134 THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 
his son, who are sending not only specimens of the charming 
butterflies of the island for my cabinets, but valuable notices of 
their life-histories in a series of letters, from which I propose to 
make a few extracts. 
My young friend writes from Walton, Jamaica, on the 9th of 
March last :—‘‘ We have seen several Uranie, but all feeding high 
out of reach. Yesterday, between 5 and 6 p.m., I saw a striking 
scene: a tree covered with snow-white blossoms, on which swarms 
of this beautiful insect, and several black and emerald males 
of the long-tailed humming bird (T'rochilus Polytmus), were feed- 
ing and playing at the same time; the two beauties —the insect 
and the bird—darting about in all directions, and sucking the 
white flowers together; a lovely sight, and one never to be 
forgotten.” 
A month later the same observer, sending me a consignment 
of this charming buttertly-moth, in fine condition (now in the 
hands of Mr. Marsden, Gloucester), remarks :—‘“ The Uranie 
have all been caught within the last fortnight, and so are quite 
fresh.. We caught them feeding on the mango blossom, which 
just now is in great profusion. . . . It was very interesting, 
last week, to watch these brilliant creatures hovering round the 
great dense mango trees, now and then alighting on a flower, and 
looking, as they projected the long sucking tongue into the 
corolla, as if they were attached to it by a slender wire. This 
was in the early day; as soon as the sun became hot, viz., about 
10 or 11 a.m., they would pitch on the upper surfaces of selected 
leaves, always turning head downward, the wings expanded as if 
in a cabinet; while a few would gaily chase each other around the 
trees at a height of only a few feet from the ground.” 
Still more recently Mr. Mais, senior, conveys to me his 
impressions in lke graphic language. On the 2lst of April 
he writes :——‘‘ Let me describe a sight that fell under my notice 
about the end of last month. The weather had been very dry for 
some weeks, and all our usually green pastures were scorched and 
brown. ‘The orange and pimento trees drooped and thirsted for 
rain. The mango trees alone seemed to enjoy the hour, and were 
amass of bloom. I had been sent for, to see a sick man in the 
village, and took a short cut through Rose Hall Pen, halting 
a moment near a clump of tall mango trees. The air was 
melodious with the hum of bees and minute insects, intent on 
