The Story-Book of the Fields 



insert his poisonous lancet ; the time when 

 the cockchafer leaves the shelter of the foliage, 

 unfolds his humming wings and wanders in 

 the air to seek his fellows. The ephemerids 

 are dancing in merry bands, that are scattered 

 like columns of smoke by the least breath ; 

 the great moths, with wings powdered with 

 silvery dust, and antennae spread out like 

 plumes, are gambolling in the air or seeking 

 convenient spots to lay their eggs ; the little 

 wood-eating beetles leave their galleries and 

 wander over the bark of the old tree-trunks ; 

 the winged insects rise in clouds from the 

 heaps of corn which they have plundered 

 and take their flight to fields where the 

 cereals are ripe ; the pyralids explore the 

 tendrils of the vine, the apple-trees, the pears 

 and the cherries — all busy in the work of 

 providing food and shelter for their disastrous 

 progeny. 



But suddenly among these joyous mul- 

 titudes come the spoil-sport. It is the bat : 

 he comes and goes in his crooked and tireless 

 flight, rising and falling, appearing and dis- 

 appearing, turning his head this way and 

 that, and every time capturing some flying 

 insect, crushing it, and swallowing it in a great 

 mouth open from ear to ear. The hunt 



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