200 



SHARP EYE? 



If we preserve a few of these clusters in a box until 

 next spring we shall be treated to a singular spectacle. 

 At the appointed day, each egg-shaped cocoon suddenly 

 flies open, with a lid at the top, and, like 

 a tiny black "jack-in-the-box," a small 

 midget of a fly is seen standing upright 

 within, and at length emerging. I have 

 before me as I write a small phial with a 

 hundred or more of the empty silken 

 cases, each with its dainty lid either fully 

 upraised, or with an occasional pair of 

 curious eyes peeping out through the 

 half -opened crevice. The flies are very 

 small, but great in mischief, and if we could but follow 

 one of them as we release it from the window, we might 

 soon learn the secret of that cluster of cocoons. 



Yonder on the red clover leaf a small green caterpil- 

 lar is feeding. Nature has intended him to blossom out 

 into a pale yellow butterfly (Philodice) next September 

 if all goes well with him. But, no, it is not so ordained; 

 for though it takes a sharp eye to find him there against 

 the clover stem, our tiny fly has espied 

 him, and has been on the lookout for 

 him from the moment she first 

 peeped from the little silken box. 

 In a twinkling she has lit upon 

 him, and soon has plant- 

 ed a number of eggs 

 within his body. He 

 expostulates with 

 his tormenter cat- ,J* 

 erpillar fashion, 

 and wriggles from 



