The Life of the Weevil 



must have reduced him to the nothingness 

 to which he was already so near. Slain by 

 the joys of a morning — a long life for a Gnat 

 — ^he fell from the top of his reed, was 

 straightway drowned and disappeared in the 

 muddy catacombs. 



Who are these others, these dumpy crea- 

 tures, with hard, convex wing-cases, which 

 next to the Flies are the most numerous. 

 Their small heads, prolonged into a snout, 

 tell us beyond dispute. They are probos- 

 cidian Beetles, Rhynchophorae, or, in simpler 

 terms. Weevils. There are small ones, mid- 

 dling ones, large ones, similar in dimensions 

 to their counterparts of to-day. 



Their position on the limestone slab is 

 not as correct as the Mosquito's. The legs 

 are entangled anyhow; the beak, the rostrum, 

 is now hidden under the breast, now projects 

 forward. Some display it in profile; others 

 — more frequent these — stretch it to one 

 side, as the result of a twisted neck. These 

 contorted insects, with their dislocated mem- 

 bers, did not receive the swift and peaceful 

 burial of the Flies. Though sundry of them 

 may have lived on the plants by the shore, 

 the others, the majority, come from the 

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