These insects are very discriminating, and if they inadvertently jump into foreign quarters, they take the earliest opportunity which presents itself. of returning to their native home.

In hot weather colonies of fleas are met with living on the bare sand. Any unfortunate caterpillar or worm who may chance to travel through their

domain is immediately pounced upon, and the intruder's life-blood goes to pay toll.

The sharp suctoral beaks possessed by all fleas are used to first wound, and then draw nourishment from their victims.

The inconvenience and irritation of the ordinary flea sinks into insignificance when compared with the discomfort caused by a species rather smaller and possessed of less powerful limbs, found in the West Indies and South America. The "Jigger," as it is

called, is not content with merely sucking the blood of its victim, but the female buries herself between the skin and the flesh, generally of the foot, and also under the nails of the toes. When comfortably ensconced she rapidly grows to the comparatively enormous size of a pea, and, if not extracted, lays her eggs, which speedily hatch out into a colony of little jiggers.

Fortunately the native negresses are very expert in removing these living pests. If allowed to remain in their fleshy abode very dangerous ulcers, sometimes incurable, are the consequence, and cases are on record where the infested foot has had to be amputated.

Although fleas have no wings, they are classed in the same order as the house-fly. Two tiny scales revealed under the microscope, on either side the body, are recognised by naturalists as rudimentary wings. The great jumping powers of these wee creatures have doubtless rendered wings of little use, and therefore the appendages, so necessary for the well-being of most insects, have fallen into disuetude and dwindled to the merest indications of what may probably, at one time, have been respectably sized wings.

A very effectual remedy for the prevention of fleas is found in the following old-fashioned receipt :

"While wormwood hath seed, get a handful or twaine
To save against March, to make flea to refraine;
Where chamber is sweeped, and wormwood is strown,
No flea for his life dare abide to be known."

CHAPTER XXVI,

DRAGONS.

THE early literature of almost every nation abounds with thrilling stories of dragons,

the terrible murders and devastations they committed, and the marvellous courage of the brave young knights, who, single-handed, went forth to deliver their countries from these monsters. We hear of a hideous creature who, on one condition only, promised to spare the town near which it had its lair. The terrible penalty to be paid by the folk for the preservation of their town was that every morning the appetite of the winged destroyer should be satisfied with a dainty dish of fair maiden for its breakfast. The loss of their daughters caused so much weeping and wailing among the parents of the victims that a gallant youth was moved to compassion (when the king's daughter was the allotted portion for the monster's maw), summoned up his courage, with great difficulty and danger overcame the huge creature, threw its dead body into a lake, bore the frightened damsel off in triumph, made her his bride, and lived happy ever after.

In that ancient legend, of which the Germans are so justly proud the Nibelungenliedthere is a story told of how the hero Siegfried slew a frightful dragon, and afterwards bathed in its blood. The magic power of the ruddy fluid rendered him invulnerable in every part, except a small patch on his back. The only person who knew of this spot disclosed the secret to an enemy of Siegfried's, who aimed an arrow which penetrated his body and caused his death.

Then again, on that pretty piece of money which we all so much admire and like to handle

our English sovereign-is depicted the triumph of our patron saint, St. George, over the Dragon-symbolic of the victory of Christianity over Paganism.

In all these tales of terror there is always a brave youth who is willing to risk his life in trying to slay the monster; but when we come to the dragons of insect life, we find that insect bravery does not rise to the height of probable selfsacrifice for the public good.

Such a halo of beauty and poetry surrounds the great dragon-fly, that it is with an almost guilty feeling the bad traits in its character, from an insect's point of view, are revealed. Nothing but admiration and wonder