The Cetoniae 



sand a few inches in depth. Under this 

 slight covering, in their wooden shelter, ex- 

 posed to all the winds of heaven, they are 

 not endangered by the severe frosts. I 

 thought them susceptible to cold, but I find 

 that they bear the hardships of the winter 

 remarkably well. They have retained the 

 robust constitution of the larvae, which I used 

 to find, to my astonishment, lying stiff and 

 stark in a block of frozen snow, yet return- 

 ing to life when carefully thawed. 



March is not over before signs of life re- 

 appear. My buried Beetles emerge, climb 

 up the wire trellis, wandering about if the 

 sun is kind, going back into the sand if the 

 air grows colder. What am I to give them? 

 There is no fruit. I serve them some honey 

 in a paper dish. They go to it without any 

 marked assiduity. Let us fin,d something 

 more to their taste. I offer them some 

 dates. The exotic fruit, a delicious pulp in 

 a thin skin, suits them very well, despite its 

 novelty: they could set no greater store by 

 pears or figs. The dates bring us to the end 

 of April, the time of the first cherries. 



We have now returned to the regulation 

 diet, the fruits of the country. A very mod- 

 erate consumption takes place: the hour is 



