I remember a late frost which had nipped the buds of the mulberry-trees during the night, just when the first leaves were out. Next day there was great excitement among my neighbours: the Silk-worms had hatched and the food had suddenly failed. The farmers had to wait for the sun to repair the disaster; but how were they to keep the famishing new-born grubs alive for a few days? They knew me for an expert in plants; by collecting them as I walked through the fields I had earned the name of a medical herbalist. With poppy-flowers I prepared an elixir which cleared the sight; with borage I obtained a syrup which was a sovran remedy for whooping-cough; I distilled camomile; I extracted the essential oil from the wintergreen. In short, botany had won for me the reputation of a quack doctor. After all, that was something. The housewives came in search of me from every point of the compass and with tears in their eyes explained the situation. What could they give their Silk-worms while waiting for the mulberry to sprout afresh? It was a serious matter, well worthy of commiseration. One was counting on her batch to buy a length of cloth for her daughter, who was on the point of getting married; another told me of her plans for a Pig to be fattened against the coming winter; all deplored the handful of crown-pieces which, hoarded in the hiding-place in the cupboard, would have afforded help in difficult times. And, full of their troubles, they unfolded, before my eyes, a scrap of flannel on which the vermin were swarming: "Regardas, moussu! Venoun d'espeli; et ren per lour douna! Ah, pecaire!" "Look, sir! The frost has come and we've nothing to give them! Oh, what a misfortune!" Poor people! What a harsh trade is yours: respectable above all others, but of all the most uncertain! You work yourselves to death; and, when you have almost reached your goal, a few hours of a cold night, which comes upon you suddenly, destroys your harvest. To help these afflicted ones seemed to me a very difficult thing. I tried, however, taking botany as my guide; it suggested to me, as substitutes for the mulberry, the members of closely-related families: the elm, the nettle-tree, the nettle, the pellitory. Their nascent leaves, chopped small, were offered to the Silk-worms. Other and far less logical attempts were made, in accordance with the inspiration of the individuals. Nothing came of them. To the last specimen, the new-born Silk-worms died of hunger. My renown as a quack must have suffered somewhat from this check. Was it really my fault? No, it was the fault of the Silk-worm, which remained faithful to its mulberry leaf.