152 Bugs, Butterflies, and Beetles 



Thoreau who possessed ideality, which every real 

 boy has. Thoreau had a warm fellow-feeling and 

 real sympathy for ever}i;hing that lived, and the 

 joyous enthusiasm of a boy because he had the 

 clean soul of a boy. 



You, my readers, are all Thoreaus because you 

 are boys. And it is because you are boys I write 

 as I feel and not as some men would have me write 

 of the butterflies we see glinting in the sunlight, 

 flitting from flower to flower, idly loafing on a 

 milkweed blossom, opening and closing their wings 

 in their dainty, languid fashion, or collecting in 

 crowds and making blotches of moving color 

 around the damp places in the roads and barn- 

 yards. 



Yes, butterflies are beautiful, they are artistic, 

 but there is another side to the story: they are the 

 good Dr. Jekylls of that famous novel and the 

 caterpillars are the wicked Mr. Hydes. 



Everyone who is interested in forest shade trees, 

 in farms, in flowers, in gardens, and everyone who 

 thinks he is not interested in these things, but uses 

 wooden furniture made from forest trees, eats 

 vegetables, fruit and grain grown on the farms, 

 wears a flower in his buttonhole, uses paper on 



