The Life of the Weevil 



with her rostrum driven into the pulp. As 

 a rule, there is no movement on her part, 

 nothing to betray any effort. 



From time to time a male visits her, 

 climbs on her back, throws his legs around 

 her and, himself swaying from side to side, 

 rocks her very gently to and fro. Without 

 permitting herself to be diverted from her 

 serious labours, the female thus embraced 

 passively yields to the rolling motion. 

 Perhaps it is a means of whiling away the 

 long hours needed for establishing an egg. 



To see more than this is very difficult. 

 The rostrum does its work in the hidden 

 seclusion of the pulp and, as the pit opens 

 and widens, the digger covers it with the 

 fore-part of her body. The hollow is ready. 

 The mother withdraws and turns round. 

 For a moment I catch a glimpse of the bare 

 stone at the bottom of the crater, with a 

 tiny cup in the centre of the denuded area. 

 As soon as the egg is laid in this cup, the 

 insect turns round again and nothing more 

 is visible until the work is completed. 



How does the pregnant mother contrive 

 to raise above the egg a protective heap, 

 a cone, an obelisk somewhat irregular in 



