The fires of St.John, reminiscences of the festivals of the Sun, which the children light in the village streets, are not more punctual in their date.
At this season, in the hours of twilight, the Pine-chafer comes every evening if the weather is fine, to visit the pine-trees in the garden.

I follow its evolutions with my eyes.

With a silent flight, not without spirit, the males especially wheel and wheel about, extending their great antennary plumes; they go to and fro, to and fro, a procession of flying shadows upon the pale blue of the sky in which the last light of day is dying.

They settle, take flight again, and once more resume their busy rounds.

What are they doing up there during the fortnight of their festival?
The answer is evident: they are courting their mates, and they continue to render their homage until the fall of night.