. A FOOLISH BUMBLE-BEE. 217 



camp. Wood ticks and chiggers have caused me 

 to scratch by day and itch by night. Just now 

 an involuntary shudder ran down my spine and 

 I grabbed a large brown loop-worm, a larva of 

 some moth, which was measuring my neck. Even 

 as I write, small snout beetles fall from the 

 oaken branches above and crawl through the un- 

 dried ink on the pages of my journal, making 

 new hieroglyphics in the annals of natural his- 

 tory. 



The most interesting of all, however, has been 

 a medium sized Bombus, or bumble-bee, which 

 has several times on recent days alighted on my 

 hunting shoes of so-called elk-hide, and unfold- 

 ing his proboscis, begun diligently to rasp at the 

 leather. On two of his visits he crawled along 

 to the large brass eyelets and buttons and rubbed 

 his food collector over them for minutes at a 

 time. Whether he looked upon them as a new 

 species of posey which perhaps possessed some 

 unknown and delicious nectar, or whether he 

 was attracted solely by the glitter and brassy 

 odor, my mind knoweth not, and only his can 

 answer. 



The first odor of the sweet white everlasting 86 

 this day greeted my nostrils from the grassy 

 slope of the pasture which I crossed when re- 

 turning from my berry picking. As I travel 

 along the country roads or wander through the 



88 Gnaphalium obtusifolium L. 



