COLLOQUIA ENTOMOLOGICA. 19&' 



lethalis arunclo. I cannot eradicate it ; I cannot quietly jog 

 along the every-day track which mortals have trodden for 

 centuries. 



Tentenda via est qua me quoque possim 



Tollere humo ; victorque virum volitare per ora. 



And if I die of the yellow fever, or some she-jaguar takes me 

 to feed her young ones ; or, better still, some huge boa swal- 

 lows me whole ; why, it wont much signify, I shall leave behind 

 no one that will care about me. 



Ent. Not one? — think Roey. Have ive never been suffi- 

 ciently pleased with each other's company for each of us to 

 take some interest in the fate of the other ? I shall, at least. 



Erro. Yes, indeed have we ; and recollection leaves a 

 perfumed fragrance on my mind which will adhere to it long 

 after this frail vessel of clay shall have lost its vigour : 



You may break, you may ruin, the vase as you will, 

 The scent of the roses will cling round it still. 



Ent. Would you do any geology ? 



Erro. No. Geology is a tempting but dangerous study ; 

 you begin with wondering, and proceed through doubting to 

 disbelieving. 



Ent. It always has appeared to me that those geologists 

 who plead the cause of the Bible have done more harm than 

 good by their sophistries, their weak attempts to prove a coin- 

 cidence between what is written and what is seen ; and that 

 they open a wider field for doubt by proposing theories so easy 

 of disproof. In these cases, I believe what I read in the Bible, 

 and what I see with my eyes; and if the results do not always 

 agree so well as I could wish, I seek not to pervert or twist a 

 meaning on the one hand, or disguise a fact on the other, for 

 the sake of proving a correspondence between the two ; but 

 humbly and devoutly trust that whenever Time may open to us 

 the book of Nature, we shall find its pages are in perfect ac- 

 cordance with those of the Book of Truth. 



Erro. What, after all, can a geologist learn ? He merely 

 scratches the surface like an old hen; he knows nothing of the 

 interior ; and, like the same animal, he chuckles over his use- 

 less labours. 



Ent. Shall you write a book ? 



Erro. No, no ; a mere manuscript, for you, and Venator, 



