Painted Beauties swayed along my flowered walks,
and in September a Viceroy reigned in state on every chrysanthemum,
and a Monarch was enthroned on every sunbeam. No luck was too good
for me, no butterfly or moth too rare, except forever and always
the coveted Cecropia, and by this time I had learned to my disgust
that it was one of the commonest of all.
Then one summer, late in June, a small boy, having an earnest,
eager little face, came to me tugging a large box. He said he had
something for me. He said "they called it a butterfly, but he
was sure it never was." He was eminently correct. He had a
splendid big Cecropia. I was delighted. Of course to have found
one myself would have filled my cup to overflowing, but to secure
a perfect, living specimen was good enough. For the first time my
childish loss seemed in a measure compensated. Then, I only could
study a moth to my satisfaction and set it free; now, I could make
reproductions so perfect that every antler of its antennae could
be counted with the naked eye, and copy its colours accurately,
before giving back its liberty.
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