Oct. ii, 1913. 
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FLYING, 420 West 13th Street, NEW YORK CITY 
A Butterfly Farmer. 
Because she didn’t wish to teach a country 
school, Miss McGlashan set out to rear butter¬ 
flies and moths for market, and as she herself 
writes, "I am only eighteen years old, com¬ 
menced without a dollar, and in eleven weeks 
shipped eleven thousand specimens and received 
therefor $550, an average of fifty dollars per 
week.” Miss McGlashan’s home is in Truckee, 
California, up 6,000 feet among the Sierra 
Nevada Mountains, where there are many com¬ 
paratively rare specimens of Lepidoptera. By 
day she captured butterflies with a homemade 
net, and searched for caterpillars, cocoons and 
larvae; by night she caught moths attracted by 
flowers, by sugar smeared on trees, or by electric 
lights. The perfect insects were immediately 
marketable, but from the slightly damaged and 
unsaleable females, saved in bags and boxes, the 
young butterfly rancher obtained eggs that event¬ 
ually yielded a great many more saleable speci¬ 
mens than she could ever have secured with a 
net. The eggs, usually laid by the captive but¬ 
terflies on sprigs of alfalfa, were carefully placed 
in test tubes, vials and jelly glasses, and in time 
hatched out baby caterpillars, which were fed 
and cared for until they spun the cocoons from 
which they emerged perfect butterflies. Miss 
McGlashan comments that only in America is 
butterfly ranching a new vocation for women, 
as in many parts of the old world, especially 
in Germany and France, housewives regularly 
rear butterflies and moths for sale. Taxider¬ 
mists and many of the thousands of more or 
less scientific collectors of butterflies, moths and 
beetles are among the butterfly rancher's steady 
customers, and Miss McGlashan writes that she 
has many orders for live butterflies with bright 
colorings to be liberated at grand functions, in 
store windows, or in hotel dining rooms.— 
Woman’s Home Companion. 
Methods of Game Rearing. 
A correspondent of the London Field writes: 
“Most people will probably admit that the 
hen pheasant is a very bad mother. It is true 
that she will sit well, and under ordinary cir¬ 
cumstances hatch out the greater proportion of 
her eggs. But what becomes of the young 
birds; and what proportion ever reach maturity? 
If every hen pheasant would only on an average 
produce three mature young birds it is probable 
that the hand-rearing of pheasants would never 
have been carried on to the extent it has been 
during recent years. The expression ‘a really 
good wild pheasant year’ would imply that this 
has happened in certain very favorable localities.” 
With regard to the various modern methods 
or systems of partridge and pheasant preserva¬ 
tion which have been propounded, our corre¬ 
spondent remarks that they claim, almost in¬ 
fallibly to produce under adverse circumstances 
and for an almost nominal outlay results that, 
up to now, most people have hardly hoped for, 
much less expected, in the best of years. He 
then proceeds: 
‘ In fact, some of the results claimed seem 
almost too good to be true. Undoubtedly there 
are many points of merit attached to these sys¬ 
tems—particularly so when the details are care¬ 
fully carried out and the birds themselves do not 
object to having their nests interfered with. 
But, given that every detail enjoined by the 
system has been punctiliously performed, and 
that the birds have hatched out their artificially 
large nests full of eggs (no provision seems to 
be made for the birds which have had all their 
eggs taken from them), how much better off 
are we the following September and October, 
provided that the weather conditions are aver¬ 
age? It would be interesting, too, to know how 
far systems succeeded last season, and also what 
result might be expected in a very good sea¬ 
son. 
“If we assume, then, that the hen pheasant 
is a very bad mother, why should she suddenly 
become a very good one merely because you 
add to the duties she has so amply proved her¬ 
self incapable of performing? And in the case 
of the partridge, admittedly one of the best of 
mothers, why give her far more eggs than she 
can possibly cover well, and run the risk of not 
getting what is usually obtained ■ under average 
natural conditions? 
“From the above point of view it would 
seem that the real merit of systems lies mainly 
in the fact that they have drawn attention to 
the way in which the real duties of a gamekeep¬ 
er, so far as partridges are concerned, have 
been neglected in the past, and also to the fact 
that the masters themselves were not too con¬ 
versant with the duties which they expected 
their men to perform, rather than to any innate 
or peculiar merit that any one of the systems 
possessed, or might be presumed to possess, 
when put into practice.” 
In the matter of drinking capacity, “tanking 
up” is peculiarly fit when applied to the camel. 
A singly thirsty animal may drink as much as 
twenty gallons. This fact, as a writer in the 
London Times happily points out, gives new 
meaning to Rebekah’s watering of the camels 
of Abraham’s servant. After she had “drawn 
water” until they had “done drinking,” the ser¬ 
vant, “wondering at her, held his peace.” And 
“well he might,” says the Times naturalist, for 
Rebekah's act of kindness to the stranger was, 
in view of the camel’s capacity (and there were 
ten of them in the train), a mighty big job. 
