ple that say Woos-ses-ter and Nor-wich.

--The Scarabee did not smile; he took no interest in trivial matters
like this.

--Lives on a bumblebee. When you come to think of it, he must lead a
pleasant kind of life. Sails through the air without the trouble
of flying. Free pass everywhere that the bee goes. No fear of being
dislodged; look at those six grappling-hooks. Helps himself to such
juices of the bee as he likes best; the bee feeds on the choicest
vegetable nectars, and he feeds on the bee. Lives either in the air or
in the perfumed pavilion of the fairest and sweetest flowers. Think what
tents the hollyhocks and the great lilies spread for him! And wherever
he travels a band of music goes with him, for this hum which wanders by
us is doubtless to him a vast and inspiring strain of melody.--I
thought all this, while the Scarabee supposed I was studying the minute
characters of the enigmatical specimen.

--I know what I consider your pediculus melittae, I said at length.

Do you think it really the larva of meloe?

--Oh, I don't know much about that, but I think he is the best cared
for, on the whole, of any animal that I know of; and if I wasn't a man
I believe I had rather be that little sybarite than anything that feasts
at the board of nature.

--The question is, whether he is the larva of meloe,--the Scarabee said,
as if he had not heard a word of what I had just been saying.---If I
live a few years longer it shall be settled, sir; and if my epitaph
can say honestly that I settled it, I shall be willing to trust my
posthumous fame to that achievement.

I said good morning to the specialist, and went off feeling not only
kindly, but respectfully towards him. He is an enthusiast, at any rate,
as "earnest" a man as any philanthropic reformer who, having passed his
life in worrying people out of their misdoings into good behavior, comes
at last to a state in which he is never contented except when he is
making somebody uncomfortable. He does certainly know one thing well,
very likely better than anybody in the world.

I find myself somewhat singularly placed at our table between a minute
philosopher who has concentrated all his faculties on a single subject,
and my friend who finds the present universe too restricted for his
intelligence. I would not give much to hear what the Scarabee says about
the old Master, for he does not pretend to form a judgment of anything
but beetles, but I should like to hear