The Sloe-Weevil 
You think that you have raised a monu- 
ment of Cyclopzan blocks and all that you 
have built is a house of cards which tumbles 
to pieces before the breath of reality. The 
real Rhynchites—not the imaginary one, but 
the insect which any one can observe and 
question at will—ventures to tell you so, in 
her artless sincerity. 
She tells you: 
“My manufactures, which are so contrary, 
cannot be derived one from another. Our 
talents are not the legacy of a common an- 
cestress, for, to leave us such a heritage, the 
original initiator would have had to be versed 
at one and the same time in arts which are 
mutually incompatible: that of leaf-rolling, 
that of piercing fruit-stones and that of jam- 
making, to say nothing of the rest, which you 
don’t yet know. If she was not capable of 
doing everything, she must, at least, in course 
of time, have given up a first trade and learnt 
a second, then a third, then a host of others, 
the knowledge of which is reserved for future 
observers. Well, to practise several in- 
dustries at the same time, or even, from 
specializing in one department, to begin 
specializing in some other, quite different 
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