82 ENTOMOLOGICAL RAMBLES IN THE MIDLANDS. 



recently addressed to me in a letter from one of my correspondents 

 who is desirous of becoming an Entomologist. As soon as I read it I 

 thought what u capita] suggestion it contained of a subject to be worked 

 out in our next " Ramble." The winter is here. Suppose we make a 

 January excursion, with the view of showing what Entomological 

 work can be accomplished during the winter season, and of exploding 

 the popular fallacy that insects can only be found in summer time. 

 Some who join us will, no doubt, be surprised at the result of our 

 exploration, for even young Entomologists often fall into the error 

 that hexapods are killed by severe cold, and that during winter the 

 most ardent follower of Kirby and Spence must be content with such 

 Entomological work as can be done indoors, i.e., naming and arrang- 

 ing previous captures, and preparing his instrumenta belli for the 

 coming Bummer's campaign. The fact is, there is no day in the year 

 when insects cannot be found by anyone who knows where to look for 

 them, and who is willing to sacrifice his personal comfort to bis 

 Entomological enthusiasm. Myriads of insects, of all orders, pass the 

 winter in the perfect or winged state, hid away securely in their 

 various hybernacula, sublimely indifferent to the raging storm and 

 uninjured by the most intense frost. In truth, paradoxical as it may 

 appear, the more severe and prolonged the winter, the better their 

 chances of survival. To me this does not seem difficult to account for. 

 In mild winters ova hatch whilst the trees are still bare, and the young 

 larva perish for want of food; hybernating larva are tempted from 

 their safe retreats and become a prey to watchful birds ; winged 

 insects fly abroad in the transitory and treacherous sunshine and are 

 eagerly caught and destroyed by various larger animals that are ever 

 on the watch seeking what stray flies and beetles they can devour. 

 Thus, not only do they perish, but their prospective progeny is cut off 

 with them. Anyone can readily confirm this view by becoming, even 

 in a small way, an observer of insects during one or two seasons. The 

 time and labour thus bestowed would not be ill-spent. On the 

 contrary, the observer would obtain a mass of special knowledge 

 which would greatly astonish him and prove a source of endless 

 wonder and delight to himself and his friends. 



But, to pursue our subject, let us at once start on our winter 

 expedition in search of insects. And suppose we make Sutton Park — 

 a spot well-known and beloved by all of us — the scene of our ramble. 

 There we shall find nearly all the conditions favourable to our 

 enterprise, as well as many of the kinds of insects obtainable at this 

 on. Arrived at the park, we make our way, in the first place, to 

 Blackroot Pool, at the north end of which is a bog, (certainly in 

 "reduced circumstances" since the railway encroached upon it, but 

 still a bog,) in whieh Typha and Iris and Sphagnum delight to dwell, 

 and where the lady fern flourishes in such perfection as to prove the 

 truth of the saying that — 



'• Where the morning dew lies lougest, 

 There the lady ftru grows strougest." 



