THE LARGE ‘‘ COPPER.” 219 
a vast number of midge-like flies swarming in the ridges (the 
field having been ploughed and potatoes were then growing). A 
high wind was blowing, making capture of the flies a very 
difficult matter ; however, a male and two females were caught, 
and sent on to me. I recognized the similarity of colour on the 
abdomen of the female, but could not then say positively that 
these flies had emerged from the red pupe, though I thought 
they had. Nothing more was seen of this great multitude 
of flies. 
On July 9th I went down to Tenby, where, by the kind hospi- 
tality and guidance of Mr. Mainland, as well as the courtesy and 
assistance of Mr. Cole, upon whose field this pest appeared, 1 
obtained a supply of the larve and pupe by simply using my 
fingers to dig them up, their red colour making them very con- 
spicuous objects in the bright sunlight. I also swept a number 
of female flies from the rank herbage around the field. These, 
as well as the three caught by Mr. Mainland, were identical with 
those I bred. 
Up to the time of writing (Aug. 11th) nothing has been heard 
of its re-appearance, about which the Board of Agriculture, with 
its long list of ‘‘inspectors,”’ appears not to have taken any more 
serious interest than when first informed of its presence in the 
wheat-stalks. The only time when it could and ought to have 
been burned in the field, the wheat was left to rot, and the larve 
were allowed to enter the earth and there remain to complete 
their transformations. 
If human ‘‘Boards” are idle, insects are not, and by this 
neglect and ignorance there is now present with us (in ambush, 
maybe) a vast army of devastating insects which may yet make 
their presence felt; for, unlike the Hessian Fly, the Tenby pest 
can and has successfully passed through a very trying English 
winter. 
THE LARGE “COPPER,” ITS HABITS, AND ONE OF 
ITS PRESENT. HAUNTS. 
By W. G. SuHeupon, F.E.S. 
I suppose there is no butterfly that has a greater attraction 
for the average British lepidopterist than our long lost glory, 
Chrysophanus dispar, and this species was one of the reasons 
that turned my steps towards the Danube this summer. 
On the morning of June Ist last, at the early hour of eight 
o’clock, I walked out of the little wayside station of Kamaraerdo, 
some few miles south-west of Budapest, where I had been most 
kindly conducted by Professor Schmidt to see C. dispar alive. 
The country was very different in character to that frequented 
T 2 
