THE PERFUMED BEETLE 131 
rewarded my curiosity upon a certain occasion in 
my boyhood, an incident which now seems trivial 
enough, but which marked a rare day in my 
youthful entomological education, and which, as 
it relates to an insect of exceptional peculiarity, 
I may here recall. 
I was returning homeward after a successful 
day of hide-and-seek with the caterpillars and 
butterflies and beetles, my well-stored collecting- 
box being rilled with squirming and creeping 
specimens, and my hat brim adorned with a swarm 
of Idalias, Archippus, yellow swallow-tails, and 
other butterflies the butterfly-net on this partic- 
ular occasion being rendered further useless by 
the occupancy of a big red adder which I wished 
to preserve "alive and sissin'." I had taken a 
short cut through the woods, and had paused to 
rest on a well-known mossy rock. The welcome 
odors of the woods, the mould, the dank moss, 
and the spice-bush lingered about me ; and I well 
remember the occasional whiff from the fragrant 
pyrolas somewhere in my neighborhood, though 
unseen. It was a very warm day in the middle 
of July, and even the busiest efforts of millions of 
cool, fluttering leaves of the shadowed woods had 
barely tempered the languid breeze, laden as it 
was with the reminders of the glaring hay-field 
just outside its borders. 
Among all the various odorous waftings that 
