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 filled 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 



