THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY. 



of pursuit ; the disappointment of seeing it dance 

 over a thicket out of sight ; the joy of finding it 

 reappear; the tantalising trial of watching the 

 lovely wings flapping just out of reach; the 

 patient waiting for it to descend ; the tiptoe ap- 

 proach as we see it settle on a flower ; the breath- 

 less eagerness with which the net is poised; and 

 the triumphant flush with which we contemplate 

 the painted wings within the gauze ; and the ad- 

 miration with which we gaze on its loveliness 

 when held in the trembling fingers. Another step 

 or two and a gay-plumaged bird rises from the 

 bush, and falls to the gun; we run to the spot 

 and search for the game among the shrubs and 

 moss ; at last it is found, admired, and committed 

 to a little protective cone of paper. Now a fern 

 of peculiar delicacy appears; then a charming 

 flower, of which we search for ripe seed : a glitter- 

 ing beetle is detected crawling on the gray bark of 

 a lichened tree; here is a fine caterpillar feeding; 

 yonder a humming-bird hovering over a brilliant 

 blossom ; and here a female of the same spangled 

 bird sitting in her tiny nest. By and by we 

 emerge into a spot where, for some cause or other, 

 insects seem to have specially congregated; a 

 dozen different kinds of butterflies are flitting to 

 and fro in bewildering profusion of beauty, and 

 our collecting-box is half filled in the course of an 

 hour. Meanwhile we have shot two or three 

 more birds ; caught a pretty lizard ; seen a painted 

 tree-frog, which escaped to be captured another 

 day ; obtained some strange nondescript creatures 

 under stones; picked a beautiful spider from a 

 web ; taken a host of banded shells ;— and so the 

 day wears on. And then in the evening what a 

 feasting of the eager eyes as they gloat over the 

 novelties, assigning each to its place, preparing 

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