A JUNGLE CLEARING 37 
White butterflies flitted past, then a yellow one, 
and finally a real Monarch. In my boy-land, 
smudgy specimens of this were pinned, earnestly 
but asymetrically, in cigar-boxes, under the title 
of Danais archippus. At present no reputable 
entomologist would think of calling it other than 
Anosia plexippus, nor should I; but the particu- 
lar thrill which it gave to-day was that this self- 
same species should wander along at this mo- 
ment to mosaic into my boreal muse. 
After a little time, with only the hum of the 
bees and the staccato cicadas, a double deceit was 
perpetrated, one which my sentiment of the mo- 
ment seized upon and rejoiced in, but at which 
my mind had to conceal a smile and turn its con- 
sciousness quickly elsewhere, to prevent an obtru- 
sive reality from dimming this last addition to 
the picture. The gentle, unmistakable, velvet 
warble of a bluebird came over the hillside, again 
and again; and so completely absorbed and lulled 
was I by the gradual obsession of being in the 
midst of a northern scene, that the sound caused 
not the slightest excitement, even internally and 
mentally. But the sympathetic spirit who was 
directing this geographic burlesque overplayed, 
and followed the soft curve of audible wistfulness 
