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.
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