§ II.

THE GARDEN.

"Sinuous paths of lawn and of moss,

Which led through the garden along and across;
Some open at once to the sun and the breeze,
Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,
Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells
As fair as the fabulous asphodels;

And flowrets, which, drooping as day drooped too,
Fell into pavilions, white, purple and blue."

SHELLEY.

In all ages gardens have been places of great importance, and gardeners, from Adam to Sir Joseph Paxton, although they often knew it not, have exercised no mean influence on the physical and moral welfare of the human race. No better test of the stage of civilization to which a nation has attained need be required than the condition of its gardens: fine natures are always fond of the beauty of flowers, and the extent of this taste in an individual may be taken as an index to the quality of the printing within, whether it be bound in extra calf, gilt and lettered, or only done up in a plain cover. Lord Bacon has not omitted to notice this: in his Essays, he says, "When ages do grow to civility and elegancy men come

to build stately rather than to garden finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection."

The garden being an artificial assemblage of certain plants within a restricted space, there to be cultivated for the sake of their foliage, flowers or fruit, it follows that all the insects attached thereto have thus the conditions favourable to their increase proportionably multiplied and cared for. Some insects accordingly abound in gardens, not only in those attached to mansions in the country, but in those small parallelograms attached to modest suburban residences, which are ironically, or by courtesy, termed gardens, but the number of species found is not very great. Many garden flowers, however, are attractive to insects born and bred beyond the boundary wall, and draw them from the surrounding woods or fields: so far a garden is an advantage to a collector, for some of the visitors are rare and not otherwise to be obtained, or at least not without great trouble. I allude more particularly to the Sphingidæ,

"Soft moths that kiss

The sweet lips of the flowers and harm not,"

hovering over them, Petunias especially, in some years in great abundance. I suspect that if gardens near the southcoast were attentively watched on summer evenings the number of our native species of Sphingidæ, at present very small, might be increased, and some of the rarer species of the family be more often taken than they are at present.

Did you ever see a Sphinx fly? There is nothing to compare its motion to, except a flash of lightning. While you are looking at a flower in the twilight, between you and it

glides a motion, a moving haziness, which is before you and yet conveys to your eye no definite image. Before you have half thought what it can be, you see the flower again distinctly, and rub your eyes, thinking there must have been an illusion, or possibly an unsteadiness of vision caused by the irritation of that gnat that was buzzing about your head; when, lo! the flower just beyond seems to shiver,-you move to see what is there, but there is a move before you, and a dim shadow flits away like a thought. Can it be anything real? Stand still awhile: and now, in the increasing gloom, as you bend over the Petunias, holding your breath, you see a darkness visible drop down before you, but its presence is better made known by the humming caused by the rapid vibration of wings. Stir not, or this aërial body will float away. Now you see it deigns not to alight or touch the margin of the chalice, but, poising itself in air, stretches out its long tubular tongue and quaffs the nectar at the bottom. Now or never, if you wish to catch it. Strike with your ring-net rapidly below the flower, raising your hand and turning your wrist at the same moment. There you have it-Sphinx Convolvuli! Look, what a living glory, its eyes like stars brought down for us to look into, and behold, we can see nothing but light. But if you wish to see the other beauties of your captive to-morrow, you must kill it: first stop its fluttering by a pinch on the under side of the thorax, and then a dose of oxalic acid on the point of a needle will put it hors du combat. It has lost a little of its lustre by struggling in the net, as might have been expected, the scales on the wings of all Lepidoptera being easily rubbed off, but it is as good a specimen as is usually got in this way:

perfect ones are rarely obtained, except by rearing them from the caterpillar, and such rare species as this are seldom found in their early states.

The directions given for taking this Sphinx with the ringnet will serve for taking other insects on the wing, observing as a general rule to proceed with the utmost quietness and caution. In aiming at a moth or butterfly hovering over a flower, remember to strike upwards, for as the insect will be almost sure to have taken alarm at your first movement, and will probably rise, your best chance of catching it is to strike upwards, and if it still maintains its position at or on the flower, the lower edge of the ring should still be low enough to include it. In Germany the favourite instrument for taking large Lepidoptera on the wing is a large ring-forceps covered with brass wire-gauze, but it must require considerable practice and dexterity to catch a Sphinx when flying. There is, however, this advantage in the method, that such an insect once within the circumference is held fast and sustains but little injury. By all means try the plan, if you think proper, and may your specimens be finer than mine!

Honeysuckle, "lush eglantine," as Shelley calls it, that lovely plant that ornaments many a cottage-door, and an especial favourite with the poets, is also honoured, when in bloom, with the attentions of many moths, Sphinges included. Sphinx Celerio, the Humming-bird Sphinx (Macroglossa Stellatarum), which revels in the sun-shine, Plusia bractea, and many other species of moths, feed upon the honey of its blossoms, and may be caught while flying round them, especially in the evening. The larvæ of a small moth, Gelechia Mouffetella, roll up the leaves and feed

thereon in May, but they are fonder of uniting two leaves with a white, silken web, each larva making for itself a closely-fitting tubular dwelling, out of which it moves at either end with great facility if disturbed.

The red valerian (Centranthus ruber) is one of the most attractive plants to Noctuide, and all through the summer an observance of it at dusk, and afterwards by means of a lantern, will be rewarded by many species. The moths settle on the flowers and may readily be caught in a net held under them or in large pill-boxes. One of the latter, about an inch in diameter, should be put with one hand at one side of the moth, or under it, if it be at the side of a flower, and the lid be put on quickly with the other hand, so as to enclose the insect; the bull's-eye lantern, in the mean time, hanging suspended by a string from the neck of the operator. The moths may be killed by being placed, boxes and all, in a tin or other close wide-mouthed vessel half filled with laurel-leaves cut into small pieces; in this they should remain for twenty-four hours at least, by which time the muscles of the wings, which at death become very rigid, will be relaxed, and the moths may then be pinned and easily spread out on the setting-boards to dry. If it be not convenient to pin and set the moths for several days, it will be rather an advantage than otherwise to let them remain. The laurel - leaves will be effective for killing for some months, as the prussic acid therein prevents the decomposition of the leaves, provided they have been gathered in a dry state, and not very early in the year; for if old leaves be taken then, they do not contain sufficient prussic acid to counteract decay.