Here is our little Lacewing.

May says it is a darling, like a woodland fairy clad all in green.

And, oh, its eyes! Are they not beautiful? They shine like gold.

Do its wings not remind you a little of the wings of the corydalus?

May says no, indeed; that has ugly brown wings.

But look again, May. See how these wings are veined, and do you not remember how you admired the silvery wings of the corydalus when we spread them out?

Yes, it belongs to the same order as the corydalus.

The name of the insect order to which they both belong is Neuroptera, from neuron, a nerve, and pteron—who remembers what pteron means?

Yes, a wing. Nerve-winged.

What does that mean?

It means that the wings are crossed by many nerves or veins. Yes, that is what gives them their lacelike appearance.

Pretty golden eye, why do we not oftener see you on the trees and bushes? It is only by accident we found you to-day, down in the grass.

The truth is, this pretty fairy hides by day and comes out at night to lay its eggs. Like the May fly, the adult lacewing does not eat. It is a helpless little beauty, though it has one powerful means of defence, as you will discover if you touch it.

Ah, yes; you have already detected it! It gives forth such an offensive odor that nothing, one should think, could have the hardihood to eat it.

May says she supposes the larva of the lacewing is a little monster like that of the corydalus.

But you will not expect to find it as large as a dobson.

I think if we hunt about a little, we can find one.

Here is one on the leaf. See what a little fellow! And how fast it runs!

We shall have to take it captive, in order to get a chance to see it.

It is a funny little larva, with jaws that are tre-men-dous for one of its size.

Why do you suppose it has such jaws?

May says, for the usual reason, to eat up other larvÆ.

Yes; but wait till I tell you another name for this larva.

It is also called the aphis lion.

Aphis, you know, is the same as aphid, or plant louse. In other words it is the plant-louse lion.

Ah, yes; you are quite willing it should devour the aphids.

And it does. It is very fond of them, though it will also devour any unlucky insect it is strong enough to overcome.

It has a terrible appetite, this child of the pretty lacewing.

It would even eat its brothers and sisters before they hatched out of the egg if it could get at them.

The pretty lacewing knows what an appetite her ever hungry larvÆ will have, and so she protects them against each other.

Clever little mother! she lays the eggs in such a way that the larvÆ that hatch out first cannot devour the rest of the eggs.

How do you think she manages it?

Here are some of her eggs on this leaf.

Yes, John; each one is on top of a slender stalk.

The stalk is of stiff silk.

There they are, like a little forest, with an egg for each tree top.

When an egg hatches the young aphis lion drops down to the leaf and runs about like a ravening lion seeking some living thing to devour.

Above his head, quite unsuspected by him, are the eggs out of which his brothers and sisters have not yet hatched.

What a feast he could have if he knew about it!

And what a sad little cannibal he would be!

The larva of the aphis lion has no distinct thorax. Its legs are attached to the upper segments of the body, and its metamorphosis is like that of the corydalus.

When about to become a pupa, it makes for itself a little covering of white silk. Here it lies quite motionless and undergoes the final transformation.

Yes, its metamorphosis is complete.

It bites an opening through its silken walls, and out steps—not the hungry, little, all-devouring aphis lion, but this elegant lady with her pale-green lacelike wings and her large, golden eyes.

You see the aphis lion is our very good friend.

It helps us get rid of the aphids, and we should never kill a lacewing or a child of the lacewing.