June 1, 1870.] 



HARD VVICKE'S SCIENCE-GO S SIP. 



143 



boyhood, I may stale that its general time of flower- 

 ing in Cumberland is from the middle to the end of 

 May. A few spikes may be found in blossom now, 

 and in a week or ten days hence they will be in per- 

 fection. The overblown plants referred to by your 

 correspondent had in all probability bloomed in the 

 earlier part of the same season. I think it is 

 unusual to meet with specimens of the plant flowering 

 so late as September. As a boy I made repeated 

 efforts to introduce the plant into a little flower-bed 

 at home, which was allotted for my special use, but 

 my experiments signally failed. I succeeded, indeed, 

 in keeping most of my " subjects" alive, but their 

 healthy brilliancy of colour fell far short of the plants 

 which blossomed in the boggy meadows of the 

 adjoining farm. — W. H. 



Scavenger Beetles. — Scavenger beetles are to 

 be seen wherever the presence of putrescent and 

 offensive matter affords opportunity for the display 

 of their repulsive but most curious instincts ; 

 fastening on it with eagerness, severing it into 

 lumps proportionate to their strength, and rolling 

 it along in search of some place sufficiently soft in 

 which to bury it, after having deposited their eggs 

 in the centre. I had frequent opportunities, 

 especially in traversing the sandy jungles in the 

 level plains to the north of the island, of observing 

 the unfailing appearance of these creatures 

 instantly on the dropping of horse-dung, or any 

 other substance suitable for their purpose; 

 although not one was visible but a moment before. 

 Their approach on the wing is announced by a loud 

 and joyous booming sound, as they dash in rapid 

 circles in search of the desired object, led by their 

 sense of smell, and evidently little assisted by the 

 eye in shaping their course towards it. In these 

 excursions they exhibit a strength of wing and 

 sustained power of flight, such as is possessed by no 

 other class of beetles with which L am acquainted, 

 but which is obviously indispensable for the due 

 performance of the useful functions they discharge. 

 — Sir J. E. Tennenfs Natural History of Ceylon. 



Death's-head in a Bee-hive. — It has been 

 often stated that the Death's-head Moth' {A. 

 atropos), creeps into the bee-hives and robs them 

 with impunity; but a circumstance which cameunder 

 my own observation leads me to hold an opposite 

 view; namely, that the moth has no wonderful power 

 of rendering the bees powerless by means of its 

 shrill cry. I will relate what happened. Last 

 autumn t was preparing to drive some bees located 

 in a common straw hive, and on raising it from the 

 floor-board just by the entrance, I found a very 

 fine and perfect specimen of the Death's-head ; the 

 insect was quite fresh, and looked as though it had 

 been killed in the the most careful manner possible. 

 I took possession of it, and it now figures amongst 

 my other Lepidoptera. I of course held a " coroner's 

 inquest," and the verdict was " that the moth had 

 crept into the hive, and had been despatched by the 

 stings of the bees." The very perfect and fresh 

 condition quite forbids the theory that it had crept 

 in there to die on account of old age. Neither 

 could it have been long in the hive, as the bees 

 would quickly set to work to get rid of such an 

 obstruction as a "Death's-head Moth." 1 should 

 be glad to know if anything of the kind has been 

 noticed before. — D. D. B., Cantab. 



Fire.— What has fire done upon the earth ? 

 Fire has only reconstructed and destroyed. Nothing 



has'found an origin in fire. Eire itself is an effect, 

 and not a cause ; it is in the atmosphere, it is in the 

 flint in the earth, it is in the water — in each it is a 

 thing by itself, unseen or unfelt, certain conditions 

 bring it into active existence, but it cannot be traced 

 in either element as a matter of course ; yet it is 

 here, there, and everywhere; it has built upCotopaxi 

 to the height of 1S,000 feet ; Teneriffe has been shot 

 up by its labours from an unknown depth beneath 

 the sea to 12,000 feet above it ; Etna is heaped up 

 with lava, ashes, and scorice some 11,000 feet'; 

 Iceland has grown into a great island under its 

 influence ; and Vesuvius has grown to a height of 

 3,751 feet, from a reconstruction of earthy matter 

 by force. Well mav man, in his narrow chamber, 

 have thought that all this, and much more, was far 

 beyond the labour of local forces ; and naturally has 

 he put it down to one great internal and eternal 

 cause ; but, as he steps out of that chamber, and 

 sees nature through the uncounted ages always at 

 work upon the one great labour I have endeavoured 

 to describe, I do not think that many will hesitate 

 to accept my interpretation of volcanic phenomena. 

 —Malct's Interior of the Earth. 



Bees.— A gentleman liviug in this neighbourhood 

 had one hive of bees very healthy, and one morning 

 he perceived a great commotion in the hive, and 

 when he looked closer, he noticed some strange bees 

 fighting with his own ; the strangers eventually 

 conquered, stole the honey and left the owners dead 

 on the field. The stranger bees were of light colour, 

 the others dark and glossy. Does this often happen? 

 And is there any way of preventing it ?— E. D. Bell. 



WHO'D BE A BUTTERFLY ? 



A New Version. 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Not I for one ! 

 Chased by each idle young son of a gun, 

 Damaged by many a slap and a rap 

 From tatterdemalion's unmannerly cap ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Who, I say, who ? 



Not I, for one ! For another, not you ! 



Caught by rude hands, whose brute-owner presumes 

 Fingers don't damage your delicate plumes ; 

 Rubbed with rough touches till powerless to fly, 

 Then loosed, to flutter away — and to die ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Who, I say, who ? 



Not I, for one ! For another, uot you ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? E'en at the best, 

 Prey of some keen entomologist's quest, 

 Pierced with a pin, and with pinions displayed, 

 Safely away in a cabinet laid ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Who, I say, who ? 



Not I, for one ! For another, not you ! 



Ah, brother-butterflies — two-legged, I mean ; 

 From these poor insects what morals we glean : 

 Do not the faults which the angels deplore 

 Soil our bright wings till they sink — and not soar ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Who, I say, who ? 



I am, for one ! For another, are you ! 



E'en at the best, we have butterfly-fame, 

 Pinned in a case with a lable and name : — 

 Gazed at with pride for a week — or a day — 

 Then in dark cabinet huddled away ! 



Who'd be a butterfly ? Who, I say, who ? 



Well, I'm afraid, my good friend,— I and you 



Fun. 



