148 BUTTERFLIES. 



summer sky at noon. Nor are the markings of their 

 wings and bodies less varied, or less attractive. 

 Lines, dots, circles, triangles, parallelograms, may 

 there be noticed, mingled in endless variety, and 

 shomng, that even in her most playful freaks, the 

 colouring of nature is at all times beautiful. But 

 the butterfly has to us a charm superior to all its 

 external claims to admiration. It is among insects. 

 what the primrose is among flowers — the prize of 

 our childhood, and the object of our boyish exertion. 

 What " young hunter of the butterfly and bee" 

 does not recollect how eagerly it was pursued, 

 the fear of wet feet or of soiled clothes, and aU the 

 cautions of mamma, totally forgotten } A tumble over 

 some concealed drain is disregarded ; the object of 

 pursuit is neared, — it is struck down on the grass, — 

 the rim of the hat is slowly raised, — and oh ! how 

 proud is the little urchin to find his captive safe and 

 unharmed wdthin ! But alas ! such delights are 

 transitory. The prisoner, by one vigorous dart, may 

 regain his freedom ; or, if retained in durance, soon 

 loses a portion of his beauty. The wings, touched 

 by the fingers, part with some of their colouring, 

 and justify the propriet}'- of Shakspeare's epithet of 

 "mealy." If, however, this "mealy" substance be 

 examined under a lens, it will be found not to consist 

 of fine dust, but of minute scales, preser^^ng a regular 



I 



