26 THE entomologist's record. 



then the trowel is slipped down by the side of the tree, and the friable 

 earth is slowly turned over. Through the fingers the earth is passed. 

 Little solid lumps of earth, not larger than good-sized peas, are one by one 

 picked out and put by. They are probably only the cocoons of Cheima- 

 tohia hrumata, but the sanguine lepidopterist always hopes they may be 

 something better. A smoothly rounded bit of earth shows the inside 

 of a broken cocoon, and as the tree is worked round others appear, and, 

 as the eartli is passed through the fingers, the contents of the box are 

 increased again and again l)y the brown Ttenocampid pupfe. What 

 marvellous variations these Tffiniocamjjs show ! Yes, they are common 

 enougli as species, but some of the varieties are exceedingly rare. One 

 of the pupaj is accidentally broken. There, snugly coiled inside, is the 

 fully-formed moth, the wings covered with scales, and we know tliat 

 its relatives are only waiting for the cold winter days to pass, and the 

 first warm breath of spring to bring out the luscious catkins of willow 

 and sallow, when they will emerge from their sni;g retreats and bring 

 joy to the hearts of many an entomologist who goes in search of them. 

 The larger pup^e yonder are probably those of Phalera bncephala, whilst 

 the blunter black ones are Notodonia cliaonia or N. trimaenla — one 

 scarcely knows which. 



The smooth trunk of the birch next attracts attention. No crannies 

 here, but the eager eye scans every mark with intent and careful gaze. 

 A sudden move forward occiirs again and again, the chisel is brought 

 into requisition, but the searcher is doomed to disapp(jintment, and Cernra 

 hiaispis remains undiscovered. It is there, though. That nicely curved 

 depression in the smooth bark has been taken possession of ; the little 

 particles of wood and silver skin are coml)ined so exquisitely by the 

 hard ghie-like saliva, the depression is so exactly filled up, that not the 

 slightest inequality of surface remains. The hand is passed over the 

 spot again and again, but no inequality is noticed ; but in the 

 spring may-be, you will see a tiny hole in the trunk exposing the inside 

 of that snug retreat, and you will know that an eye, keener than your 

 own, followed in your wake, and that, instead of Cernra hicnspifi be- 

 coming an object of admii'ation to you and an object of envy to your friends, 

 it has formed a small portion of a day's meal to a passing woodpecker, 

 who, probably, has obtained more than that one bictispis pupa, as a part 

 of his morning's breakfast. But yoii may be lucky. Some people are — 

 or, perhaps, they are more persevering. However, let us say it's luck, 

 and remember the old proverb that " it's better to be born lucky than 

 rich." I firmly believe it's luck, for I have never found hicmpis pup^e, 

 and some of my friends have. Among the rubbish at the foot of the 

 birch tree, spun up among the loose sticks and dead leaves, many pupa? 

 are waiting for the diligent searcher, and round its roots are to be found, 

 sometimes, a marvellous hoard. Notodontas — does not bicolor feed on 

 birch ? and does not Endromis versicolor pupate in its leaves ? Do not 

 numberless Geometry and not a few Noctu^ almost defoliate them in 

 some seasons ? Yes, a rich harvest is often to be found here. 



To yon elm-tree we now wend our way. A large hole in the 

 trunk, some six or eight feet from the ground, filled with the collected 

 dead leaves of scores of years, must be reached. From the dead leaf- 

 mould there, a large rugose pupa with a spiky tail is fetched, and then 

 another and another. A favourite corner for Smerinthus tiliae, you say ; 

 and, as you look at the unsightly dark pupa, visions of a lovely insect, 



