ANOTHER REMINISCENCE. 139 



the vegetation below, where they droned on, beating their wings in 

 a drowsy stupor, seemingly quite unable to rise. 



I communicated this remarkable experience to my friend, J. W. 

 Tutt, only to learn — alas for the frailty of insect life, as also for the 

 human specimen ! —that all these insects were out on an orgy of 

 debauch ! The juice of this flowering bush was a beverage of Nature's 

 own decoction that was strongly intoxicating to these insects, and, as 

 with the human family in like cases, the more cherished and beloved 

 because of its potent qualities, which shall be malevolent or otherwise 

 as the reader chooses. Never was I more astounded. Yet the longer 

 I listened to my friend, Mr. Tutt, the more had I to admit this vicious 

 tendency on the part of the insect world, which, hitherto, had never 

 entered my wildest imaginings. 



Mr. J. W. Tutt frequently lectured on natural history subjects, and 

 he was about to give us (the Strood Elocution Class and friends) a 

 lecture in the hall of the Strood Institute, entitled " The wonders of 

 Insect Life." I urged him to include a statement touching this insect 

 love of intoxicants in his lecture. He did so to the manifest amuse- 

 ment and interest of his audience. Later on this lecture — strengthened 

 and improved, no doubt — was given before some London audiences. 



Drunkenness in the insect world proved to be good "copy." Its 

 sadness was dwelt upon with mock lamentations in the columns of 

 many newspapers, not the least humorous of these latter being in the 

 columns of "Punch." There our comic contemporary headed the 

 remarks " Tutt! Tutt! " I believe somewhere among my papers I yet 

 retain a copy. 



James William Tutt had a sympathetic nature, and his heart was 

 ever truly in the right place. Those who knew him best feel how 

 lamentable it was that fate should cut him down at the very zenith of 

 his mental powers, and at the summit of his life's ambitions nobly 

 achieved, with all his wonderful energy unabated. But we stand 

 humbly outside the threshold of this wider knowledge. I touch not 

 the sum and story of his great mental achievements— these stand 

 abidingly on record in the noble services he rendered to the science he 

 so devotedly followed. Mr. T. J. Jenkins is not alone in his recog- 

 nition of the more than slight resemblance to Charles Dickens. Many 

 who saw his portrait in our last issue could not fail to be struck by it. 

 In the original photo contained in one of the later volumes of his great 

 unfinished work, this is even more apparent and pronounced. His 

 boyhood's friends still remained on as the friends of manhood — how 

 consistently Mr. Jenkins' article shows. Mr. George Eobinson 

 remains named as the solicitor and co-trustee, to execute his last 

 trust. So with the present writer. The third trustee was formerly 

 one of his boy pupils. 



Strood, January 25th, 1911. 



