To the entomologist the wilderness would be a perfect paradise, for it is the breeding place of many things--not all loved by the ordinary mortal. Many species of ants have their homes down there; and paper wasps love to make their wonderful many-celled nests on the old fruit trees. Cicads crawl out of the soil each spring and creep up the gum trunks to shed their husks before they wing out to fill the wilderness with their humming song. [Illustration: _The Paper Wasp’s many-celled nest_] Trapdoor spiders lurk down near the creek, and many of the web-making ones spin their light gossamer from branch to branch. Antlions have their little pits to trap the unwary, and dragonflies flitter restlessly over the water. [Illustration: _The Dragonfly_] Most interesting of all to the non-entomological mind are the butterflies. Down in that tangle of trees, grass and ferns are to be found the larvæ and pupæ of many butterflies which in time develop into living jewels. On dull days, and in late afternoons, the funny little caterpillars of the small blue butterflies march out in a solemn procession to feed on the thick fleshy leaves of the mistletoe which grows so lavishly throughout the wilderness. Later they wander down from the mistletoe clumps and enter the nests of the stodgy brown sugar-ants to pupate. It is strange to think that these gay, blue creatures rise from among such queer bed-fellows to flutter round my garden flowers. For in time all the full-fledged butterflies leave the denseness of the wilderness to hover over my beds of zinnias and larkspurs, outshining the brightest blossoms. Most gorgeous, I think, are the vivid turquoise blue and black ones called Papilio, which attract me by their name as much as by their beauty. Very lovely, also, are the big brown butterflies with the eyes on their wings, while there is a distinct fascination about the little “skippers” which vary in shade from cream to brown, and which are known by their different flight. [Illustration: _The vivid turquoise blue and black Papilio_] The man who made the wilderness garden must have had a true Australian love, for even in the cultivated beds he planted native things. Along the upper fence he put a row of silver wattles; most of them are long since dead, and their bare branches serve as supports for the wandering tecoma and the red-berried solanum. But their children are scattered throughout the wilderness, making a silver-grey mist, which in spring gives way to a golden blaze. They are in every stage of growth, and as the older trees die off there are always new ones coming to perfection. Pittosporums, too, he planted, which fill the mild spring evenings with their heavy sweetness; and many Christmas-bushes. These enjoy the wealth of food which comes from all the leaf-mould and decay, and at Christmas time each year their rosy branches glow like beacons through the green glade. [Illustration: _The formal cypress shape of the Native Cherry_]