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know any thing more about us, are in all regions of 
the earth, from the cold climes of Siberia to the 
very tropics, where we grow in sunny islands under 
skies that it is happiness enough to look upon. We 
are named from a beautiful maiden whom a poet sang 
about.” 
A “ Painted Lady” with wings of brown, carmine 
and black, alighted upon the edge of the flower, 
which stopped talking to Mary that it might hold 
a little discourse in the butterfly language. They 
seemed to be speaking of a tortoise-shell beetle 
that stood under a tall handsome thistle close by, 
and had made a curious little umbrella of earth 
which he supported with his forked tail. It was 
ominous of a shower, they seemed to think, and 
they had no sooner said the words than a loud clap 
of thunder, followed by a deluge of rain, proved that 
the little beetle had discovered by his quick instinct 
