harvest at its own hour, when the earth is joyful with the new life of
spring.

Let us follow the manoeuvres of this insect which takes its tithe of the
green pea. I, a benevolent rate-payer, will allow it to take its dues;
it is precisely to benefit it that I have sown a few rows of the beloved
plant in a corner of my garden. Without other invitation on my part than
this modest expenditure of seed-peas, it arrives punctually during the
month of May. It has learned that this stony soil, rebellious at the
culture of the kitchen-gardener, is bearing peas for the first time. In
all haste therefore it has hurried, an agent of the entomological
revenue system, to demand its dues.

Whence does it come? It is impossible to say precisely. It has come from
some shelter, somewhere, in which it has passed the winter in a state of
torpor. The plane-tree, which sheds its rind during the heats of the
summer, furnishes an excellent refuge for homeless insects under its
partly detached sheets of bark.

I have often found our weevil in such a winter refuge. Sheltered under
the dead covering of the plane, or otherwise protected while the winter
lasts, it awakens from its torpor at the first touch of a kindly sun.
The almanac of the instincts has aroused it; it knows as well as the
gardener when the pea-vines are in flower, and seeks its favorite plant,
journeying thither from every side, running with quick, short steps, or
nimbly flying.

A small head, a fine snout, a costume of ashen grey sprinkled with
brown, flattened wing-covers, a dumpy, compact body, with two large
black dots on the rear segment--such is the summary portrait of my