If we remember rightly, the female occasionally is overcome by the temptation to which her mate so readily falls a victim. But we are by no means sure that Butterflies are drinkers of water only. Certainly they are not particular about its purity; they will swallow it in a condition which would make a sanitarian shudder; nay, we fear that a not inconsiderable admixture of ammoniacal salts increases the attraction of the beverage. It is admitted that both Moths and Butterflies visit sugar, overripe fruit, and the like, but it is pleaded that they do this for food. Perhaps; but we fear this is not the whole truth. The apologist has forgotten that practice of entomologists called "sugaring," which is daubing trunks of trees and other suitable places with a mixture of which, no doubt, sugar is the main ingredient, but of which the attraction is enhanced by a little rum. Every collector knows what a deadly lure this is, and what treasures the dark-lantern reveals as he goes his rounds. True, this snare is fatal only to the Moth, because at night the Butterfly is asleep. If he once adopted nocturnal habits we know where he would be found, for he is not insensible by day to the charms of this mixture. [Illustration: From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences. MOTHS.--15/16 Life-size. Phylampelus Achemon. Sphinx chersis. Smerinthus exaecatus. Triptagon Modesta. Choerocampa tersa. Phylampelus pandorus. Coratomia amynton.] THE ENVIOUS WREN. On the ground lived a Hen, In a tree lived a Wren, Who picked up her food here and there; While Biddy had wheat And all nice things to eat Said the Wren, "I declare, 'tisn't fair! "It is really too bad!" She exclaimed--she was mad-- "To go out when it's raining this way! And to earn what you eat, Doesn't make your food sweet, In spite of what some folks may say. "Now, there is that Hen," Said this cross little Wren, "She's fed till she's fat as a drum; While I strive and sweat For each bug that I get, And nobody gives me a crumb. "I can't see for my life Why the old farmer's wife. Treats her so much better than me. Suppose on the ground I hop carelessly round For awhile, and just see what I'll see." Said this cute little Wren, "I'll make friends with the Hen, And perhaps she will ask me to stay; And then upon bread Every day I'll be fed, And life will be nothing but play." So down flew the Wren, "Stop to tea," said the Hen; And soon Biddy's supper was sent; But scarce stopping to taste, The poor bird left in haste, And this was the reason she went: