252 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



The progressive movements of life know no gradual 

 stages, from fair to good, from good to excellent ; they 

 proceed by leaps and bounds, in some cases advancing, 

 in some recoiling. The ocean has its ebb and flow. Life, 

 that other ocean, more unfathomable than the ocean of 

 the waters, has its ebb and flow likewise. Will it have 

 any others ? Who can say that it will ? Who can say 

 that it will not ? 



If the sheep were not to assist by swallowing the wrappers 

 after picking them up with her lips, never would the 

 lamb succeed in extricating itself from its swaddling- 

 clothes. In the same way, the little Scorpion calls for 

 its mother's aid. I see some that, caught in stickiness, 

 move about helplessly in the half-torn ovarian sac and are 

 unable to free themselves. It wants a touch of the 

 mother's teeth to complete the deliverance. It is doubt- 

 ful even whether the young insect contributes to effect 

 the laceration. Its weakness is of no avail against that 

 other weakness, the natal envelope, though this be as 

 slender as the inner integument of an onion-skin. 



The young chick has a temporary callosity at the end 

 of its beak, which it uses to peck, to break the shell. The 

 young Scorpion, condensed to the dimensions of a grain 

 of rice to economize space, waits inertly for help from 

 without. The mother has to do everything. She works 

 with such a will that the accessories of childbirth dis- 

 appear altogether, even the few sterile eggs being swept 

 away with the others in the general flow. Not a remnant 

 lingers behind of the now useless tatters ; everything has 

 returned to the mother's stomach ; and the spot of ground 

 that has received the laying is swept absolutely clear. 



So here we have the young nicely wiped, clean and free. 

 They are white. Their length, from the forehead to the 



