MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



shade more quickly than they will move if touched. So 

 until my lo settled where I wanted her with the wings 

 open, she was kept in the shadow. Only when I grasped 

 the bulb and stood ready to snap, was the covering lifted, 

 and for the smallest fraction of a second the full light 

 fell on her; then darkness again. 



In three days it began to be apparent there was some- 

 thing wrong with the eggs. In four it was evident, and 

 by five I was not expecting the little caterpillars to emerge 

 and they did not. The moth had not mated and the 

 eggs were not fertile. Then I saw my mistake. In- 

 stead of shutting the female in the conservatory at night, 

 I should have tied a soft cotton string firmly around her 

 body, and fastened it to some of the vines on the veranda. 

 Beyond all doubt, before morning, a male of her kind 

 would have been attracted to her. 



One learns almost as much by his mistakes as he prof- 

 its by his successes in this world. Writing of this piece 

 of stupidity, at a time in my work with moths when 

 a little thought would have taught me better, reminds me 

 of an experience I had with a caterpillar, the first one I 

 ever carried home and tried to feed. I had an order to 

 fill for some swamp pictures, and was working almost 

 waist deep in a pool in the Limberlost, when on a wild 

 grapevine swinging close to my face, I noticed a big cater- 

 pillar placidly eating his way around a grape leaf. The 

 caterpillar was over four inches long, had no horn, and 



210 



