Aside from its beauty, this little friend has 

 for us a historic interest. Peeping through 

 the snow, it gave the earliest tidings of Spring 

 to our Pilgrim Fathers at the close of their 

 long and perilous first winter on the Ply- 

 mouth shore. With joy and thanksgiving 

 they christened it, after their trusty vessel, 

 " The Mayflower," and to this day, its name 

 gives it an additional charm to every true 

 New Englander. 



See, we have started from that patch of 

 low ground several beautiful butterflies. For 

 a few moments they flutter about, and then 

 settle again in some sheltered spot. There is 

 one lazily spreading his wings on the dry 

 oak leaves, not six feet awa}'. His color is 

 dark, velvety purple with a broad border of 

 white edged with black and brilliant blue. It 

 must be the Camberwell Beauty, for no other 

 butterfly comes out so early in the season. 

 It is hatched late in the Fall and passes the 

 winter in a semi-torpid state in barns and 

 stone-heaps, where it is frequently found 

 huddled together in great numbers. At the 

 first sign of approaching Spring it ventures 

 forth, and may be seen, even as early as Febru- 

 ary, flitting through the woods with weather- 

 beaten wings. It is a native of Europe, and 

 has probably been introduced here. Fifty 

 years ago it was abundant in England, but is 

 now extremely rare, and the capture of a 

 specimen is announced in the scientific jour- 

 nals as a remarkable occurrence. There ! it 

 has disappeared, though we have not moved 

 our eyes from the spot where it was resting a 

 moment ago. No, there it is. Now it is gone 

 again. Ah ! I see, it had folded its wings 

 over its bod}-, and their under surface is so 

 like a dry leaf in color, markings and form 

 that it nearly escaped our notice. Truly, this 



