CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 
THE TRANSFORMATION. 
We left the chrysalis of the butterfly sus¬ 
pended by the tail, or else by a silken girth or 
loop, that it had*, spun round the middle of its 
body, to keep itself from falling. 
It is, indeed, in a death-like torpor. It hangs 
quite motionless, and gives no sign of life, 
except it is touched, and then only by a slight 
jerking. Nothing can be less like a butterfly 
than it is at present. It has neither external 
wings, nor legs; and the membrane or skin 
that covers it, is not like that of the caterpillar, 
or of the butterfly, and is filled with a substance 
so soft and pulpy, as to be almost like a fluid. 
The thing it most resembles is an Egyptian 
mummy swaddled up in bandages; and how is 
it possible for this weak and inanimate creature 
to burst its covering, and issue forth adorned 
with all the colors of the rainbow ? 
Let us watch the progress of its transformation. 
Look at it after an interval of time, and see how 
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