92 THE entomologist's record. 



aesthetic instincts of the butterfly, signs of the aesthetic instincts of 

 man. . It leads somewhere one supposes, but truly where I know not. 

 But, after all, the biological possibilities of entomology, stripped of 

 all these extraneous frills and furbelows, are at each man's hands, and 

 entomology still remains the fair handmaiden of biological science, the 

 science by which, some day, we hope to know more about ourselves. 

 The airy clouds must not be allowed to hide the figure within, nor to 

 be mistaken for that figure. Each of us must try to push the sum of 

 knowledge a little bit forward, recognising fully at the same time, 

 however, how little in the course of a human life each one of us can 

 do ; yet certain that each can leave behind some message that those 

 who come after us may know that he has lived worthily, usefully and 

 well, free from petty jealousies, and with a whole-hearted desire to learn 

 the truth, to hand on the truth. 



Such I take it are some of the possibilities of entomological science. 

 We may not all be a Eeaumur, Linne, Latreille or Darwin. We may 

 all follow in their footsteps if we never reach their high estate. Let 

 each one see to it that he does what he can ; helps all he can. And if, 

 really, the mentality of a man is such that it soars no further than the 

 serene simple-minded pleasure of childhood ; if, with increasing years 

 he never attains or wishes to attain the mental power of youth or 

 mature age, there is much to be said for him. He can still — 



" Wander away and away, 



With nature the dear old nurse, 



And she'll sing to him night and day, 



The songs of the universe ; 



And whenever the way seems long, 



Or the heart begins to fail, 



She'll sing a more wonderful song, 



Or tell a more marvellous tale." 



Entomological Scraps from a Lepidopterist's Note=book during a 

 month's sojourn in the North of Scotland in the Summer of 1905. 



By JOHN E. GAEDNEE. 



Compelled to give up the use of the microscope, I can take no part 

 in the solution of problems bearing on minute details of structure, etc., 

 which our entomologists are at present revelling in. I envy their 

 revels ; but here I am, obliged to own mj^self — a " mere collector." So 

 be kind, Mr. Editor, and consign this scrap to the waste-paper basket, 

 if you think there are none other of my genus, who love collecting as a 

 pastime and are all the better for it, who admire the insects and delight 

 in making such observations as can be made with no other assistance 

 than a pair of wide-opened eyes. The evening of July 27th, 1905, 

 found my two lady companions at King's Cross, settling themselves, 

 their very humble servant, and other impedimenta, in a corridor com- 

 partment, thoughtfully reserved for our sole use. Somewhat worn-out 

 with plenty of work in town and not too much rest, after a prolonged 

 and refreshing sleep of 14 hours, only disturbed by an occasional 

 invitation from my companions to wake up and admire the glorious views 

 on the Highland railway, I arrived in Forres as fit as a fiddle on the 

 morning of the 28th. Only one thought was worrying me, I was 

 without my chum, and felt that my entomological experience and brain 

 was 600 miles away, working in another corner of our glorious island. 



