SEPTEMBER, 1881. 49 



had only to go out in the gloaming to the flowers of the 

 ragwort, and upon these he found the moths in multitudes 

 in a sort of stupified condition, as if the powerful smell 

 of this " stinking-william " was too much for them, and 

 attracted them all the same like so many gin shops. 

 There they were to be found, at anyrate, quite unable to 

 escape, and waiting with stolid indifference to be boxed. 



SEPTEMBER, 1881. 



They have got to the end of their tether, that is certain, 

 we exclaim, as we observe the stately flowers of the fox- 

 glove nodding their gay heads from the top of the stem, 

 with row after row of withered or empty calices below 

 them. " What a pity the noble plant does not flower all 

 at once," remarks an observer ; while the rest of us think 

 it very advantageous to have it remaining with us so 

 long in flower, and very sensible of it to dole out its 

 treasures in moderation, in place of making a great show 

 and away. Anyway, we are all sorry to see the flowers 

 at last at the very tip-top, and to know that the end is 

 near for it. Interesting it is to note the wide difference 

 between the earliest flowers, with the tapering series of 

 bells above them, each taking up the fallen mantle of 

 those below, and advancing steadily to the summit, com- 

 pared with the rows of departed glories that the topmost 

 bells have to look dolefully down upon. 



But we have been little on the land and much at sea 

 these latter days, wooing what has behaved very cruelly 

 to us, as to many others, that last bitter Thursday night. 

 If ever anyone wants to appreciate properly the derivation 

 of Loch Creran as the loch of " miry clay," according to 



