Vol. XLVIII. LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1916 No. 9 



POPULAR AND PRACTICAL ENTOMOLOGY. 

 A Visit to Niagara Glen. ~ 



BY FRANCIS J. A. MORRIS, PETERBOROUGH, ONT. 



After nearly all July sacrificed on the altar of one's profession, 

 three solid* weeks of our all too short Canadian summer gone 

 up in smoke and stifling city heat — weeks, too, when every self- 

 respecting entomologist should be clinging perilously at the very 

 top of his bent — it was indeed high time for relaxation. I hurried 

 feverishly down to the Yonge St. wharf and boarded a Niagara 

 boat. I had told no one where I was going, least of all myself. 

 My preparations were stealthy and the contents of my pilgrim's 

 scrip of the most meagre. In one pocket (had you picked it) 

 you would have found a tooth-brush, a comb, a cyanide bottle, 

 artd two clean handkerchiefs; in another a small plant-press, 

 made of two stout cardboard covers enclosing a dozen sheets of 

 blotting paper, and carefully tied up with a pair of brown laces, 

 borrowed for the nonce from my Sunday boots; in a third an empty 

 tin of Colgate's shaving-stick (ssrving the double purpose of a 

 drinking cup and a receptacle for larvae and other specimens that 

 required preserving alive), a compass, a chisel, and a pair of forceps; 

 while in an inner pocket (defying the Artfullest Dodger to touch) —  

 with perhaps an occasional roguish peep abroad — bulged un- 

 abashed (or snuggled contentedly, according to your view of it) 

 a neglige shirt, of a pattern much in vogue a decade or two ago, 

 wrapped closely round a collapsible insect net. 



It was already growing dusk when I was landed at Queens- 

 ton village and reported at the quiet, old-fashioned boarding- 

 house where my habits and hobbies being known were no longer 

 subject to comment or disconcerting question. After making 

 arrangements for a night or so's lodging and an early start next 

 morning, I strolled out through the gathering dusk in the direction 

 of the woods at the foot of Brock's monument; after turning a 

 little way down a lane skirted by grapevines, I presently became 



