The Life of the Weevil 
brooks. The pretty, green Tree-frog, swell- 
ing his throat into a bagpipe, sits and croaks 
in it at the approach of rain. 
Come nearer. On its trivalvular capsules, 
which the heat of June is beginning to ripen 
we shall see a curious sight. Here, a rest- 
less company of thick-set, rusty-red Weevils 
are embracing, separating and coming to- 
gether again. They are working with their 
beaks and are busy mating. This shall be 
our subject for to-day. 
Our current language has not given them 
a name, but history has inflicted on them the 
fantastic appellation of Mononychus pseudo- 
acori, Fas. Literally interpreted and am- 
plified, this means ‘“‘the one-nailed insect of 
the mock acorus,” acorus in its turn being 
derived from a, privative, and «épy the pupil 
of the eye. The grammarian’s scalpel, 
searching and dissecting the entrails of 
words, is liable, like the anatomist’s scalpel, 
to meet with strange adventures. Let us ex- 
plain this scientific jargon, which at first 
sight seems utterly meaningless. 
The plant helpful to those without 
pupils—that is to say, the weak-sighted—is 
the acorus, or sweet flag, which the medical 
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