Vol. LIII. LONDON, MARCH, 1921. No. 3 



POPULAR AND PRACTICAL ENTOMOLOGY. 



The Life-History of a Hobby Horse. 



by francis j. a. morris. 



Peterborough, Ont. 



Part H. — Boy and Man — Sapling Growth. " 



(Continued from page 28, V^ol. LHL) 



Long before Slyboots went abroad, a new element had begiin to enter into 

 our lives which made itself specially felt in our dealings with Nature — the joy 

 of memory and past associations. This seemed to grow quite independently 

 of the rapid waning of novelty from our environment and out of all proportion. 

 I can remember how my brother and I both lamented that while going back to 

 Scotland seemed to give us unspeakable thrills of pleasure, no such inspiration 

 came from trips in England. It puzzled us both at the time, but I have no 

 doubt now that it was due to the countless happy memories awakened in us by 

 the sights and sounds of childhood's home; just as soon as we crossed the Tweed 

 at Carlisle, and heard the names of the stations shouted in good broad Doric. 

 My brother never stayed in England long enough for these stored-up treasures 

 of the senses to be converted into memories, but I am happy to think and to 

 bear testimony to what I suppo.se is a universal human experience, that I can 

 call these sweets of life to-day not only from our native heath of Scotland, but 

 from many an English lane, aye! and from half a hundred sunny scenes of old 

 Ontario. 



This fondness for revelling in memory, it seems to me, grew very fast after 

 Slyboots went abroad, till it became a passion for the old familiar things. It 

 was then almost certainly for that reason that the charm of recurring seasons 

 first laid hold upon me and a hungry craving for the Spring. It had always 

 been living things that drew me, or things that once had lived (like fossils of 

 the chalk) and now bore mute witness through the ages to the far-off day of 

 their pride; and I came to yearn for signs of life's renewal on the earth. Autumn 

 and winter were the dead seasons, but how eagerly I watched for the rathe 

 primrose and the springing violet! with what exultation I caught the earliest 

 -call of the cuckoo and the first skimming flight of the migrant swallow! The 

 coming of Spring made the heart gush as though it too had been for months 

 fast held in winter's icy clasp. 



I was much given to long, solitary walks. To wander land and meadow, 

 woodland and moor, mountain and glen, was an exquisite pleasure that thrilled 

 the very soul; all day long, no doubt, on these tramps, I was drinking in count- 

 less sights and sounds, landscape mellowed in the distance, soft hues of foliage, 

 a hundred flowers and ferns and birds, the murmur of pines and running water, 

 the cooing of the stock-dove and the song of the Skylark; but I was rarely con- 



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