THE CHRYSALIS. 49 



clad Minerva from the head of Jove, a creature of 

 no apparent kinship either with the case that en- 

 wrapped it or the lowly worm that preceded the 

 chrysalis ; a creature with soft, elastic body, 

 buoyant as the air in which it floats, with spread- 

 ing feelers and broad-spanned wings, clothed with 

 jewelled dust and silken hair, which reflect the 

 colors of the rainbow, and in their delicate com- 

 binations defy the painter's palette. But how did 

 such a creature, whose plumage is ruffled by a 

 breath of wind, escape from its iron prison, hard- 

 ened by months of exposure to wintry cold and 

 sleet and sun in rapid succession \ There is a 

 weak point in every structure, and in the chrys- 

 alis it lies next the point of greatest strength in 

 the captive butterfly. The butterfly never emerges 

 in winter, but when the more genial showers of 

 spring or the damp air of a summer's night have 

 softened the texture of its prison- walls, they are 

 further weakened by the moisture now exuded 

 by the twice- bound prisoner feeling the hour of 

 final release draw near. A suture along the crest 

 of the thorax gives way, often with a perceptible 

 click, to the force of the great muscular mass 

 within ; the rest is easy ; the rent is continued on 

 both sides down other sutures, until a door is 

 open, whose smooth inner walls suffer no harm to 

 the delicate creature struggling to escape. Slowly 

 the limbs are withdrawn from their encasements, 



