CHAP T EE VIII. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



All about Johnny's Caterpillar — its Fine Sculpturing, Tailoring, Spin- 

 ning, and Mechanical Genius. 



One morning, when Johnny was a very little boy, 

 I heard him crying in an unusually loud voice, away in 

 the garden. I rushed out of the house to see what was 

 the matter, and found him kneeling upon the ground, 

 while the tears were running in streams from his eyes 

 upon the mangled corpse of a caterpillar ! It seems he 

 had as usual filled his little wagon with caterpillars to 

 take them a " morning ride," when this poor unfortu- 

 nate one crawled out on the wheel, and was so crushed 

 that, like Humpty Dumpty, "all the doctors in the 

 land" could never make it stand again. I could not 

 help feeling sorry for the child ; neither could I help 

 wondering what he saw in that hairy, skinny, squashy 

 mass to love and cry about — I did not myself then 

 know the many curious things it contained, else I might 



