The Cabbage-caterpillar 



in the row are briskly lifted and as briskly 

 lowered, time after time, with an automatic 

 precision worthy of a Prussian drill-ground. 

 Can it be their method of intimidating an 

 always possible aggressor? Can it be a 

 manifestation of gaiety, when the wanton sun 

 warms their full paunches? Whether sign of 

 fear or sign of bliss, this is the only exercise 

 that the gluttons allow themselves until the 

 proper degree of plumpness is attained. 



After a month's grazing, the voracious ap- 

 petite of my caged herd is assuaged. The 

 caterpillars climb the trelliswork in every 

 direction, walk about anyhow, with their fore- 

 part raised and searching space. Here and 

 there, as they pass, the swaying herd put 

 forth a thread. They wander restlessly, 

 anxiously to travel afar. The exodus now 

 prevented by the trellised enclosure I once saw 

 under excellent conditions. At the advent of 

 the cold weather, I had placed a few cabbage- 

 stalks, covered with caterpillars, in a small 

 greenhouse. Those who saw the common 

 kitchen vegetable sumptuously lodged under 

 glass, in the company of the pelargonium and 

 the Chinese primrose, were astonished at my 

 curious fancy. I let them smile. I had my 



349 



