The Life of the Weevil 



We will stop at this and keep the rest of my 

 collection for an experiment that occurs to 

 my mind. 



With their mummy-like immobility, are 

 the grubs really dead? No; for, if I prick 

 them with the point of a needle, they twitch 

 immediately. Their condition is merely one 

 of arrested development. In their freshly- 

 rolled sheath, still hanging from the tree and 

 receiving a little sap, they found the food 

 necessary for their early growth; then the 

 barrel fell to the ground, where it soon dried 

 up. 



Then, disdaining its hard provender, the 

 grub ceased to eat and grow. Who sleeps 

 dines, so the proverb says; and it is waiting 

 in a state of torpor for the rain to soften its 

 bread. 



This rain, for which man and beast have 

 been sighing for four months past, I have 

 it in my power to realize, at least to the 

 limits of a Weevil's requirements. I float 

 the rest of the dry barrels in water. When 

 they are thoroughly soaked, I transfer them 

 into a glass tube, closed at either end with 

 a plug of wet cotton-wool which will keep 

 the atmosphere moist. 

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