The Poplar-Weevil 



retain the cylindrical shape imposed upon it. 



The work is finished. It is a cigar of the 

 diameter of a thick straw and about an inch 

 long. It hangs perpendicularly from the end 

 of the stalk bruised and bent at a sharp angle. 

 It has taken the whole day to manufacture. 

 After a short spell of rest, the mother tackles 

 a second leaf and, working by night, obtains 

 another cylinder. Two in twenty-four hours 

 is as much as the most diligent can achieve. 



Now what is the roller's object? Can 

 she be preparing preserves for her own use? 

 Obviously not: no insect, where itself alone 

 is concerned, devotes such care and patience 

 to the preparation of food. It is only with 

 a view to the family that it hoards so indus- 

 triously. The Rhynchites' cigar forms a 

 dowry for the future. 



Let us unroll it. Here, between the 

 layers of the cylinder, is the egg; often there 

 are two, three or even four. They are oval, 

 pale-yellow, like fine drops of amber. Their 

 adhesion to the leaf is very slight; the least 

 jerk loosens them. They are distributed 

 without order, tucked away more or less 

 deeply in the thickness of the cigar and 

 always isolated, one at a time. We find 

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