216 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



covetuous and demandeth back her own. The 

 father yieldeth his energy. The father is ever 

 greedy and attracts back into space, away from 

 the living thing that it may be closer to if not a 

 part of him, that energy which he hath given to 

 beget life in the matter of the' mother. Matter 

 and energy, ever uniting, ever separating, 

 changeless and indestructible, ever forming new 

 combinations, full of affinity one for the other, 

 yet soon satiated, soon divorced. Is it any won- 

 der that this spirit of change, of restlessness, 

 that pervades all matter and leads to all life, all 

 death, is exemplified in the brain of man by that 

 spirit of discontent which so often enthralls his 

 soul? 



The "bugs" are still after me; perhaps in re- 

 venge for the many spirits of their ancestors 

 which in years agone I have sent across the 

 borders of the great unknown in order that their 

 bodies might rest in my cabinets, a part of my 

 collection. On yesterday I felt something go 

 "flip-flap" just above my ankle, and reaching 

 beneath my trouser-leg I brought forth a rather 

 rare brownish click-beetle. A half hour later 

 something began to prod my shoulder. Beneath 

 my shirt I groped and brought to light a hand- 

 some example of the big grape-vine beetle, 85 

 nearly an inch in length. Ants galore have I 

 plucked from my face and hands while here in 



Pelidnata punctata Linn. 



