The Life of the Weevil 



release into the tangle of verdure large num- 

 bers of Bruchi from my glass jars, the 

 general depot. Each time the result is 

 plainly negative. In vain, all through the 

 season, I repeat my almost daily search, 

 until both the crops are exhausted: I can 

 never discover a single colonized pod, nor 

 even a single Weevil perched upon the plant. 



And yet this is not for lacking of watch- 

 ing. My family are enjoined not to touch 

 any part of certain rows which I reserve for 

 my purposes ; they are told to mind the eggs 

 which might occur on the pods gathered. 

 I myself examine the beans brought from 

 my own or the neighbouring gardens, before 

 handing them to the housekeeper to be 

 shelled. All my trouble is wasted: there is 

 nowhere a trace of any laying. 



To these experiments in the open air I 

 add others under glass. I place in long, 

 narrow flasks fresh pods hanging from their 

 stalks, some green, others mottled with crim- 

 son and containing seeds which are nearly 

 ripe. Each flask receives its complement of 

 Weevils. This time I obtain eggs, but they 

 do not inspire me with much hope: the 

 mother has laid them on the sides of the 

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