i;o THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



done when some forlorn cabbage-white strays from 

 Covent Garden market into the dim courts of Drury 

 Lane. Then is every small bonnet doffed, thin legs 

 are agitated, feeble lungs raise the view-halloo, and 

 the hunt goes streaming down the street headed by 

 the flapping, bothering fly that, seeming to be quite 

 unaware of its danger, yet manages to top some wall 

 just before the leading huntsman would grab it. 



The white butterfly is usually one's first prize. 

 Those that are coloured imaginative youth calls 

 "French." It is long before we discover that both 

 white and coloured are of several sorts. We have 

 said that the pursuit of the butterfly never palls. As 

 the schoolboy grows up he learns other methods of 

 bringing down the same quarry. A chip-box is as 

 good as a butterfly-net on a dull day. Chrysalids 

 can be picked up that will yield perfect specimens of 

 uncatchable insects. The breeding from caterpillars 

 unravels, or rather reveals, some of the mysteries of 

 butterfly life. But, last as well as first, the ideal way 

 of coming by a rare and coveted specimen is to run 

 it down in fair chase. We say it who have experi- 

 enced it. But now we prefer to watch the towering 

 fritillaries and wonder whether they are really three 

 or four. 



