160 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



forget that they had wings. But not for long, for 

 now with a shimmering glitter our darning-needle 

 invades the scene, and retires to a convenient 

 perch with a ruby-eyed fly in his teeth, while a 

 swarm of very startled butterflies tells conspicu- 

 ously of the demoralization which he has left in 

 his path. Among the butterfly representatives I 

 at length observed one individual which at first 

 had escaped me, an exclusive white cabbage-but- 

 terfly which sipped quietly at his leaf in the 

 shade, and seemed to take little interest in the 

 disreputable actions of his associates. Nothing 

 could move him or entice him away from his 

 convivial employment. But, alas ! his folly soon 

 found him out, for, on happening to look again, I 

 observed he had found a new acquaintance — a 

 hornet that had evidently been long desirous of 

 meeting him. One by one I saw my butterfly's 

 dismembered wings fall to the grassy jungle be- 

 low, while a big black wasp proceeded to enjoy 

 the collected sweets which he had doubtless ob- 

 served were being so carefully stored away there 

 in the shady retreat. 



And now my pretty black butterfly — no, it 

 proved to be the little day-flying grape-vine-moth, 

 the eight-spotted black Alypia — appeared from 

 some unseen source, and spun his crapy white- 



