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consist of two troops or bodies; of which one contains the sable, and, as it were, mourning nobles, having red or bloody spots at the basis of their wings. These receive names from the Trojan nobles; and the most splendid among them bear the name of Priam. The other body, ornamented with a variety of gay colours, are distinguished by the names of the Grecian heroes; and, as in both armies there are kings as well as officers of an inferior rank, those elegant butterflies whose hinder wings resemble tails are distinguished by some royal name. Thus when Paris is mentioned (knowing that he was a Trojan, and of royal blood) we look for him among those of the first section; i. e., those of a sable colour, spotted in the breast with red, and having their hinder wings resembling tails. When Agamemnon is named, we at once find him among those nobles which have variegated and swallow-tailed wings. But when Nereus is spoken of, we readily know him to belong to the last section, having wings but no tails." The Equites are the first of the six classes into which naturalists divide the genus Papilio; the others being 2nd, Heliconii; 3rd, Parnassii; 4th, Danai; 5th, Nymphales; 6th, Plebii.—Translator's Note to Hoffmeister's Travels in Ceylon.

.—Two ladders have already been erected, one at Moulsey and the other at Teddington. Mr. Buekland thus describes them:—"Two walls are constructed from the top to the foot of the weir (on its slope). Slabs of iron or stone (the stops) are then fixed at right angles into these walls, reaching about four-fifths of the way across the passage. The slots (or passages for the fish between the wall and the end of the stop) come alternately to the right and left, so that when the water runs down the ladder it describes a zigzag (or rather serpentine) course; the fish nosing about the foot of the weir like timid foxhunters galloping up and down a severe bullfinch in search for a gap, are attracted to the foot of the ladder by the current coming down it; they then make a rush through the lowermost opening into the first box or step, then into the next, and next, and so on till they get to the top. If they are tired, they can rest as long as they please in the eddies between each of the stops. It is found, however, in practice, that it does not answer to make the ascent of the ladder too easy, as, if the fish find themselves too comfortable in the eddies, they will stay there, and be liable to become a prey to poachers, as a reward for their laziness."

.—Bustling men, who cannot work and wait, may sneer if they will at the silent patience of the angler; what know they of the still charm which creeps over the senses, helping them to take in with half-unconscious appetite the blessed influence of evening, when the coolness of the earth meets the sinking fire of the sunbeam, and sends an equal pulse of life through every blade and leaf? Then the watcher who stands beside the pool receives into his being that calm which marks the brethren of his craft. He is angling, it is true; he speculates on the indecision of the fish, which—may be, even now deep in the cool water—are circling with suspicious hunger round his bait, loath to swallow, still more loath to leave, the luscious worm. Yet meanwhile, he gathers in, through open senses, store of Nature's truth; he sees and marks, with tenacious observation, countless traits of life—the persevering industry of the insect, the sociable intelligence of the bird, the short history of the summer plant, the steady progress of the growing tree, the shifting architecture of the clouds, the ceaseless machinery of all around that dies to live and lives to die in perpetual succession. But, look! there is a bite. See, the float is uneasy—makes little rings in the water. Now it moves slowly off—and dips a quarter of an inch—now it rises up, and lies on its side: that is sure symptom of a tench. Draw in your slack line, lest you hit your rod against an overhanging branch. Now, strike! Yes, you have him. He is a fine fellow, too. See how he rolls the water up with his tail, like the blade of a revolving screw; down again, head first! Give him play, but by all means keep him in the midst of that clear spot. Ah! he is yielding to the—to him—mysterious power from above. Another last dive, and then he can barely keep his head below the surface. Be quiet, but gentle, with the landing-net; tow him within its open mouth. There; he is safe—at least, in our view of his position. No, poor fellow, that muscular curving of your strong back is of no use to you in the new element to which you are transferred; your slimy life among the weeds is over now; you have swallowed your last mouthful, and must play an altogether passive part throughout your next appearance at a feast.—Jones's Holiday Papers.

.—The young salmon deposited some time since in Badger's Creek, a tributary of the Yarra, are doing well, and are now about three inches long. We have not heard lately how the Hobart Town portion of the great naturalization experiment is getting on, but by last advices it was proceeding prosperously.

.—It is a remarkable feat that no trout or salmon inhabit any of the rivers that fall into the Indian Ocean. This widely distributed order of fish (Salmonidæ) is, however, found in the Oxus, and in all the rivers of Central Asia that flow north and west. The cultural Himalayan rivers often