MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



In August of the same year, while driving on a cor- 

 duroy road in Michigan, I espied a Luna moth on the 

 trunk of a walnut tree close the road. The cold damp 

 location must account for this late emergence; for sub- 

 sequent events proved that others of the family were as 

 slow in appearing. A storm of protest arose, when I 

 stopped the carriage and started to enter the swamp. 

 The remaining occupants put in their time telling blood- 

 curdling experiences with "massaugers," that infested 

 those marshes; and while I bent grasses and cattails to 

 make the best footing as I worked my way toward 

 the moth, I could hear a mixed chorus — "brought up 

 thirteen in the dredge at the cement factory the other 

 day," "killed nine in a hayfield below the cemetery," 

 "saw a buster crossing the road before me, and my horse 

 almost plunged into the swamp," "died of a bite from 

 one that struck him while fixing a loose board in his front 

 walk." 



I am dreadfully afraid of snakes, and when it seemed I 

 could not force myself to take another step, and I was 

 clinging to a button bush while the water arose above my 

 low shoes, the moth lowered its wings flat against the 

 bark. From the size of the abdomen I could see that it 

 was a female heavily weighted with eggs. Possibly she 

 had mated the previous night, and if I could secure her, 

 Luna life history would be mine. 



So I set my teeth and advanced. My shoes were 



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