THE LARGE " COPPER." 219 



a vast number of midge-like flies swarming in the ridges (the 

 field having been ploughed and potatoes were then growing). A 

 high wind was blowing, making capture of the flies a very 

 difficult matter ; however, a male and two females were caught, 

 and sent on to me. I recognized the similarity of colour on the 

 abdomen of the female, but could not then say positively that 

 these flies had emerged from the red pupae, though I thought 

 they had. Nothing more was seen of this great multitude 

 of flies. 



On July 9th I went down to Tenby, where, by the kind hospi- 

 tality and guidance of Mr. Mainland, as well as the courtesy and 

 assistance of Mr. Cole, upon whose field this pest appeared, I 

 obtained a supply of the larvae and pupae by simply using my 

 fingers to dig them up, their red colour making them very con- 

 spicuous objects in the bright sunlight. I also swept a number 

 of female flies from the rank herbage around the field. These, 

 as well as the three caught by Mr, Mainland, were identical with 

 those I bred. 



Up to the time of writing (Aug. 11th) nothing has been heard 

 of its re-appearance, about which the Board of Agriculture, with 

 its long list of " inspectors," appears not to have taken any more 

 serious interest than when first informed of its presence in the 

 wheat-stalks. The only time when it could and ought to have 

 been burned in the field, the wheat was left to rot, and the larvae 

 were allowed to enter the earth and there remain to complete 

 their transformations. 



If human "Boards" are idle, insects are not, and by this 

 neglect and ignorance there is now present with us (in ambush, 

 maybe) a vast army of devastating insects which may yet make 

 their presence felt ; for, unlike the Hessian Fly, the Tenby pest 

 can and has successfully passed through a very trying English 

 winter. 



THE LAEGE "COPPER," ITS HABITS, AND ONE OF 

 ITS PRESENT HAUNTS. 



By W. G. Sheldon, F.E.S. 



I suppose there is no butterfly that has a greater attraction 

 for the average British lepidopterist than our long lost glory, 

 Clirysophanus dispar, and this species was one of the reasons 

 that turned my steps towards the Danube this summer. 



On the morning of June 1st last, at the early hour of eight 

 o'clock, I walked out of the little wayside station of Kamaraerdo, 

 some few miles south-west of Budapest, where I had been most 

 kindly conducted by Professor Schmidt to see C. dispar alive. 

 The country was very different in character to that frequented 



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