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. ° 
192 
