288 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



or vitriol, our Bug does three wonderful things, 

 it distills sweet water for its present protective 

 cell of bubbles, it draws purest nourishment for 

 continual energy to run its bellows and pump, 

 and simultaneously it fills its blood and tissues 

 with a pungent flavor, which in the future will 

 be a safeguard against the attacks of birds and 

 lizards. Little by little its wings swell to full 

 spread and strength, muscles are fashioned in its 

 hind legs, which in time will shoot it through 

 great distances of space, and pigment of the 

 most brilliant yellow and black forms on its wing 

 covers. When at last it shuts down its little still 

 and creeps forth through the filmy veil, it is im- 

 mature no longer, but a brilliant frog-hopper, 

 sitting on the most conspicuous leaves, trusting 

 by pigmental warning to advertise its inedibility, 

 and watchful for a mate, so that the future may 

 hold no dearth of Bubble Bugs. 



On my first tramp each season in the tropical 

 jungle, I see the legionary army ants hastening 

 on their way to battle, and the leaf-cutters plod- 

 ding along, with chlorophyll hods over their 

 shoulders, exactly as they did last year, and the 

 year preceding, and probably a hundred thou- 

 sand years before that. The Colony Egos of 



