THE BUTTERFLY: HUNTING HIM, 



ftofomber. 



A CORNER of my verandah stands 

 a weapon, always ready, wherewith 

 I do battle against liver, dyspepsia, 

 hypochondria, dull care, "loathed 

 melancholy," and multifarious other 

 natural enemies to peace and long 

 life. It is composed of a light 

 springy stick, about five feet long, 

 to which is attached a ring of iron wire about fifteen inches 

 in diameter, carrying a bag of mosquito-net, or gauze, dyed 

 green. The wire is as light as it can be without becoming 

 so thin as to want stiffness, and the gauze of which the bag 

 is made is soft and open enough to be perfectly trans- 

 parent. The minutest point which may conduce to the 



