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 
