:::::::::1: TWO BIRD-LOVERS IN MEXICO Afe::::-::: 



sects of all orders flock to the muddy edges. Flowers 

 are scarce, and if nectar is not to be had, why, clear 

 volcano water is not a bad substitute. 



In the morning, when the sun began to warm the 

 lower air of the barranca, little yellow and black but- 

 terflies (maripositas was the poetic name by which 

 our Mexican cook knew these tiny insects), and many 

 brown-winged, crook-antennaid skippers came, together 

 with hosts of wee lavender-wings. One small species 

 had long filamentous tails to the hind wings, which 

 were kept constantly in motion, up and down, when 

 the butterfly was otherwise quiet, with its wings closed 

 together above the back. The remainder of the insect 

 was of a dull hue, but these bright orange tails were 

 visible for fifteen or twenty feet, looking (the simile 

 was again and again brought to mind) like an ant with 

 immensely large head and body, wriggling violently 

 about in one place. Such an illusion would seem of no 

 possible advantage to the insect. Indeed I could never 

 discover what saved these butterflies from instant detec- 

 tion and attack on the part of the many flycatchers. 



When the full heat of midday started cracks in the 

 jjarched pool edges, great white and yellow fellows 

 would float lazily down from the tree-tops, drift across 

 the water, and alight on a mud hillock. Their six legs 

 carried them to the damp dark earth and here they un- 

 coiled their watch-spring tongues and drew up the cool 

 moisture. So greedily did they imbibe that one could 



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