The furry nature of the victim does not in the least incommode the beetle; but the hairiest of all our caterpillars, the Hedgehog Caterpillar, with its undulating mane, partly red and partly black, does seem to be too much for the beetle. Day after day it wanders about the vivarium in company with the assassins. The latter apparently ignore its presence. From time to time one of them will halt, stroll round the hairy creature, examine it, and try to penetrate the tangled fleece. Immediately repulsed by the long, dense palisade of hairs, he retires without inflicting a wound, and the caterpillar proceeds upon its way with undulating mane, in pride and security. But this state of things cannot last. In a hungry moment, emboldened moreover by the presence of his fellows, the cowardly creature decides upon a serious attack. There are four of them; they industriously attack the caterpillar, which finally succumbs, assaulted before and behind. It is eviscerated and swallowed as greedily as though it were a defenceless grub. According to the hazard of discovery, I provision my menagerie with various caterpillars, some smooth and others hairy. All are accepted with the utmost eagerness, so long as they are of average size as compared with the beetles themselves. If too small they are despised, as they would not yield a sufficient mouthful. If they are too large the beetle is unable to handle them. The caterpillars of the Sphinx moth and the Great Peacock moth, for example, would fall an easy prey to the beetle were it not that at the first bite of the assailant the intended victim, by a contortion of its powerful flanks, sends the former flying. After several attacks, all of which end by the beetle being flung back to some considerable distance, the insect regretfully abandons his prey. I have kept two strong and lively caterpillars for a fortnight in the cage of my golden beetles, and nothing more serious occurred. The trick of the suddenly extended posterior was too much for the ferocious mandibles. The chief utility of the Golden Gardener lies in its extermination of all caterpillars that are not too powerful to attack. It has one limitation, however: it is not a climber. It hunts on the ground; never in the foliage overhead. I have never seen it exploring the twigs of even the smallest of bushes. When caged it pays no attention to the most enticing caterpillars if the latter take refuge in a tuft of thyme, at a few inches above the ground. This is a great pity. If only the beetle could climb how rapidly three or four would rid our cabbages of that grievous pest, the larva of the white cabbage butterfly! Alas! the best have always some failing, some vice.