of coal to burn the ware and supply the engines that grind the materials.

The clay is worked in water by various machinery, till it contains no single piece large enough to be visible to the eye. It is like cream in consistence. The flints are burned. They are first ground in a mill, and then worked in water, in the same manner as the clay, the large pieces being returned a second time to the mill.

When both are fine enough, one part of flint is mixed with five or six of clay; the whole is worked to a paste, after which it is kneaded either by the hands or a machine; and when the kneading is completed it is ready for the potter.

He has a little wheel which lies horizontally. He lays a portion of clay on the centre of the wheel, puts one hand, or finger if the vessel is to be a small one, in the middle, and his other hand on the outside, and, as the wheel turns rapidly round, draws up a hollow vessel in an instant. With his hand, or with very simple tools, he brings it to the shape he wishes, cuts it from the wheel with a wire, and a boy carries it off. The potter makes vessel after vessel, as fast as they can be carried away.

They are partially dried, after which they are turned on a lathe, and smoothed with a wet sponge when necessary.

Only round vessels can be made on the wheel; those of other shapes are made in moulds of plaster.

Handles and other solid parts are pressed in moulds, and stuck on while they and the vessels are still wet.

The vessels thus formed are first dried in a stove, and when dry, burned in a kiln. They are in this state called biscuit. If they are finished white, they are glazed by another process. If they are figured, the patterns are engraved on copper, and printed on coarse paper rubbed with soft soap. The ink is made of some colour that will stand the fire, ground with earthy matter. These patterns are moistened, and applied to the porous biscuit, which absorbs the colour, and the paper is washed off, leaving the pattern on the biscuit.

The employment of machinery to do all the heavy part of the work, the division of labour, by which each workman acquires wonderful dexterity in his department, and the conducting of the whole upon a large scale, are the means of giving bread to a vast number of people; make the pottery cheap; and enable it to be sold at a profit in almost every market in the world. It is not seventy years since the first pottery of a good quality was extensively made in England; before that time what was used was im

ported, the common ware from Delf, in Holland (from which it acquired its name), and the porcelain from China. We now annually export thirty-eight million pieces of earthenware to all parts of the world.

STAGES OF METAMORPHOSIS: THE TIGER-MOTH.

AFTER an insect has left the egg, and entered upon the world as an individual being, it has to pass through three stages, which are called larva, pupa, and imago. The word " larva," in Latin, signifies a mask," and this word is used because the insect is at that time "masked," so to speak, under a covering quite different from that which it will finally assume.

In its next stage the insect becomes a "pupa," which means a "mummy," or a body wrapped in swaddling clothes. This name is employed because in very many insects the pupa is quite still, is shut up without the power of escape, and looks altogether very like a mummy, wrapped round in folds of cloth.

In the moths and butterflies the insect is, in this stage, called a "chrysalis" or "aurelia," both words having the same import, the first Greek and the other Latin, both derived from a word meaning gold. Several butterflies-that of the common cabbage butterfly, for example-take a beautiful golden tinge on their pupal garments, and from these individual instances the golden title has been universally bestowed.

The last and perfected state is called the "imago" or image, because now each individual is an image and representative of the entire species. The woolly bear, for example, is the larva of the tiger-moth; and if any inquiring reader would like to keep the creature, and watch it through its stages, he will find it an interesting occupation. There is less difficulty than with most insects, for the creature is very hardy, and the plants on which it mostly feeds are exceedingly common. Generally the

woolly bear is found feeding on the common blind nettle, but it may often be detected at some distance, from getting over the ground at a great rate, and reminding the spectator of the porcupine. In this case it is usually seeking for a retired spot, whither it resorts for the purpose of passing the helpless period of pupahood. If it is captured on such an occasion, there will be little trouble in feeding, as it will generally refuse food altogether, and, betaking itself to a quiet corner, prepare for its next stage of existence. Having found a convenient spot, it sets

busily to work, and in a very short time spins for itself a kind of silken net, much like a sailor's hammock in shape, and used in the same manner. It is not a very solid piece of work, for the creature can be seen through the meshes; but it is more than sufficiently strong to bear the weight of the enclosed insect, and to guard it from small foes. Its colour is white, and its surface is bathed in an oily kind of liquid, which soon hardens in the air, and darkens in the light.

On one occasion I watched a woolly bear changing its skin, and, seizing it immediately that the task was accomplished, put it into spirits of wine, intending to keep it for observation. Next day the spirit was found to have dissolved away the oily coating, and all the limbs and wings of the future moth were standing boldly out. But when left to itself the pupa or chrysalis bursts its skin covering, and comes forth into the world a perfect insect or moth." Common Objects of the Country."

A TOUR ROUND MY GARDEN.

THE seasons, as they pass away, are climates which travel round the globe, and come to seek me. Long voyages are nothing but fatiguing visits, paid to the seasons, which would themselves have come to you.

I leave my study at a quarter before six, the sun is already high above the horizon, his rays sparkle, like fire-dust, through the leaves of the great service-trees, and shining on my house impart to it a rose and saffron-tinted hue. I go down three steps. Here we are in China! You stop me at my first word with a smile of disdain. My house is entirely covered by a wisteria the wisteria is a creeping branching plant, with a foliage somewhat resembling that of the acacia, and from which hang numberless large bunches of flowers of a pale blue colour, which exhale the sweetest odour. This magnificent plant comes from China.

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I do not believe I exaggerate in the least when I declare that I think this a thousand times more beautiful than the richest palaces; this house of wood, all green, all blossoming, all perfumed, which every year increases in verdure, blossoms, and sweet odours.

Under the projecting roof is the nest of a wren, quite a little bird, or rather a pinch of brown and grey feathers, like those of a partridge; it runs along old walls, and makes a nest of moss and grass in the shape of a bottle. I salute thee, my little bird; thou wilt be my guest for this year! Thou art welcome to my Tend and bring up thy

house and to my garden. numerous family. I promise thee peace and tranquillity; thy repose, but more particularly thy confidence, shall be respected. There is moss yonder, near the fountain, and plenty of dried herbage in the walks, from the newly mown grass-plat.

There she is on the edge of her nest; she looks at me earnestly with her beautiful black eyes. She is rather frightened, but does not fly away.

The little wren is not the only guest at my old house. You perceive, between the joists, the intervals are filled up with rough stones and plaster. On the front, which is exposed to the south, there is a hole into which you could not thrust a goose-quill, and yet it is a dwelling; there is a nest within it, belonging to a sort of bee, who lives a solitary life. Look at her returning home with her provisions; her hind feet are loaded with a yellow dust which she has taken from the stamens * of flowers; she goes into the hole; when she comes out again, there will be no pollen on her feet; with honey which she has brought she will make a savoury paste of it at the bottom of her nest. This is perhaps her tenth journey to-day.

All these cares are for one egg which she has laid, for a single egg which she will never see hatched; besides, that which will issue from that egg will not be a fly like herself, but a worm, which will change by and by.

She has, however, hidden it in that hole, and knows precisely how much nourishment it will require before it arrives at the state which ushers in its transformation into a fly. This nourishment she goes to seek, and she seasons and prepares it. There, she is gone again!

Were I to watch, one after another, all the flies which shine in the sun upon my house, the insects which conceal themselves in the flowers of the wisteria, to suck honey from them, and the insects which insinuate themselves to eat those honey-suckers ; the caterpillars which crawl upon the leaves, and the enemies of those caterpillars and those butterflies; were I to watch their birth, their loves, their combats, their metamorphoses-perhaps I

* Stamens, or stamina, embrace the filament, anther, and pollen of a plant.

should get too absorbed to have time for description. I shall content myself with merely indicating to you the treasures you or I possess.

One insect alone appears to have taken possession of the lily, and established its abode in it. It is a little beetle, whose form is that of an elongated square, with black body and claws, and hard wings of a brilliant scarlet. There is no lily that is not an asylum for some of these. They are called Crioceres. When you have hold of one, press it in your hand, and you will hear a creaking noise, which you may at first take for a cry, but which is nothing but the rubbing of its lower wings against the sheaths of its wings.

It did not always wear this brilliant costume-this costume under which it scarcely eats, and that very daintily; this costume under which it appears to have nothing to do but to strut about and make love. It was at first a sort of flat worm, with six feet, of a kind of yellow colour mixed with brown; then also it dwelt upon the leaves of the lily, but led a very different kind of life. It was then as greedy and gluttonous as it is now abstemious and delicate. But that was because it had two powerful reasons for eating.. The leaves of the lily which it has eaten issue from its body almost without alteration, as if they had been crushed in a mortar. By a particular disposition of its body, this paste of leaves falls upon it, and forms for it a house, or a cuirass, which conceals it entirely. There comes, however, a day which brings other cares. Spring and its season will soon return. It is pleasing neither in form nor colours. It ceases to eat, shakes its strange vestment, walks about in an agitated manner, descends and buries itself in the earth. Some months after, it comes out shining, lustrous, as brilliant as you now see it, richly clothed in the most beautiful gloss of China. Full of confidence in themselves, the males and females seek each other, and soon meet. Then the males die. The females have still something to do; they lay their eggs, which at first are of a reddish colour, but afterwards brown, and fasten them to the underside of the leaves of the lily; then they in their turn die. When born, their children will find abundance of food beside them.

What! already withered leaves ! I stoop to pick up these three or four dead ones. The leaves move and-fly away! But there is no wind to carry them away thus. These leaves