The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1875-11-04
WHAT THE ROSE TOLD THE BUT
TERFLY.

TIRED of roaming about from flower to
flower, and, strange as it may appear,
little sick of honey, the beautiful butterfly,
with the rainbow tinted wings, stopped, at
the end OF a long summer afternoon, to
take few moments rest on the branch Of
a fragrant rOse-trce.
As he did so he spied just above him a
big brown caterpillar, slowly eating its
way through one of the largest of the
green leaves.
Well, said the young butterfly, open
ing wide his wings, so that all the roses
and buds might see their brilliant colOrs,
" that is queer looking thing. 1t don't
appear to have any legs and it's very ugly.
I've half a mind to speak to it."
Then he had a whole mind, and spoke:
"HalIooI my friend' (his friend, indeed )-
you with fur coat on-in such warm
weather, too. How very odd, when one
feels like wearing no coat at all. What
are you?"
What YOU were once yourself" an
swered the caterpillar, grutliy, raising its
head for an instant and then quietly going
on with its meal.
"1!' said the butterfly, standing on the
tip of his toes in his great astonishment.
" Well that is good joke. l ever any
thing like you! The idea is absurd,
ridiculous! | fly; you crawl. feed on
honey; you on green leaves. |, to speak
plainly, am beautiful; and you, to speak
still more plainly, extremely not beautiful.
Oh, no! my funny fellow. You've made
a great mistake, or else told a great"
Stop, stopn' said sweet voice, and a
lovely crimson rose leaned toward the
indignant speaker. 1.-The caterpillar has
spoken the truth
"Why, how do you know, pretty one ~
asked the butterfly
"The grapevine told me all about it,"
replied the rose.
"And | should feel obliged if you
would tell me all about it," said the but
terfy.
"With pleasure" said the rose, and
began: When was bud | used to
peep through my green latticework at a
tiny cradle or hammock or something of
that sort that hung from a branch of the
blackberry bush just opposite and wonder
what was in it. 1t never stirred only
when the breeze came along and stopped
to rock it for a few moments; when one
day. as l was watching and wondering, it
burst asunder and you, most beautiful of
butterflies, came out"
Eyes, yes, remember that" interrupt
ed the butterfly, forgetting his politeness
in his impotence. But what has that
to do with my ever being like caterpil-
lar?"
"Like caterpillar,' muttered the fur
coated one, with his mouth full. "Oh,
yes, indeed! very liken
Have patience" said the rose, and
you shall hear. At the moment you first
unfolded your wings the grapevine behind
me flung out pretty tendril and caught
me around the stem"
1" All, ha! l have you now, Queen of
the Rosebuds, said he (he's merry fellow,
always full of fun) and l shall hold you
until you tell me what you were thinking
about
" don't mind telling you at ALL said
l. 4 was wondering what that was that
Just opened and let out a lovely butterfly
"'That,' said the grapevine (who is ever
so old, years old, and knows everything
that is to be known about a garden)-' that,
sweetest of sweet wee blossoms, was a
caterpillar's coffin
ga caterpillar's coffin?' repeated l. in
great surprise.
" Yes. When caterpillar gets tired
of being a caterpillar it makes for itself
coffin; and into that coffin it goes cater
pillar, and out of it it comes butterfly.
Don't ask me to explain, pinkest of pink
buds. l can't, though I've seen it done
over and over again
"'How funnyr said 1, and slipped
away from the tendril that was holding
me.
"'You sly little thing said the grape
vine. 'rll catch you again-see if l
don't-the very next time you're think
ing
$50, though it may seem absurd and
ridiculous to you now, velvet-winged but
terfy, you must have once been cater
pillar. But suppose sleeping so long in
that coffin, as the grapevine called it Qd
rather call it a cradle), has made you for
get all about the days you had no wings
and looked as though you had no legs"
"Well," said the butterfly, unfolding
his wings ready for flight, 81 must say, if
all the caterpillars in the world had told
me had ever belonged to their family
wouldn't have believed them. But, as
you say, sweet crimson rose, the grape
vine is old and knows everything.
think there is such thing as being too
old and knowing too much. l suppose |
must accept his story as the truth. Good
! evening"" and away he flew, feeling much