lilac, yellow—eight or ten little butterflies were apparently hovering over cr lightly poised on the blossoms.
Made of Japanese paper, some white, some yellow, and about two inches across the outspread wings, they represented the most common species found in this country and usually seen fluttering in pairs—"twin souls"—in our lanes and byways. Attached to tiny spiral wires concealed among the flowers, they had the tremulous motion that simulated life.
A wide, pale-yellow satin ribbon was tied around the basket.
The candle-shades were of white crimped paper, with large yellow butterflies surrounding them; the wings, just meeting at the tips, were marked with fantastic designs, and the little nervures slightly traced like the veinings of a leaf.
It needs but the most superficial skill in water-colour painting to decorate their wings, and every public library can furnish plates that are easily copied.
Since there are over three thousand different varieties, one could improvise the markings of a wing and hardly fail to find its counterpart in nature. The little bodies were mere tiny bundles of paper, divided so as to indicate the head, and the antennae were of fine wire.
At the place of each guest was a little bonbonniere of yellow satin, upon which was poised a large butterfly, trembling on its wire as though just about to take flight. No two were alike, and each guest claimed to have been favoured in the one assigned to her, as across the wings, in quaint gilt lettering and in zig-zag lines, she read her own name.
An appropriate contest by way of entertainment after the luncheon would be the making of butterflies—