LETTER XLI. 



THE CLOTHES-MOTH - 



- AN INCilEDULOUS HAN DOES NOT BELIEVE IN THE 

 SAUSAGE-TREE. 



There are moments at which I accuse myself of great 

 restlessness of mind, and of a strong inclination for vaga- 

 bondizing, when I look back at the road I have already- 

 travelled in my garden in search of new things, when there 

 are so many which I pass by without favouring them with 

 a glance. 



As I was going out this morning to resume my journey 

 from a tuft of fiax at which I stopped yesterday, I perceived 

 that there was going on upon the arm of my old fwuteuil, 

 life, manners, manoeuvres, and industry; in a word, all that 

 we go so far in search of. 



The little moths, very agreeably shaded with grey, that we 

 see flying about our apartments in an evening, have not 

 always, any more than other moths, enjoyed that capricious 

 flight or agreeable lightness; they have been caterpillars. 



