VIII LARVA AND NYMPH 115 



and brought up by my hand, ration by ration, on a 

 bed of sand, at the bottom of an old feather box, — 

 you whose transformations I have followed step by 

 step, waking up with a start at night for fear of 

 missing the moment when the nymph breaks through 

 her swaddling bands and the wings issue from their 

 cases. You have taught me so many things, learn- 

 ing nothing yourselves, knowing without teachers all 

 that you need to know. Oh, my beautiful Sphegidae ! 

 fly away without fear of my tubes, my phials, and 

 all my boxes and cages, and all my prisons for 

 you ; fly through the warm sunshine, beloved by the 

 cicadas ! Go, and beware of the Praying Mantis, 

 who meditates your destruction on the purple 

 thistles ; beware of the lizard watching for you on 

 the sunny slopes. Depart in peace, hollow out your 

 burrows, stab your crickets scientifically, and con- 

 tinue your race, so as to afford to others what you 

 have afforded to me — some of the few moments of 

 happiness in my life. 



