red, and discovered that the ordinary means of escape
were cut off, it ascended the stick, and, standing nearly on its head,
ejected its long web, which the wind soon carried to some contiguous
object: along this the sagacious insect effected its escape--not,
however, until it had ascertained, by several exertions of its own
strength, that its web was securely attached at the end.

THE SCORPION.

This is one of the largest of the insect tribe, and is not less
terrible for its size than its malignity. Its sting, in some countries,
is fatal. Volchammer put one of these creatures, and a large spider,
into a glass vessel. The latter used all its efforts to entangle the
scorpion in its web, which it immediately began to spin; but the
scorpion stung its adversary to death; it then cut off all its legs,
and sucked out the internal parts at its leisure.

The same naturalist shut up a female scorpion with her young in a glass
case. She devoured all but one, which took refuge on the back of its
parent, and soon revenged the death of its brethren by killing the old
one in its turn.

THE DEATH-WATCH.

This insect makes a ticking noise by beating its head with great force
against whatever it happens to stand on. Two of them were kept in a box
by a gentleman for three weeks; and he found that, by imitating their
note by beating with the point of a pin or nail upon the table, the
insect would answer him as many times as he made the sound.

THE GLOWWORM.

The female of this insect is very luminous, and has no wings. The light
always becomes brighter when the worm is in motion, and it can withdraw
it when it pleases. When the light is most brilliant, it emits a
sensible heat. When a glowworm is put into a phial, and this is
immersed in water, a beautiful irradiation takes place. If the insect
be crushed, and the hands and face rubbed with it, they have a luminous
appearance, like that produced by phosphorus.

THE FIRE-FLY.

"I was in the habit," says a writer on the Island of Jamaica, "of
enclosing, every night, a dozen or more fire-flies under an inverted
glass tumbler on my bedroom table, the light of whose bodies enabled me
to read without difficulty. They are about the size of a bee, and
perfectly harmless. Their coming forth in more than usual numbers is
the certain harbinger of rain; and I have frequently, while travelling,
met them in such numbers that, be the night ever so dark, the path was
as visible as at