certain little wood on the Isle of Wight. Between them they had murdered—taken, I should say—over fifty of those delicate creatures. No, I was not at all inconveniencing them. They had nothing to do now but wait until it was dark enough to visit the sugar. I thought of them, going round with their lanterns and cyanide of potassium, bottling the Red Underwings, and bottling them, and bottling them, and I wondered if it could ever be dark enough for such work.
Did you ever see a Red Underwing? A robust and noble insect: great grey and black wings above, and below bright cherry slashed with black. The bold splendour of the creature, when it is fresh from its pupa-shell, takes away your breath. It is a big chief of the Noctuas, rivalled by few, outshone by none. Among the Hawk Moths alone you shall look for its master. And my decent acquaintance confessed, without a tremor, to having stifled, three nights previously, fifteen of these joyful lives. He and the wife were late to bed that night, "But," he said, "after a long evening out of doors, how soundly one sleeps!"
Yes, it was surprising how many people collected nowadays. When he began, five years before—(accursed day!)—so general was the amusement which his net excited that he was quite nervous about carrying it. "Bug Hunter!" they called
