TRIP TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 147 



and then adroitly hanging liimself to the edge of the hole by 

 the hook in his back, he continued his labours in this droll 

 position : at last he got quite out of sight, and as he did not 

 come up again, I concluded he was taking a nap after his 

 labour, and so I would not again disturb him. 



This ugly grub, as my friend tells me, is the larva 



of Cicindela campestris, — a beautiful green beetle, which is 

 common in all sandy places in the summer, and pursues the 

 whole insect race with unceasing fei-ocity. The gentleman 

 runs and flies so fast as to puzzle the hunter, and, most com- 

 monly, to get away from him ; and when you do get hold of 



him, he fights, and bites, and struggles, to the last. 



told me of another larva, which he said he had himself met 

 with near Marseilles, called the Founnilion, or Ant-lion ; 

 whose operations, if you will have them as an episode, are on 

 this wise : — 



A loose light sand is the favourite soil of the Ant-lion. In 

 this he makes his snare, and passes the first part of his life. 

 His snare is a round hole, about two inches wide at top, and 

 with sloping sides, gradually lessening to a point at the bottom, 

 where the tenant lays in wait, his jaws only being visible, 

 and the rest of his body hidden beneath the sand. The sides 

 of this trap are made of the finest and driest sand, which, when 

 an insect of any kind gets into it, gives way beneath its feet, 

 and so conducts it, in the most amiable and natural manner, 

 into the very jaws of its devourer. It sometimes happens, 

 that a shower has made the sand more solid, and better footing, 

 than when quite loose; and then the luckless mortal, who has 

 inadvertently dropped or flown into it, begins to remount the side 

 with ease and fancied safety ; but, alas, the safety is only fan- 

 cied ! Mark the deepness of the rogue, in hiding : he dips 

 his jaws into the sand, and, being a capital marksman, jerks it, 

 with certain aim, on the back of the intruder, not once only, 

 but again, and again, and again ; and thus keeps up such a 

 constant and well-directed fire, that the poor creature is at last 

 tired out, and slides into the power of its enemy. The ant-lion 

 is about the size of a large garden-spider, and something like 

 it in shape ; after it has fed for five weeks on all the stragglers 

 that were unfortunate enough to get in its way, it spins itself a 

 white silky covering, and changes to a chrysalis, and afterwards 



