In this case the subject of research was the habits of the Carabus auratus, the little vermin-killer of our gardens, who is therefore vulgarly known as the Gardener Beetle. How far is this title deserved? What game does the Gardener Beetle hunt? From what vermin does he free our beds and borders? His dealings with the procession of pine-caterpillars promise much. Let us continue our inquiry. On various occasions about the end of April the gardens afford me the sight of such processions, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. I capture them and place them in the vivarium. Bloodshed commences the moment the banquet is served. The caterpillars are eviscerated; each by a single beetle, or by several simultaneously. In less than fifteen minutes the flock is completely exterminated. Nothing remains but a few shapeless fragments, which are carried hither and thither, to be consumed at leisure under the shelter of the wooden board. One well-fed beetle decamps, his booty in his jaws, hoping to finish his feast in peace. He is met by companions who are attracted by the morsel hanging from the mandibles of the fugitive, and audaciously attempt to rob him. First two, then three, they all endeavour to deprive the legitimate owner of his prize. Each seizes the fragment, tugs at it, commences to swallow it without further ado. There is no actual battle; no violent assaults, as in the case of dogs disputing a bone. Their efforts are confined to the attempted theft. If the legitimate owner retains his hold they consume his booty in common, mandibles to mandibles, until the fragment is torn or bitten through, and each retires with his mouthful. As I found to my cost in bygone experiments, the pine-caterpillar wields a violently corrosive poison, which produces a painful rash upon the hands. It must therefore, one would think, form a somewhat highly seasoned diet. The beetles, however, delight in it. No matter how many flocks I provide them with, they are all consumed. But no one, that I know of, has ever found the Golden Gardener and its larva in the silken cocoons of the Bombyx. I do not expect ever to make such a discovery. These cocoons are inhabited only in winter, when the Gardener is indifferent to food, and lies torpid in the earth. In April, however, when the processions of larvae are seeking a suitable site for burial and metamorphosis, the Gardener should profit largely by its good fortune should it by any chance encounter them.