The Life of the Weevil 



stones preserves the forms but not the in- 

 stincts; it says nothing of industries, because, 

 let us repeat and again repeat, the insect's 

 tool tells us nothing of its trade. With the 

 same rostrum the Weevil may follow very 

 different callings. 



What the ancestor of the Rhynchites did 

 we do not know and have no hope of ever 

 knowing. The theorists, therefore, take 

 their stand only on the vague and slippery 

 ground of suppositions: 



"Let us admit," they say, "let us imagine 

 that ... it might be that ..." and so 

 forth. 



My dearly-beloved theorists, this is a most 

 convenient means of arriving at any con- 

 clusion we like. With a bunch of nicely- 

 selected hypotheses, I will undertake, though 

 no subtle logician, to prove to you that 

 white is black and that darkness is light. 



I am too fond of tangible, indisputable 

 truths; I will not follow you in your sophis- 

 tical suppositions. I want genuine facts, 

 well-observed, scrupulously-tested facts. 

 Now what can you tell us of the genesis of 

 the instincts? Nothing and again nothing 

 and always nothing. 



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