the moths fall neatly into a tin apiece. Others are helped into the
little enclosures in which, to do them credit, they are only too
willing to take up their quarters. The curious thing is the way in
which each moth settles down within her ring. Indeed from the moment
of her emergence from the cocoon until now she has never used her
wings to fly. Nor did the male moth seem to wish to fly. The sexes
concentrate their whole attention on mating. After that the female
thinks of nothing but laying eggs. Almost immediately after she is
placed within her little tin she begins to deposit eggs, and within a
few hours the circle of the card is covered.

Food is given neither to the females nor to the males. Those which are
not kept in reserve for possible use on the second day are flung out
of doors. When the female moth has deposited her eggs she also is
destroyed.[140] The _shoji_ of the breeding and egg-laying rooms
permit only of a diffused light. The discarded moths are cast out into
the brilliant sunshine where they are eaten by poultry or are left to
die and serve as manure.

Sericulture is always a risky business. There is first the risk of a
fall in prices. Just before I reached Japan prices were so low that
many people despaired of being able to continue the business, and
shortly after I left there was a crisis in the silk trade in which
numbers of silk factories failed. At the time I was last in a
silk-worm farmer's house cocoons were worth from 5 to 6 yen per _kwan_
of 8-1/4 lbs. From 8 to 10 _kwan_ of cocoons could be expected from a
single egg card. Eggs were considered to be at a high price when they
were more than 2 yen per card. The risks of the farmer are increased
when he launches out and buys mulberry leaves to supplement those
produced on his own land. Sometimes the price of leaves is so high