banners dropping piecemeal from the walls. The tomb of Shakespeare is in the chancel. The place is solemn and sepulchral. Tall elms wave before the pointed windows, and the Avon, which runs at a short distance from the walls, keeps up a low perpetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard is buried. There are four lines inscribed on it, said to have been written by himself, and which have in them something extremely awful. If they are indeed his own, they shew that solicitude about the quiet of the grave, which seems natural to fine sensibilities and thoughtful minds:

Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbeare

To dig the dust encloased here.

Blessed be the man that spares these stones,

And curst be he that moves my bones.

Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust of Shakespeare, put up shortly after his death, and considered as a resemblance. The aspect is pleasant and serene, with a finely-arched forehead; and I thought I could read in it clear indications of that cheerful, social disposition, by which he was as much characterized among his cotemporaries as by the vastness of his genius. The inscription mentions his age at the time of his decease→→ fifty-three years; an untimely death for the world: for what fruit might not have been expected from the golden autumn of such a mind, sheltered as it was from the stormy vicissitudes of life, and flourishing in the sunshine of popular and royal favour? The inscription on the tombstone has not been without its effect. It has prevented the removal of his remains from the bosom of his native place to Westminster Abbey, which was at one time contemplated. A few years since also, as some labourers were digging to make an adjoining vault, the earth caved in, so as to leave a vacant space almost like an arch, through which one might have reached into his grave. No one, however, presumed to meddle with his remains, so awfully guarded by a malediction; and lest any of the idle or the curious, or any collector of relics, should be tempted to commit depredations, the old sexton kept watch over the place for two days, until the vault was finished, and the aperture closed again. He told me that he had made bold to look in at the hole, but could see neither coffin nor bones; nothing but dust. It was something, I thought, to have seen the dust of Shakespeare."

A visit to the grave of our illustrious bard might have been imagined by many persons to be a sufficient proof of their taste and gratitude. Mr. Crayon did not content himself with it, but proceeded to the family seat of the Lucys at Charlecot, and the park where the youthful Shakespeare is reported to have committed the offence that led to his removal from his native country. That portion of the sketch which relates to the topic is abundantly interesting, but much too large for any satisfactory notice on our part, after the formidable length to which we have now attained, and to which we must add what seems to us, as we think our readers will allow it to be, a very appropriate conclu sion of our highly commendatory review-The author himself, if he should ever chance to see our Journal, would assuredly know how to appreciate the compliment we mean to pay, when we leave him in company with Shakespeare.

"I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My mind had become so completely possessed by the imaginary scenes and characters connected with it, that I seemed to be actually living among them. Every thing brought them, as it were, before my eyes; and, as the door of the diningroom opened, I almost expected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence quavering forth his favourite ditty:

""Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all,

And welcome merry Shrove-tide!”

On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the singular gift of the poet; to be able to spread thus the magic of his mind over the very face of nature; to give to things and places a charm and character not their own, and to turn this working-day world' into a perfect fairy land. He is indeed the true necromancer, whose spell operates not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart. Under the wizard influence of Shakespeare, I had been walking all day in a complete delusion. I had surveyed the landscape through the prism of poetry, which tinged every object with the hues of the rainbow. I had been surrounded with fancied beings; with mere airy nothings, conjured up by poetic power; yet which, to me, had all the charm of reality. I had heard Jacques soliloquize beneath his oak; had beheld the fair Rosalind and her companion adventuring through the woodlands; and above all, had been once more present with fat Jack Falstaff, and his contemporaries, from the august Justice Shallow, down to the gentle Master Slender, and the sweet Anna Page. Ten thousand honours and blessings on the bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with innocent illusions; who has spread exquisite and unbought pleasures in my chequered path; and beguiled my spirit, in many a lonely hour, with all the cordial and cheerful sympathies of social life.

As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused to contemplate the distant church in which the poet lies buried, and could not but exult in the malediction, which has kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. What honour could his name have derived from being mingled in dusty companionship with the epitaphs and escutcheons and venal eulogiums of a titled multitude? What would a crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been, compared with this reverend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful loneliness as his sole mausoleum? The solici→ tude about the grave may be but the offspring of an overwrought sensibility; but human nature is made up of foibles and prejudices; and its best and tenderest affections are mingled with these factitious feelings. He who has sought renown about the world, and has reaped a full harvest of worldly favour, will find, after all, that there is no love, no admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as that which springs up in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered in peace and honour among his kindred and his early friends. And when the weary heart and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of life is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the bosom of the scenes of his childhood.

How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard, when, wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have foreseen that, before many years, he should return to it covered with renown; that his name should become the boast and glory of his native place; that his ashes should be religiously guarded as its most precious treasure; and that its lessening spire, on which his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation, should one day become the beacon, towering amidst the gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his tomb."

ART. VI.-The Natural History of Ants. By M. P. HUBER, Member of the Physical and Natural History Society of Geneva, &c. &c. Translated from the French, with additional notes, by J. R. Johnston, M. D., F. R. S. 12mo. Pp. 398. London. Longman and Co. 1820.

THE foresight and industry of the ant have been the theme of the moralist in all ages. The classical reader can scarcely fail to recollect the fine contrast of the Roman poet, between the ultimate object of the labours of this diminutive insect and the anxious cares and useless toils of the miser.

"Sicut

Hor.

Parvula (nam exemplo est) magni formica laboris Ore trahit quodcunque potest, atque addit acervo Quem struit, haud ignara ac non incauta futuri." Derived from higher authority, a similar sentiment is expressed in the form of a precept: "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise; which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest." Prov. vi. 6.

The social habits, wonderful activity, and astonishing labours of a being of such insignificant magnitude, could not long be overlooked even by the most careless observer. But till the author of the present work commenced his curious inquiries, the history of the ant, although the researches of naturalists had been often directed to its elucidation, was comparatively little known, The period is not far distant when even those who had studied the habits of these insects were so inaccurate in their observations as to mistake the larvæ for the ova; and it has been long, and still is, a vulgar error in this country, that the same larvæ are grains of corn which the ant has provided for its winter store.

Leeuwenhoeck is the first naturalist that has correctly traced the history of the ant, and described, with precision, the changes, through which it passes from the ovum to the perfect insect. The excellent and accurate descriptions of Swammerdam threw still more light on the subject; Linnæus, with his usual discrimination and sagacity, distinguishes seven species as natives of Sweden; De Geer contributed much important information to the elucidation of their habits and manners, although, in controverting the opinions of Linnæus, he is chargeable with some errors; Latreille confirms many of the dubious facts announced by other authors; and M. Huber, in the work before us, by his unwearied patience and ingenious contrivances, has done more than all his predecessors, not only by bringing together the scattered materials of their history, but by adding to the faithful portrait which

he has exhibited, many new and striking features of this singular tribe of insects.

To every naturalist the name of Huber has been long known by his excellent work on bees, whose kindred manners and habits, it seems probable, led him to prosecute these researches, the detail of which is the ground-work of the present treatise. The first of the twelve chapters into which the whole is divided is devoted to the architecture of ants, or the methods of constructing and securing their places of abode. The habitations of ants are either fabricated with earth, formed in the trunk of solid trees, or composed of leaves and stalks of plants. In these three methods of building, various modifications are adopted; but whatever be the diversity of construction, the ingenuity and skill that appear, discover no mean degree of intelligence, while the concert and co-operation of so numerous a body of individuals must ever excite admiration and wonder.

The fallow ant, Formica rufa, Lin. is divided by the author into two species, distinguished from each other by well-marked characters, as well as by a difference in their habitations. The back of the one species is black, and that of the other is red; the first fixes its abode on the sides of hedges and meadows, and the second selects for its habitation a place in the woods or forests. Here it may be necessary to premise, that a community of ants is composed of three kinds, workers, males, and females; and as an example in the fallow ant with the black back, the workers are of a fallow red, the females are of the same colour, and the males are of an unpolished black. Diversities are also observed among the three kinds in the form and structure of the different parts of their bodies.

The fallow ant, which is common in every part of Europe, is a native of the woods; and the extensive hillocks seen in such places are its habitations. The materials employed in their construction are straw, pieces of wood, leaves, minute shells, and different kinds of grain; and the main design of the construction of the ant-hill is to carry off the water, to defend the inmates from the injuries of the air, and from hostile attacks, and to regulate the temperature necessary for the preservation and evolution of their progeny. The shape of the nest is conical; avenues are formed for the free passage of the ants; and their number depends on the population and extent of the little republic. Sometimes only a single aperture is formed at the top of the hillock; but more frequently several openings are arranged circularly, and seem necessary to give free egress to the vast multitude of busy labourers of which the colony is composed. During the day, while the fallow ants are employed in their

labours on the outside of the hillock, they are at hand to give the alarm to those within of any threatened danger; but in the night, when they have ceased from toil, and have retired to the interior of their habitation, as the author justly observes, under the guidance of that wisdom which regulates the universe, they provide for their safety, and secure themselves from those dangers to which their unguarded abode would be otherwise exposed. As night approaches, a new series of labours commences; the spacious avenues are diminished, the openings disappear, and the dome is finally closed on all sides. In executing this necessary work, little pieces of wood are collected and deposited at the entrance; as the operation advances, smaller pieces are employed; and the whole is covered with dried leaves. In the progress of this work, the members of this active republic gradually retire to the interior apartments before the last passages are closed, and one or two only remain without, or are stationed behind the doors on guard, while the rest, in perfect security, enjoy their repose or engage in different occupations.

In the morning a few ants are first seen roaming on the surface of the ant-hill, others make their appearance from time to time, and others still issuing from their recesses, begin to remove the wooden bars that shut up the entrance; the passages are at length free; and the materials with which they were closed are scattered over the surface of the nest. This labour occupies their industry for several hours. On days of rain the passages remain closely shut up; when the appearance of the clouds indicates showery weather, they are only partially opened; and when the rain falls they are again as completely secured as on the approach of night.

To those ants whose nests exhibit the external aspect of hillocks of earth, without admixture of other materials, and present in the interior a series of labyrinths, vaults and galleries very ingeniously constructed, the author has given the name of mason-ants. Of the propriety of this appellation doubts may be entertained, since every kind of ant, whatever be the diversity of materials employed in the construction of its habitation, performs the work of the mason. The brown ant, Formica brunnea of Latreille, is one of the most skilful and industrious of the mason-ants; it forms its nest of different stories, each of which is four or five lines in height; and the paste of earth employed by this species is so fine, that the inner surface of the walls is smooth and polished. In each story, numerous cavities, lodges of smaller dimensions, and long galleries for general communication are distributed; the arched ceilings covering the most spacious halls are supported by little columns, slender