The Poplar-Weevil 



elasticity of life. This is obvious to our 

 eyes; it is obvious likewise to the Weevil's. 



How is she to obtain the degree of lifeless 

 flexibility required in the circumstances? 

 We might say: 



"The leaf must be plucked, allowed to 

 fall to the earth and manipulated on the 

 ground when sufl'iciently faded," 



The Weevil knows more than we do about 

 these things and does not share our opinion. 

 What she says to herself is: 



"On the ground, amid the intricate 

 obstructions of the grass, my task would be 

 impracticable. I want elbow-room; I want 

 the thing to hang in the air, free from any 

 obstacle. And there is a more important 

 condition: my larva would refuse a rank, 

 withered sausage; it insists on food that 

 retains a certain freshness. The cylinder 

 which I intend for its consumption must be 

 not a dead leaf but an enfeebled leaf, not 

 entirely deprived of the juices with which 

 the tree supplies it. I must wean my leaf 

 and not kill it outright, so that, when dead, 

 it will remain in its place during the few days 

 of the grub's extreme youth." 



The mother therefore, having made her 

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