Our readers must not suppose that our little hero had no interest in anything but insects. It is true that his mind being once engaged upon this subject, his curiosity increased with his knowledge, and for a time he preferred the study of insects to that of anything else. At one period, as I have told you, he was greatly interested in beetles; then in spiders; and then in bees. Finally he turned his attention to butterflies. You may be tired of my story, but you must hear about this.
One beautiful summer day, he saw a large butterfly seated upon a flower—its wings were splendidly marked with figures of brown, black and gold. They were almost as large as the palm of his hand. As the insect sat upon the flower, he waved them up and down, seeming to fan the blossom upon which it was resting.
Jack’s first idea was to rush upon the butterfly, and seize it. But he had now acquired a habit of investigation. He had lost that instinct which leads little, thoughtless children to snatch at every new and pleasing object. He was no longer a mere child, but a thinking boy. His mind was awake, and the pleasure he derived from its exercise was a very great pleasure.
So Jack, having approached near to the butterfly, paused and examined it carefully. He found that it had four wings, two large and two small ones, and that it had six legs, four only of which seemed to be used.
While Jack was thus pursuing his observations, he gradually drew nearer, until the alarmed insect took to flight, and, with a wavering motion, swept across an adjacent meadow, until it was lost in the distance. As Jack was in the habit of thinking about what he had seen, he mused upon the little butterfly, and then he asked his Aunt Betsey about it. She was ever ready to gratify his curiosity, and so she proceeded to tell him about butterflies, pretty much as follows:
“You must know, my dear Jack,” said she, “that the family of butterflies is very numerous; this consists not only of those which pass under the name of butterfly, and which go abroad in the daylight, but of those which are called moths, and which fly about at night.
“The butterflies have ever been regarded as among the most beautiful objects in nature. They seem almost like flowers or gems, which have become endowed with life, and, taking wings, soar away upon the breeze. Thus the poet Moore speaks of them, as creatures
‘Which flutter round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers, or flying gems.’
“Who, indeed, has not observed these little creatures flying from flower to flower, sipping the nectar from each, and seeming only to think of the present happy moment? And who has not thought how like to happy, heedless, children are these pretty butterflies?