The Great Peacock 



my preparations, the cause of so much anxiety. 

 We have winter back again. The mistral 

 howls, tears the budding leaves from the 

 plane-trees and strews the ground with them. 

 It is as cold as in December. We have to 

 light the fires again at night and resume the 

 thick clothes which we were beginning to 

 leave off. 



My Moths are sorely tried. They hatch 

 late and are torpid. Around my wire cages, 

 in which the females wait, one to-day, another 

 to-morrow, according to the order of their 

 birth, few males or none come from the out- 

 side. And yet there are some close at hand, 

 for the plumed gallants resulting from my 

 harvest were placed out in the garden as soon 

 as they were hatched and recognized. Whe- 

 ther near neighbours or strangers from afar, 

 very few arrive; and these are only half- 

 hearted. They enter for a moment, then dis- 

 appear and do not return. The lovers have 

 grown cold. 



It is also possible that the low temperature 

 is unfavourable to the tell-tale effluvia, which 

 might well be enhanced by the w r armth and 

 decreased by the cold, as happens with scents. 

 My year is lost. Oh, what laborious work is 

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