THE BLAZE OF INSECT LIFE SO SUDDENLY AT ITS MAXIMUM.-To those who have eyes wherewith they can see the numbers of the insect-world which surround them, but who are not acquainted with their habits and previous changes, it must appear a perfect miracle where they all spring from; not merely of one order, but of all orders, there they are, literally in thousands upon thousands. Those white butterflies, flying sportively in the meadows, mingling with some brown gentry of a graver demeanour, that large moth, with yellow underwings, which rises hurriedly from just before your feet as you walk through the newly-cut hayfield, and those shoals of little whitish moths which keep settling among the grass, and pointing their long noses downwards, as if it were a misdemeanour for them to look upwards-where have these all sprung from? for, excepting some of the white butterflies, none of them were visible a month ago. Each had previously spent the larger proportion of its life under a totally different forma yellow-green caterpillar feeding on cabbages, a green caterpillar on grass, a fat, dirty-grey caterpillar feeding on primroses, and a small grey caterpillar feeding amongst moss; these were the preparatory states of the different insects we

now see.

Those hosts of dragon-flies winging their way so lightly over the surface of every pool; those day-flies with their up and down flight at eventide; those clouds of gnats which play so sportively in company, all passed the previous stages of their existence in very different forms in the

water.

No fairy tale is more extraordinary than these changes in the forms and habits of individual insects. In birds and beasts we see the likeness of the parents reproduced in their young; a chicken is not so very different from a hen, nor a calf from a cow, but what we could conceive the one to grow into the other; but he must be indeed clever at solving a problem who, on being shown a gnat in its caterpillar (or larva) stage of growth, and having no previous information on the subject, should be able to say to what it would turn. It has been observed that a man shut up room by himself might reason out all the truths of mathematics, but he would never be able to discover that the mixture of blue and yellow would form green, without making the experiment, and in like manner it is impossible to foretell what insect will be produced from any caterpillar till the experiment has been tried; and therefore it is that what is termed the breeding of insects, that is, the collecting them in their primary stages, and watching them carefully to

in a

see to what they turn, is a continual series of experiments.

But some of my readers have, perhaps, when picking strawberries in the evening, noticed a curious little white substance floating slowly on the air, not far from the ground; it looks something like a large snow-flake, but is more feathery. Should you notice it again, endeavour to ascertain what it is, for it is one of the most curious and beautiful members of the insect world.

By the side of a weedy bank, sheltered by a hedge, you are almost sure to see several of them, floating so gently it hardly seems as though they were impelled by any muscular exertion. The insect in question is called the white plume (Pterophorus pentadactylus), and you will find that the wings are divided so as to appear like five feathers on each side; but this was at one time a quiet, ordinary looking, green, slightly hairy caterpillar, feeding on the lesser bindweed (Convolvolus arvensis), and in due time, having sufficiently eaten, and grown to its full size, it changed to a chrysalis, remaining in a state of perfect repose for two or three weeks, till at length, one balmy evening, it burst from its death-like repose, and appeared in its state of snow-white purity. It is a startling spectacle to

C

see one of these little creatures burst into life, for the insect is more nearly developed than is generally the case, the wings have but little to grow, and its robes of virgin white seem so typical of angelic purity that one seems to witness a resurrection.

We will now proceed to discuss the varied aspects of June in different parts of the country, and, after considering June in Scotland and June at the Lakes, we will visit the south of England, see what is to be seen in June in Devonshire and June in Sussex, concluding with June in the neighbourhood of London.

JUNE IN SCOTLAND.

WITH the first of June the summer arrangements for travelling in the Highlands commence, and the stream of passengers from Stirling to Doune and Callender, and from Glasgow to Dumbarton and Balloch, begins its annual flow en route for the Trosachs, Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond.

Who that has steamed up Loch Lomond has not felt the charm of the scenery? The lofty peak of Ben Lomond, the numerous islets scattered over the face of this, the queen of the Scottish lakes, are every year gazed on by thousands of tourists who had never seen them before, and the delight each receives from the first view of this scene remains impressed on the recollection through life.

Who that has first visited Scotland, near Midsummer, has not felt surprise at the suddenly lengthened days, and the strange absence of darkness at night? The tourist amuses himself, as he walks by the shore of the Loch at midnight, in reading the smallest print, or in reading over again a letter from his correspondent in London; the natives are surprised that he should