VIII 



THE SPHINX MOTH 



" The beam-like ephemeris, 

 Whose path is the lightning's." 



I HAVE just seen the sphinx moth bravely on the wing 

 and feeding in the squalls of wind and rain ! Though 

 my charming little friend will sometimes fly on summer 

 evenings about sundown, I have always imagined that 

 he was a worshipper of bright hours and warmth. 

 I thought him a sound sleeper, like a butterfly, during 

 rude weather. Yet here he came on the wing, brisk as 

 could be, on a dark, rough autumn day. He zig- 

 zagged from blossom to blossom red and pink gera- 

 niums and, buffeted by the wind and beaten on by 

 the rain, he still held himself aloft, and plunged 

 his trunk into the nectaries, seeking their sweet- 

 meats. 



Sometimes the wind would toss him from the blos- 

 som ere he could poise himself close enough to plunge 



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