The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs 



bodied. Might not the central portion of 

 the pea be the Weevil-grub's feeding-bottle? 



Fired by one ambition and endowed with 

 equal rights, all the occupants of the seed 

 set out towards the delicious morsel. It is 

 a laborious journey; and frequent halts are 

 made in temporary recesses. The grubs 

 rest; pending better things to come, they 

 frugally crunch the ripe substance around 

 them; they gnaw even more to open a way 

 than to fill their stomachs. 



At last one of the excavators, favoured by 

 the direction taken, reaches the central dairy. 

 It settles there and the thing is done: there 

 is nothing for the rest but to die. How do 

 they come to know that the place is taken? 

 Do they hear their kinsman's mandibles 

 striking against the wall of his cell? Can 

 they feel the vibration of the nibbling at a 

 distance? Something of the sort must hap- 

 pen, for from that moment they cease their 

 attempts to burrow any farther. Without 

 struggling with the lucky winner, without 

 seeking to dislodge him, those beaten in the 

 race allow themselves to die. I like this 

 frank resignation on the part of the late 

 arrivals. 



247 



