26 THE entomologist's recoed. 



(the Opposition may read those words in an ironical sense), and some- 

 times a few hybernating larvic wake up to the joys of spring cal)bage. 

 And so I hope that I, too, shall find my way back to my old pastures 

 with renewed appetite. 



It is a wonderful thing how the appetite does grow with resting. 

 Some sage says that it grows with eating. How his household bills 

 must have mounted up ! He may be right, but he cannot blind me 

 to the fact that mine grows daily with enforced abstinence. Even as 

 the Israelites hungered for the flesh pots of Egypt while sojourning in 

 the wilderness, so do I, in the barren desert of town lodgings, hunger 

 after the larva pots and ready supply of food of my old country chateau, 

 St. Winefride. No less strange, too, is the fact that all my friends, in 

 a year when I find myself practically unable to breed, have, with one 

 consent, knowing nothing of my change of circumstances, offered me 

 ova and larvje of insects which I have been longing in vain to breed 

 during the past live years. I suppose that I am only undergoing 

 what many entomologists face bravely enough as their yearly lot, from 

 which they produce excellent results. Perhaps if I knew that it was 

 to be my yearly lot, and perhaps if I had not just come out of circum- 

 stances so perfect, I might manage well enough. But I am rather in 

 the condition of the few larva which I did try to breed early in the 

 year, brought out of a land flowing with — well — dock and chickweed — 

 into a very small pot with a little groundsel which was always getting 

 too dry to eat, and sadly in want of fresh air. And so I have given it 

 up, and really (here's where the blush comes in) rather enjoy it for a 

 while. I do find a good deal of pleasure in having time to chew the 

 cud of my past labours. The entomologist in full work seems to me to 

 lack leisure and power of contemplation. He is always on the chase. 

 He sees an insect and rushes at it with a net, without daring to allow 

 himself to pause to admire its grace and beauty, for fear lest it should 

 carry oft" its grace and beauty out of his reach. 



Never until this year have I been able to watch Sibylla and the 

 Fritillaries, in the rides at Lyndhurst, from a cosy seat opposite a 

 cluster of bramiole blossom, without feeling driven to catch a few for a 

 friend in the North, who was pining for an underside or two, or without 

 hurrying oft' with a beating tray, to try for Ilidens and Prodromaria. 

 I am not sure that I have not thereby learned another lesson, that one 

 sees more insects by not hurrying after them. It may of coui-se be 

 only the innate cussedness of circumstances. At any rate, I never saw 

 so many Valesina, nor have I seen Aglaia at Lyndhurst for eight years, 

 until this year found me netless, and just loafing about on a day when 

 several fluttered past me. This may be a logical explanation of what 

 has always been a thorn in my side, namely, that if there does happen 

 to be an insect which I want particularly, some boy beginner is sure to 

 pick it up. He loafs about in no hurry and sees it, while I am always 

 in keen pursuit of something else. 



Again, a year's watching and ruminating brings with it many 

 pleasures of the imagination, which one touch of the collector would 

 have destroyed. Geometers fly out of the hedgerows, which a stroke 

 of the net would proclaim worthless, whereas now they flit along, 

 unknown possibilities, perhaps — or why not probably — priceless 

 varieties — even new and unknown species, a joy to the observer. 

 ^Vhat if they are only Didymata ? I cannot see their markings, so let 



