by chance, the other day, upon another, by the
same writer, called "The Butterfly's Birthday."
Though infinitely more moral (it is crammed,
in fact, with moral reflections), this last-named
poem has nothing in it of that which charmed
my nonage, but the few lines that follow are
sufficiently descriptive of the full-grown butterfly
to merit quotation:

Her slender form, ethereal light,
Her velvet-textur'd wings enfold;
With all the rainbow's colours bright,
And dropped with spots of burnish'd gold.

This may serve as the portrait of the most
gorgeous of the " Equites," the first class in the
Linnaean distribution of butterflies: say, for
instance, the Papilio Hector, one of the most
noted of his " Trojans" (Troes), or the Papilio
Menelaus, celebrated amongst his " Greeks"
(Achivi)—for into two hostile camps with
Homeric leaders does the Swedish naturalist divide
them.

But if greater variety in colour, form, and
name be desirable, take the poet Crabbe's
description when he is speaking of the
entomological amusements of " his friend, the
weaver:"

From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise
Bright troops of virgin moths, and fresh-born
butterflies;
Who broke that morning from their half-year's
sleep,
To fly o'er flowers where they were wont to creep,
Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims,
The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs:
Then fair Camilla takes her flight serene,
Adonis blue, and Paphia silver-green;
With every filmy fly from mead or bower,
And hungry Sphinx who threads the honey'd
flower;
She o'er the larkspur's bed, where sweets abound,
Views every bell, and hums th' approving sound;
Pois'd on her busy plumes, with feeling nice,
She draws from every flower, nor tries a flow'ret
twice.

The picture painted in these lines may fitly
serve to introduce a passage which graphically
describes the antecedents of the " winged
flower," that lends so great a charm even to the
brightest gardens. " That butterfly" (the quotation
is from Kirby and Spence), " which amuses
you with its aerial excursions, one while extracting
nectar from the tube of the honeysuckle,
and then, the very image of fickleness, flying to
a rose, as if to contrast the hue of its wings
with that of the flower on which it reposes, did
not come into the world as you now behold it.
At its first protrusion from the egg, and for some
months of its existence afterwards, it was a
wormlike caterpillar, crawling upon sixteen
short legs, greedily devouring leaves with two
jaws, and seeing by means of eyes so minute as
to be nearly imperceptible without the aid of a
microscope. You now view it furnished with
wings capable of rapid and extensive flight; of
its sixteen feet ten have disappeared, and the
remaining six are in most respects wholly unlike
those to which they have succeeded; its jaws
have vanished, and are replaced by a curled-up
proboscis suited only for sipping liquid sweets;
the form of its head is entirely changed, two
long horns project from its upper surface; and
instead of twelve invisible eyes, you behold two,
very large, and composed of at least twenty
thousand convex lenses, each supposed to be a
distinct and effective eye!" The number of eyes
spoken of here is, in some butterflies, greatly
exceeded. In a species examined by Puget,
each eye was found to contain not fewer than
seventeen thousand three hundred and twenty-
five lenses, or thirty-four thousand six hundred
and fifty in both eyes. " But the change"
(continue the same writers) " was not direct. An
intermediate state not less singular intervened.
After casting its skin even to its very jaws
several times, and attaining its full growth, the
caterpillar attached itself to a leaf by a silken
girth. Its body greatly contracted; its skin once
more split asunder, and disclosed an oviform
mass, without exterior mouth, eyes, or limbs,
and exhibiting no other symptom of life than
a slight motion when touched. In this state of
death-like torpor, and without tasting food, the
insect existed for several months, until at length
the tomb burst, and out of a case not more
than a quarter of an inch in diameter proceeded
the butterfly before you, which covers a surface
of nearly four inches square."

Once afloat on the air let us glance at them
"like golden boats on a sunny sea." Notice,
in our own gardens, the imperial gloss of the
Purple Emperor, the intense black and scarlet
of the Red Alderman (called also the Red
Admiral); the vivid golden red of the Copper
tribe; the glitter of the Gold Spangle; the
dazzling glory of the Burnished Brass (moths
are here intermingled with butterflies); the
gorgeous array of the Peacock (Vanessa Io);
the skilfully combined colours of the Painted
Lady; the tender green and pale crescent of
the Comma; the delicate blues of the Mazarine
and Adonis, and the intricate markings and
silvery spots of the Fritillaria: splendour of
attire which, it has been ingeniously suggested,
may decorate the wearers with some other view
than that of mere ornament. Mark, also, the
giant butterfly of Brazil (P. Menelaus), the
surface of whose wings is of a radiant blue,
being adduced as an example of a class whose
beauty is given them, to dazzle, not their
admirers, but their enemies. Apropos of this
especial beauty of the wings, it is known to
depend, not on a continuous conformity of
surface, but on the coating of minute scales with
which they are overspread, and which may be
compared to the scales on fishes, or to the tiles
on the roofs of houses. " Of their extreme
minuteness," says Westwood, "some idea may
be formed when it is stated that in the space of
a square inch, no fewer than one hundred thou-
sand seven hundred and thirty-six of these scales
have been counted."

When the butterfly is once on the wing, it
seems the most restless creature in existence;