water. If unidentified, they are examined and described by the young lady yonder at a desk in the office. In one hand she holds a lens, and in the other the glass box cover, over which the caterpillar moves restlessly. It proves to be a geometer, and after crawling disconsolately around the lid, it strikes an oratorical attitude, with all forelegs in the air, and so remains.
Describing a caterpillar is no trifling matter. Date and food are given, form and color are noticed, and as particular attention given to the various parts of the body as if the object measured feet instead of millimetres. The description, expressed in scientific terms, is read to the professor, who usually makes some correction in regard to color, —for these mites are often as varied and brilliant as the mosaics of St. Mark's,— and then the corrected copy is laid away in a brown cover inscribed with the number of the insect. This becomes the nucleus of a life history; for as the insect progresses through its metamorphosis, notes are added. Other caterpillars are "put up" in jars of alcohol, where they look to the cursory glance like some sort of mixed pickles. Those to be preserved in the cabinet are emptied and inflated, by means of a bulb syringe, over an alcohol lamp.

With Phosphate. Without Phosphate.
Showing Effect of Phosphate on Corn.
The office also contains the reference library and bulletins; and through an open door beyond appear implements of war and of the chase, —double and single barrelled pumps, bellows, large and small, with funnel attachments, "killing bottles" loaded with cyanide of potassium, long-handled field nets, short-handled beating and water nets. Presses or "setting boards" stand near, filled with moths and butterflies, their rounded bodies in the slots, their soft wings spread and held in place with pieces of glass or strips of paper. The deft feminine fingers which arranged them are now busy mounting other specimens in the cabinet drawers. With a pair of jeweller's forceps, broadened and finely lined to hold the pin, she picks up her impaled gem and adjusts it in its place. The winged atom is transfixed on the finest silver wire twisted about a slender pin, where it makes as brave an appearance as possible with every microscopic feather opened. The scientific touch is nowhere more essential than in an insectary, in the separating of finest membranes and the manipulation of delicate little bodies, particularly in the examinations for, description. "Her insects do not die," is the professor's commendation of his principal assistant, and in grateful recognition of her care for his "creatures" he has named a new insect of his discovery in her honor.
The greenhouse of the insectary is an infirmary, containing pansies with their pretty faces eaten out and disfigured, emaciated pinks, roses under treatment
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