BUTTERFLY IDIOSYNCRASIES 119 



One year this grove and the woods about 

 was the scene of a remarkable visitation of 

 butterflies. They were nearly all of one spe- 

 cies, the common large reddish one called the 

 Monarch, or tawny-orange butterfly, I believe. 

 When it was still, the air was simply full of 

 them, silent, mysterious, wafted along by the 

 light summer air without apparent effort of 

 their own, like tiny boats with gay sails 

 spread, floating in the air. But every day 

 about half-past ten a stronger breeze sprang 

 up, and in a few minutes the whole fleet had 

 disappeared, not a butterfly to be seen. In 

 the old grove they had taken refuge, and 

 there they collected by thousands, settling 

 themselves as if to sleep, in crowds, close to- 

 gether. They appeared to have a choice in 

 situations. Some branches were entirely cov- 

 ered, while others next to them were empty. 



One small tree was a particular favorite 

 with the butterflies, being literally hidden 

 by the masses, while more kept trying to 

 join them. As soon as a party of them 

 were settled they folded their wings together 

 over the back, showing only the dull lining, 

 but when another straggler attempted to 



