In _The Century_, for June, 1883, Mr. Gosse described a monument, in
which the sculptor had carved a child holding out her hand for
butterflies to perch on. He went on to say that this was criticised as
improbable, even by so exact an observer as the late Lord Tennyson. It
may therefore be of some interest to record the following facts from my
personal experience.
One summer I watched the larvæ of the swallow-tailed butterfly through
their different stages, and reserved two chrysalides to develop into
the perfect insect. In due time one of these fairy-like creatures came
out. I placed it in a small Indian cage, made of fine threads of bamboo.
A carpet of soft moss and a vase of flowers in the centre made a
pleasant home for my tiny "Psyche."
I found that she greatly enjoyed a repast of honey; when some was placed
on a leaf within her reach, she would uncoil her long proboscis and draw
up the sweet food with great apparent enjoyment.
She was so tame that it became my habit, once or twice a day, to take
her on my finger; and while I walked in the garden she would take short
flights hither and thither, but was always content to mount upon my hand
again. She would come on my finger of her own accord, and, if the day
was bright, would remain there as long as I had patience to carry her,
with her wings outspread, basking in the sunbeams, which appeared to
convey exquisite delight to the delicate little creature.
I never touched her beautiful wings. She never fluttered or showed any
wish to escape, but lived three weeks of tranquil life in her tiny
home; and then having, as I suppose, reached the limit of butterfly
existence, she quietly ceased to live.
On the day of her death the other butterfly emerged, and lived for the
same length of time. Both were equally tame, but the second showed more
intelligence, for she discovered that by folding her wings together she
could easily walk between the slender bars of the cage; and having done
so she would fly to a window, and remain there basking in the sun,
folding and unfolding her wings with evident enjoyment, until I
presented my finger, when she would immediately step upon it and be
carried back to her cage.
The tameness of these butterflies I ascribed in great measure to the
fact of their having been hatched from chrysalides, and having therefore
never known the sweets of liberty. I often wondered if really wild
specimens could be won by gentle kindness and made happy in confinement,
and one bright summer's day I resolved to try. A "Painted Lady" had been
seen in the garden the day before, and I soon caught sight of her making
rapid flights from one bed of flowers to another, and when resting for
a few minutes, folding and unfolding her wings on the gravel path, I
crept slowly up to her with a drop of honey on my finger to try and make
friends; but my "lady" was coy, "she would and she wouldn't," and after
letting me come within a few inches with my tempting repast, she floated
away, out of sight, and I feared she would not be willing to give me
another chance; however, I waited quietly, and in a few minutes she
alighted at a little distance. I again drew near very slowly, and again
she sailed away, but the third time she gained confidence enough to
reach out her proboscis and taste the honey, and finally crept upon my
finger. I very gently placed the light bamboo cage over her and brought
her indoors; she, all the while, entranced with the sweet food, remained
quietly on my finger, and when satisfied, crept upon a flower in the
middle of the cage, and after a few flutterings round her cage seemed
content and folded her delicate wings to rest. Whilst engaged in her
capture I had observed a "Red Admiral" hovering over some dahlias, and
thinking "Cynthia"[2] might like a companion, I tried my blandishments
upon him. I had not much hope of success, for though a bold, fearless
fellow, he is very wary, and his powerful wings bear him away in swift
flight when alarmed. Many a circle did I make around that dahlia bed!
"Admiral" always preferred the opposite side to where I stood, and
calmly crossed over whilst I went round. At last, by long and patient
waiting, he, too, allowed me to come near and present my seductive food
to his notice--the wiry proboscis was uncoiled and felt about for the
honey; once plunged into that, all volition seemed to cease, he allowed
me to coax him upon my finger, and he, too, was safely caged; but he
behaved very differently from "fair Cynthia." The moment his repast was
ended he flapped with desperate force against the bars, and in a minute
he was out and on the window-pane, fluttering to escape. The cage had to
be secured with fine net, and he was replaced and soon quieted down.
Twice a day these delicate little pets would come upon my hand to
receive their sweet food, and appeared perfectly content in captivity.
[Footnote 2: The former Latin name for the "Painted Lady" butterfly]
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