Colour, its Nature and Recognition. 2*.) 



very special purposes. Such is actually the case. The sense organs 

 are frequently picked out with black, as witness the noses of dogs, 

 the tips of their ears, the insertion of their vibrissse, or whiskers, and 

 so on ; and white is the most usual warning or distinctive colour, as 

 we see in the white stripes of the badger and skunk, the white spots 

 of deer, and the white tail of the rabbit. 



Colour, then, as expressed in definite tints and patterns, is no 

 accident ; for although, as Wallace has well said, " colour is the 

 normal character," yet we think that this colour would, if unrestrained 

 and undirected, be indefinite, and could not produce definite tints, 

 nor the more complicated phenomenon of patterns, in which definite 

 hues are not merely confined to definite tracts, but so frequently 

 contrasted in the most exquisite manner. As we write, the beautiful 

 Red Admiral ( V. atalanta) is sporting in the garden; and who can 

 view its glossy black velvet coat, barred with vividest crimson, and 

 picked out with purest snow white, and doubt for an instant that its 

 robe is not merely the product of law, but the supreme effort of an 

 important law? Mark the habits of this lovely insect. See how 

 proudly it displays its rich decorations ; sitting with expanded 

 wings on the branch of a tree, gently vibrating them as it basks in 

 the bright sunshine ; and you know, once and for all, that the object 

 of that colour is display. But softly — we have moved too rudely, 

 and it is alarmed. The wings close, and where is its beauty now % 

 Hidden by the sombre specklings of its under wings. See, it has 

 pitched upon a slender twig, and notice how instinctively (shall we 

 say X) it arranges itself in the line of the branch : if it sat athwart it 

 would be prominent, but as it sits there motionless it is not only 

 almost invisible, but it knows it ; for you can pick it up in your hands, 

 as we have done scores of times. It is not enough, if we would know 

 nature, to study it in cabinets. There is too much of this dry-bone 

 work in existence. The object of nature is life; and only in living 

 beings can we learn how and why they fulfil their ends. 



Here, in this common British butterfly, we have the whole 

 problem set before us — vivid colour, the result of intense and long 

 continued effort ; grand display, the object of that colour ; 

 dusky, indefinite colour, for concealment; and the "instinctive" 

 pose, to make that protective colour profitable. The insect knows 

 all this in some way. How it knows we must now endeavour to 

 find out. 



In attacking this problem we must ask ourselves, What are the 



