UBIQUITY OF INSECT LIFE. 
123 
the Insect World simultaneously displaying their grandeur. The tyran¬ 
nical Russian climate cannot prevent enor¬ 
mous beetles, pitiless hunters, fiercer than 
Ivan the Terrible, from appearing in green, 
black, violet, or deep blue morocco, shaded 
with purple sapphires. While some, usurp¬ 
ing the ancient copes consecrated to the 
czars and the porphyrogeniti, stalk to and 
fro in robes of purple, broidered with Byzan¬ 
tine gold. 
In our neighbouring Siberias, I mean our 
lofty mountains,—under the hailstorms, for 
instance, of the Pyrenean glaciers,—without 
being discouraged by their rude blows, fly 
noble insects, of exquisite appearance, the 
rosalia in a mantle of pearl-gray satin, spotted 
with black velvet. 
Among the lofty Alps, at the Grindelwalcl. 
—the formidable descent where that glacier 
comes to us, and you may touch its aiguilles , 
and its keen breath freezes you—I once ad¬ 
mired a timid but touching protestation of 
love. Among some miserable birches, martyr 
trees, which undergo an eternal chastisement, 
a poor little plant, elegant and delicate, per¬ 
sists in flowering, with a rose-liued blossom, 
but a violet rose, not unworthv of the mourn- 
ful region. The brother of this tragical rose 
o o 
is a very tiny insect which, all feeble as it is, 
mounts higher than any other species, and 
is found shivering among the lofty snows of 
Mont Blanc. There, above you, is only the 
heaven, and, beneath, the vast shroud of ice. 
The poetic creature has assumed exactly two tints: the celestial blue 
of its wings, incredibly delicate, seems lightly kindled with the white 
