378 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[August, 
The Six-Winged Butterfly. 
BY MART BRANCH. 
Such a pretty placque it was, with grasses and 
daisies grouped together, against the loveliest 
shaded background, and bending a little as if the 
wind was blowing them. Some of the daisies faced 
you, some turned shyly half away, and some were 
only buds. Lulu Baxter had worked hard on it in 
the painting class, for she wanted to surprise her 
father with it on his birthday, and now the daisies 
were all done. But there was one thing lacking to 
make it perfect in her eyes. There ought to be a 
butterfly, with rich velvety wings, flying down¬ 
ward towards the daisies. She glanced towards 
ho! Who ever saw a butterfly like that!” he ex¬ 
claimed.—“ You don’t know anything about 
butterflies!” said Lulu sharply.— 11 1 know they 
don’t have six wings 1” he insisted.—“ Some kinds 
may ” said Lulu, “and you are a city boy, you 
don’t know.”—But her face colored as she looked 
at the placque, for she did not feel quite sure about 
it herself, and her butterfly certainly had six wings. 
—“ At all events he is a superb fellow 1” said her 
father kindly.—But Johnny had once borrowed a 
book called “Butterfly Hunters,” and read it 
through two or three times. He could not let. the 
matter rest, and the next evening when a gentle¬ 
man called, who was famous for collections of 
many sorts, Johnny pointed out the butterfly and 
asked his opinion.—“I would give ten thousand 
dollars for a living specimen like that!” the gentle¬ 
man said, with a twinkle in his eyes.—“Never 
mind, Lulu,” said papa, sorry to see his young 
daughter mortified, “ Miss Thorpe does not claim 
to give you lessons in Natural History, and when 
we go out of town this summer, Johnny shall 
catch you all the butterflies you want for copies.” 
—“ All right!” said Johnny.”—Johnny really had 
a great desire to make a collection of butterflies, 
and to learn all he could about them. So. when a 
few weeks later, the whole family found themselves 
in a country town, he was not slow to remind his 
father of the promise to Lulu.—“ I want a butterfly- 
net the first thing,” he said.—His father helped him 
deal of information about butterflies and moths. 
But the more Johnny learned, the more he wanted 
to learn.—“ What is the best book, to find out all 
about butterflies in?” he asked one day.—“There 
are several popularly written books,” his friend 
told him, “all good in their way. But the one I 
have learned practically the most from myself is 
“Insects Injurious to Vegetation.”—Johnny was 
surprised. It did not seem as if those lovely, 
daiuty butterflies could possibly be “insects in¬ 
jurious to vegetation.” But a few moments 
thought showed him that it might be even so. His 
friend told him, that one year, when the terrible 
army worms were devastating that part of the 
country, the son of a farmer in the neighborhood 
collected some of the worms, allowed them to go 
into the chrysalis state, and to hatch out agaiu as 
moths. He then showed them to the farmers, so 
that they could be on the watch to destroy the 
moths whenever they saw them, and thus prevent 
their laying eggs. 
“That was being very useful,” said Johnny, 
“ but I am a little useful too, for my sister is learn¬ 
ing to pamt butterflies beautifully now, and I kill 
so many, that surely there will be fewer eggs to 
hatch out worms and caterpillars. The farmers 
will be sorry when I’m gone back to town.”—As 
for Lulu, she declared that her collection, painted 
on sketching paper, was quite equal to Johnny’s 
arranged on pins, and far easier to take care of. 
the clock. “Oh, Miss Thorpe!” she said, “There’S 
half an hour yet. Can’t you show me how to 
make a butterfly?”—Miss Thorpe was tired and 
had a headache, but she was willing to oblige, 
and began to look hurriedly through her portfolio 
of patterns, and after a few moments vain search, 
she said : “ I can’t find a butterfly, Lulu, but you 
may look, and if you find one, trace it off, and I 
will help you with it when I come round again.”— 
So Lulu hunted through the portfolio herself, but 
no butterfly could she find, save a huge blue and 
black one that did not seem suitable for her daisies. 
At last, as her eyes roamed about the room, she 
caught sight of a card on the mantel, and yes 1 
there was really a red and brown butterfly on it, 
just the right size, but his wings were not out¬ 
spread as she wanted them. 
Lulu traced the butterfly, however, managing the 
wings as well as she could, and taking her tubes, 
put out some red and brown and yellow paint, to 
be in readiness. Miss Thorpe then came and with 
nervous haste began to lay on the colors. — ” I will 
work up one wing to show you how,” she said, 
“and then you can finish it yourself.”—“ Oh, how 
beautifully the colors blend 1” said Lulu, “and how 
splendid its spots and stripes are!”—When MiSs 
Thorpe arose, she went to work herself, and soon 
had her butterfly done, gorgeously sailing down to 
the daisies. Theu she took her placque home 
with her, for the next day was her father’s birth¬ 
day. She presented it to him with due ceremony 
after breakfast, and he praised it and kissed her. 
All the family came around to see Lulu’s placque. 
Her mother was especially pleased with the daisies, 
and baby Dora called out, “ Pitty ! Pitty !”—But 
Johnny, the ten-year-old brother, stared curiously 
at the placque, and then burst out laughing. “Ho, 
Draicn and Engraved for the American Agriculturist. 
to manufacture one, by means of an old umbrella 
stick, a keg hoop, and some blue mosquito netting. 
It was very pretty when done. Then, remember¬ 
ing the directions he had once read, Johnny pro¬ 
cured a box, some pins, and a bottle of ether. 
Lulu started out with him on his first trip. She 
took a book with her, and sat under a tree, while 
he ran hither and thither across the fields, among 
the daisies, among the clover blossoms, through 
the bushes, over the rocks and moss and sorrel. 
Wherever the butterflies fluttered, there Johnny 
pursued, and again and again the blue net fell over 
some Jovely, delicate captive. With a breath of 
ether, its life ended, and with its beautiful wings 
it adorned the box. At last Johnny went back to 
Lulu.—“ Oh ! how perfectly lovely !” she exclaim¬ 
ed, dropping her book on the. ground, “you have 
caught as many as forty !”—“ There are only three 
or four kinds,” said Johnny.—“I’m going to get 
out my paints and copy them this very day,” she 
said. “They do have four wings instead of six, 
don’t they, Johnny ?”—“Of course they do !” he 
said decidedly.—After that, butterfly hunting was 
the pursuit of the season. Their old friend, the 
collector, was stopping in the same town, and now 
and then Johnny met him on some country road, 
hot, sun-burned, and triumphant, with his big box 
full of specimens. On these occasions they would 
walk along together, and he gave Johnny a good 
When the happy summer ended, and they went 
back to their city home, the first thing Lulu did 
was to take down the daisy placque from the wall, 
and paint out the six-winged butterfly, and re¬ 
placed it with another, so correctly marked, and so 
delicately worked up, that when Miss Thorpe saw 
it, she declared she must take lessons of her pupil. 
Learning to Swini. 
The writer of the article, “Boys, Can You 
Swim?” in the June number, brought up a very 
good subject, and, although he mentioned that 
there are different methods of swimming, he failed 
to enumerate any of them in detail. Allow me to 
describe the method which 1 learned at a school 
across the Atlantic, and which is practised and 
taught in the same manner as soldiers learn the 
manual of arms : Stand straight and erect, hands 
hanging along the body in natural position, fingers 
together. 
Motions of Hands.— One. Bring the fore-arms in 
front and center of the body, and raising them as 
high as possible, and keeping the palms of the 
hands together. Two. Extend the arms to the 
front of the body to full length, keeping the palms 
together. Three. Open the hands, with back up¬ 
wards and fingers together, and describe a curve 
