OF AN INSECT HUNTER. 307 



Independently of the Colloquia, the Bull has its interests. It 

 is there the Entomological Club hold their symposia : happy, 

 happy days, of which the anticipation or the remembrance last 

 throughout the year. To me the very dogs are acquaintance ; 

 and however ludicrous it may appear to some of my readers, I 

 acknowledge that I love dogs. The admission will be fatal to 

 my reputation, will lose me many readers : the " Insect- Hunter" 

 loves dogs ! he cannot help it : it may be a failing, but it is 

 irradicable, inherent. There is something so intelligent, so 

 affectionate, about dogs, that I cannot help loving them. 

 Rockwood is no more ! his deep mellow voice will never again 

 elicit the echo of those lovely woods : he lived till life became 

 a burthen. I was present when sentence of death was passed 

 on him. I could not remonstrate : the deed was a deed of 

 kindness. I wandered to the wood to be out of the way ; my 

 net, instead of being flung jauntily into the hollow of my arm, 

 as an American backwoodsman carries his rifle, was left in- 

 verted by the fire-place. I sought for no insects, but whistled 

 on my devious way. I always whistle when I am melancholy ; 

 and a singing in my ear told me I had lost a friend. 



I have an entomological friend who has a very different 

 feeling towards dogs — a feeling I cannot understand. He 

 never travels without a dog-stick; and as soon as he spies a dog 

 at a distance he puts himself in an attitude of hostility. His 

 muscles become rigid, his eyes become fixed, and he advances 

 towards the unfortunate animal with all the zeal of Don 

 Quixote charging a windmill or a flock of sheep. He is pos- 

 sessed of cynophobia ; he fears an attack, and attacks first to 

 gain the advantage. The poor animal, unsuspicious of harm, 

 at first appears lost in astonishment, then bristles his mane, and 

 grows uncomfortable ; and, at last, in sheer self-defence, is 

 driven to make the attack, which is so much the object of dread. 

 But enough of dogs for the present. 



Birch Wood, as a locality for insects, has no equal in the 

 vicinity of London : it matters not which class the collector is 

 in quest of, he here may suit himself. The character of the 

 wood is more various than that of any other with which I am 

 acquainted. We enter it, from the Bull Inn, through a field of 

 elder-trees ; an elder orchard, on the blossoms of which spe- 

 cimens of Trichius nobilis have occasionally been found, and 

 the pretty little Malackius fasciattis occurs in abundance. 



