but after the young folk had given him one or two hasty flights round the garden, he came forward, and appearing in front of all the young ones, soon checked the eagerness of their chace.

"A Bee, a bee," exclaimed they, "take care, or it will sting you," while the poor trembling Butterfly began to take fresh courage on seeing his friend approach; and, seating himself on the branch of an honey-suckle, endeavoured to regain his breath.

The oldest boy was now resolved to make one more effort, and creeping slowly to the place, put forth his hand to reach the prize, when the Bee, perceiving his intention, again darted before his eyes, and made him retreat. "Thank you, thank you, my dear friend," said the poor Butterfly, "surely they will not attempt to pursue me any more; you must have sufficiently frightened them."

"I'll do something more than frighten them if they do," replied the Bee; "they shall feel what it is to enrage one of us;" nor would these children, animated by the presence of each other, give up their chace, till the Bee had absolutely fulfilled his threat, by just touching the hand of one of them with his sharp sting: and Oh! what a clamour was instantly raised by the whole party for this cruel act, as it was called; the child cried, and the maid declared it was a shame of the _nasty_ Bee to sting one who never thought of hurting _him_: while all the others gathered round their _wounded_ brother to express their pity and abhorrence of the deed; and while they retired from the garden to get something to alleviate the smart, our two friends were left to recover themselves and congratulate each other on their safety. "I never was so near being taken in my life, and escaped at last," said the Butterfly; "but to _you_, my friend, I am indebted for my present liberty; if you had not exerted yourself in my behalf I must have been in their possession; I tremble at the thought of it, and am completely tired out in the chace they have given me."

"Now, then, I hope you will acknowledge that your beauty is no real advantage to you," replied the Bee, "but till you are recovered I will visit yonder beautiful acasia which seems to court my notice; besides, I am not without a hope that from it I shall see my ardently desired home; I seem to remember its being near it."

Our airy traveller spoke this with peculiar animation, but on reaching the tree, his pleasure was still higher, for, from thence, he beheld the spot he was in pursuit of; although many hives were near it, he could distinguish his own from all the rest by a thousand little marks known only to those who inhabit it. His heart beat with transport; it appeared to him the abode of peace and plenty, and it was within his _reach_ also; the flower on which he had rested was entirely disregarded, and he stood gazing on the well known spot, "stung with the thoughts of home."

The endearments of his mother returned to his mind with double force, nor could he fear being well received by her, and if by her, all the rest he knew dared not use him differently; "I will acknowledge my disobedience to her commands," said he, "and when she knows what I have gone through she will forgive me; I shall again receive her commendations, and repose myself under her mild and equitable government."

With these thoughts he could scarcely forbear flying away, and rushing at once into the presence of his friends; but he recollected the poor Butterfly, and though there was nothing in their natures which could assimilate, he still remembered that in a great measure he owed his present health and strength to him; "when first we met," continued he, "there was nothing in me to induce his affection; I was poor, sick, and helpless, and yet _he_ was interested for me, and shall I leave him now? no, I will return and tell him what I have seen, and that though for the future I shall reside with more suitable associates, we may still often meet."

Thus determined, he hastened back, with all the liveliness of joy, to inform his friend, who observed his coming, and the cheerful air with which he approached; "I have seen my hive," cried the Bee, without giving him time to make the enquiry, "I have seen it! come, won't you go with me, and at least see the place to which I am going to return, and though I cannot ask you to enter with me, (none but bees being permitted to come in there) I shall never see you when I am out of it without pleasure."

"My dear friend," replied the Butterfly, "after the kindness you have shewn me this morning, it would be ungrateful not to rejoice in what gives you pleasure; I think I am now able to use my wings again, and will readily accompany you; and though I know I must stand at an humble distance while you enter, yet I shall be anxious to hear how you are received, and whether your old companions will forgive your leaving them."

"I have but the displeasure of _one_ to fear," replied the Bee, "and if she forgives me, the rest have nothing to do with it, nor have I much to apprehend from that quarter, since the authority of a sovereign is tempered by the affection of a parent."

Thus conversing they pursued their flight till arriving at a short distance from the well-known hive, "Don't you see it?" said the Bee, fluttering his wings for joy; "don't you behold the welcome spot?"

"I see a number of hives," returned the Butterfly, not quite so enraptured as his friend, "but which is yours I cannot tell."

"Mark the one into which I fly," said the Bee, "and then you'll know it."

"But when shall I see you again?" enquired the Butterfly in a melancholy tone, on seeing his friend preparing for flight; "to-day?"

"Perhaps not," replied the other; "I may not be permitted to come out again, or I may be indulged with a day's rest, and conversation with my mother, but do not suffer yourself to doubt my friendship for you, because I do not fly out every hour and repeat my professions of it; to-morrow, at farthest, I shall renew my labours for the general good, and then if you like to accompany me in my flights, I shall be glad of your company."

With these words he stretched his wings, while the Butterfly bade him farewell, and watching his approach and entrance to the hive, resolved to hover round the place in hopes of learning what reception he had met with.

As the returning vagrant advanced towards the centre of all his hopes and fears, he felt the latter sensibly encrease, yet he could not but advance; at first he settled on the block upon which the hive was placed, every part of which was perfect in his recollection; he observed no one near, for as it was now the middle of the day, almost all were out, busily employed, except a few, whom he knew were always on the watch to keep out every intruder; at length he ventured within the hive, and immediately all the humming inmates which were then at home flocked around him; some concluded that he had mistaken his hive, while others imagined they could recollect his form and figure. "Do you not know me?" said he, "I once belonged to your fraternity, and my heart is still knit towards you."

On hearing an unusual murmur the mother queen appeared, with all her attendant train, to enquire who the bold intruder was? The way was cleared for her approach, and a solemn silence prevailed, while the stranger, with unfeigned humility, answered to the question. No sooner did her majesty know her returning child, than in one loud hum she expressed her satisfaction, and this was heard and attended to by all around, and presently the general voice was that he should be re-admitted.

"I am not returned unto you sick, or unable to work," replied the delighted Bee, after he had expressed his thanks for their generous reception of him; and then related to his attentive and sympathyzing parent all he had gone through since he had so rashly left the hive, whilst the rest waited till the close of the day before they indulged their curiosity by hearing it, nor did he forget to acknowledge that it was to the attention of a Butterfly that he owed his life.

"A Butterfly," returned the queen, whose dignity felt hurt that any of her race should be indebted to so trifling a creature, "sure you must have been sunk very low indeed, to need the assistance of a Butterfly."

"I have learnt, my dear mother," replied the young one, "that there is no creature, however mean, but may be of service some time or other; the Butterfly is well aware of the great difference there is between us."

"And sensible, I hope, of the honour done him, in being permitted to assist a Bee?" rejoined the mother.