Nature, the God of nature, has proportioned the period of existence of every creature to the means of its support. Duration, perhaps, is as much a comparative quality as magnitude; and these atoms of being as they appear to us, may have organs that lengthen minutes, to their perception, into years. In a flower, destined to remain but a few days, length of life, according to our ideas, could not be given to its inhabitants; but it may be, according to theirs. I saw, in the course of observation of this new world, several succeeding generations of the creatures it was peopled with; they passed under my eye, through the several successive states of the egg and the reptile form, in a few hours. After these, they burst forth, at an instant, into full growth and perfection in their wing form. In this, they enjoyed their span of being as much as we do years; feasted, sported, revelled in delights; fed on the living fragrance that poured itself out at a thousand openings at once before them; enjoyed their loves; laid the foundation for their succeeding progeny, and, after a life thus happily filled up, sunk in an easy dissolution. With what joy in their pleasures did I attend the first and the succeeding broods through the full period of their joyful lives! With what enthusiastic transport did I address to each of these yet happy creatures, Anacreon’s gratulations to the cicada:
Blissful insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning’s sweetest wine,
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy fragrant cup does fill;
All the fields that thou dost see,
All the plants, belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce,