" Wlien the moon shall have faded from the sky and the sun shall 

 shine at noonday a dull cherry red, and the seas shall be frozen 

 over, and the ice-cap shall have crept downward to the Equator 

 from either pole, and no keel shall cut the waters, nor wheels 

 turn in mills, when all cities shall have long been dead and 

 crumbled into dust, and all life shall be on the very last verge 

 of extinction on this globe, then, on a bit of lichen, growing on 

 the bald rocks beside the eternal snows of Panama, shall be 

 seated a tiny insect, preening its antennae in the glow of the 

 worn-out sun, representing the sole survival of animal life on 

 this, our earth, a melancholy 'bug.'" 



W. J. HOLLAND, Moth Book. 



