The Arbutus Caterpillar 



A comfortable house, tightly closed and 

 well-caulked, proof against rain and snow. 

 We, to guard ourselves against draughts, put 

 sand-bags against the cracks of our doors and 

 windows; the extravagant little Arbutus Cat- 

 erpillar applies pipings of silk-velvet to his 

 shutters. Things should be cosy inside, how- 

 ever damp the fog. In bad weather, the rain 

 drips into my house. The leaf-dwelling knows 

 nothing of such troubles, so true is it that 

 animals often enjoy advantages which rele< 

 gate human industry to the second rank. 



In this shelter of silk and foliage, the worst 

 three or four months of the year are passed 

 in a state of complete abstinence. No out- 

 ings; not a bite of food. In March, this 

 torpor ceases; and the recluses, those starving 

 bellies, shift their quarters. 



The community now splits up into squads, 

 which spread themselves anyhow over the ad- 

 jacent verdure. This is the period of serious 

 devastation. The caterpillars no longer con- 

 fine themselves to nibbling one surface of the 

 leaf; their keen appetites demand the whole 

 of it, down to the stalk. And now, stage by 

 stage, halt by halt, the arbutus is shorn bare. 



The vagabonds do not return to their win- 



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