IO 



HA RD WICKE'S SCIENCE- G OS SIP. 



An attempt was made to photograph some of the 

 sections, but they were not entirely satisfactory ; 

 hence recourse was had to the camera lucida and 

 colour for the figures. Fig. 9 represents a thick film 

 of the soap, with the black spots adherent, as seen 

 with a low-power objective, and magnified eight 

 diameters ; the other figures are magnified sufficiently 

 to render the parts distinctly. 



As I am not acquainted with a description of any 

 similar growth on soap, I venture to note the same, 

 in the hope it may be of interest. Should it chance 

 to be new, perhaps it may be, at least provisionally, 

 named Fuliginaria saponis, from its soot-like naked- 

 eye appearance, if the name have not been applied to 

 any similar fungus. The soap has been manufactured 

 over ten years, and in my possession for nearly the 

 entire period. I am indebted to Professor F. 

 Jeffrey Bell for substituting a fitter name, Fuliginaria 

 saponis, than the one I had suggested. 



THE CLOUDED YELLOW IN CORNWALL. 

 By Fred. H. Davey. 



DURING the early part of August last, I called 

 the attention of the naturalists of this county 

 to the probability that we were about to have 

 repeated the phenomenal appearance of this beautiful 

 insect in 1877 ; and being myself fond of mnemonic 

 aids, I further added, that if my surmise proved 

 correct, astronomers and entomologists alike would 

 have a convenient memory-peg, as both years would 

 mark the opposition of Mars and the wide dis- 

 tribution of the clouded yellow. Singularly enough, 

 my prophetic remarks proved more accurate than 

 I anticipated, and within a few weeks from the 

 publication of my letter in the " West Briton," I was 

 receiving letters from observers, and mostly strangers, 

 in all parts of the county, as well as from naturalists 

 in the counties of Devon and Gloucester, reporting 

 large numbers of edusa. Not in isolated specimens, 

 or even in pairs, have they been seen, but abounding 

 in amazing numbers, making the quaint old lanes 

 and clover-sprinkled meadows of Cornwall, and 

 Devon's sunny slopes, alive with beauty. 



I made my first acquaintance with it last season on 

 August 6th, while sauntering in the full blaze of a 

 cloudless sky, along the north coast of this county. 

 It was a singularly beautiful day, intensely hot and 

 quite breathless ; a perfect one, in fact, for the move- 

 ments of insect life. Tortoise-shells were out, painted 

 ladies were gambolling about, skippers, and blues, 

 and coppers were in plenty ; and, above all, I saw 

 three beautiful specimens of the clouded yellow — all 

 males. The first crossed our path about midday, 

 fluttered along a low hedge then ablaze with the 

 roseate racemes of the ciliated heath, and then 

 disappeared in a wilderness of clover beyond. Later 

 in the afternoon, while strolling by myself, and 



enjoying a quiet smoke among the gigantic sand 

 dunes which fringe that part of the coast, I suddenly- 

 popped upon two more, frollicking madly over a 

 forest of ragwort which glamoured a large depression 

 between the dunes. I was not prepared for ento- 

 mological work that day, so there I lay, having a 

 most enjoyable time in watching the tiresome flight 

 of those two strangers. Twice they alighted among 

 the clumps of ragwort stars, and though I could be 

 on my oath about the very spot where they pitched, 

 I failed to detect them on both occasions. The day 

 following, my father saw another beautiful specimen, 

 undoubtedly a male, at the lower portion of the 

 Kennal Valley, and then, from that time onward to 

 the first week in October, they became so common, 

 that I could be certain of seeing a score on almost 

 every day, while on exceptionally fine days they 

 were almost the commonest forms of butterfly life 

 which emblazoned our low-lying and sun-blessed 

 meadows. Mr. H. Crowther, F.R.M.S., of the 

 Royal Institution of Cornwall, was, I believe, the 

 first to record it last summer, he having seen one 

 specimen at the Lizard and another near Truro, as 

 early as in June. 



I have bright recollections of a few days when 

 edusa was unusually plentiful. On the morning of 

 September 20th, with just the tiniest breeze blowing 

 from north-east, I lay on the trunk of a felled tree 

 in a small clover-field down the valley, watching a 

 great many of these swift fliers, gambolling with red 

 admirals, peacocks, tortoise-shells, large, small, and 

 green-veined whites. It was a sweltering day, and 

 perhaps for that reason all kinds of butterflies were 

 somewhat lazy in their movements. In the afternoon 

 I took to the higher part of the valley, to a large 

 field, bounded on two sides by densely-wooded 

 slopes. The field was in corn, most of which lay on 

 the ground in tortuous swaths, and the sun poured 

 into it with full power, not the faintest zephyr being 

 afloat. For a little over an hour I walked up and 

 down the swaths, netting the objects of my search as- 

 fast as I liked. They simply swarmed in that 

 ten-acre area, and without exerting myself in the 

 least, I could take them at the rate of one in every 

 two minutes. Among my spoils that afternoon, I 

 had two females in an admirable condition. Two- 

 days later, with half a breeze from south by east, I 

 saw large numbers disporting in a meadow bordering 

 on the woods in the sheltered vale of Pengreep. A 

 small rivulet ran along the lower side, making 

 ragwort, hemp agrimony, flea-bane, and clover 

 grow in rich patches. For two interesting hours I 

 walked along this border, netting the beautiful 

 specimens of edusa, which basked on the flower- 

 heads in company with the painted lady, giving 

 most of them their liberty after inspection. My 

 object was first to see what comparison one sex bore 

 to the other in point of number. 



Without any approach to exaggeration, I think I 



