The Mantis: her Hatching 



is immensely fruitful in order to feed an im- 

 mense number of the hungry. She is con- 

 tinuing the work which her predecessors per- 

 formed in remote ages, when nature, not as 

 yet rich in organic matter, hastened to in- 

 crease her reserves of life by bestowing 

 prodigious exuberance upon her primeval 

 workers. 



The Mantis, like the fish, dates back to 

 those distant epochs. Her strange shape 

 and her uncouth habits have told us so. The 

 richness of her ovaries confirms it. She re- 

 tains in her entrails a feeble relic of the pro- 

 creative fury that prevailed in olden times 

 under the dank shade of the arborescent 

 ferns; she contributes, in a very humble but 

 none the less real measure, to the sublime 

 alchemy of living things. 



Let us look closely at her work. The 

 grass grows thick and green, drawing its 

 nourishment from the earth. The Locust 

 crops it. The Mantis makes a meal of the 

 Locust and swells out with eggs, which are 

 laid, in three batches, to the number of a 

 thousand. When they hatch, up comes the 

 Ant and levies an enormous tribute on the 

 brood. We appear to be retroceding. In 

 vastness of bulk, yes; in refinement of in- 



i8 7 



