But it is not needful to go into details on a point of importance only to a few, the general habits of the insects in question are more interesting to the many; and I should observe that both agree in the habit of constructing nests of silk, into which the caterpillars retreat during the day, and in which they remain during the seasons when they are passing through a change of skin, and are glad to remain quiet and under shelter. Some, however, assert that on dull days they will occasionally come forth to feed, and estimates also vary as to the number in a nest, calculations reaching from 150 to 400 individuals.

M. Wittich, who had one of these species under his observation at Nice, in the winter and spring of the present year, to some extent confirms what had been reported concerning the marches or processions by the observers of former times. There were a number of broods on some fir-trees, and through the winter months they remained quite inactive, until the warmth of the spring sunshine roused them from their hybernation about the middle of March. They at first descended from the trees by ones and twos, and afterwards formed processions, which were composed of, as the observer estimates, froin twenty to a hundred caterpillars, "all marching in admirable order." Yet M. Wittich adds, "I have also seen them walking three or four abreast, but not often." The inference from this is, that the processions he principally noticed were made up of long lines of single caterpillars, or files of two deep. The regularity of these turn-outs must sometimes be considerably interfered with by the attacks of a ferocious

which, watching its opportunity, rushes upon them as they quit their nest, and so gorges itself with the luckless Processionaries that it is sometimes quite unable to move. The mature beetle also feeds upon the caterpillars, but does not commit so much havoc. This is certainly a "sycophant" of a desperate sort, and, what is rather remarkable, in both stages the beetle bids defiance to the irritant hairs of the caterpillar, which, when they come in contact with the human skin, produce painful and even, in some cases, dangerous effects. The fact was known to the old Romans, if Pliny is to be believed, and a law punished severely those persons who attempted to injure others by means of the hairs of this insect.

There are several species of moth common in Britain, which in their caterpillar condition live in a gregarious manner, and form nests, such as the Browntail (Liparis Chrysorrhea), the Small Egger (Eriogaster lanestris), and the Lackey (Bombyx neustria). These leave their nests in parties to feed, yet not with the set regularity of the "Procession" species. Some will often be observed going out while others are returning home, and they mostly proceed from one twig to another in an irregular manner, but they have instinct sufficient to find their way back. The young caterpillars of the Buff Tip (Pygara Bucephala), when first hatched keep together in parties of about forty, extending themselves in a fanlike manner as they devour a leaf. After the first change of skin they separate. Those of the Gothic (Nania typica) move along a leaf in the same way for about a fortnight, keeping close to each other, and leaving brown patches behind their march; they also become solitary in habit when older.

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CUT-SING, the Taiping emissary, with his band of recruits, occupied one of the two boats which preceded that containing the mandarin and his daughter, the other being loaded with merchandise. As they dropped down the Peiho River, the boats kept within hail of each other. When the storm came on, and the mandarin's boat was moored alongside the right bank, Cut-sing gave orders to the boatmen to follow its example. Then all on board improved the occasion, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest, by partaking of their evening meal of

rice and fish.

The Taiping emissary sat aloof from his companions in the stern of the boat, glancing furtively between the matting at the craft in the distance, as if to catch a glimpse of its inmates while lit up by the vivid flashes of lightning. His countenance wore its natural sinister expression as he brooded over the contemptuous manner in which he had been treated by Meng-kee, and the slights A-Lee had cast upon his advances.

While a train of evil thoughts was passing through his mind the storm was at its highest, and the reverberation of the thunder appeared to his fancy to echo his sentiments. When it cleared off his reflections gave way to the emergencies of the moment, and he became alive to the perils of the position in which he was placed. Although he had no reason to suspect the loyalty of his recruits to the Taiping

cause, yet he dreaded, what was just possible, that at some unguarded moment one more simple than the others might divulge their secret. Hence he had planned their movements on the route so that they should avoid being seen by the authorities. As there was a customs station on the river under the charge of a mandarin, where passengers and goods were examined, he had arranged with the boatmen

who were friendly to the cause-to try and evade that post under cover of the darkness. The delay caused by the thunderstorm had thrown him out in his reckoning, and he eagerly inquired if they could now reach the spot before daylight. To his consternation he learned that it was as much as the boats could do to sail so far by that time; consequently, he gave orders to start at once without waiting for the mandarin's boat.

All was bustle now on board, and the passengers willingly assisted the boatmen to get their craft under way. These recruits were twenty in number, and formed a motley crew, even under a Chinese flag. Some had been ordinary tradesmen who had fallen into difficulties, and were indifferent as to the religious or political phase of the cause they had espoused so long as they could make something by

it.

Others were of even a less sincere frame of mind, who bent their thoughts upon plunder during the raids of the Taiping hordes on the industrious loyal inhabitants. Only a few of them joined the

movement from religious convictions, and these were Christian converts like Meng-kee. One motive, however, united them to join the rebellion, and that was to aid in overthrowing the obnoxious ManchooTartar power, and restore the ancient Chinese rule.

The majority of these men were not without means, as the second boat was well laden with merchandise which was likely to find a profitable market where they were going. Moreover, this cargo of goods would give colour to their ostensible object as traders proceeding to traffic with the foreign troops at Tien-tsin.

At starting, the breeze was light but favourable, and continued so well into the night. Most of the adventurers were confident of passing the barrier station without molestation before daylight, and after drinking their tea and smoking their pipes they lay down to sleep. About midnight, however, they were aroused from their slumbers by the boatmen calling on them to rise and assist in propelling the boats by oars, as it was almost a calm, and they were yet many miles from the mandarin's post.

Up jumped the sleepers with alacrity, and manned the steer-oars of the two boats. There was only one to each boat, but they were enormous sweeps, requiring two pair of hands to scull with. The labour was heavy to those unaccustomed to it, but they worked with a will, making good progress where the current was most favourable. Then the breeze freshened towards morning and the sails were lowered. As the dawn lightened the horizon over the Gulf of Pee-chee-lee, the two banners, which are hoisted as official insignia at every custom-house station, were fluttering in the breeze.

Up to this, the scullers with the heavy, long sweeps kept time by singing a Chinese sailor's refrain, accompanied by stamping with their feet on the deck, as the handle of the sweep was swung to and fro, which had a spirit-stirring effect upon the men. Now as they approached the customs station the song and tramp were hushed. Silently and softly the boats were propelled by the huge oars, and there was every prospect of their passing it without being observed. As they neared the post, it was seen, to their dismay, that a gunboat belonging to the Chinese navy was at anchor in the river. This class of vessels are not so formidable as those in our own navy, yet they are well armed and manned for native warfare.

Steering close in shore on the opposite bank, they tried to slip past unnoticed, but when they came abaft of the gunboat, a dog on board commenced barking, which raised an alarm, and the watch on deck hailed them to stop. No notice was taken of this, excepting to ply the sweeps more vigorously. Unfortunately for the adventurers, the river at this point formed a straight long reach, without a tree or shrub on the banks to screen the boats from the outlook at the station. That they were visible from there was soon unpleasantly evident, for the gunboat fired a shot right ahead of their course. Then they observed her unmooring and preparing to give chase.

Matters now began to look serious, and it became a question whether they should risk the chance of escaping or bring to at once. Cut-sing and his recruits were for attempting the former, but the boatmen were resolved on the latter. A second shot which struck the water not far from the leading boat settled the question, and it was deemed most prudent

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to stop and sail back to the customs station. cordingly, the boats' heads were veered round, and the sails hoisted to the favouring breeze up the river. In order to avoid suspicion also, the passengers were told to resume their sleeping places, as if they had nothing to do with working the boats.

The commander of the gunboat seeing them retiring under sail ceased his preparations for a chase. When they came within hail he rated the boatmen soundly for attempting to pass without reporting their passengers and cargo at the station. They humbly excused themselves by saying there were no goods on board liable to duty, and that the passengers were going to trade with the foreign troops at Tientsin. Cut-sing corroborated this statement, and begged in the most humble manner that he and his fellow-passengers should be allowed to proceed on their voyage. This the commander peremptorily objected to, saying that he had strict orders from the government to examine all boats and passengers on the Peiho, since the occupation of the country by the "barbarian" soldiers.

On shore the officials at the station had turned out, and the mandarin in charge gave orders to his underlings to see that the suspicious craft were hauled alongside the river bank for examination. When this was effected he ordered the passengers to land with their baggage, while the merchandise in the cargo-boat was inspected. Nothing subject to the transit dues was found, as they are levied chiefly on imported articles or native produce on its way from the maritime provinces into the interior, of which salt is one of the most highly-taxed commodities.

The passengers were then marched up to the custom-house, where each person was questioned separately, and his trunk or bundle examined. Here no contraband articles were seized, but when the inspector opened a sheepskin-covered trunk, having one of the curious brass padlocks of the Chinese, he pulled out a gorgeous mandarin's robe of yellow satin, embroidered with the imperial dragon.

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Hi-yah!" exclaimed the commander of the gunboat; "whose trunk is this?"

No one acknowledged himself to be the owner until the head boatman was interrogated, when he pointed out Wo Cut-sing, whose name was stamped on the trunk. As it was no use evading the ownership, the Taiping emissary at once declared it to be his.

"Your excellency," continued the naval officer, addressing the customs official, "this is no case of smuggling; but I am specially enjoined to seize all articles bearing the imperial insignia in the possession of our countrymen, since the sacking and burning of the emperor's palace of Yuen-ming-yuen; and this robe of the imperial yellow pattern appears to be part of the plunder!"

Hi-yah!" replied his colleague, "this matter must be investigated. Clear the court of all these people and their baggage, excepting this man and his trunk, that we may question him." Upon saying which he ascended to his official chair, accompanied by the commander of the gunboat, who ordered a guard of armed men from his vessel into court.

When all was ready for his examination Cut-sing was surrounded by the guard and customs officials. It required all his nerve to face the matter boldly while he braced himself up for the worst that might

occasion.

"How came you by that imperial robe?" was the first question of the customs mandarin.

"I bought it at a clothes shop in Peking," answered Cut-sing; "I can give you the man's name and address, and here is the receipt for the robe and other articles, where you will see that I paid him a fair price for it," handing up a note to the magistrate. It was critically examined, and there was no reason to doubt the statement given.

"But were you not aware that the robe was stolen from the summer palace?"

"No! I was told that it had been a dress worn by some actor in a theatre, who became poor and sold it to get food."

"That is false ! See you not that it is rich satin of the imperial colour, embroidered, and of a shape only worn by the emperor and high officers of state?" Being a poor, ignorant man, I know not these things.'

What, then, were you intending to do with it?" "Your excellency, I am a small trader, and thought of making profit by its sale at Tien-tsin."

"Ah! to these cursed barbarians, who have robbed our celestial monarch of his choicest wardrobes," struck in the naval commander. "" They shall never handle it. By the authority I hold, I seize it, and take you a prisoner to Peking, where you will be confronted with the shopkeeper.

"Oh, do not take me prisoner, your noble excellency!" Cut-sing responded. "You may take the robe, but let me go my way in peace."

"You are a suspicious-looking character," remarked the customs mandarin. "Is there any person of respectability among your fellow-passengers who will vouch for your honesty?"

"Yes! yes! he exclaimed in trepidation; "all of them can do so, and will become bond for me if necessary. Besides, there is a mandarin coming down the river in a boat who will befriend me. And there he is," pointing to the door.

At this juncture Meng-kee appeared upon the threshold of the custom-house, and walked in with his usual dignified manner, bowing politely to the magistrate on the bench, who returned his salutations, while they invited him to sit beside them. The case was explained, the robe displayed, and the reference made by the owner to him as one who could vouch for his honesty. Meng-kee replied very guardedly, stating, however, that he had known Cut-sing in Peking, and had no reason to doubt his statement of having purchased the robe in ignorance of its being imperial property. Besides, they had the name and address of the clothes' vendor, who could be punished for receiving it.

After a short consultation it was agreed that Cutsing should be allowed to prosecute his voyage, with the other passengers, taking with him all his effects, excepting the imperial robe. He made many abject obeisances to the mandarins on hearing their decision, and was profuse in his thanks to Meng-kee.

By this time the morning was well advanced, and the sun shone brightly, with a brisk breeze from the east, which was pretty favourable for the voyage to Tien-tsin. It may be supposed that the boatmen and their passengers were rejoiced to get under way from such a dangerous neighbourhood, and that the Taiping emissary thought himself fortunate in getting

serious. However, he could not help deploring the loss of the beautiful robe, for which he expected to get a high price from one of the Taiping chiefs, who would have prized it and worn it as a veritable regal costume.

TYROLESE TALES AND LEGENDS.

THE

HE grand scenery and the romantic history of the Tyrol are familiar to many, but there are few strangers who know much about the language and traditions, the life and character of the people. The Countess von Günther, authoress of "Tales and Legends of the Tyrol " (Chapman and Hall), has wandered long and often among the unfrequented mountain paths and passes, an enthusiastic admirer of the natural wonders of the district, and also a diligent collector of the strange stories which form the unwritten literature of the Tyrolese.

A large proportion of these legends are about ghosts and fairies, giants and sorcerers, haunted ruins and buried treasures, with other marvellous topics, all clearly showing how ignorant and superstitious the poor people are to this day. They have good qualities, as most mountain races have; but the light of knowledge and religion has sent few rays into their minds. Some of the legends almost seem as if they owed their origin to the priests, in order to perpetuate their influence over the credulous peasants, as in the story of the great glacier called the Vedretta Marmolata.

Near the village of Buchenstein rises an enormous Ferner, or glacier, on the borders of which the neighbouring parishes, especially the farmers of Sottil, Sottinghäzza, and Roucat, pasture large herds of cows. Only a small valley separates this spot from the village of Ornella, which, on account of its position, from November to February is devoid of every beam of sun. The aforesaid Ferner, which is above 11,000 feet high, is called the Vedretta Marmolata, and where now its icy fields extend, there used once to be the most beautiful Alpine meadows and pasture grounds.

A peasant of Sottil on one Assumption Day had brought down from these meadows a cart-load of hay, and was about to ascend the mountain again for another, when his neighbours set upon him, and upbraided him for working on such a great fete day. But he laughed and jeered at them, saying, "What will Heaven care if even I make hay on a feast day?" And, saying this, he set off up the mountain.

Just as he was on the point of loading his cart, he noticed that the dolomite rocks above began to assume most extraordinary forms, and even to move about from place to place; dark mists began to rise, which at every moment became more and more dense, and then a heavy snow fell, which buried him and his cattle, and froze them into blocks.

On the following morning there was nothing to be seen but a glacier, and the peasants say, "There above are the cart and cattle, master and meadow, which have been changed into that Ferner."

Somewhat similar is the legend of the Two Haystacks. One of the most beautiful and noted Alps in the Tyrol is the Seisser-Alp, in the Eisack valley, near which stands the Schlern, 8,100 feet high, with its two pyramids of dolomite rock. About four

miles from the Schlern, and joining the wonderful Rosen Garten of King Laurin, are the Rothe Wand and the Roth Wies, out of which rise two enormous peaks. On the Schlern pilgrims resort to the Holy Cassian, and on the day of this saint, the fifth of August, there takes place every year a great fête in the chapel, which stands on the spot. From the parish of Völs, which lies about nine miles lower down, the inhabitants wend on that day up the mountain to the chapel, and all the mountaineers from the Seisser-Alp assemble there in their Sunday's best to fête the saint.

One day it came into the mind of a farmer to make hay on St. Cassian's day. His servant reluctantly obeyed his commands, and his neighbours kind-heartedly warned him that it was a crime to make hay on the day of the saint who was so universally revered. But the farmer laughed mockingly, and said, "Cassiantag hin, Cassiantag her, 'S Heu muss in die Schober! ("Be it Cassian's day or not, the hay must up upon the stacks!") and so he worked on the faster with his servants. At last all the hay, after having been raked together, was pitched up in two large heaps, which are called there Schober," and as the last forkful was thrown upon the top, the two "Heuschober" (haystacks) were turned into stone, and in this shape they still stand on the same spot as an everlasting warning. Since that time no one has ever again thought of working on St. Cassian's day!

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Another pair of rocks, in a lake in the UnderInn valley, have a more romantic legendary origin. Near Kramsach, in the Under-Inn valley, on the spot where the Brandenburg Achenthal commences, lie on the Middle mountain some sraall lakes, and above the farms called Mösern and Freundsheim, about three miles above Kramsach, stands another beautiful lake, close beneath the Mooswand mountain, and above the lake is still to be seen the ruin of an old stronghold, called the Guckenbühl. The daughter of the last baron who resided there was passionately fond of a poor forester, and when the proud and cruel baron came to hear of the secret rendezvous between his daughter and the huntsman, he ordered him one pitch-dark night to be chased out of the castle by the hounds, and, in the hurry of the flight, the poor fellow fell over a rock into the See, and was drowned.

After this act of cruelty and injustice, the poor girl wandered about silent and abstracted, and would neither enter into any amusement, nor take part in any ordinary pursuit of life. One day she went with her maid down to the lake, and, as she looked into its gloomy depths, she saw the dead body of her lover, and, in the frenzy of grief, she threw herself down into the water. The maid ran home recounting this misfortune, and when the wicked baron, with all his retinue, arrived on the borders of the lake, neither the body of his poor daughter nor that of the forester were to be found. The two lovers had been changed into rocks, both of which rise out of the lake, like little islands; the one overgrown with ferns and water weeds, and the other bare as a polished piece of granite.

The tale of the Fraülein von Maretsch is another tragic love legend.

At midnight there is often to be seen in the old castle of Maretsch the spirit of a young lady, who wanders about, crying and wringing her hands, as though in the most terrible grief. Her long soft

hair is blown wildly about by the wind, her beautiful face is deadly pale, and her eyes are fixed and staring. This is Fräulein von Maretsch, the only daughter of the Baron von Maretsch, and once noted as the most beautiful girl of the whole country.

Although scarcely sixteen years of age, she was passionately enamoured of the young and brave Baron von Treuenstein, who under Frederick the Red Beard, together with all the Tyrolian nobility, took part in his crusade, for the glory of knighthood in fighting against the infidels, which, according to the promise of the old Baron von Maretsch, should entitle him to his beautiful daughter for a wife.

Two years had already gone by since the hopeful young warrior had left the country, after having received the blessing of the old baron, when one day a pilgrim from Palestine craved admission to the castle, and recounted the bloody battles of the Crusaders against the Saracens. In the course of his narrative he came to speak of the young Baron von Treuenstein, and said that he had conquered large districts, and at last had married the daughter of a rich pacha, and made himself happy for ever.

On hearing this, Kunigunde turned deadly pale, and sank swooning to the ground; her attendants carried her senseless to her room, for the news of this dreadful infidelity had broken her heart.

"Let

Directly the young lady had left the room, the pilgrim sprang joyfully up, pressed the old baron to his heart, threw away his pilgrim's garb, and in bright armour appeared before him as the Baron von Treuenstein, who had masked himself in this manner to prove the fidelity of his bride. us now quickly go to my dear Kunigunde," said he to the father, "to dispel the grief and pain which I have caused her;" and with high beating hearts they crossed the corridor which led into the young lady's room.

But the room was empty, and the window open; and as they looked down into the moat which surrounded the castle, they saw the unfortunate girl lying crushed and blood-covered in the depth below. The untimely grief had caused her to lose her senses, and in this condition she sprang into the arms of death.

At that sight the young baron became speechless. He rushed away to the battle-field, and nobody ever heard of him again, while the poor old father died soon afterwards of grief; and since that time the spirit of the unhappy girl is condemned to wander about the ruined castle of Maretsch.

Except from being associated with local names and scenes, there are many of the stories which might belong to any country where popular superstitions abound. The tale of "The Witch's Vengeance" might have been credited at no remote period in rural districts of our own country.

At Sterz, about an hour's walk from Brixen, on the line from Innsbruck to Verona, close beneath the mountain called Rodeneck, there lived some fifty years ago in a fine farm-house a well-to-do young couple with one child. In all the villages round about an old beggar woman was much dreaded as a witch, and this woman came very often to the farm begging. The good people of the farm used to give her directly all she desired, just to rid themselves of her importunities. But one day the farm-labourers made up their minds to discover whether the old hag was really a witch or not, and after she had entered the room, they set a broom on end before the door.