THE WATER CABINET. 121 
itself to the dry land, or to the slip of cork placed in the 
jar for its use. There, the apparently painful process 
of its unfolding takes place, and the fly slowly emerges. 
The envelope bursts asunder, and the head of the lovely, 
but blood-thirsty damsel, emerges to the light. Next 
appear the legs, not in action, but gathered up to the 
breast, as if in spasm, and, for a time, the effort is sus- 
pended, and the helpless, half-formed beauty hangs back 
her head, as if languid with the exhaustion of pain. Once 
more she pants for freedom, sighing to sun herself in the 
blue ether, and another struggle is made. ‘This time she 
clutches at the pupa case with a convulsive grasp, and 
drags forth the whole of her delicate body from the grave, 
and there remains motionless, still clinging to it, as if 
contemplating the baseness of her origin—for beauty is 
ever the offspring of the dust. She is free at last—but, 
ah! how helpless. Her wings are damp, and closely 
folded, and would not yield to the wish for flight, even 
were she already possessed of the power to stir them into 
action. She is on the threshold of a new world—a crea- 
ture born of the dust, just escaped from the dust; and 
now as we watch her wings dry and expand, away she 
goes—a thing of light and loveliness soaring heavenward, 
Like the mortal ark, out of which the spirit of man 
escapes, we may, without losing sight of the disparity of 
the subjects, speak of the chrysalis of the dragon fly aa— 
‘A worn-out fetter, which the soul 
Has broken, and thrown away.” 
