The Clythrs: The Egg 



droughtily under the merciless sun of the 

 dog-days, but which a bath in a glass of water 

 awakens at once. They now display their 

 ring of green leaflets, brightened up and re- 

 stored to life for a few hours. There are 

 leprous efflorescences, with their white or yel- 

 low dust; tiny lichens radiating in ash-grey 

 straps and covered with glaucous, white- 

 edged shields, great round eyes that seem 

 to gaze from the depths of the limbo in 

 which dead matter comes to life again. 

 There are collemas, which, after a shower, 

 become dark and bloated and shake like 

 jellies; sphasrias, whose pustules stand out 

 like ebony teats, full of myriads of tiny sacs, 

 each containing eight pretty seeds. A glance 

 through the microscope at the contents of one 

 of these teats, a speck only just visible to the 

 eye, reveals an astounding world : an infinity 

 of procreative wealth in an atom. Ah, what 

 a beautiful thing life is, even on a chip of 

 rotten bark no bigger than a finger-nail! 

 What a garden ! What a treasure-house ! 



This is the best pasture put to the test. 

 My Clythrae graze upon it, gathering in 

 dense herds at the most luxuriant spots. 

 One would take -this heap for pinches of some 

 brown, modelled seed or other, the snap- 

 dragon's, for instance; but these particular 

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