when I might find a difficulty in seeing my way. Remaining among the
outermost trees, I painted the trunks with my treacherous mixture--which
allured the insects of the night, and stupefied them when they settled on
its rank surface. The snare being set, I waited to see the intoxication
of the moths.

A time passed, dull and dreary. The mysterious assemblage of trees was
blacker than the blackening sky. Of millions of leaves over my head, none
pleased my ear, in the airless calm, with their rustling summer song.

The first flying creatures, dimly visible by moments under the gloomy
sky, were enemies whom I well knew by experience. Many a fine insect
specimen have I lost, when the bats were near me in search of their
evening meal.

What had happened before, in other woods, happened now. The first moth
that I had snared was a large one, and a specimen well worth securing. As
I stretched out my hand to take it, the apparition of a flying shadow
passed, swift and noiseless, between me and the tree. In less than an
instant the insect was snatched away, when my fingers were within an inch
of it. The bat had begun his supper, and the man and the mixture had
provided it for him.

Out of five moths caught, I became the victim of clever theft in the case
of three. The other two, of no great value as specimens, I was just quick
enough to secure. Under other circumstances, my patience as a collector
would still have been a match for the dexterity of the bats. But on that
evening--a memorable evening when I look back at it now--my spirits were
depressed, and I was easily discouraged. My favorite studies of the
insect-world seemed to have lost their value in my estimation. In the