a brief and crepuscular activity, and go to sleep as soon as darkness
settles on the world. At the first glimmer of the dawn they awaken again
to fly till sunrise, when they hurry off like the fairies, and sleep till
twilight falls again.

[Illustration: BUTTERFLIES AT REST. _From photographs by R.B. Lodge._]

At the time of writing a border of bright flowers runs in straight
perspective from the window opposite, with a rose arcade by the border,
and a yew hedge behind that. The shafts of the morning sun fly straight
down to the flowers, and every blossom of hollyhock, sunflower, campanula,
and convolvulus, and the scarlet ranks of the geraniums, are standing at
"attention" to welcome this morning inspection by the ruler and
commander-in-chief of all the world of flowers. The inspecting officers,
rather late as inspecting officers are wont to be, are overhauling and
examining the flowers. These inspectors, also roused by the sun, are the
butterflies and bees. Splendid red admirals are flying up, and alighting
on the sunflowers, or hovering over the pink masses of valerian. Peacock
butterflies, "eyed" like Emperors' robes, open and shut their wings upon
the petals; large tortoiseshells are flitting from flower to flower;
mouse-coloured humming-bird moths are poising before the red lips of the
geraniums; and a stream of common white butterflies is crossing the lawn
to the flowers at the rate of twenty a minute. They all come from the same
direction, across a cornfield and meadow, behind which lies a wood. The
bees came first, as they are fairly early risers; the butterflies later,
some of them very late, and evidently not really ready for parade, for
they are sitting on the flowers stretching, brushing themselves, and
cleaning their boots--or feet. The fact is that the butterflies, late
though it is, are only just out of bed. You might look all the evening to
find the place where these particular butterflies sleep, and not discover