The Life of the Weevil 
must have reduced him to the nothingness 
to which he was already so near. Slain by 
the joys of a morning—a long life for a Gnat 
—he fell from the top of his reed, was 
straightway drowned and disappeared in the 
muddy catacombs. 
Who are these others, these dumpy crea- 
tures, with hard, convex wing-cases, which 
next to the Flies are the most numerous. 
Their small heads, prolonged into a snout, 
tell us beyond dispute. They are probos- 
cidian Beetles, Rhynchophore, or, in simpler 
terms, Weevils. There are small ones, mid- 
dling ones, large ones, similar in dimensions 
to their.counterparts of to-day. 
Their position on the limestone slab is 
not as correct as the Mosquito’s. The legs 
are entangled anyhow; the beak, the rostrum, 
is now hidden under the breast, now projects 
forward. Some display it in profile; others 
—more frequent these—stretch it to one 
side, as the result of a twisted neck. These 
contorted insects, with their dislocated mem- 
bers, did not receive the swift and peaceful 
burial of the Flies. Though sundry of them 
may have lived on the plants by the shore, 
the others, the majority, come from the 
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