A JUNGLE CLEARING 37 



White butterflies flitted past, then a yellow one, 

 and finally a real Monarch. In my boy-land, 

 smudgy specimens of this were pinned, earnestly 

 but asymetrically, in cigar-boxes, under the title 

 of Danais archippus. At present no reputable 

 entomologist would think of calling it other than 

 Anosia pleocippus, nor should I; but the particu- 

 lar thrill which it gave to-day was that this self- 

 same species should wander along at this mo- 

 ment to mosaic into my boreal muse. 



After a little time, with only the hum of the 

 bees and the staccato cicadas, a double deceit was 

 perpetrated, one which my sentiment of the mo- 

 ment seized upon and rejoiced in, but at which 

 my mind had to conceal a smile and turn its con- 

 sciousness quickly elsewhere, to prevent an obtru- 

 sive reality from dimming this last addition to 

 the picture. The gentle, unmistakable, velvet 

 warble of a bluebird came over the hillside, again 

 and again; and so completely absorbed and lulled 

 was I by the gradual obsession of being in the 

 midst of a northern sce^e, that the sound caused 

 not the slightest excitement, even internally and 

 mentally. But the sympathetic spirit who was 

 directing this geographic burlesque overplayed, 

 and followed the soft curve of audible wistfulness 



