After many perils, I at last reached my native shore, where I found civilisation and M. de Lesseps were turning everything upside down. Should this rage continue for steam traffic, cutting canals, negotiating loans, and generally playing the mischief with all our ancient institutions, what will become of Crocodiles? Who knows, before long the Nile may be found to flow back to its source—wherever that may be—and the world itself, propelled by steam, may make its way to the sun, or take its enchanted inhabitants on a tour through space. Progress is most annoying to a conservative Crocodile! [Illustration] {206} THE FUNERAL ORATION OF A SILKWORM. [Illustration] The sun, having done his day’s work of shining right well, suddenly and wearily retired to rest. The last notes of the birds’ song of praise were still lingering in the echoes of the woods, and the earth, wrapping herself in her dark mantle, was preparing for repose. The death’s-head Moth giving the signal of departure, the little cortége set out on the march for the purple heath. Field-spiders, whose work consisted in clearing the road, preceded the corpse which was surrounded by beetles, in black, carrying the bier of mulberry leaf. These were followed by tail-bearing mutes, next came the Ants, and lastly the Grubs. When at some little distance from the sacred mulberry tree, around which were assembled the relatives of the deceased, the Cardinal Pyrochre gave orders that the hymn of the dead should be intoned by the choir of Scarabs, and afterwards sung by Bees and Crickets. [Illustration] At intervals, when the harmony ceased, one could hear deep sighs {207} and sobs, bearing evidence of the universal grief caused by the loss of the humble insect, whose remains were being borne to their last resting-place. The procession at length reached the cemetery on the heath, where the sextons were still bending over the new dug grave. Sighs and sobs were hushed in that profound silence which betokens the deepest sorrow. But when the bearers had laid the body in the {208} tomb, and the yawning earth closed over it, the air was rent with a piteous wail, for the mourners had seen the last of a true friend. [Illustration] An insect, robed in black, advanced to the grave-mound, saying: “Why this outburst of bitter grief? Why weep for one who has been delivered from the trial and burden of life. Yet,” he added, “weep on, for he who lies there can feel no pang of sorrow; no tears, no {209} loving tones, can wake a responsive throb in his cold breast, nor bring him back to his earthly home!” They would not be comforted.