the egg at the entrance of the tubes of the Anthrophorus, remain
motionless, assembled in a heap, and pass the whole of the winter in a
state of complete abstinence. The young Cigales apparently behave in a
very similar fashion. Once they have burrowed to such depths as will
safeguard them from the frosts they sleep in solitude in their winter
quarters, and await the return of spring before piercing some
neighbouring root and taking their first repast.

I have tried unsuccessfully to confirm these deductions by observation.
In April I unpotted my plant of thyme for the third time. I broke up the
mould and spread it under the magnifying-glass. It was like looking for
needles in a haystack; but at last I recovered my little Cigales. They
were dead, perhaps of cold, in spite of the bell-glass with which I had
covered the pot, or perhaps of starvation, if the thyme was not a
suitable food-plant. I give up the problem as too difficult of solution.

To rear such larvæ successfully one would require a deep, extensive bed
of earth which would shelter them from the winter cold; and, as I do not
know what roots they prefer, a varied vegetation, so that the little
creatures could choose according to their taste. These conditions are by
no means impracticable, but how, in the large earthy mass, containing at
least a cubic yard of soil, should we recover the atoms I had so much
trouble to find in a handful of black soil from the heath? Moreover,
such a laborious search would certainly detach the larva from its root.

The early subterranean life of the Cigale escapes us. That of the
maturer larva is no better known. Nothing is more common, while digging
in the fields to any depth, to find these impetuous excavators under the
spade; but to surprise them fixed upon the roots which incontestably
nourish them is quite another matter. The disturbance of the soil warns