312 THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 
seen here were H. stygne and EH. euryale, both passés; the 
Hesperiids P. sao, H. alveus, and, among the very few 
things flying on the close-grazed, wind-swept clayey tops, 
H. carling. Ican recall no Satyrids of the larger kind on the 
wing except S. cordulea; and this was infrequent except on 
the hot hillside, where I had sought Erebia scipio in vain. 
Chrysophanus virgauree, too, was not as common as usual; the 
females taken are intermediate in colour between the type and 
var. zermattenis. This pathway winds up to one of the well 
sources from which Monétier draws its thermal waters. The 
forester’s hut marks a convenient centre for the chase, and had 
not the Fates ruled otherwise, I should have extended my 
explorations considerably in this direction. 
It is a curious fact that until I wended my way towards the 
Col d’Arsine on July 29th I had not observed a single Theclid 
in France this year. The few ’. ilicis left on the Millefolium 
had seen their last days, and it was the same with most other 
species on the wing—very difficult to secure good specimens. 
In the lower forest B. amathusia, B. ino, and Limenitis camilla 
occurred, the first-mentioned commonly ; but it was disappoint- 
ing to plod miles under the burning sun and find so few species 
besides on the wing. Even Argynnis niobe was rare, A. aglaia 
more so; and at the higher levels towards the summit of the 
Col (7874 ft.), on the steep slopes above the little Lac d’Arsine, 
there were surprisingly few butterflies, though the day was per- 
fect. Mr. Tetley had bid me look for EH. scipio here; I saw 
none—only HH. stygne—and compared with the locality at 
Monétier if seemed a less likely spot and elevation for the 
species. B. pales, generally swarming, was represented by 
single individuals; A. simplonia rather common, but wild and 
wary. By the brooks P. delius floated temptingly, and I took 
one beautiful female. H. tyndarus and EH. lappona were battered 
and broken; no sign of H. andromeda, but again several ex- 
quisitely fresh H. carline and imperfect H. serratule, all of 
which repeated themselves, only even more rarely, on the high 
valley below the Monétier Glacier, where I spent the last day of 
my holiday on the flowery slopes. 
Sunday, August 2nd, 1914, is not likely to be forgotten by 
France for many years to come; it will remain indelibly fixed 
on my memory as long as I live. The long summer day wan- 
ing to its close, a perfect peace brooding over the hills, made 
musical by the thousand bells of upland-pastured sheep. I had 
reached the hotel about 5 o’clock, and was making tea in my 
little bedroom when suddenly I heard the tocsin begin to ring. 
Thinking at once that there was a fire, I slipped on my boots again, 
and ran out into the little square just in time to hear the Mayor 
read out the fateful order for the general mobilisation of the 
French armies. A conflagration indeed! War! And by midnight 
