300 FACT AGAINST FICTION. 



a huntsman, to see him find and kill the fresli 

 game he was evidently beating for ; alas ! — 



'' There are bucks and raes, 

 On Billliope braes, 

 There 's a herd in Shortwood shaw ; 

 But a lilyvvhite doe in the garden gaes, 

 An' she 's fairly worth them a'.'' 



A butterfly J we will call it so, then came over 

 the brow of the moor, so modestly gay, so 

 winsome of flight, so gracefully afoot, and so 

 attractive to my chivalrous proclivities, that the 

 beetle and his sporting attributes were eclij^sed, 

 and, applying to myself the words of the song, 

 " Poor insect, what a little day is thine," 



I set about dedicating to the butterfly that high- 

 souled lofty homage which beauty ought ever to 

 command. 



Well, then, to descend from heaven to earth, 

 or, at all events, from the regions of air to the 

 more lovely things that, each a lesson in itself 

 to boastful man, wend their way through life's 

 intricacies. 



Wherever we look we see, or we ought to see, 

 that after all instinct is really more or less reason, 

 and an object can dwell in tlie brain even of tlie 

 flea and the New Forest fly, beyond the love of 



