A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL. 
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passes before us in the beautiful panorama spread around 
and below, when a whitish butterfly, with dark veins, flutters 
gently past, like a moth, and settles on a leaf with wings 
half open. Euripus ! yells my companion and springs 
to his feet. Euripus ! I yell in reply and spring to mine. 
We both grasp our nets and tumble off the rocks in a 
heap. But the butterfly flies gently to another tree, where 
it is out of reach. 
We post ourselves in two likely places and send a man 
to shake that tree. It flies to my lucky friend’s station 
and perches on a prominent leaf. He believes in a bold 
policy and goes smartly up, intending to whip it up before 
it has time to think. But it takes no time to think. It 
just flutters across to my tree. 
I believe in a cautious policy and advance like a cat. 
The fingers of my left hand are spread like an umbrella 
frame, and I must be making faces which would gain me 
admittance to any lunatic asylum in the world, but my 
friend does not laugh, for he is not looking at me, only 
at the Euripus. I can see its antennae, nose and eyes, 
looking over the edge of the leaf. I am near enough 
now, for the staff of my net is ten feet long. Imper- 
ceptibly, like a tree gowing from below, the green bag 
