THE ENTOMOLOGIST’S WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER. 
103 
Sat. I’m quite agreeable, sirs! Since what is done 
Cannot be undone, we should both be wrong 
To keep up the dispute, and I, for one, 
Am willing to shake hands. 
Semi. ( looking daggers at. Sateelitia). I’ll not be long 
In going, cannibal ! Shake hands with you ! — 
Never, wretch, while I know it! To the rest 
I wish good night. \_Exit.~] 
[ A long pause follows his departure .] 
Spad. (to Satellitia). It surely can’t be true 
That you did eat his sister P 
Sat. (laughing). It’s the best 
Of any jokes I’ve known. He must be mad, 
Or, what’s more likely, tipsy ! 
Sauc. Come, a song! 
Vac. With all my heart ! I shall be very glad 
To lead ; you mustn’t mind if I am wrong! 
[Vaccinii leads, and the rest follow, as they best can, in that glorious and world- 
known song “ We won't go home till morning !” While they are thus 
occupied, however, two Collectors enter ivilh lanterns and nets. They first 
entrap Rubiginea, whom, being a rarity, they proceed to pin carefully. 
This occupies a little time, and the jovial moths become alarmed at the 
unusual light. While they are half -paralyzed by the glare, Rubiginea 
utters a loud shriek as he is pinned . ] 
Pist. (shuddering). “C — captures at Ivy,” eh P I — I feel so queer! 
“We won’t g — go home till m — morning ! ’’ Yes, we ivill ! 
Come, Satellitia, let’s be off! It’s clear 
We sha’n’t go home at all, if we sit still ! 
Sauc. (boldly). Go, if you like, I shall stay here and hide 
Behind this leaf. Those awkward, dim-eyed men, 
Can’t see a bit ! [The. Collectors approach the clump of ivy.) 
They’re coming on this side! 
Sit close all of you till they’ve passed, and then — 
[At this instant the ivy is violently shaken. _ The corpulent Saucia is the first to 
fall into the yawning net beneath. A second shake brings down all the 
rest. The Collectors observing Saucia, secure him, turning out the rest 
of the moths, after which they proceed doivn the lane. Satellitia, 
Pistacina and the others shuffle about over the ground in a comical 
manner .] 
Sat. (groaning dismally). Oh, Pistacina! help me up, I say! 
Two of my legs are broken, and my head 
Feels very loose upon my shoulders ! 
Eh? 
How can I help you, when I’m nearly dead 
Myself r* I couldn’t fly to save my life! 
That is, what's left of life ! Half of one wing, 
Pist. 
