'4^^ AND ^^1-4 



JOURNAL OF VARIATION. 



Vol. X. No. 6. June 15th, 1898. 



An Easter Holiday at Hyeres. 



By H. ROWLAND BROWN. M.A., F.E.S. 



The journ^'y from London to the Riviera, nowadays, occupies so 

 short a time, and the entomological attractions of that favoured coast 

 are so manifold, that probably there is no more remunerative journey to 

 be made at the season of the year when spring has hardly commenced in 

 England. At any rate, this was the idea which occurred to me one bitter 

 afternoon in February, when I happened to be thumbing that delight- 

 ful mailual, Kane's Kiiropcan Bxitterjiies, and calculating the possibilities 

 of an Easter holiday abroad. The third day of April, consequently, 

 found me with net and pill-boxes en route, in that pleasant anticipation 

 of breaking new ground, which appeals so strongly to all lovers of 

 nature, and not least to the bug-hunter. Leaving Charing Cross at eleven 

 o'clock, twenty-five hours later I descended from the train at Hyeres, 

 and found that in the night I had passed from winter to midsummer, 

 from leafless trees and flowerless meadows to the abundant beauty of 

 the southern spring, and of a spring full of surprises, and entirely 

 different from any I bad previously enjoyed, even in Italy. The impres- 

 sions of the first sight of the slopes above the pretty little Provencal town 

 are not likely to soon fade from the memory. The hills that compass 

 the plain to the north, and the east, are quite unlike any I have 

 seen, both in their contour, their red and white soil, and the abundance 

 of wild flowering shrubs, which fill the air with the aromatic perfume 

 of purple lavender, rosemary, and endless pine woods. Then there 

 are the cork trees — a new wonder — the verdant undergrowth of Medi- 

 terranean heath and prickly oak, among which you may chance upon 

 a dozen dillcrent species of wild orchids blooming in thousands, since 

 they are of but little account in the eyes of the gardeners who have 

 cultivated the valleys and the plains, with such a wealth of roses, 

 violets, anemones and carnations, as the markets of northern 

 Europe require to fill up the long interval between the falling and the 

 budding of the leaf. Then, again, there is the tall pink cistus, with 

 its tender ephemeral blossom, the white cistus, beloved of the bees, and 

 an endless variety of golden brooms, which, with the grey stems, the 

 vivid young green of the apple and quince trees in the orchard terraces, 

 and the groves of fruited almond, are of themselves the very spirit of 

 " la belle saison — la saison innnortelle," of which Pierre de llousard 

 and his Provencal poet brethren have sung since summer iirst was leafy ! 

 Look in whatever direction you will, it is all one beautiful garden, nature 



