i } 6 JUNE 



valerian, of three colours : red, pink, and white. From 

 a deck-chair you looked at the Atlantic through the tall 

 shoots, and the sky was behind the blossoms. It was a 

 subject of dispute whether the scent of the flowers (very 

 different from the offensive valerian that is native, but 

 rarer) was pleasant or unpleasant; but there was no 

 doubt that to the senses of insects and those the most 

 gorgeous and strangest in our island list it was the true 

 spikenard, worth its weight in gold, as Horace, among 

 other antique authors, acknowledges* Never in my life 

 have I seen so many splendid butterflies so exultant 

 in the power of flight or intoxicated with the taste of 

 nectar. 



One morning, before the dew was off the grass, the 

 flowers, which had been unvisited by any insects more 

 remarkable than bumble-bees and hover-flies, were dis 

 covered, as if by a common and instantaneous inspiration, 

 by a round dozen or more of that lovely, partly immi 

 grant, butterfly which we label with the libel of painted 

 lady. There may be more beautiful butterflies, bigger 

 butterflies, and butterflies with more powerful and 

 gracious flight. Great coppers and swallowtails and 

 Camberwell Beauties may excite the fancy of entomolo 

 gists, but even these, if they could be seen in numbers 

 together, could not have more delighted you with sudden 

 brightness. Their colour and pattern are very lovely ; 

 and these painted ladies displayed every facet of their 

 beauty. They were hungry and thirsty, eager for the 

 ambrosia and nectar of this surprising Paradise. Some 

 few closed their wings for a few seconds as they settled ; 

 but most kept them wide open, indeed sometimes so 

 wide that the wings bent downwards like a coasting 

 snipe. They stepped slowly over the crown of the 

 flowers, sucking the honey of each floret with the long 



