A year ago, May 1902, I had a peculiar entomological experience. I had returned from Florida to my home in New York about the middle of April, had spent two or three weeks arranging and classifying my captures of the winter, sending off duplicates and doubtful species to specialists, and preparing my collection for the summer months of my absence. A full fortnight must pass before I should leave town for my New Hampshire summer home, and I already pined for a little collecting. Suddenly I recalled the existence of some old boxes of insects which had been crowded out of my regular collection-room some years before. They were in a closet opening from a hall on the second floor. This closet had been built especially for the preservation of woollen clothin and its protection from ravages of the devouring moth, its walls, shelves and drawers being made of red cedar.