286 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



in the county are here. Red admirals, tortoise-shells, 

 peacocks, brimstones, not the winter-stored specimens 

 that come almost as thickly to the sallow blooms in 

 March, but spick-and-span butterflies of the year, 

 spreading their magnificence on the tesselated spikes, 

 or towering in the air in furious fight, or sliding 

 through the sunshine from one vantage to another. 

 All this splendour, in some respects an unusual 

 splendour by comparison with former years, has 

 come out of the cold, grey days that week by week 

 displaced our rose-summer. Out of the unripened 

 wood of last year, out of the rank, sappy growth of 

 this, quite the usual magnificence of the second 

 summer has come. 



