86 Journal Xew York Entomological Society, H'oi- xxiii. 



specimen. And it was pictured in my book ! For turning the pages 

 I found the creature's likeness, the slender form, long feelers, velvety 

 black wings — I had never heard of elytra — marked curiously with 

 golden yellow, part of the markings seeming to form a W just as the 

 book said. I found that its high sounding name was Cyllcnc pictiis. 

 That was the very first scientific insect-name I ever learned. But 

 the habit was formed. You know what an insidious, enthralling, cap- 

 tivating habit it is. Victims to cocaine and morphia have been known 

 to break their fetters; even dipsomaniacs have escaped from slavery 

 and rejoiced in glad and sober freedom. Did an entomologist ever 

 burst his chains? What are drugs to bugs ! This beginning of mine, 

 you see, was not quite thirty years ago. So, though aged in years I 

 am not so very old an entomologist. But I knew well some of those 

 we call pioneers in the study and have many delightful memories 

 associated with them. My first acquaintance, helper, and adviser in 

 my new pursuit was Henry Edwards and to him I owe more than 

 I can say. I had often seen him on the stage, an excellent actor, 

 but had never met him personally. Desiring to know the names of 

 some butterflies and moths from my White Mountain summer home 

 I ventured to ask his aid. I shall never forget his cordial reception 

 of my request, his warm invitation to his home on ii6th Street and 

 the courtesy with which he welcomed me there and examined my 

 specimens. The appearance of these must have distressed him, for 

 they were pinned with large pins — not insect pins, of which I knew 

 nothing — in a pasteboard box and lay flat upon the surface of the 

 board with no intervening space and no cork. But he showed no 

 sign of disapproval, spoke almost enthusiastically of the interest and 

 rarity of certain specimens and urged my going on with my collect- 

 ing. That was the beginning of a close and pleasant friendship 

 which continued till his death — in 1891. 



He was a delightful man, a fluent and interesting talker, and full 

 of enthusiasm. His experience as an actor had given him a habit of 

 gesticulation and imitativeness and as he told of the capture of some 

 rare or desirable species he captured it anew before your very eyes 

 and, like the poet's old soldier "shouldered his crutch" (or net) 

 " and showed how fields were won." I can see his somewhat portly 

 figure this minute, as I write, dashing about the room, a wholly imag- 

 inary — though quite visible to me — butterfly net uplifted and his eager 



