96 THE entomologist's record. 



stand it? That beautiful little motli, Eustroma {Cidaria) reticulata, 

 which is as fragile as it is rare, appeal's to have but one home in Britain, 

 occuri ing, as it does, in the vicinity of Windermere. Its sole food-plant, 

 the wild balsam (Impatiens noli -lae-tang ere), is indeed in itself a local 

 plant, bat in this district it grows abundantly. I was fortunate 

 enough to discover the insect three summers ago ; but, though I have 

 searched carefully in several places where the plant grows, only one 

 has ever yielded any reward to my labours, and it is about this that I 

 now write. I have been unable this year to continue my search, 

 being away in Scotland during the season, but it appears that other 

 hands have not been idle, though the place is, I believe, known only 

 to a few. As a result, I entertain serious fears that the insect is on the 

 verge of extinction. My ground for so thinking is this. A rumour, 

 not without good authority, has lately reached me, that a certain insect- 

 hunter, well known by name in the north of England, has, in accor- 

 dance with a threat expressed to some collectors who purposed going 

 to search for the larvjB, wantonly destroyed every plant he could find. 

 This spiteful act is not that of an entomologist, and indeed such an 

 one is not worth}^ of the name : for, granted that he be an expert in his 

 art, entomology to him is no more than a money-making trade, and he 

 would sooner see the species exterminated than endanger the sale of 

 the specimens which he has already in stock, as, I have reason to 

 believe, in considerable number. Whether or no the evil is already 

 irremediable or whether anything can be done I do not know, but I 

 feel that it is only right that such a state of things be made publicly 

 known, and it is indeed hard to speak in strong enough terms about 

 the wantonness of such an act. It recalls, very forcibly to my mind, 

 the words of Burns on seeing the destruction of some woods on the 

 banks of the Nith, near Drumlanrig. The Duke of Queensberry, a 

 dissipated wretch, had caused the beautiful wood to be destroyed for 

 the sale of its timber, and the poet thus expresses his indignation 

 through the mouth of the genius of the stream : — 



" Alas ! " said I, " what ruefu' chance 



Has twined ye o' your stately trees H 



Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 



Has stripped the deeding o' your braes? 



Was it the bitter eastern blast, 



That scatters blight in early spring ? 



Or was it the wil'-fire scorched their boughs, 



Or the canker-worm wi' secret sting ? " 



" Nae eastlin' blast," the sprite replied ; 

 «' It blew na here sae fierce and fell ; 

 And on my dry and halesome banks 

 Nae civnker-worms get leave to dwell. 

 Man ! cruel Man !" the trenius sighed. 

 As through the cliffs he sank him down — 

 «' The worm that gnawed my bomiie trees, 

 That reptile wears a ducal crown ! " 



— Arthur Miles Moss, EUerthwaite, Windermere. [After this was in 

 type it was discovered that the facts were printed elsewhere. We 

 wish contributors would not send us communications apj^earing in other 

 magazines. If our correspondent would get the name of the individual 

 here referred to and some very definite evidence against him, we feel 

 inclined to open our pages for a public subscription, so that we may see 

 what the law has to say to him. — Ed.] 



