The Life of the Caterpillar 



by stripping her of her down. She had a 

 fleece to start with, a very light and scanty 

 fleece, it is true, but still a vestige of the cos- 

 tume which Moths are wont to wear. This 

 fluff she has lost. What has she done with 

 it? 



The Eider robs herself of her down to 

 make a luxurious bed for her brood; the new- 

 born Rabbits lie on a mattress which their 

 mother cards for them with the softest part 

 of her fur, shorn from the belly and neck, 

 wherever the shears of her front teeth can 

 reach it. This fond tenderness is shared by 

 the Psyche, as you will see. 



In front of the chrysalid bag is an abund- 

 ant mass of extra-fine wadding, similar to 

 that of which a few flocks used to fall out- 

 side on the occasions when the recluse went 

 to her window. Is it silk? Is it spun mus- 

 lin? No; but it is something of incom- 

 parable delicacy. The microscope recognizes 

 it as the scaly dust, the impalpable down in 

 which every Moth is clad. To give a snug 

 shelter to the little caterpillars who will soon 

 be swarming in the case, to provide them with 

 a refuge in which they can play about and 

 gather strength before entering the wide 



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