observers and inclined to extravagant denominations. The scholar
accepted the rural locution, the work perhaps of the imagination of
childhood, and applied it at hazard without informing himself more
particularly. The word came down to us embalmed with age; our modern
naturalists have accepted it, and thus one of our handsomest insects has
become the "fuller." The majesty of antiquity has consecrated the
strange appellation.

In spite of all my respect for the antique, I cannot myself accept the
term "fuller," because under the circumstances it is absurd. Common
sense should be considered before the aberrations of nomenclature. Why
not call our subject the Pine-chafer, in reference to the beloved tree,
the paradise of the insect during the two or three weeks of its aerial
life? Nothing could be simpler, or more appropriate, to give the better
reason last.

We have to wander for ages in the night of absurdity before we reach the
radiant light of the truth. All our sciences witness to this fact; even
the science of numbers. Try to add a column of Roman figures; you will
abandon the task, stupefied by the confusion of symbols; and will
recognise what a revolution was made in arithmetic by the discovery of
the zero. Like the egg of Columbus, it was a very little thing, but it
had to be thought of.

While hoping that the future will sink the unfortunate "fuller" in
oblivion, we will use the term "pine chafer" between ourselves. Under
that name no one can possibly mistake the insect in question, which
frequents the pine-tree only.

It has a handsome and dignified appearance, rivalling that of _Oryctes
nasicornis_. Its costume, if it has not the metallic splendour dear to
the Scarabaei, the Buprestes and the rose-beetles, is at least unusually
elegant. A black or chestnut background is thickly sown with
capriciously shaped spots of white velvet; a fashion both modest and
handsome.

The male bears at the end of his short antennae a kind of plume
consisting of seven large superimposed plates or leaves, which, opening
and closing like the sticks of a fan, betray the emotions that possess
him. At first sight it seems that this magnificent foliage must form a
sense-organ of great perfection, capable of perceiving subtle odours, or
almost inaudible vibrations of the air, or other phenomena to which our
senses fail to respond; but the female warns us that we must not place
too much reliance on such ideas; for although her mat