The Life of the Caterpillar 



cone a symmetrical dormer-window, clean- 

 edged, with no joins nor unevenness of any 

 kind, showing that this part of the wall 

 has been nibbled away and swallowed. But 

 for this breach, which is just wide enough for 

 the deliverance, the egg remains intact, stand- 

 ing firmly on its base. It is now that the lens 

 is best able to take in its elegant structure. 

 What it sees is a bag made of ultra-fine gold- 

 beater's-skin, translucent, stiff and white, re- 

 taining the complete form of the original 

 egg. A score of streaked and knotted lines 

 run from the top to the base. It is the wiz- 

 ard's pointed cap, the mitre with the grooves 

 carved into jewelled chaplets. All said, 

 the Cabbage-caterpillar's birth-casket is an ex- 

 quisite work of art. 



The hatching of the lot is finished in a 

 couple of hours and the swarming family 

 musters on the layer of swaddling-clothes, 

 still in the same position. For a long time, 

 before descending to the fostering leaf, it 

 lingers on this kind of hot-bed, is even very 

 busy there. Busy with what? It is browsing 

 a strange kind of grass, the handsome mitres 

 that remain standing on end. Slowly and 

 methodically, from top to base, the new-born 

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