THE LITTLE GOD OF CONSCIENCE. 167 



While I eat many things when camping that 

 my palate might reject at home, I want them 

 from clean plates and vessels. After breakfast 

 each morn I therefore wash my dishes of the 

 day before. Even the skillet receives its daily 

 dose of soap and water. This task completed, 

 my conscience tells me that I must seek the 

 shade of oak and bring the " journal of my 

 happenings" up to date. Until that is done the 

 little God of Conscience doth prick me sorely. 

 The writing off my mind, squirrels and mar- 

 mots do I seek (but seldom find), meanwhile 

 jotting down any thought or observation which 

 may come unto me. If, together, my notes ag- 

 gregate ten pages daily, content am I; that is, 

 the little God doth not rebel too strongly. 



On the boles of the oaks and on stumps near 

 the tent I have seen a half dozen or more of an 

 ovate, convex, blackish-bronzed "darkling bee- 

 tle'' 63 about half an inch in length. A colony 

 of them evidently came into existence on this 

 knoll saw here first the sunbeams, felt here 

 first the joy of heart-throb and of mating. 



A new collection have I begun this morn. 

 Many things have I collected in the past; birds' 

 eggs, postage stamps, butterflies, birds, grass- 

 hoppers, katydids, beetles, true bugs, plants, 

 shells, snakes, salamanders, weed-seeds, etc., etc. 

 This time it is the ends of marmots' tails. One 



* Meracantha contracta Beauv. 



