The Life of the Caterpillar 



at the moment when they resume their noc- 

 turnal flight, else the merit of their quest 

 would disappear. I therefore move the bell- 

 jar with its captives and place it under a porch 

 at the other end of the house, some fifty yards 

 from my study. 



When night comes, I go to make a last in- 

 spection of my eight victims. Six have flown 

 out through the open window; two remain 

 behind, but these have dropped to the floor 

 and no longer have the strength to turn over 

 if I lay them on their backs. They are ex- 

 hausted, dying. Pray do not blame my surgi- 

 cal work. This quick decreptitude occurs 

 invariably, even without the intervention of 

 my scissors. 



Six, in better condition, have gone off. 

 Will they return to the bait that attracted 

 them yesterday? Though deprived of their 

 antennae, will they be able to find the cage, 

 now put in another place, at a considerable 

 distance from its original position? 



The cage is standing in the dark, almost 

 in the open air. From time to time, I go out 

 with a lantern and a Butterfly-net. Each 

 visitor is captured, examined, catalogued and 

 forthwith let loose in an adjoining room, of 



