THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE BUTTERFLIES

The scene was in a garden on a fine summer morning, brilliant with slants of sunshine, yet chequered with clouds significant of more than a remote possibility of rain.  All the animal world was astir.  Birds flitted or hopped from spray to spray; butterflies eddied around flowers within or upon which bees were bustling; ants and earwigs ran nimbly about on the mould; a member of the Universal Knowledge Society perambulated the gravel path.

The Universal Knowledge Society, be it understood, exists for the dissemination and not for the acquisition of knowledge.  Our philosopher, therefore, did not occupy himself with considering whether in that miniature world, with its countless varieties of animal and vegetable being, something might not be found with which he was himself unacquainted; but, like the honey-freighted bee, rather sought an opportunity of disburdening himself of his stores of information than of adding to them.  But who was to profit by his communicativeness?  The noisy birds could not hear themselves speak, much less him; he shrewdly distrusted his ability to command the attention of the busy bees; and even a member of the Universal Knowledge Society may well be at a loss for a suitable address to an earwig.  At length he determined to accost a Butterfly who, after sipping the juice of a flower, remained perched indolently upon it, apparently undecided whither to direct his flight.

“It seems likely to rain,” he said, “have you an umbrella?”

The Butterfly looked curiously at him, but returned no answer.

“I do not ask,” resumed the Philosopher, “as one who should imply that the probability of even a complete saturation ought to appal a ratiocinative being, endowed with wisdom and virtue.  I rather designed to direct your attention to the inquiry whether these attributes are, in fact, rightly predicable of Butterflies.”

Still no answer.

“An impression obtains among our own species,” continued the Philosopher, “that you Butterflies are deficient in foresight and providence to a remarkable, I might almost say a culpable degree.  Pardon me if I add that this suspicion is to some extent confirmed by my finding you destitute of protection against imbriferous inclemency under atmospheric conditions whose contingent humidity should be obvious to a being endowed with the most ordinary allotment of meteorological prevision.”

The Butterfly still left all the talk to the Philosopher.  This was just what the latter desired.

“I greatly fear,” he continued, “that the omission to which I have reluctantly adverted is to a certain extent typically characteristic of the entire political and social economy of the lepidopterous order.  It has even been stated, though the circumstance appears scarcely credible, that your system of life does not include the accumulation of adequate resources against the inevitable exigencies of winter.”