The Botanical Instinct 



tress of chopped hairs, makes itself a defen- 

 sive pitcher, a donjon-keep, with the shellac 

 prepared by its intestine! 



When the transformation is accomplished, 

 what perspicacity on the part of the inexpe- 

 rienced insect, when it abandons its cosy 

 home to seek a refuge under the rude shelter 

 of the stones, foreseeing the winter which 

 will ruin the natal villa ! We possess the al- 

 manac of the past, telling us of the almanac 

 of the future. The insect, with no records 

 of the vicissitudes of the seasons; the insect, 

 born in the dog-days, in the blazing heat of 

 summer: the insect feels instinctively that 

 this period of solar intoxication will not last; 

 it knows, though it has never seen it happen, 

 that its house is doomed soon to collapse; and 

 it makes off before the roof falls in. 



For a Weevil, this is fine, magnificent. 

 We might well envy the creature's wisdom 

 in being thus awake to the calamities of 

 the future. 



However devoid of industry she may be, 

 the least-gifted mother none the less submits 

 an insoluble problem for our consideration. 

 What is it that leads her to lay her eggs at 



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