:::r.::::*; TWO BIRD-LOVERS IN MEXICO ;*:::::;::: 



bed, and day after day each might be found in its 

 particular haunt. Every insect was different from its 

 neighbour, noticeably so, even on the wing. Some 

 were much larger than others, some darker, some 

 strongly mottled with gray spots. This remarkable 

 variation seemed concomitant with the resemblance 

 to the variety of hues and mottlings which exist 

 among dead and withered leaves. When one of these 

 butterflies was in flight, one could not catch a glimpse 

 of the upper surface of its wings, so quickly were 

 they snapped together. 



The sustaining power, gained by the momentum of 

 this instantaneous downward drop and momentary 

 opening of the wings, was expended in a visibly bal- 

 anced second of rest at the end of each flaj), just as 

 a dead leaf shoots and eddies, slides and twists in its 

 fall to earth. Not only this, but Avhen the insect took 

 to wing it shot almost straight upward, and instantly 

 attained the highest point of its flight. From here to 

 its j)lace of alighting, its course was a gradual descent 

 — this living leaf unconsciously reflecting every detail 

 of the fall of the withered bits of vegetation. And 

 further, when the butterfly alighted, it was not with 

 a fluttering and a few moments of hovering, but as a 

 leaf comes to rest, so the insect — a sudden drop to the 

 very ground, wings snapped together, and the appar- 

 ently dried, worm-eaten leaf leaned far over to one 

 side and swayed with every breath of air. Day after 



" <i- 242 ^ 



