THE PEA-WEEVIL 261 



plant in a corner of my garden. Without other in- 

 vitation on my part than this modest expenditure of 

 seed-peas it arrives punctually during the month of May. 

 It has learned that this stony soil, rebellious to the cul- 

 ture of the kitchen-gardener, is bearing peas for the first 

 time. In all haste therefore it has hurried, an agent of the 

 entomological revenue system, to demand its dues. 



Whence does it come ? It is impossible to say pre- 

 cisely. It has come from some shelter, somewhere, in 

 which it has passed the winter in a state of torpor. The 

 plane-tree, which sheds its rind during the heats of the 

 summer, furnishes an excellent refuge for homeless 

 insects under its partly detached sheets of bark. 



I have often found our weevil in such a winter refuge. 

 Sheltered under the dead covering of the plane, or other- 

 wise protected while the winter lasts, it awakens from its 

 torpor at the first touch of a kindly sun. The almanack 

 of the instincts has aroused it ; it knows as well as the 

 gardener when the pea-vines are in flower, and seeks 

 its favourite plant, journeying thither from every side, 

 running with quick, short steps, or nimbly flying. 



A small head, a fine snout, a costume of ashen grey 

 sprinkled with brown, flattened wing-covers, a dumpy, 

 compact body, with two large black dots on the rear 

 segment — such is the summary portrait of my visitor. 

 The middle of May approaches, and with it the van 

 of the invasion. 



They settle on the flowers, which are not unlike white- 

 winged butterflies. I see them at the base of the blossom 

 or inside the cavity of the "keel " of the flower, but the 

 majority explore the petals and take possession of them. 

 The time for laying the eggs has not yet arrived. The 



