em,
enabling them to live as it were by the suction of their numerous
mouths, rather than by nourishment transmitted by a root in contact
with that which would refuse to yield the ordinary food of plants. And
as he thus marked all these peculiar adaptations of plants to their
respective situations, his mind was by a constant train of thought
directed from the beauty and wondrous mechanism of the creature, to
contemplate the supreme and ineffable glory of the Creator.'

With a mind so predisposed and so fitted for the study of entomology,
a casual occurrence of a trivial nature was sufficient to awaken and
give it direction. 'Observing accidentally, one morning, a very
beautiful golden bug creeping on the sill of my window, I took it up
to examine it, and finding that its wings were of a more yellow hue
than was common to my observation of these insects before, I was
anxious carefully to examine any other of its peculiarities; and
finding that it had twenty-two beautiful clear black spots upon its
back, my captured animal was imprisoned in a bottle of gin, for the
purpose, as I supposed, of killing him. On the following morning,
anxious to pursue my observation, I took it again from the gin, and
laid it on the window-sill to dry, thinking it dead; but the warmth of
the sun very soon revived it: and hence commenced my further pursuit
of this branch of natural history.'

A Dr Gwyn of Ipswich was his preceptor in this study. 'Though now in
his seventy-fifth year, so much was the good old doctor interested in
the pursuit of his friend, that he would frequently walk over to
Barham, a distance of five miles, to see what had been the success of
recent perambulations. The parsonage-house was then approached by a
narrow wicket, with posts higher than the gate, and often, while
working in his garden, or sitting in his parlour, Mr Kirby would look
up and see, to his great delight, the shovel hat of his facetious
friend adorning one post, and the cumbrous wig and appertaining
pig-tail ornamenting the other. And soon the kind old man would walk
in with his bald head, as he used to say, cool and ready for the
investigation. These visits were always hailed with pleasure, the
delights of which were still fresh in the memory of Mr Kirby, and
would call forth expressions of affectionate gratitude, even when
nearly half a century had elapsed, after his friend and Maecenas, as he
loved to call him, had gone to his rest.'

There seems no