them. The delay necessitated by these operations made the time of feeding very long and tedious. When I put a live beetle down his throat he would swallow it, but would exhibit such evident signs of distress that I decided that this process was cruel and unnecessary. I then found that by excision of the prothorax and the removal of the elytra that the operation of feeding was much facilitated. When the beetles were treated in this manner, he would eat from eight to fifteen as fast as I could prepare them. After this he would take a few sips of water and return to his perch, lapse into silence, close his eyes and remain motionless for about fifteen minutes, when he would suddenly become very active and sprightly, hopping about the cage and chirping with much animation. I soon learned that this activity indicated that he was ready for another supply of bugs if offered to him.

From the date of his retention upon an exclusively coleopterous bill-of-fare the change was marvelous. His feathers grew rapidly, he increased in size and cheerfulness, he became more tractable and would allow himself to be petted and handled; but unless he was pressed by hunger he would not touch an earth worm. His mental faculties-if such they may be called-also developed rapidly. He would recognize me in the distance as I approached and would fly to the end of the cage nearest me, calling out in an eager excited note, and would try to get through the wires of the cage.

He seemed to know that he was about to be fed, when he saw the bottle with its store of beetles, and would scream with delight when I approached with it in my hand.

After I had given him three or four he would mount his perch and wait until I could prepare another, all the while watching the operation with evident interest. He would throw back his head and open his mandibles to their fullest extent to receive the proffered beetle from my fingers. His appetite knew no bounds. I was astonished at his voracity. Every day he consumed from forty to fifty of the large beetles commonly known as "June bugs." One morning at seven o'clock I gave him fifteen; I returned from the office at 12 o'clock, and from that time until sunset that evening I fed him all he could eat. During this time he disposed of seventy-two of the large beetles! I have no doubt if I had fed him during the morning he would have eaten a hundred!

By the second week in July the supply of "June bugs" becoming scarce, I had to seek some new edible for my charge. As cherries were abundant I fed him upon this delectable fruit; when hungry he would eat them greedily, but they did not seem to appease his appetite, and were speedily rejected when a few Coleoptera or a piece of raw steak appeared in sight. Whenever supplied with beef or his proper insect food, fruit was invariably discarded. Raw mutton and veal were next added to this bill-of-fare, he cared for neither, and the latter produced the same effect upon his digestive apparatus as did earth worms.

Diurnal and nocturnal Lepidoptera were swallowed with apparent zest, but it was impossible to procure enough of them to satisfy his hunger. Every day I had to eke out his subsistence with beef. On the 25th of July I concluded to set him free, and accordingly, after giving him a small meal of raw beef, I opened the door of his prison and let him go out. He did not go far from the house, but flew around from tree to tree and upon the roof; busying himself catching flies and what small Coleoptera he could find. He evidently made poor progress catering for himself, for about twelve o'clock he flew into the piazza, perched upon the balustrade and appeared very hungry. My wife got a piece of meat and he instantly flew to her, perching upon her shoulder as if imploring something to eat. She placed him in his cage once more, and until August 7th he was not allowed egress. From that date until August 25th he was allowed to spend every day out doors; he always returned toward evening for his beefsteak and was put back in the cage. Although other robins were in the vicinity he evinced no desire to go with them. I noticed, however, that every day he was out he became more timid and appeared to be gradually regaining his feral nature. During the early part of August I collected great numbers of grasshoppers, of which he appeared very fond. The number of Orthoptera he would devour in a day was simply astonishing. He now appeared to be fully grown.

August 25th was a damp, cloudy day, with frequent light showers. He was let out of the cage at the usual time, about eight o'clock, and was not seen again. Whether he had been frightened off to some distance and did not know the way back or whether he had concluded to trust his chances in the "wide, wide world," I never knew.

I observed that when at large and hungry, this robin would eat flies, moths, ants and worms, but never seemed to be able to obtain enough to satiate his inordinate appetite.

When I found my search for beetles so poorly rewarded, I directed my attention to observations upon the feral members of the genus Turdus, to learn, if possible, whether or not their exertions were more fruitful. I found that they had about as much difficulty in procuring a livelihood as I had for my feathered ward. I also noticed that they were only frugivorous when driven by hunger and the lack of an adequate supply of insects. That robins were strictly insectivorous as long as the supply was equal to the demand, and that they did not like Colorado beetles as an article of food. And, lastly, for every cherry or grape they ate, they destroyed thousands of injurious insects.

In the Armory grounds twenty-three pairs of robins were known to be nesting in one month. And since the young robin whose gastronomical feats have been narrated above, was found capable of eating seventy-two large beetles in one day, it is not unreasonable to assume that each bird would destroy at least one hundred insects per day, taking them as they come, small and large. Therefore, the forty-six birds known to feed on these grounds and vicinity, would require 4600 insects per diem, or in thirty days they would despatch the large number of 138,000 insects! This quantity at first glance may seem to be a very large estimate, but when it is remembered that each pair had a nest containing from one to four young which required food, and that have not been included in the above, it will be apparent, that it is rather an under than an over-estimate.

Taking into consideration the rapid, and in many species marvelous reproduction and increase of insect life, it will be seen that robins must exercise a considerable influence upon the entomological world, by preventing an undue increase of those species upon which they feed. When driven by hunger, and then only, in the opinion of the present writer, do these beautiful, sprightly birds attack our small fruits.

Upon a small cherry tree near my house, to which these birds had undisturbed access, only about one cherry in twenty was found to be molested. Even had the loss been greater, how small would it be in comparison to the myriads of noxious insects destroyed annually by these feathered guardians alone. Still, we

hear the crack of the gun wielded by the wanton hands of thoughtless boys and ignorant men, which announces to our ears the painful fact that another of our most useful friends has been murdered. It is none the less murder, because it is called "sport." It is to be hoped that the efforts of our naturalists will eventually be successful in rendering apparent to our law makers the necessity for more stringent protective laws with provisions for the sure and speedy punishment of the avicide.

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THE RUNNERS OF ERYTHRONIUM AMERICANUM. BY EDWARD POTTS.

THE

HE botanist or amateur flower collector who wanders at this season of the year (early in May) along the woodland stream or loamy hillside, can hardly fail to observe numerous colorless stems, forming, as it were, little loops three or four inches in length, on or near the ground, both ends being buried beneath the surface. If his curiosity should lead to a closer examination, he will find that while one end is firmly rooted, the other yields readily to his effort to withdraw it, and proves to be, not a root, as he may have at first supposed, but a stem, smooth and of uniform diameter, excepting at the end, where it enlarges into an oval knob, which, later in the season, is further developed as a true bulb, and ultimately planted by the growth force of this slender stem at the depth of three or four inches in the loose woodmould. If he should trace the same stem backward, carefully loosening the earth to avoid breaking it, he would find that it had its origin with two or three others, in the lower extremity of a similar bulb, pear-shaped, somewhat flattened, perhaps one-half an inch long by one-quarter in thickness, to the upper end of which may still cling a single withered leaf. Should he visit the same locality a few weeks later, he will find that leaf and stems have both disappeared and that the little bulb he saw in the process of being planted by such a deft and delicate finger has thrown out a radiating group of roots from near the lower end and, showing no other signs of growth, has evidently settled itself to await the developments of another Springtime.

A whole year is a long time for our botanist to wait the solution of his problem as to genus and species; so we will anticipate the result of his observations next year. The April sun will hardly have begun to warm the south fronting hillsides, ere our

sleeping bulb will waken and reach up into the moist spring air a single glossy leaf, spotted or blotched all over with spaces of darker shade, which he will then recognize, or any child could tell him, is the sterile condition of his misnamed though favorite Dog Tooth Violet (Erythronium Americanum).

Soon after the leaf has fully developed, spreading forth its rich juices to the influence of sun and air, three or four stolons or runners, such as already described, will protrude at the lower extremity of the bulb, and, promptly turning upwards, will be seen bursting through the surface of the ground, reaching up an inch or two into the air and then in a wavering, uncertain way burying themselves again in the earth to plant the bulb that shall repeat the same process next year.

As is well known, in its single leaf condition this plant never blooms. In this second year of its existence, therefore, the bulb cannot have fulfilled its whole mission; if, and we admit it to be an assumption not proven, the law of nature would give to every individual at least the chance to reproduce itself by means of perfected seed. By the third year, then, we presume the bulb will have attained the strength necessary to enable it to send up two leaves and a flower stalk and become what it should have been called, a lily indeed, with its pendulous golden bell.

In the lily family, propagation by means of lateral or axillary bulbs (as a compensation, perhaps, for the frequent failure to perfect their seeds) is familiar to every one; but I cannot find that these partially aerial runners of the Erythronium, by which it projects its bulbs sometimes to the distance of a foot from the parent plant, have been previously noticed. It may be well to add that these observations refer especially to one locality in what is known as Sweet Briar Glen, Fairmount Park, Philadelphia; that the mode of propagation described, is the universal habit of the plant, the writer is not prepared to assert.

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THE MODE OF EXTRICATION OF THE AMERICAN SILK-WORM MOTH.

BY D. C. MCLAREN.

HORTLY after reading Dr. Packard's article in the June num

SHO

ber of the "NATURALIST," it was the writer's good fortune to observe the entire process of extrication in the case of a large and fine male specimen of Telea Polyphemus.