THE BUTTERFLY故事

　　 THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as

　　 may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from

　　 among the flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at

　　 all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated

　　 quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should

　　 sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of

　　 them, and it appeared as if his search would become very

　　 wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too much

　　 trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French

　　 call this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little

　　 daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they

　　 pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus:

　　 "Does he or she love me?- Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A

　　 little? Not at all?" and so on. Every one speaks these words

　　 in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to

　　 inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves; he pressed a

　　 kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to

　　 be done by kindness.

　　 "Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the

　　 wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the

　　 flowers I shall choose for my wife. Which will be my bride?

　　 When I know, I will fly directly to her, and propose."

　　 But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that

　　 he should call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there

　　 is a great difference. He asked her a second time, and then a

　　 third; but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he

　　 would wait no longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at

　　 once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus and the

　　 snowdrop were in full bloom.

　　 "They are very pretty," thought the butterfly; "charming

　　 little lasses; but they are rather formal."

　　 Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the

　　 elder girls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather

　　 sour to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The

　　 lime-blossoms, too small, and besides, there was such a large

　　 family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they looked like

　　 roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the

　　 first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with one

　　 of them might last too short a time. The pea-blossom pleased

　　 him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender,

　　 and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty

　　 appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just

　　 about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw

　　 a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.

　　 "Who is that?" he asked.

　　 "That is my sister," replied the pea-blossom.

　　 "Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he;

　　 and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.

　　 A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom;

　　 but there were so many girls like her, with long faces and

　　 sallow complexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did

　　 he like?

　　 Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn

　　 came; but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in

　　 their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the

　　 fresh, fragrant air of youth. For the heart asks for

　　 fragrance, even when it is no longer young; and there is very

　　 little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry

　　 chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on

　　 the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it is

　　 sweetness all over,- full of fragrance from head to foot, with

　　 the scent of a flower in every leaf.

　　 "I will take her," said the butterfly; and he made her an

　　 offer. But the mint stood silent and stiff, a

　　s she listened to

　　 him. At last she said,-

　　 "Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and

　　 you are old, but we may live for each other just the same; as

　　 to marrying- no; don't let us appear ridiculous at our age."

　　 And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all.

　　 He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And

　　 the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.

　　 It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather.

　　 The cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so

　　 that they creaked again. It was not the weather for flying

　　 about in summer clothes; but fortunately the butterfly was not

　　 out in it. He had got a shelter by chance. It was in a room

　　 heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. He could exist here,

　　 he said, well enough.

　　 "But it is not enough merely to exist," said he, "I need

　　 freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion."

　　 Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and

　　 admired by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on

　　 a pin, in a box of curiosities. They could not do more for

　　 him.

　　 "Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said the

　　 butterfly. "It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should

　　 imagine it is something like being married; for here I am

　　 stuck fast." And with this thought he consoled himself a

　　 little.

　　 "That seems very poor consolation," said one of the plants

　　 in the room, that grew in a pot.

　　 "Ah," thought the butterfly, "one can't very well trust

　　 these plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind."

　　 THE END