Butterflies in the Garden 205 



shadowed verdure of late summer in the glades 

 and rides of the woods. Nature in September 

 provides herself with a few flourishing oases of 

 blossom for the butterflies' needs, such as the beds 

 of sweet marjoram which still tinge waste downs and 

 hillsides with dull lilac, the sheets of purplish scabious 

 which draw insect life in marvellous abundance 

 and variety to their nodding heads, and the banks 

 of hemp agrimony by the river. But such wild 

 flower-beds are now scarcer than hospitable gardens; 

 and so it comes about that at the time when the 

 main broods of many of the finest of our butterflies 

 are hatched, they are driven to present themselves to 

 our view by the scarcity of good living in the wild. 

 There is great charm and attraction in the 

 living brilliance which September butterflies add 

 to the deep reds and burning yellows of a long 

 flower- walk, or to the many-coloured border ranged 

 beneath some old red wall. Like the flowers on 

 which they rest, the characteristic butterflies of 

 this season are of hues more deep and sun-stained 

 than those which answered to the clearer skies. 

 The colour and markings of these splendid peacocks, 

 and red admirals, tortoiseshells and painted ladies, 

 which flit and float in the sunshine down every 

 pathway of blossom, are not only extremely 

 beautiful in themselves, but preserve the subtlest 

 harmony with the whole scheme of floral colour 

 in autumn. In late June and early July, when the 

 garden was full of the clear beauty of white pinks, 

 and pink and white roses, and white Madonna 

 lilies, there seemed something bizarre and intrusive 



