THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF ANIMALS us 



turn themselves in their cradles. See the larvae creep 

 forth, wash themselves in the water, and hungrily fall 

 upon their prey, some smaller insects. The wing-like 

 trachea! gills grow out, and the air soaks into the blood ; 

 the larvae cast their skins many times, and hide from the 

 fishes. At length comes the final moult, and the un- 

 folding of the gauze-like wings. In the summer evening 

 you may see the first short flight as the insects rise like a 

 living mist from the pool. But even yet a thin veil, too 

 truly suggestive of a shroud, encumbers them ; and they 

 rest wearily on the grass or on the branches of the willow. 

 Watch them writhe and jerk, as if impatient, till at 

 length their last encumbrance their " ghost," as natura- 

 lists call it is thrown off. Now the other life, the life 

 of love, begins. They dance up and down, dimpling 

 the smooth water into smiling with a touch chasing, 

 embracing, separating. They never pause to eat they 

 could not if they tried ; hunger is past, love is present, 

 and in the near future is death. The evening shadows 

 grow longer, shadows of death to the Ephemeridae. 

 The trout jump at them, a few rain-drops thin the throng, 

 the stream bears others away. The mothers lay their 

 eggs in the water, and wearily die forthwith cradle and 

 tomb are side by side ; the males also pass from the 

 climax of loving to the other crisis of dying. But the 

 eggs are in the water, and the dance of love is more than 

 a dance of death. Turning homewards, we cannot but 

 think sadly of other Ephemeridae, of patient larval life, 

 of the gradual revealing of the higher self, of shrouds 

 thrown aside and wedding robes put on, of hunger eaten 

 up by love, of the sacrifice of maternity, of cradle and 

 tomb together. Yet we remember the eggs in the water, 

 the promise of the future beneath the surface of the 

 stream. Under the horse-chestnut tree, too, the wind 

 has blown the shed petals like white foam, but the tree 

 itself is strong like Ygdrasil, and among the branches a 

 bird sings in the twilight. 



Returning in more matter-of-fact mood to parental 

 care, we need not dwell upon those cases where the young 

 are simply sheltered for a while about the body of the 



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