But, who, in truth, loving Dogs and Cats and such-like humble friends ever can doubt their high intelligence and the strong and clear significance attaching to certain among their habitual utterances? Even London cab and cart Horses, though they cannot--fortunately for some among us--speak, grow to understand the few invariable words of direction which their drivers address to them. In the inferior orders of life there are doubtless many other methods of intercourse, and almost certainly there exists a plain and very useful language of touch. Nobody can read the delightful researches of Sir John Lubbock into the habits and customs of Ants without feeling persuaded that those little beings transact their business perfectly well by touching each other's antennæ. When Ants meet, a rapid passage of these wonderful organs takes place, gliding like rapiers above and below, and this quickly informs them whether they be friends or enemies, which is the nearest respective road home, whether any food is to be procured nigh at hand, and what is the general news in the formicatory world. Truly it would be more desirable to learn what Bees talk about rather than to discuss the problem whether they talk at all. The views of Bees upon the purposes and colors of flowers, upon the moral duties of frugality and loyalty, and as to the real meaning and lovliness of a Rose, would be worth hearing. Of this much we may be all assured, that the little things of the world evade our knowledge as much and are quite as marvelous as the very largest and highest. THE BUTTERFLY. BY EMILY C. THOMPSON. In the western part of England if the first Butterfly you see in the spring is white and if you succeed in killing this Butterfly, good luck will surely come to you. Some gentlemen on their way to church one day saw a friend dashing down the road wildly brandishing a cane. He could not stop to explain. He was as a rule a sedate, calm man, so this excitement alarmed them. As nothing could be done, they went on their way and soon met the father of their friend, an old man who usually hobbled painfully along on two canes. He too was excited and was doing his best to make his way down the road with only one cane. His first words were, "I'm afraid he has missed it." "Missed what?" thought the gentlemen, and finally after many efforts to quiet him enough for conversation learned from the old man that his son had seen his first butterfly, that it was white and that without more ado he had snatched his old father's cane and set off in pursuit. Still the old man was perfectly willing to hobble along as best he could, if only good luck and prosperity could be procured by the slaughter of the pretty little insect. The color of its wings is due to what seems to us a fine dust scattered over them, but in reality this dust is made up of little discs fastened by stalks to the wings, arranged usually in rows somewhat like the shingles on a house.