The Poplar-Weevil 



excellently well. She is a peaceable enthu- 

 siast who works on my table with the same 

 zest as on her poplar-tree. A few young 

 shoots, planted in fresh sand, under a wire- 

 gauze cover, and renewed as and when they 

 fade, take the place of the tree in my work- 

 room. The Weevil, not in the least intimi- 

 dated, devotes herself to her industry even 

 under my magnifying-glass and supplies me 

 with as many cylinders as I could wish for. 



Let us watch her at work. From this 

 year's growth, sprouting in sheaves at the 

 base of the trunk, she chooses the leaf to be 

 rolled; but she picks it not among the lower 

 leaves, which are already of the usual green 

 and of a firm texture, nor yet among the end 

 leaves, which are still growing. Above, they 

 are too young, not large enough; below, 

 they are too old, too tough, too difficult 

 to manage. 



The leaf selected belongs to the inter- 

 mediate rows. Though still of a doubtful 

 green, in which yellow predominates, soft 

 and shiny with varnish, it has very nearly 

 attained the final dimensions. Its denticula- 

 tions swell into delicate glandular pads, 

 141 



