The _chrysalis_, again, is a very pretty object, especially when of its ordinary colour, which is a lively green, shaded in some parts into bright yellow; but there is a frequent variety marked only with various shades of brown and buff. Living specimens of both of these are before me at this moment, and when they assume the perfect state, I shall be curious to mark whether these differences are continued in the respective butterflies. These chrysalides are most interesting objects to keep during the winter months. As the spring advances, the colours of the butterfly begin to appear faintly through their thin green envelope, and the pattern of the upper wings, which only are visible, becomes at last distinctly perceptible, of course in miniature. When this is the case, we should begin to watch for the release of the beautiful prisoner. If you visit his cage the first thing every morning (for his exit most frequently takes place in the early part of {65} the day), you may be fortunate enough on one of these occasions, to find the creature either actually emerging, or just out of his case; cutting an odd figure, and evidently neither very proud of himself nor much at his ease, his wings being tiny things, hardly bigger than those of a humble-bee, and hanging limply from his comparatively ponderous and gigantic body; which they are nevertheless destined, ere many hours are over, to carry with most enviable celerity through the air. The rapid increase in size of these organs is a matter of marvel; you can literally see them grow, and within about an _hour_ they will have reached their full expanse. The creature attaches itself, back downwards, to the lid of its cage, or to the under side of any convenient _horizontal_ surface, that the wings, by their own weight, may aid in their dilatation, and that they may dry without creasing, as they will sometimes do, when the insect, being under a slippery bell-glass, for instance, is unable to reach the desirable point of suspension, which it always evinces extreme anxiety to do. By the time the sun is well out, our pet will have his wings thoroughly plumed for flight; and here a difficulty sometimes presents itself to the entomologist. What is to be done with our new-born Machaon? It is probably a splendid specimen for the cabinet, and the collector may long to grace his "series" with its virgin splendours. But then there will creep over him the unwelcome sensation, that it is a somewhat cowardly proceeding to foster a bright being into a life that might be all joyousness, {66} and then, taking advantage of his domesticated position, to cut short that life, almost ere commenced, and to forbid those wondrous wings to carry their possessor to even one short day's enjoyment of sunshine and nectar, and the doubtlessly exalted pleasure of mere airy motion itself. Fairly chasing down a butterfly is all well enough; but this is quite another thing.