im of his treasures. Collectors feel so rich in the possession of their
rarer specimens, that they forget how cheap their precious things
seem to common eyes, and are as afraid of being robbed as if they were
dealers in diamonds. They have the name of stealing from each other
now and then, it is true, but many of their priceless possessions would
hardly tempt a beggar. Values are artificial: you will not be able to
get ten cents of the year 1799 for a dime.

The Scarabee was reassured as soon as he saw our faces, and he welcomed
us not ungraciously into his small apartment. It was hard to find a
place to sit down, for all the chairs were already occupied by cases and
boxes full of his favorites. I began, therefore, looking round the room.
Bugs of every size and aspect met my eyes wherever they turned. I felt
for the moment as I suppose a man may feel in a fit of delirium tremens.
Presently my attention was drawn towards a very odd-looking insect on
the mantelpiece. This animal was incessantly raising its arms as if
towards heaven and clasping them together, as though it were wrestling
in prayer.

Do look at this creature,--I said to the Master, he seems to be very
hard at work at his devotions.

Mantas religiosa,--said the Master,--I know the praying rogue. Mighty
devout and mighty cruel; crushes everything he can master, or impales
it on his spiny shanks and feeds upon it, like a gluttonous wretch as
he is. I have seen the Mantis religiosa on a larger scale than this, now
and then. A sacred insect, sir,--sacred to many tribes of men; to the
Hottentots, to the Turks, yes, sir, and to the Frenchmen, who call the
rascal prie dieu, and believe him to have special charge of children
that have lost their way.

Doesn't it seem as if there was a vein of satire as well as of fun
that ran through the solemn manifestations of creative wisdom? And of
deception too--do you see how nearly those dried leaves resemble an
insect?

They do, indeed,--I answered,--but not so closely as to deceive me. They
remind me of an insect, but I could not mistake them for one.

--Oh, you couldn't mistake those dried leaves for an insect, hey? Well,
how can you mistake that insect for dried leaves? That is the question;
for insect it is,--phyllum siccifolium, the "walking leaf," as some have
called it.--The Master had a hearty laugh at my expense.

The Scarabee did not seem to be amused at the Master's remarks or at
my blunder. Science is alw