October, 1922. 



The Canadian Field-Naturalist 



127 



often flew into the very clutches of their enemy, 

 who caught many more in this way than by her 

 own efi"orts. Each victim was taken to the ridge- 

 pole of the tent, where the captor, hanging by one 

 hind foot, deftly turned her victim over and over 

 and clipped off its wings, and then made off with 

 it through the doorway. The depository was not 

 far off, for often she would be back within a 

 minute, her lively hum blending with the high- 

 pitched pipe of the cicadas. 



Many other insect visitors, welcome and unwel- 

 come, came uninvited to our tent. 



A little mason wasp built her mud-walled nest 

 in the corner of our packing-box book-case, but 

 our clumsy fingers destroyed her dainty work be- 

 fore we were aware of its presence. 



On the ground outside, however, we had an 

 opportunity to observe the domestic economy of 

 her cousin, a pretty little orange and black wasp. 

 When first observed she was crawling awkwardly 

 along dragging a green caterpillar; which, when 

 the ground was rough, was almost too much for 

 her. Following her laborious journey to a bit of 

 smooth ground nea" an old dead stump, we saw 

 her suddenly drop her burden and begin to circle 

 about a small area a few inches in diameter. 



Presently she stopped and began digging into 

 the soft earth; and after excavating not more than 

 half an inch, she quite surprised us by seizing 

 her prey and completely disappearing with it into 

 the ground. In a minute or two she reappeared 

 alone, and began scraping the earth back into the 

 pit, taking the greatest care to remove all hard 

 lumps and bits of stone. In fact anything but 

 the softest earth was carried away some few 

 inches from her treasure-pit, which was finally 

 levelled to the top, and the whole surface left 

 smooth and free from rubbish. 



After her departure we examined the spot; and, 

 removing the freshly placed earth, found at the 

 bottom of the shaft not only the green caterpillar, 

 but beside it a brown one of about the same size, 

 both capable of slight motion but helplessly 

 paralyzed. Deposited carefully between them 

 was an elongated white egg, from which eventually 

 would have hatched a very hungry young wasp 

 larva, ready to devour the food so wonderfully 

 preserved and carefully placed at its disposal. 



There is always a touch of mystery about those 

 swarms of innumerable ants, which on certain 

 sultry summer days emerge, and fill the air with 

 the shimmer of their frail wings. For days the 

 preparation for this great event has been going on 

 under many a loose stone, or in many an old stump 

 or soft hillock. But what manner of fiat is this 

 that in some mysterious way goes forth through- 



out all the colonies far and near, and which calls 

 forth their swarms as if by prearranged consent. 



Throughout one lazy afternoon we witnessed 

 the wedding pageant of the great caterpillar ants. 

 Far and near the air was filled with their dazzling 

 flight. One queen settled upon an old pine stump 

 near our tent, and after a short survey of her sur- 

 roundings evidently decided that it was the proper 

 place for a home; for in that business-like way in 

 which ants do everything, and as if to show her 

 utter contempt for frivolities, she immediately set 

 about ridding herself of her now useless wings. 

 By a skillful use of her feet, the wings, first on one 

 side and then on the other, were brought forward 

 so abruptly that they were torn short off at the 

 body; not bitten off as one might suppose. 



To tell of all the insect wonders to be found 

 about that woodland camp would take many 

 pages. The strangely shaped chrysalids hanging on 

 the thorn that developed into beautiful black and 

 white admiral butterflies; the spiny galls on the 

 witch-hazel from which the big yellow jacket wasps 

 stole liquid sweets; the beautiful blue and green 

 damsel-flies along the lake shore; the gay parties 

 of silver-spots that danced about the roadside 

 thistles; or the crafty ways of the caddis larva 

 fishermen that stretched their nets in the current 

 of the brook, all beguiled away those dreamy sum- 

 mer days. 



But beneath the pleasing rustle of the forest 

 leaves what an underplay of stealthy silent 

 tragedy there is! 



In a bank by the roadside a pair of Juncos had 

 built their late nest. Perhaps some accident had 

 overtaken their first attempt at rearing a family, 

 for now in July the mother faithfully guarded her 

 three speckled eggs. At last her vigil came to an 

 end ; and three limp awkward nestlings lay in the 

 grass-lined hollow. Next day we visited the spot 

 and found the young gone, and the grass lining 

 strewn about the roadside. Suspicion rested upon 

 the red squirrels who had been rummaging about 

 the spot that morning. 



Near our tent lay a large flat stone. A striped 

 chipmunk scurrying across the clearing suddenly 

 stopped and disappeared beneath its edge. The 

 next moment a brown mouse appeared from the 

 other side, and hurried away. Presently the 

 chipmunk appeared bearing something in its 

 mouth which he soon began to devour. Driving 

 him away from his meal we found the head and 

 feet of a young mouse. Another tragedy. But 

 how quickly either squirrel or chipmunk seeks 

 cover or cowers into rigidity when the deep boom 

 of the big Horned Owl comes rolling over the tree- 

 tops. Well do they know and fear the swift, 



