THE BELATED BUTTERFLY.
AmI awake? am I alive? Then it was true, after all. Aunt Caterpillar told me, that if I would cover myself over, and lie stock-still, and go to sleep, I should wake up a beauty. She said I should no longer creep, but should fly like the birds; and I do. She said I would never need to chew leaves any more, but might feed upon sugar of roses, and sip honey from the flowers. She said I should have beautiful wings of purple and gold. And it is every word true.
Now I’m flying. Oh, glorious! This floating in the air—oh, what a joy it is! Good-by, you little worms! Here I go up, up, up,—a trifle dizzy, that is to be expected at first,—higher, higher. Good-morning, Mr. Bluebird! We have wings, haven’t we? Down,—no, I will not touch the earth: I will rock in this lily, brush the dew from the mignonette, breathe the perfume of the heliotrope, and rest in the heart of this damask-rose.
What sweet rest! How soft these rose-leaves are! Let me nestle close,—close. But I grow faint with theperfume, and must be off,—off to the hills, where sweetbrier and wild roses grow. Cousin Moth says she goes there every day. Oh the joy of flying! Up, down; up, down; up, down; now rest, now float, now sip, now rock, now away, away!
Here are the tall blue meadow-flowers. I’ll stay a while with them. How long it used to take me, with my eighteen legs, to creep thus far! Whom have we here? What mean, dull fly is this? and why should he have wings? What!—keep company with me? You? Impossible! Have you noticed who I am, pray? or are you asleep? Look atmybrilliant wings! I am a Butterfly, born in the purple. Of some use?—dear me! of what use could such as you be to such as I? Upon my word, I pity you; but all can’t be Butterflies, or go in company with Butterflies. Please don’t follow, I should feel so mortified! Good-by! Now for a long, long flight over the meadows!
The hills, at last,—the breezy hills! Ah! good bees, have you come too? and you poor little wee grasshoppers! Dear humming-bird, isn’t it jolly? Why don’t you sing? You don’t know how?—what a pity! But you can hum. Oh this charming sweetbrier! and here are wild-roses: now we’ll have a merry time among the wild-roses, and play in the fragrant sweet-fern.
Lost, lost, lost! I wandered too far among the hills. Who will show me the way home? My home is in the flower-garden: will no one show me the way? Oh this frightful darkness! Where is the beautiful daylight gone? The evening dews are cold and damp. Mywings droop from weariness. The night-winds chill me through. Ugly creatures are abroad, and strange sounds fill the air. I see no flowers; hear no singing of birds, no chirping of insects, no humming of bees. Where are you, little bees?
Oh, this dreary, dreary night! Shivering with cold, I fly hither and thither, but never find my home. I am a poor lost Butterfly. Who will pity a poor lost Butterfly?
What dreadful sounds!—“Juggulp, juggulp, juggulp!” Away, quick! “Juggulp, juggulp.” Oh, dear! oh, dear! Now something just hit me! Again! Some horrid monster!—a bat, perhaps. Cousin Moth said, “Beware of bats; for they will eat you up.” I shall die with fright. I know, I know, I shall die with fright. My wings can scarcely move,—my fine purple wings! Will the dear warm sun never shine again? Cousin Moth told me of so many dangers, and never even mentioned getting lost. Alas! must I die here all alone, breathe my last breath in this terrible place? Better that some boy had caught me in his hat; that I had been choked with a match, stuck on a pin, or put under a glass, than to drop down here in the cold, gasping, quivering, and die all alone.
Who comes? Can I believe my own eyes? Is that a light? Ho! a fly with a lantern! How quick he darts! Stop there, you with a lantern!
It is the very same mean fly I met this morning. Good fly, best creature, charming insect! I pray you light me home. Do you know where the flower-garden is? You do? that is my home. My lodgings are among the damask-rose-leaves. I am a poor belated Butterfly. I lost my way; staid very long with the sweetbrier, and never thought the daylight would go.
You will light me home? That’s a dear fly! Your name is Firefly? What a sweet name! But how fast you go! Please don’t dart so quick, because I cannot follow; for my wings are very, oh! very tired. Slower, slower, that’s a kind firefly! Now we go nicely on.
What will you take for your lamp? Won’t sell? But you will forget, I hope, our morning conversation. Perhaps, though, so little a fly can’t remember so long. You can remember? Then what a kind, forgiving creature you are! I shall certainly speak well of you to my friends. Call on me almost any time,—that is, almost any evening,—and we’ll go out together. We have come a very long way, and should now be near home. Yes, the air is so fragrant here, that I am sure we have nearly reached the flower-garden. I smell the perfume quite plainly. We are passing over mignonette; that is the breath of sweet-pea; now the bed of pinks is beneath us; here must be the honeysuckle-bower; here is balm; here is lavender; and here’s the smell of the damask-rose.
Now thanks and good-by, my friend. I shall need you no longer: the fragrance will guide me to bed. Good-night, little fly!
I do think it is very strange, and say so, now he is out of hearing, that such mean-looking little flies should have lamps to carry, while we Butterflies, who would light up so beautifully, and are so much superior to them, should be obliged to do without.