12 THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 
did however yield an hour or two of warmth, and whenever the 
sun broke through for a minute or two butterflies became 
tantalisingly profuse. Iwas especially anxious to investigate the 
Hesperiids of Drome, but though I worked hard at this point 
and quartered every acre of the likely-looking ground, I only 
succeeded in netting one of the elusive Black-and-White Skippers 
which whizzed past me at long intervals, but seemed never to 
rest upon the wing and to disappear like magic the moment the 
light failed. This one example is of considerable interest all 
the same. It is a splendid male Hesperia alveus—a true moun- 
tain species as we now know, and entirely different from H. 
armoricanus, the “‘ alveus’’ of the plains as heretofore supposed. 
The coloration of the under side is also quite different to that of 
my Pyrenean and Swiss Alpine examples, the ground tint being 
deep rich green and not yellow- or olive-green, in this respect 
resembling a single example of the same species taken by me last 
year at Herkulesbad. Another surprise was the first Colias 
captured—C. phicomone—a male, the largest I have seen; and 
this at the lowest altitude I ever encountered the species—about 
3000 ft. (Mr. Wheeler places the range in the Central Alps from 
4000 ft. to 8000 ft., but mentions one even lower record, 2240 ft., 
Oberstalden (Frey) ). Of the Lycenids, Polyommatus hylas was 
the most distinguished—a few males—and Aricia medon 
(astrarche) the commonest; and the latter, if not actually 
abundant, at least flying together in some quantity. Plebeius 
argus raales were also well to the fore, and there were plenty of 
Lycena arion males flitting with M. galatea over a little patch of 
wheat at the foot of the slopes, the blades swaying in the wind 
seeming also to have a peculiar fascination for P. apollo as 
it made a regular up-and-down hill flight. C. hyale, very 
swift on the wing, was common. But before noon the clouds 
were up, and the night at La Chapelle-en-Vercors, in the cleanest 
of little inns, so cold and grey, that I was again on the road south 
at five in the morning, bound for the Col de Rousset in the 
voiture publique which here, at all events, has not been snuffed 
out by the motor. At this time of day, with a dour sky and 
keen wind blowing, the road from La Chapelle to La Britiéere 
and Rousset at the foot of the Col seemed uninviting. From the 
latter village, however, the road becomes decidedly interesting, 
and with sun and blue sky later in the day would no doubt be 
productive, though it is still quite northern in character— 
forest-trees and flora alike. 
Finally, plunging into a long tunnel, we emerged at the 
Refuge just below the actual summit of the Col de Rousset, and 
at a step we had passed from the cool beech forests and 
pallid verdure of the north to the true Midi of barren lavender- 
haunted mountains, and aromatic wastes presently animated 
with the myriad insect-life that moves and has its being under 
