WINTER HOLES 51 



fall out upon the snow among the debris of wood 

 and dead leaves. Hold them close in the warm 

 palm of your hand for a time and the dried bits 

 will quiver, the sides partly separate, and behold ! 

 you have brought back to life a beautiful 

 Euvanessa, or mourning-cloak butterfly. Lay it 

 upon the snow and soon the awakened life wiU 

 ebb away and it will again be stiff, as in death. If 

 you wish, take it home, and you may warm it into 

 activity, feed it upon a drop of syrup and freeze 

 it again at will. Sometimes six or eight of these 

 insects may be found sheltered under the bark of 

 a single stimip, or in a hoUow beneath a stone. 

 Several species share this habit of hibernating 

 throughout the winter. 



Look carefully in old, deserted sheds, in half- 

 sheltered hoUows of trees, or in deep crevice- 

 caverns in rocks, and you may some day spy one 

 of the strangest of our woodfolk. A poor little 

 shrivelled bundle of fur, tight-clasped in its own 

 skinny fingers, with no more appearance of life 

 in its frozen body than if it were a mummy from 

 an Egyptian tomb; such is the figure that will 

 meet your eye when you chance upon a bat in the 

 deep trance of its winter's hibernation. Often 

 you will find six or a dozen of these stiffened 

 forms clinging close together, head downward. 



As in the case of the sleeping butterfly, carry 

 one of the bats to your warm room and place him 

 in a bird-cage, hanging him up on the top wires 



