WILD PASTURES 



pass the sandy stretches of the New Jer- 

 sey coast in swarms that, stopping at 

 nightfall for rest, refoliate with their 

 folded wings the shrubs left bare by the 

 autumn gales. 



It may be that, like the birds, the 

 knowledge of the route they must fol- 

 low is bred in the marrow of their but- 

 terfly bones by the constant use of a 

 million generations. It may be that 

 they simply drift away from the cool 

 wind from the North toward the Southern 

 sun that shines so serenely in the bright 

 autumn days. But whether through 

 the guiding hand of Providence, or in- 

 herited wisdom, or a fortunate tact that 

 acting from day to day produces the 

 happy result, this Southern movement 

 in winter is the sole salvation of the 

 species here in the North. 



If they did not make these long 

 164 



