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I kept for nearly a year the flask-shaped cocoon of an emperor moth. It is very peculiar in its construction. A narrow opening is left in the neck of the flask, through which the perfect insect forces its way, so that a forsaken cocoon is as entire as one still tenanted, no rupture of the interlacing fibres having taken place. The great disproportion between the means of egress and size of the insect makes one wonder how the exit is ever accomplished at all - and it is never without great labour and difficulty. It is supposed that the pressure to which the moth's body is subject in passing through such a narrow opening is a provision of nature for forcing the juices into the vessels of the wings, these being less developed at the period of emerging from the chrysalis than they are in other insects.
I happened to witness the first efforts of my imprisoned moth to escape from its long confinement. During a whole forenoon, from time to time, I watched it patiently striving and struggling to get out. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted. Very probably the confining fibres were drier and less elastic than if the cocoon had been left all winter on its native heather, as nature meant it to be. At all events I thought I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, and I resolved to give it a helping hand. With the point of my scissors I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just a little easier, and Lo! Immediately, and with perfect ease, out crawled my moth, dragging a swollen body and little shrivelled wings.
In vain I watched to see that marvellous process of expansion in which these silently and swiftly develop before one's eyes; and as I traced the exquisite spots and markings of diverse colours which were all there in miniature, I longed to see these assume their due proportions and the creature to appear in all its perfect beauty, ai it is, in truth, one of the loveliest of its kind. My false tenderness had proved its ruin. It never was anything but a stunted abortion, crawling painfully through the brief life which it should have spent flying through the air on rainbow wings.
I have thought of it often, often, when watching with pitiful eyes those who were struggling with sorrow, suffering and distress; and I would fain cut short the discipline and give deliverance. Short-sighted man! How know I that one of these pangs could be spared?
Reprinted in the "Leadership Tool Kit" by Bryn Hugh [click here]
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