THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY. 



caddis- worms are lazily dragging about their curi- 

 ously-built houses over the sogged leaves at the 

 bottom, watching for some unlucky gnat-grub to 

 swim within reach of their jaws ; but, lo ! one of 

 them has just fallen a victim to the formidable 

 calliper-compasses wherewith that beetle-larva 

 seizes his prey, and is yielding his own life-blood 

 to the ferocious slayer. There, too, is the awk- 

 ward sprawling spider-like grub of the dragonfly; 

 he crawls to and fro on the mud, now and then 

 shooting along by means of his curious valvular 

 pump; he approaches an unsuspecting blood- 

 worm, and, — oh! I remember to this day the en- 

 thusiasm with which I saw him suddenly throw 

 out from his face that extraordinary mask that 

 Kirby has so graphically described, and, seizing 

 the worm with the serrated folding-doors, close 

 the whole apparatus up again in a moment. I 

 could not stand that: in goes the net; the clear- 

 ness is destroyed; the vermin fly hither and 

 thither ; and our sprawling ill-favoured gentleman 

 is dragged to daylight, and clapped into the 

 pocket-phial, to be fattened at home, and reared 

 "for the benefit of science." 



Since then I have wooed fair nature in many 

 lands, and have always found a peculiar charm in 

 the early morning. When dwelling in the gorgeous 

 and sunny Jamaica, it was delightful to rise long 

 before day and ride up to a lonely mountain 

 gorge overhung by the solemn tropical forest, 

 and there, amidst the dewy ferns arching their 

 feathery fronds by thousands from every rock and 

 fallen tree, and beneath the splendid wild-pines 

 and orchids that droop from every fork, await the 

 first activity of some crepuscular bird or insect. 

 There was a particular species of butterfly, re- 

 markable for the extraordinary gem-like splen- 

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