a butterfly’s wings. 
II 3 
A BUTTERFLY’S WINGS. 
By the Rev. Hilderic Friend, f.l.s. 
Chapter II. 
Our Symposium. 
My visitors had chosen a cold winter’s night for their call. 
Skid daw’s height, which could be distinctly seen from my study 
window during the day, was covered with a gauzy veil of snow, 
which threatened soon to become as thick and warm as a High¬ 
land plaid. The fire blazed away in that cheery style which is 
familiarly associated with a frosty night. We were now enjoying 
its genial glow, and before settling down for the evening’s busi¬ 
ness, coffee, fruit, and Christmas cheer was handed round. Amid 
our sipping and regaling we discoursed lightly of various 
matters, then, when the ice of human strangeness and diffidence 
was completely thawed, and the flow of animal spirits was com¬ 
plete, we began our self-appointed task. It was unanimously 
agreed that we ask Theophrastus to open our symposium. He 
was, by many ages, the senior, he could carry us back to a period 
and a nation unique in interest, and the thread of his narrative 
could be taken up by the next speaker with the greatest possible 
ease. 
“You are all aware,” he said, when we had gained his consent 
to act as leader, “ you are aware that I was born of a fuller in the 
isle of Lesbos early in the fourth century, before your era com¬ 
menced. I need make no apology for my birth, for in our day it 
was regarded as a crime for a man to have no trade or calling, 
and no one asked—What is his father ? before they would asso¬ 
ciate with the son. Each man stood on his own merits. I was 
early sent to Athens, the Oxford of that age, the seat of learning 
which boasted the largest number of students famed in history. 
The classic haunts deeply impressed me, and my native love of 
knowledge stimulated me continually to out-rival my fellows in 
the school of Plato. After a time I became the pupil of Aris¬ 
totle, than whom no finer master ever occupied the seat of the 
learned, or sat in the professor’s chair.” 
I took occasion at this point to observe that his name appeared 
to me a very appropriate one. His elegant diction, modest, yet 
forceful utterance, rhythmic and melodious sentences, marked him 
out as a perfect master of the art of oratory. “ Sir,” he replied, 
“ I would remind you that my true name is Tyrtamus. By this 
name was I known during boyhood and youth, and by it was I 
always designated till I had been for some while at the feet of 
Aristotle. He, generous soul, never fearing that he would detract 
