210 



AUGUST 



cockchafers. They are out and about in myriads. The 

 hum and drone are like the distant murmer of the sea, 

 rising almost to a threat as it rushes nearer to your ear. 

 As the heath-blue butterfly over the bell-heather on the 

 links expresses the bright colours of the day, the queer 

 upper browns and lower blacks of this crepuscular beetle 

 are of the night tenebrous, subdued to the colourless eve 

 which the insect chooses for its heyday. Its hour is 

 later, I think, than the favourite time of its larger cousin, 

 whose active months are May and June, and whose 

 favourite haunt the lime trees. With each of them the 

 change to the perfect form is a simultaneous miracle : 

 multitudes are born at some favouring moment when 

 the sun has warmed and polished the world to their 

 peculiar needs. 



There are less welcome notes. The black flies issue 

 in a noisy swarm from woods of pine and bracken most 

 suitable to their cradles. A campful of boys on the cliff 

 hear the high squeak of the woodwasp and fear that 

 hornets have descended on them or a worse enemy, so 

 terrible to look at is the harmless spear of this strange and 

 terrifying insect. Even the creepy crawly earwigs and 

 ants enjoy their short period of tuneful flight. These 

 and the shrill gnats are not abroad for the pleasure of 

 mankind ; but when all is said we may find in the sounds 

 of August, notes so various and so eloquent of summer 

 that they almost compensate for the silence of the birds. 



