A LINGERING GOOD-BY. 219 



myself of having been their murderer, by not 

 having given them caterpillar or cocoon remnants 

 enough for their sustenance. But hypocrisy ran 

 in the family. In October I tipped out the con- 

 tents of the bottle. There was the remnant of a 

 chrysalis, some skins of larvae, and some cater- 

 pillar hair. There were also two or three beetles. 

 The larvae had not been dead at all. 



The new beetles were like their parent in body 

 and mind, for one immediately fell on his back, 

 his feet folded, and every feature exactly like 

 death. I helped one of the beetles out of the 

 remnant of a pupa case that still stuck to his back. 

 But he was very dead during the operation. 



I remember sitting mourning over a beetle of 

 this kind once. I held him in my hand, and as 

 I wondered why he died, he moved a leg ! I have 

 never become accustomed to the perfection to 

 which the skin-beetles carry their mimicry, and 

 if I have to decide a case of death I usually gaze 

 at the beetle as long as my patience holds out, 

 and if he has not moved then, I leave him, know- 

 ing no more than I did before inspection. Un- 

 less such a beetle is positively shrivelled, no one 

 can tell whether he is dead or not. 



And so the traveller beside this brook and over 

 these hills may learn, if he looks, that man is not 

 the only creature who builds houses and is dis- 

 appointed about living in them. There is mate- 

 rial here for a fine sermon, after all, take the 



