3126 THE ZooLocist—JuULy, 1872. 
mortal man was ever reasoned or preached out of a folly: very few 
have been laughed out of one; but there is ever a disposition to 
yield to a counter-folly. 
This ‘ Discussion,’ however, embodies another element, quite as 
objectionable as the utilitarian element is commendable; and 
wherefore Mr. Lewis introduced this objectionable element I 
cannot conjecture. As a matter of course, I allude to his sweeping 
condemnation of Mr. Doubleday’s Synonymic Lists. It will seem 
strange to attribute ignorance to such a writer as Mr. Lewis, but 
he appears totally ignorant of the state of nomenclature when 
Mr. Doubleday wrote his first list. Such a list was a positive 
necessity: imagine a school, say of only a hundred boys, not one 
of whom had an accepted name, but was called Jack, Ned or Will 
at the option of the caller, and you will at once see the necessity 
of some system of nomenclature which should not be quite so 
primitive. Now when I commenced Entomology this was literally 
the case: we had only a few traditional names, dictated by 
Dr. Leach and published in Samouelle’s ‘ Useful Compendium’: 
Stephens revised these names, and, for some occult reason that has 
never transpired, altered the Jacks into Neds, or something of that 
kind; then followed Curtis, and altered the Neds into Wills, because 
Neds were Stephensian. Under this régime, the necessity for a 
list became obvious, not perhaps to Mr. Lewis, for it was prior to 
his acquaintance with Entomology or entomological discussion, but 
to all those who possessed collections. Having been ever since 
the year 1832 connected with the publication of entomological 
literature, I was not “surprised to hear” an appeal from all parts 
of the country to supply this necessity, and as we had then, and 
have now, but one macrolepidopterist competent to the task, no 
one was “surprised to hear” that I had applied to him for help. 
To that single macrolepidopterist all eyes were turned, all voices 
yere in accord, and that man was one of my nearest and dearest 
friends. A distrust of his own abilities induced a long hesitation, 
and it was only to great pressure that Mr. Doubleday at last yielded: 
he yielded not because he wanted a list; not because he had any 
crotchet to air, any purpose to serve, any remuneration to receive, 
or advantage of any kind to gain; he yielded with the utmost 
reluctance solely to oblige one of his oldest friends. He writes on 
the eve of publication, “I would not have done this for any one 
else; I have done it entirely to oblige you.” Let me now extract 
