116 THE NAUTILUS. 



When in Florida, in 1869, on Long Key, one pleasant morning I 

 noticed several specimens of Poly gyro septemvolva here and there on 

 the sand. " All dead," I said to myself, lest the snails mi^ht hear 

 me, " there must be fire where there is so much smoke, there must be 

 live snails where there are so many dead ones," so I started in to hunt 

 close. After a while I detected them snugly lurking in the axils of 

 some very large thistles. I did not gather them in, as Simpson did, 

 when on the, war path for his Helicinas, by charging on 'em with a 

 pole. My legs being well protected by high-cut hunting hoots, I 

 kicked out vigorously a la mustang in an underthrust way against the 

 butt of the thistle plants, and the result was a jerking of numerous 

 snails hither and yon in a somewhat promiscuous way ; the success 

 of the performance, judged by the result, caused me to second the 

 motion, and I gathered in a goodly number, enough for my own col- 

 lection and for distribution among my friends. What the snails 

 thought of the performance I have never learned, and Simpson, it 

 will be noticed, is reticent on this point touching his Helicinas. 



As to my prowess as a collector, it would be unwise to say anything 

 as long as my friend Henry Hemphill is on the face of the earth, but 

 I dare to say that dear old Doctor Newcomb, of blessed memory, 

 was so generally successful in that line as to justify my placing him 

 near the head of the class. Well, the good Doctor and myself once 

 on a time, away back in June, 1867, went conchologizing up the 

 coast of California to Bodega Bay. We found the collecting ground 

 very limited in extent, th'ough we got about 90 species; we also 

 gathered in nearly 500 dead shells of Helix Nictttniana, grouped 

 formerly with Arionta, but now Doctor Pilsbry, expert, editor, etc., 

 comes to the front and unblushingly says these west coasters must 

 tumble to the name of Epiphragmophora, which is hard on the poor 

 snails, and a rather long word to write. Well, there were hundreds 

 of 'em on the surface of the sand, but not one living one could we find. 

 That is what we didn't get, one lire Nickliniana. Where they kept 

 themselves we couldn't discover. We hunted high, we hunted low, 

 dug into the sand around the roots of the stunted shrubs that manage 

 to live in this cold, windy, exposed locality, and rummaged about 

 generally, without success, and when the sun went down we retired 

 from the field in good order with our flags at half mast, somewhat 

 the worse for the rough day and bad luck in the snail business, 

 though we had the pleasure of each other's company, and that counts 



