THE MEMORY OF A BUTTERFLY 



is the long troop of swarthy gipsies coming up the 

 slope ; pleasant, too, when the gipsies have passed, 

 with their drinking cans and tin ware and jabbering 

 children, and left the spot again to hours of inviolate 

 quiet. The pearl skipper that was here a fortnight 

 since has gone. But still the turf and thyme draw 

 butterflies. There has been a new and large birth 

 of blues lately, the small copper is still untarnished, 

 and the brown argus has appeared, favouring bird's- 

 foot trefoil for nectar. The common ancestry of 

 blue butterfly and brown argus seems certain. On 

 the wing, female blue and the argus are hard to 

 distinguish. Also, argus rests and sleeps exactly as 

 blue does. In flight the argus appears a slight silver- 

 grey figure, with movements a trifle more erratic 

 than the blue's. The precise object of only a few 

 actions of insects are clear to us ; all the others call 

 for long and patient study in detail. We do know 

 why the hive-bee fans, but not really what the 

 touching by one bee of the antennae of another 

 signifies. 



Why the white butterfly flutters among the 

 cabbages is plain, for constantly we see her settle for 

 a few seconds, curl her body, and with it touch the 

 leaf she has gummed to it an egg. But it is not 

 plain what actuates her in the choice of a particular 

 leaf for she does not lay quite at random. It is 

 clear to me also that the memory of the female 

 cabbage-white, seeking the right leaf for^ her sticky 

 treasure, is very defective. One may see her visit 

 and flutter over some cut and withered cabbage 



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