XII 



HUMOURS OF INSECT LIFE IN 

 OCTOBER 



" Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand 

 Is ebbing to the last ; 



A little longer, yet a little longer " 



DRYDEN. 



IN the early morning a tattered blue butterfly comes 

 from a hiding-place in the dewy grass, flits aimlessly 

 across the field, and drops into the shelter of the hedge- 

 row. Unseen he had rested, clinging to an upright 

 stem, till disturbed as I walked through the meadow. 

 Inquisitive, I stoop to examine the stalk from which 

 he rose. It still sways lightly from the shock caused 

 by the insect's hurried departure. All its dewdrops 

 have been sprinkled on the soil, and near its root a 

 brown beetle clings asleep. Among the grasses I find 

 many other butterflies, one here, another there, some- 

 times two on a single stem. So closely folded are the 

 insects' wings, so fittingly decorated in neutral hues of 

 grey with yellow spots, that each butterfly seems to be 



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