butterflies must pass. Nothing in nature comes to perfection at once, but passes through various stages, which, in the moth or butterfly, may be divided into three, distinct and clear from one another. These are technically called the larva, pupa, and imago periods.

The word larva is taken from the Latin, signifying a

mask, because the real insect is supposed to be masked under the form of a caterpillar. Pupa, which we may translate into mummy, is the second term, and applied from the slight resemblance which the encased caterpillar in its chrysalis bears to an infant trussed up in bandages, after a mummy-like fashion,-a barbarous

custom, I think, which I have often seen practised on the Continent. The pupa of moths and butterflies are often spotted, and tinged with a beautiful golden colour, and in consequence have been called chrysalides by the Greeks, a term, however, not applicable to ungilded pupæ. The last state is called imago, because the perfected insect, having cast aside both mask and swaddlingclothes, represents an image of the entire species.

We have, then, first the caterpillar stage, in which the insect does little but eat and grow, retiring at set times to renew its coat, for its skin does not grow as it does itself, and consequently as it increases in size, it requires a new suit of clothes. Therefore it very properly retreats to some sheltered spot, where its jacket splitting across the back of its neck, the poor insect is seemingly left helpless and destitute. But soon the new skin hardens, and it returns to its old life of eating and drinking.

That it possesses a rapacious appetite may too frequently be seen by the devastation these creatures commit on the trees and shrubs around, which are often robbed of their summer attire, the leaves riddled through and through, sometimes nothing but stems and fibres remaining.

Now the structure of the caterpillar is very wonderful. It does not breathe by means of lungs, as we and the generality of the larger animals do, nor through gills like fishes, but by means of holes distributed in a row of nine up each side of its body, which communicate with air tubes spread entirely over the little creature, even to the extremity of its claws. These air holes are protected by small minute hairs, which keep out everything but air. It is possessed of a gummy substance wherewith to form the cocoon in which to envelope itself. This silky cord varies in texture and quantity according to the species of caterpillar. Very beautiful also is its muscular structure, which enables it to lengthen or draw up its body, composed of twelve ring-like segments, exclusive of the head, which is always of a deeper colour, and harder than the

body. Each of the three segments nearest the head is furnished with a pair of short legs, ending in a claw, and these are the true legs of the insect, though it possesses eight or ten other legs on the hinder portion of the body. It can boast of no fewer than twelve eyes, and possesses two very short, conical antennæ or horns.

When the caterpillar has become fully grown, changed its garments many times, and eaten till it can eat no longer, it becomes sluggish, and seeks about for a fitting situation in which to assume the second or chrysalis stage. Then confining itself in a coffin of its own contrivance and spinning, it gradually, as it were, dies to its old life. The pupa of the butterfly and moth vary in one respect, that the chrysalis of the former is generally angular, whilst that of the moth is cylindrical. Every one who has wandered in a garden must have noticed the curiously curled-up leaves on many a shrub and plant, where the edges are drawn together by silken threads, forming dainty little parcels. All these are the work of various kinds of caterpillars, which thus construct, as it were, tombs for themselves in which to sleep during their chrysalis stage. Examine the branches of the dark trees, and you will observe thousands of these rolled-up leaves; give a sudden jerk to a stem, and you will laugh to see the rapid descent of the little surprised caterpillars, which instantly drop to the ground, supporting themselves by a silken cord, which serves as a sort of fairy ladder, by means of which, when all cause of alarm is over, they ascend once more to their abode.

Endless is the variety of modes these little creatures adopt to construct their homes. Some sling themselves in hammock-like fashion horizontally from twig to twig, others suspend themselves head downwards; some retire, and burying themselves in the ground, hide in the dark, or conceal themselves in the bark of the trees. Many form a hard, transparent, horn-like cocoon; others again are soft in texture, and curious in shape, being large in the middle, and tapering to

a point at each end. Every one knows the method adopted by our commonest moth, so destructive to woollen material and furs, gnawing holes to obtain the filament with which to form that little tube so often found on moth-eaten flannels. And on these same substances does this caterpillar live. No sooner has it escaped from the egg than it sets to work with its jaws, which clip like a pair of scissors, to form its little cylindrical home, out of which it pops its little head at either end when it desires to feed, and from which it never entirely wanders. In this tube it passes its chrysalis stage, and then appears the tiny, stone-coloured moth, which must be so familiar to you all, the glitter of whose golden wings you must, I think, often have admired.

The caterpillar of the puss moth bites off little chips from the bark of the tree, and, cementing these all together, forms a shelter for itself about as large as a half walnut, and placed not unlike a tiny boat, keel uppermost. These are common enough on the willow and poplar trees, and look like a natural excrescence on the bark, for which you have very likely taken them.

Such are a few examples of the different modes in which the various caterpillars form their cocoons, and in which they are content to rest in a dormant state until, time advancing, the fetters are broken through, and forth emerges the airy moth or butterfly, in all the glories of its new attire:

'Having burst from its prison,

Bright child of the air,
Like a spirit just risen,

From its mansion of care.'

Gracefully it flits from flower to flower, its life oft but the length of a summer day, and deposits its eggs in the most suitable place for the young caterpillar, which in due time will creep forth, and, entering upon an existence of its own, pass in its turn through the three stages the same as its parent has done.

Most interesting is it to watch these various transfor

mations of insect life, which may easily be done by gathering the numerous pupæ hanging from many a bush in your garden; and fully would my young friends be repaid for any trouble it might entail. Space is too limited for me to give you any lengthened account of these changes, therefore I must pass on to the last and perfect stage of moth and butterfly, the one most likely to attract your notice and admiration, and cause a desire to know more about those commonest varieties to be seen in every field or garden.

By giving you their descriptions and names, a few hints as to their haunts and habits, I hope to kindle a desire for further knowledge, give a keener relish to the summer walk, by inducing you to hunt for specimens in the chrysalis state, when you will be enabled to examine and watch for yourselves. And in your study of the insect world, you will find that as God has given His word, so also hath He given His world to instruct us, and increase our knowledge in His ways and wonders; for everything in nature proclaims

'The hand that made us is divine.'

LEIGH PAGE.

STORIES FROM HISTORY.

JEANNE D'ARC, THE MAID.

HER EARLY LIFE.

AD we been in a quiet field close to the little obscure village of Domremy, in the province of Lorraine, in the month of June 1425, we should then have seen a young and gentle peasant girl watching her father's sheep. She is tall and large for her age (thirteen); her dark hair falls in rich curls on her shoulders; her face is one of singular beauty of feature, and still greater beauty of expression. Grave, thoughtful, earnest, you

could