44 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT 



winter, a favorite relaxation creates a welcome break in 

 my daily output of prose. By my express orders, the 

 woodman has selected the oldest and most ravaged trunks 

 in his stack. My tastes bring a smile to his lips ; he won- 

 ders by what whimsy I prefer wood that is worm-eaten 

 — chirouna, as he calls it — to sound wood which burns 

 so much better. I have my views on the subject ; and the 

 worthy man submits to them. 



And now to us two, O my fine oak -trunk seamed with 

 scars, gashed with wounds whence trickle the brown 

 drops smelling of the tan-yard. The mallet drives home, 

 the wedges bite, the wood splits. What do your flanks 

 contain ? Real treasures for my studies. In the dry and 

 hollow parts, groups of various insects, capable of living 

 through the bad season of the year, have taken up their 

 winter quarters: in the low-roofed galleries, galleries 

 which some Buprestis-beetle has built, Osmia-bees, work- 

 ing their paste of masticated leaves, have piled their cells, 

 one above the other ; in the deserted chambers and vesti- 

 bules, Megachiles ^ have arranged' their leafy jars ; in the 

 live wood, filled with juicy saps, the larvae of the Capri- 

 corn (Cerambyx miles), the chief author of the oak's 

 undoing, have set up their home. 



Strange creatures, of a verity, are these grubs, for an 

 insect of superior organization: bits of intestines crawl- 

 ing about! At this time of year, the middle of autumn, 

 I meet them of two different ages. The older are almost 

 as thick as one's finger ; the others hardly attain the diam- 

 eter of a pencil. I find, in addition, pupae more or less 



1 Leaf-cutting Bees. — Translator's Note. 



