Nothing of the kind occurs. In every case the passage is completely
excavated; the entrance gapes wide open, as large and as carefully
executed as though the skin of the pea were in its place. Reasons of
security have failed to modify the usual method of work. This open
lodging has no defence against the enemy; but the grub exhibits no
anxiety on this score.

Neither is it thinking of the outer enemy when it bores down to the skin
when the pea is intact, and then stops short. It suddenly stops because
the innutritious skin is not to its taste. We ourselves remove the
parchment-like skins from a mess of pease-pudding, as from a culinary
point of view they are so much waste matter. The larva of the Bruchus,
like ourselves, dislikes the skin of the pea. It stops short at the
horny covering, simply because it is checked by an uneatable substance.
From this aversion a little miracle arises; but the insect has no sense
of logic; it is passively obedient to the superior logic of facts. It
obeys its instinct, as unconscious of its act as is a crystal when it
assembles, in exquisite order, its battalions of atoms.

Sooner or later during the month of August we see a shadowy circle form
on each inhabited pea; but only one on each seed. These circles of
shadow mark the doors of exit. Most of them open in September. The lid,
as though cut out with a punch, detaches itself cleanly and falls to the
ground, leaving the orifice free. The Bruchus emerges, freshly clad, in
its final form.

The weather is delightful. Flowers are abundant, awakened by the summer
showers; and the weevils visit them in the lovely autumn weather. Then,
when the cold sets in, they take up their winter quarters in any