THE WOOD-NYMPH BUTTERFLY. 21 



The aroina of ripening grain greets my nos- 

 trils the sound of the reaper my ears. The 

 wild raspberries are turning purple in the June 

 sunshine. The elder blossoms are fair and 

 white in the full beauty of their bloom. To-day 

 I wish the free air of heaven to blow unhindered 

 against my brow. Let it be undammed by any 

 device of man. Let it surge and roll about me, 

 bringing new energy into my being. 



The Neonympha butterfly 2 nymph of the 

 woods flits beside me, fluttering just above the 

 blue-grass tops or even between its stems ; com- 

 ing at times so close that I could reach it from 

 where I sit. This little wood-brown fly is dull 

 in color but quick in action. It flutters with a 

 short, jerky movement ever close to earth ; seek- 

 ing either a mate or food-plant to its liking. 

 Rest, it seems to know not. I have taken them 

 on the sand dunes of Lake Michigan and amidst 

 the pine woods of Florida, but have never seen 

 a specimen alight for more than a few seconds 

 at a time. During the twenty minutes I have 

 watched the one before me it has paused but 



Fab. 



