compact and homogeneous than the soil through which the shaft is
driven.

Thus the larva works in the midst of a coating of mud, which is the
cause of its dirtiness, so astonishing when we see it issue from an
excessively dry soil. The perfect insect, although henceforth liberated
from the work of a sapper and miner, does not entirely abandon the use
of urine as a weapon, employing it as a means of defence. Too closely
observed it throws a jet of liquid upon the importunate enemy and flies
away. In both its forms the Cigale, in spite of its dry temperament, is
a famous irrigator.

Dropsical as it is, the larva cannot contain sufficient liquid to
moisten and convert into easily compressible mud the long column of
earth which must be removed from the burrow. The reservoir becomes
exhausted, and the provision must be renewed. Where, and how? I think I
can answer the question.

The few burrows uncovered along their entirety, with the meticulous care
such a task demands, have revealed at the bottom, encrusted in the wall
of the terminal chamber, a living root, sometimes of the thickness of a
pencil, sometimes no bigger than a straw. The visible portion of this
root is only a fraction of an inch in length; the rest is hidden by the
surrounding earth. Is the presence of this source of sap fortuitous? Or
is it the result of deliberate choice on the part of the larva? I
incline towards the second alternative, so repeatedly was the presence
of a root verified, at least when my search was skilfully conducted.

Yes, the Cigale, digging its chamber, the nucleus of the future shaft,
seeks out the immediate neighbourhood of a small living root; it lays