JOURNAL OF VARIATION. 



No. 2. Vol. VI. February 1st, 1895. 



K Day's Pupa-jJunting in October. 



By J. W. TUTT, F.E.S. 



A soft south-east wind, a warm orange glow in the east before the 

 sun breaks through the distant early-morning haze, are signs not to be 

 neglected by the entomologist on pupa-digging intent, when the 

 usually dull days of late autumn are actually here. 



The trees are getting bare now, but the birch still hangs out its 

 yellow leaves, whilst the brilliant autumn tints clothe the bramble with 

 tiny flames of scarlet, the oak with a thick rich dress of gold. The 

 sun's rays are cheerful, and chequer the green sward with the shadows 

 of elm and birch, of beech and oak, or with the shadows of the more 

 thickly-set bushes which run by the fields yonder. Beneath the feet 

 the turf is springy, and not so wet as might have been expected from 

 the recent heavy rains, whilst tlie murmuring brook runs noisily, bear- 

 ing a rich supply of mud to the low levels in its now swift current, 

 whilst yonder pool reflects the sunlight, and forms a clear mirror of 

 purest gold. 



With trowel in hand, the entomologist sets off across the fields ; not 

 to the woodlands, where the close-growing trees will yield but little 

 reward for his labour, but to the single trees by hedgerow or in park, 

 where he is sure of a rich harvest. An ash-tree attracts him. Only a iew 

 straggling leaves are left, but he walks up to it, lays down his trowel 

 and boxes, and carefully passes his hand over the cracks in the lichen- 

 or moss-covered trunk. A hard knott}^ lump is felt, with care the 

 lichen is picked off, a strong chisel called into recpiisition, the knot 

 secured, and he has scored his first pujja of Bisnkia liijmiri. It takes 

 him some time to complete that anxious search, but at last lie is satisfied, 

 and then proceeds to scrape away the turf and to feel carefully on the 

 surface of the ground in all those strange little angles which a tree-root 

 makes where it enters the ground. All the rubbish is passed through 

 the fingers, and presently-, a hard little mass, spun up in dead leaves 

 with a few strands of silk, is brought to light. Tlien, in the protected 

 nooks around the roots, the soil is turned over, but evidently there is 

 not much here. Away to yonder oak, where the nooks and angles are 

 legion. Diligently the fingers work round the line wliere the tree meets 

 the earth ; with delicate touch each cranny is carefully searched, and 



