THE STORY OF AN ENTOMOLOGIST 



were a religious rite, "All strong drinks is bad! But ze best of 

 zose strong drinks is mescal! Help yourself." 



Parodi's versatility as a linguist was notably shown one night 

 at dinner when an interesting insect buzzed in and alighted on 

 the table. I reached for it, and Parodi warned me in three 

 languages spoken at once: "Gardezl gardez! zat animcdito sting 

 like ze dev." But it was too late. The insect was Rasahus higut- 

 tatiis (Comstock calls it the two-spotted Corsair) and my fore- 

 finger was badly punctured. 



I found no Morelos orange worms in Sonora, and so notified 

 the California State government, but it had no effect on the 

 quarantine, although it did furnish an excuse for a trip to 

 Mexico by some of the State officials. 



This was the first of a number of trips to Mexico, during 

 which I made the acquaintance of the late Alfredo Duges of 

 Guanajuato, and of my warm friend, Professor Alfonso Her- 

 rera. 



May I tell a little yarn connected with one of these later 

 journeys? We were going south on the Mexican national line 

 from Juarez. In the carriage with me were Joseph Greusel, an 

 old newspaper man of Cleveland, Ohio (now dead), and a 

 younger Cleveland lawyer. They were going down to Oaxaca to 

 look after some mining interests. At a certain point the train 

 stopped for a little time, and there was some sort of a com- 

 motion outside. Greusel put his head out of the window and 

 said, "Hello, what's all this?" There was a fourth man in the 

 compartment, a young Mexican mining engineer who had 

 studied at Stanford University, and who therefore spoke rather 

 fair English. The Spaniard said, "Zis place is Hildalgo, where 

 Hildalgo, ze priest, sound ze tocsin of Mehican liberty in 1814, 

 and today is the Mehican Fourth of July. Ze young man at ze 

 head of ze procession is ze gran'son of Hildalgo." Greusel was 



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