THE ENTOMOLOGIST’S WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER. 
127 
ward, evidently in the potential mood. 
All the way I turned up stones in vain, 
— everything was burnt out. When I 
overtook Power, he was busy in a swamp 
full of tall grasses, where the surface of 
the mud had become dried, and at first 
no living thing was visible. But I fol- 
lowed his example, brought my eyes 
down to the ground, picked it over with 
a knife, and soon was gladdened with 
the sight of S.eleyans. How it ran, or 
rather glided, in an instant under the 
loosened bit of dried mud ! Then 
another and another showed themselves 
for a second, and disappeared. Soon 
I found the only way to secure them 
was to clutch with my fingers on the 
spot where I saw one, and deposit the 
mud I took up on the white sweeping- 
net, which lay at my side ; over this 
surface the little fellows could not run 
quite so nimbly as on their native land. 
When I had managed to get twenty- one 
specimens, I thought I had enough, and 
Power and I beat a retreat, or rather we 
were beaten by the heat before we beat 
the retreat. On counting the heads of 
captives, Power found he had forty-five, 
at which no one who knows the Doctor 
will be surprised, but it is only fair to 
myself to say that he had half-au-hour’s 
start of me at the work. Former expe- 
ditions have usually resulted in a tale 
of one : to most readers this will be a 
tale of wonder. — J. W. Douglas, Lee; 
July 5. 
COLEOPTERA. 
Tn none of our previous notices have we 
advised Coleopterists to ascend into what 
may be emphatically termed “ the higher 
regions” for their sport. We have pur- 
posely indeed avoided doing so until the 
season was sufficiently advanced, for we 
started with it in April, as an acknow- 
ledged truism, that whilst the year was 
young the lower districts would be the 
most productive ; and we adopted it, 
therefore, as a self-evident axiom, that, 
wherever the sun's rays were the most 
powerful , there ivould our game he 
found. 
For the last month, however, it must 
be admitted that the sun’s rays have been 
rather powerful, — perhaps indeed too 
powerful (thus early in the summer) for 
our temperate clime. But then the sea- 
son has been an exceptional one, and we 
are informed that the comet — that celes- 
tial “ Mrs. Harris,” which nobody has 
yet distinctly seen (though everybody, of 
course, believes in her) — is alone answer- 
able for these atmospheric eccentricities, 
and the unusual immunity from rain in 
which everybody, except farmers and 
entomologists, have of late rejoiced. Be 
this, however, as it may (for we have no 
wish either to deprive the poor comet of 
its rights or to hold it responsible for 
what perhaps it may never have caused), 
it is certain that 1857 has been, so far as 
heat is concerned, an anomaly; and that, 
being sui generis, it must be judged by a 
special standard of its own. We had 
hoped, indeed, whilst Phoebus was yet 
low, to lead our incipients on, from the 
sea-shore, step by step, to the mountain- 
tops, — at which we trusted to arrive 
( diis faventibus) about the beginning of 
August ; but, lo ! we are scorched en 
route, and the spots which we had con- 
templated as likely to teem with life as 
the summer grew old, have been prema- 
turely cooked-up, and we find ourselves 
compelled to leave the dry and arid 
plains, and to start instantly for Snow- 
donia. 
Glorious Snowdon! how often, amidst 
cloud and sunshine, have we scaled 
thy stupendous heights ; and, after 
toiling up thy sides, and imagining 
them untrodden by human foot, have 
hailed with joy the ginger-beer shop 
with which thy utmost summit is 
