270 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
but veered at once, heading upbreeze. Along 
the riverside of markets of tropical cities I have 
seen fleets of fishing boats crowded close to- 
gether, their gay sails drying, while great ebony 
Neptunes brought ashore baskets of angel fish. 
This came to mind as I watched my flotillas of 
butterflies. 
I leaned forward until my face was hardly a 
foot from the outliers, and these I learned to 
know as individuals. One sulphur had lost a bit 
of hind wing, and three times he flew away and 
returned to the same spot. Like most cripples, 
he was unamiable, and resented a close approach, 
pushing at the trespasser with a foreleg in a most 
unbutterfly-like way. Although I watched 
closely, I did not see a single tongue uncoiled 
for drinking. Only when a dense group became 
uneasy and pushed one another about were the 
tongue springs slightly loosened. Even the nerv- 
ous antenne were quiet after the insects had set- - 
tled. They seemed to have achieved a Rhopa- 
loceran Nirvana, content to rest motionless un- 
til caught up in the temporary whirlwinds of 
restlessness which now and then possessed them. ° 
They came from all directions, swirling over 
the rocks, twisting through near-by brambles, 
