Human beings, who in their marriage ceremonies
array themselves to the best advantage and assume their most charming
traits, can hardly withhold attention from other and more ethereal
creatures when they become subject to the divine passion. All have their
moments of bliss, and the butterfly--"the embodiment of pure felicity
--happy in what it has and happier still in searching for something
else"--reveals its "love-sickness and pain" as the bloom of its gay and
sportful existence.
In the courtship of this particular species the male exercises a
singular fascination, while the female gracefully and without hesitation
submits to the spell. He has flitted airily in the sunshine, glorying in
a livery of green and gold and black, has daintily sipped nectar from
the scarlet hibiscus flowers, has soared over the highest bloodwood in
wild but idle impulse, and in a flash, is fervently in love. Judged by
appearance alone he has chosen quite an unworthy bride. She is much the
larger, darker and heavier, and has little of the colouring of her
passionate wooer on her wings, though her body is decorated with
unexpected red. Her flight, ordinarily, is cumbersome and slow, and her
demeanour pensive--almost prim.
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