ACTIAS LUNA Deilephila lineata may be found on the ground near the purslane overlooked by the gardener in his weeding, and, unlike most sphingid caterpillars, it lies fully exposed to the sun's heat at midday. It is green with black and orange spots, or brown with reddish spots, and may have other variations of coloring. It is very voracious, devouring even the pulpy stems of the purslane, and requiring large supplies daily. The parsley and carrot beds will probably give more eggs and larvæ of Papilio asterias than are wanted, and this all through the summer and autumn, unless the locality is a cold one. Saplings, low trees, bushes, vines, and low-growing plants will give more specimens of various kinds than high trees, though those may give, occasionally, altogether too many specimens of one or two kinds-tent-caterpillars and tussock-moth larvæ, for instance. caterpillars is the excreta which have fallen to the ground or have rested on lower leaves, or have been caught by cobwebs. Many a caterpillar has been found by searching the leaves and twigs above the freshest and largest excreta seen. Many have been found by tracing the line of partly eaten leaves, from the younger to the older and tougher ones, until that was reached on which the caterpillar was feeding. Others have been found by following the slight sound made by their rapid eating, and others by the moving head just visible over the edge of a leaf. Often the resting caterpillars may be found on twigs, on the under side of leaves, or on the trellis, fence, or building on which vines are trained. Oftener still they are found on the ground when seeking suitable places for spinning cocoons or burrowing into the earth. The best hunting-grounds are wooded roadsides, with tangle of saplings and underbrush; old pastures with blueberry, andromeda, bayberry, scrub-oak, sweetfern, and inkberry; swampy wood edges, and gardens. The presence of large caterpillars is indicated by leaves with only the midrib left, or with the edges eaten in irregular curves, or with ragged bits left dangling from the veins. Holes eaten through the Caterpillar-hunting includes also the leaf, not near the edge, may mean young search for eggs which will give the catercaterpillars, but more often are the work pillars later, the search for the moths or of beetles or their larvæ, while even butterflies which will lay the eggs, and the scallops cut out of the edges of leaves search for cocoons and chrysalids which are generally the work of the leaf-cutter will give the moths or butterflies in due bees. season. Often the best "finds" are the Another indication of the presence of moths which lay the eggs, for they enable the finder to learn all the life-history, watch all the changes, and, if he is a collector, to obtain finer specimens than he could get in any other way. With everything he thus finds he will also get knowledge and satisfaction and a far larger circle of interests, for he will be forced to know about the plants on which the crawlers feed, and about the birds, beasts, and insects which feed upon them. He will find greater interest in the books about all these creatures, and added pleasure in all his country walks and living. Caterpillar-hunting, if we include the search for moths and cocoons, has no "off season," for cocoons may be found in late autumn, winter, and early spring, while moths, butterflies, eggs, and caterpillars abound throughout the rest of the year. This hunting is full of surprises. I have found chrysalids of the not common little butterfly, Feniseca tarquinius, on my pincushion, and at Christmas-time I took from my holly a cocoon of a species new to me. The most amusing surprises in store for the caterpillar-hunter come from his relations with his fellow-men, especially in the country, where he soon finds himself considered a "crank," a "natural," or "mighty queer." Every one feels at liberty to question him, to criticise, and to instruct, and it is only in much enlightened districts that the Selectmen, with their Saturday scrub and Sunday clothes, come, by twos or threes, to consult him about the best means of ridding their trees of ravaging caterpillars, which they always call "worms." The instruction may be judged by the following sample: I was going home one day with my tins so full that I was obliged to carry my last "finds" on their twigs, like a bunch of flowers, when I was stopped by a farmer, who said: "Say, them worms won't do any damage, will they?" "Each one eats a great many leaves, but there are not enough of these caterpillars to do any real harm to the trees." "I notice that you call them critters caterpillars.' Now they ain't caterpillars. Caterpillars have hairs all over 'em. Them is worms." I mildly suggested the fact that, whether hairy or hairless, their structure was essentially the same, and quite different from that of worms, of which the earthworm was a good example; but structure meant nothing to him, and he replied: "Wall, now, young woman, all that is pretty-sounding, but I guess you need to study your subject a leetle more. You just read the newspapers carefully, and you'll see they always call 'em worms. Now you take the Podunk Weekly Intelligencer,' an' you study that, an' you'll see! Stick to the newspapers, young woman! You stick to the newspapers and some day you'll know something about worms !" This is funnier than any one can realize except an entomologist, for only an entomologist can estimate newspaper entomology at its true value. I The Friar: A Philippine Sketch' By Phelps Whitmarsh T was a little nipa-thatched town that nestled snugly among the palms at the foot of the Zambanles mountains. Far away from the railway and the main roads, unmarked on the maps, and inhabited by a tribe of poor, peaceful peasants, the insurrectionists, save for levying tribute, had passed it by, the invaders had overlooked it, and the Spanish friar, contrary to all precedent, had been suffered to remain. Being still in ignorance of the country customs, I spent my first night in an ordinary native hut. The next morning Fray Celestino called upon me. 46 Why, my dear man," he began, in a loud, harsh voice, "I did not know it. When they told me that a stranger was here, dark and with a bundle, I thought you were one of these French or Italian Jews who peddle all over the country, and are not even Christians. If I had known otherwise! . . . You must have spent a horrible night in this place! Well, no more talking: come with me to the convent. Here, you carry the gentleman's luggage and his camera. I hope your blanket is strapped tightly, for these people have little respect for the eighth command ment. "Here we are. Enter, please. You must be a Bago (newcomer), as we say here, otherwise you would have come straight here last night, as every one else does. But I am afraid you Americans have very strange ideas about we poor friars of the Philippines. Well, I can assure you that I have given shelter to many a hundred strangers under this roof, and to a few I have given money. You must make yourself at home; for a Filipino convent is the house of every stranger. Let us go upstairs. Hold on well to the railings. This staircase is Lord knows how old. Muchachos! [boys] is that chocolate ready? I ordered it an hour ago. Ah! here it is. Sit here by me. Chocolate with morisqueta [boiled rice]. There is no bread here, or anything like it. Never mind; take this spoon and help yourself. Blow it if it is too hot. the way. How do you like it? Copyright, 1900, by Phelps Whitmarsh, 834 That's Excel lent, is it not? Much better than your puddings and pies, to my taste. "Now take a cigar and let us go into the front room, where it is cool and we can be comfortable in rocking-chairs. We must have a long, long chat; for, as you say that you have recently been in Europe, I shall have lots of questions to ask you; and you, too, perhaps, will want to catechise me. Do you know, my one hope is to return to my own people, my own country! Poor old country! Robbed of its greatness, low as it is sunk, still I love it. At least they respect religion there, and allow their ministers to live. Surely one cannot ask less. "Well! what's the matter now? Some call? confession, isn't it? I thought so. My coadjutor or assistant is absent, marrying two fools in a neighboring village, and to-day all the work falls on my shoulders. To-morrow he will be back, and I will show you what a native looks like in a cassock. But I forgot you have seen our colored brethren before." Here my host hurried away, and at last I had time to breathe and think about the man. In appearance he was tall and stout, and but for a certain distinction given him by his monk's garb and a commanding presence, he was evidently a Spaniard of the lower class. His thick lips and heavy face, however, were relieved by large, beautiful eyes, white strong teeth, and an expressive countenance. First and most apparent among his characteristics was power. One felt that he had learned to rule, and with no light hand. His imperative attitude showed, too, that he knew his power. Frank of face but shrewd at heart, narrow yet hospitable, subtle by training but naturally kind-hearted—these things, together with a decided earnestness of purpose, were easily seen in the priest's face, bearing, and language. At one moment I thought of him as a patriarch of Biblical times; at another as a chief of some petty Asiatic State. He at once repelled and attracted me. As a child he had been brought from a country village and educated at a missionary college. When his clerical studies were finished, he was sent to the Philip pines and there ordained. He had learned Malay in one of its dialects, the Tagalog and Pampangan languages; and, after three years of such education under the elders of his order, he was at last given the distant, solitary parish in which I found him. From the mere boy that he was when he left Spain, he had grown gray in solitude, without relations save those of his assistant and his flock. The unlimited power of the Church, and the respect and fear in which he was held by his people, had made him masterful. So far did my reflections reach when a servant in a brand-new white shirt and a pair of yellow slippers hesitatingly entered the room. "Señor?" he said. "Well, who are you?" I asked. persons who wonder why we do not make more of these people. Bah! I tell you they have neither consciences nor hearts; and considering these defects, I think we have accomplished a good deal. Don't you think so?" "I quite agree with you, Father," I replied. "I think if I were a priest I should prefer a little country parish at home to a life among such people as these. The salary in Spain may be small, the work hard, and of course one cannot have such a free hand there as you have here, but still-" "Yes, yes!" he interrupted; "you are quite right. One certainly has society in Spain-one lives. Rude and ignorant as are many of the men at home, at least they are men. And they can be treated as men, with familiarity and affection. In my melancholy moments I often think how different is this life of mine to that of my dear old uncle, who was also a priest, and to whom I owe this cassock. How I remember his long talks with the notary at the latter's house, his daily game of cards with the doctor and Señor Lucas, a rich farmer, and most of all the summer evenings in the courtyard when he and two or three of his bosom friends argued "I am the padre's steward, Señor, and there is a woman below who says she would like the price of the chicken you bought of her last night." "I paid her a dollar at the time. much more does she want?" "Who knows, Señor?" "Well, give her these two pesetas." "Señor?" again. "Well?" "Could your excellency lend me four and talked about the great world. That pesos?" "Here's a peseta. Now get out!" "What frauds and beggars they are!" I thought. "I suppose it's a want of dignity and a want of moral sense. It is true that at home people expect tips in exchange for good service, and ask alms when hunger presses, but here " But at that moment I heard Father Celestino's voice below. was life. Yes, for he had friends. But patience, patience !-God's will be done. "And now let us dine. It is already twelve o'clock, and you must have a good appetite. Muchachos! the soup!" As we entered the long, spacious diningroom I saw that the table was already set with an array of dishes which, considering there were but two of us, was indeed bountiful. First served was a rice soup, "Oh, these natives! these natives !" he with small clams in it, known as "Chinese shouted as he came up the stairs. finger-nails." Next came the "puchero," "What has gone wrong, Father?" I a substantial dish of ham, cabbage, carinquired. "You cannot imagine, you will not believe it," he answered. "I went to confess an old man in his dying moments at the other end of the town. I entered the hut and found him lying on the floor with nothing but a dirty, torn mat under him, and not a soul with him. 'Call the family 'I shouted to the neighbors; and where do you think they were? In some huts further up the street innocently playing cards! "And yet," he continued, "there are banzos, and bananas boiled together. Then, in turn, a “kari," or curry of kid's meat; a fine "dalag," a lagoon fish; and a mountain fowl, something like a pheasant, fried whole. Later, a salad called “palasan," and made of tender rattan-shoots and the heart of a young palm, was handed round; and last a dessert of fruits was set before us. There was a green "nanca," resembling a huge pineapple; some luscious mangoes; choice "lacatanes," the finest kind of banana; chicos, guanabanas, and papayas. All through the meal a plate of the indispensable morisqueta was left beside us to take the place of bread, and our glasses were kept full of heavy Spanish claret. แ To-day we have a dinner extraordinary," said my host, "for my people know that a stranger must be well treated. Usually I content myself with the good, old-fashioned Spanish puchero, or some thing like it. We who have lived long in this country know that solid, nourishing food is necessary, and the best cure for anæmia and dysentery. The worst of it is that European articles here are outrageously expensive. You see, we have been cut off from the world now for more than nine months. Thank Heaven! one of my flock had a good supply of wine." After coffee and cigars came the afternoon nap, the Spanish siesta-the siesta which, in this land of eternal summer, is so necessary. My sleep on the hard, cane-bottomed bed, however, was very light and short; and, hearing the padre muttering to himself in the next room, I got up and joined him. "Look! look at all these papers," he began impatiently. "These are the muddled accounts of the district, which, under the old laws, I am still obliged to go over and certify correct. Just look at the state they are in! Lord! a priest here is everything-preacher, schoolmaster, censor, collector, judge, doctor, and director of public works. Sometimes I examine and report on the state of a bridge; at another time I enforce the roads being repaired; in fact, I am the one functionary-the single link that connects these wretched, heartless peasants with the Governor-General. But enough grumbling for to-day. Let us take a walk on the outskirts of the town and get a little fresh air." At sunset we returned, entering the town by the main street, and then it was fine to see the padre among his people. "Hola, señora !" he called to a woman who stood bowing at a window. "How is your stomach? Did the pills I gave you do any good? And you, señora, did you show the Presidente my note? That land affair must be settled before the next crop of rice is planted. Oh! Cabeza Agaton, how about those municipal accounts? Did you send them all up to the convento, and are they correct? I wish to goodness you would learn to write decently. Now, you girls, where are you going? To the baile [dance], eh? Umph! In future you had better wear less embroidery and more clothes." And in this way he proceeded up the street. In one place he gave advice, in another he applied a remedy, and again he paused among a crowd sitting on their heels about their doors and soundly rated them. All made way for him, all saluted him, and many came to kiss the padre's hand. We arrived at the convent just as the crowd of servants were laying the cloth for supper. Our evening meal, however, was not suffered to end without interruption. While we were drinking our coffee, there came a sudden and tremendous banging on the hollow log which constituted the fire alarm. "Fire" cried Fray Celestino, jumping up excitedly. "Come, come, or the town will be burnt, and we with it!" "Is there a pump or anything to put it out with?" I asked. "Only this," he said, holding up a long stick and smiling grimly. "Here, take this rattan and come and help. We have no time to waste." And down the stairs he went at breakneck speed. Down the street at no great distance I could see the glare and hear, the reports of burning bamboo. A group of men, perhaps a dozen in number, were standing on a corner near the convent talking unconcernedly. At the sight of the padre, however, they set off toward the conflagration at a run; Fray Celestino shouting all sorts of orders after them. "Now then, Captain, hurry up. Break that house down! Here, you José, bring the water this way! Pull that other hut down, too, Pedro! Get to work, you lazybones! Whack!" For once I saw Filipinos work with a will. The commands of the padre were obeyed as if they were issued by some fearful being; and at last the fire was isolated and a catastrophe prevented. But the miracle was not wrought through fear for their own lives and property, or through respect for Fray Celestino, but by the might of that thin, flexible rod which constantly fell upon or threatened the backs of the workers. "Oh, these towns of such combustible |