The Life of the Caterpillar 



juniper, the cypress. What! Am I asking 

 them, Pine Caterpillars, to bite into that? 

 They will take good care not to, despite the 

 tempting resinous smell ! They would die of 

 hunger rather than touch it! One conifer 

 and one only is excepted: the cedar. My 

 charges browse upon its leaves with no appre- 

 ciable repugnance. Why the cedar and not 

 the others? I do not know. The caterpil- 

 lar's stomach, fastidious as our own, has its 

 secrets. 



Let us pass to other tests. I have just slit 

 open longitudinally a nest whose internal 

 structure I want to explore. Owing to the 

 natural shrinkage of the split swan's-down, the 

 cleft reaches two fingers' breadth in the centre 

 and tapers at the top and bottom. What will 

 the spinners do in the presence of such a 

 disaster? The operation is performed by day, 

 while the caterpillars are slumbering in heaps 

 upon the dome. As the living-room is de- 

 serted at this time, I can cut boldly with the 

 scissors without risk of damaging any part 

 of the population. 



My ravages do not wake the sleepers: all 

 day long not one appears upon the breach. 

 This indifference looks as though it were due 



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