The Life of the Weevil 



brooks. The pretty, green Tree-frog, swell- 

 ing his throat into a bagpipe, sits and croaks 

 in it at the approach of rain. 



Come nearer. On its trivalvular capsules, 

 which the heat of June is beginning to ripen 

 we shall see a curious sight. Here, a rest- 

 less company of thick-set, rusty-red Weevils 

 are embracing, separating and coming to- 

 gether again. They are working with their 

 beaks and are busy mating. This shall be 

 our subject for to-day. 



Our current language has not given them 

 a name, but history has inflicted on them the 

 fantastic appellation of Mononychus pseudo- 

 acori, Fab. Literally interpreted and am- 

 plified, this means "the one-nailed insect of 

 the mock acorus," acorus in its turn being 

 derived from a, privative, and Kopr) the pupil 

 of the eye. The grammarian's scalpel, 

 searching and dissecting the entrails of 

 words, is liable, like the anatomist's scalpel, 

 to meet with strange adventures. Let us ex- 

 plain this scientific jargon, which at first 

 sight seems utterly meaningless. 



The plant helpful to those without 

 pupils — that is to say, the weak-sighted — is 

 the acorus, or sweet flag, which the medical 

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