The Mantis: her Hatching 



and sticky tongue across a procession of Ants 

 and then suddenly withdrawing it all black 

 with the limed insects. With such mouthfuls 

 as these, the Wryneck becomes disgracefully 

 fat in autumn ; he plasters himself with butter 

 on his rump and sides and under his wings; 

 he hangs a string of it round his neck; he 

 pads his skull with it right down to the beak. 



He is then delicious, roasted: small, I ad- 

 mit; no bigger than a Lark, at the outside; 

 but, small though he be, unlike anything else 

 and immeasurably superior to the Pheasant, 

 who must begin to go bad before developing 

 a flavour at all. 



Let me for this once do justice to the merit 

 of the humblest! When the table is cleared 

 after the evening meal and all is quiet and 

 my body relieved for the time being of its 

 physiological needs, sometimes I succeed in 

 picking up, here and there, a good idea or 

 two; and it may well be that the Mantis, the 

 Locust, the Ant and even lesser creatures 

 contribute to these sudden gleams of light 

 which flash unaccountably into one's mind. 

 By strange and devious paths, they have all 

 supplied, in their respective ways, the drop of 

 oil that feeds the lamp of thought. Their 

 energies, slowly developed, stored up and 

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