348 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD 



I finally captured it, and scared the others away. I took 

 it home and we tried to help it, but I finally killed it, 

 after we found it could not be cured. Its wings and 

 its head and beak were covered with these singular 

 bumps. I have seen hogs try to kill one among them 

 that was sick, gouging it and gouging it, as if to get it 

 out of the way and end its misery; and other animals, 

 I am told, do the same when one of their number be- 

 comes helpless. 



Walking along one day, I discovered a locust with 

 one wing off, clumsily flopping about on the planks. 

 He tried to fly, but could n't, and finally crawled over 

 to a beech, and made his way up again to the life of 

 the branches, his old life, where he might die. I have 

 been much interested in locusts. They have many ene- 

 mies; birds devour them, and I have seen many a one 

 flying with a sizzling locust in its beak; cats and even 

 ants also will eat them. I was quite surprised one time 

 at the actions of one which had just come out of the 

 ground in its pupa state, before shedding its shell. I 

 noticed it in a rather conspicuous place on a walk, and, 

 fearing that it might be crushed by the passers-by, I 

 picked it up and placed it at the foot of a little maple. 

 It was amusing, the avidity with which it took the hint 

 and began slowly to climb the tree in its unwieldy armor 

 (what a bother it must be to be a chrysalis, anyway!), 

 as if having come upon — a little suddenly, and by some 

 greater providence than his own — the very goal which 

 he had all along been seeking, and been seeing through 

 his glassy, scaly eyes. 



There are, of course, many other tragedies in Na- 

 ture. One life feeds upon another, even if that other 



