The Life of the Caterpillar 



rays of the lantern. A shower of granules 

 drops on the sand below. These are the 

 residues of easy-going stomachs, only too 

 ready to digest their food. By to-morrow 

 morning the soil will have disappeared under 

 a greenish layer of this intestinal hail. Yes, 

 indeed, it is a sight to see, one far more stimu- 

 lating than that of the Silk-worms' mess-room. 

 Young and old, we are all so much interested 

 in it that our evenings almost invariably end in 

 a visit to the greenhouse caterpillars. 



The meal is prolonged far into the night. 

 Satisfied at last, some sooner, some later, they 

 go back to the nest, where for a little longer, 

 feeling their silk-glands filled, they continue 

 spinning on the surface. These hard workers 

 would scruple to cross the white carpet with- 

 out contributing a few threads. It is getting 

 on for one or even two o'clock in the morn- 

 ing when the last of the band goes indoors. 



My duty as a foster-father is daily to re- 

 new the bunch of sprigs, which are shorn to 

 the last leaf; on the other hand, my duty as 

 an historian is to enquire to what extent the 

 diet can be varied. The district supplies me 

 with Processionaries on the Scotch pine, the 

 maritime pine and the Aleppo pine indif- 



