348 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD 



I finally captured it, and scared the others away. I took 

 it home and we tried to help it, but I finally killed it, 

 after we found it could not be cured. Its wings and 

 its head and beak were covered with these singular 

 bumps. I have seen hogs try to kill one among them 

 that was sick, gouging it and gouging it, as if to get it 

 out of the way and end its misery; and other animals, 

 I am told, do the same when one of their number be- 

 comes helpless. 



Walking along one day, I discovered a locust with 

 one wing off, clumsily flopping about on the planks. 

 He tried to fly, but could n't, and finally crawled over 

 to a beech, and made his way up again to the life of 

 the branches, his old life, where he might die. I have 

 been much interested in locusts. They have many ene- 

 mies; birds devour them, and I have seen many a one 

 flying with a sizzling locust in its beak; cats and even 

 ants also will eat them. I was quite surprised one time 

 at the actions of one which had just come out of the 

 ground in its pupa state, before shedding its shell. I 

 noticed it in a rather conspicuous place on a walk, and, 

 fearing that it might be crushed by the passers-by, I 

 picked it up and placed it at the foot of a little maple. 

 It was amusing, the avidity with which it took the hint 

 and began slowly to climb the tree in its unwieldy armor 

 (what a bother it must be to be a chrysalis, anyway!), 

 as if having come upon a little suddenly, and by some 

 greater providence than his own the very goal which 

 he had all along been seeking, and been seeing through 

 his glassy, scaly eyes. 



There are, of course, many other tragedies in Na- 

 ture. One life feeds upon another, even if that other 



