The fact is that the weevil despises the haricot; a very curious dislike if we consider how industriously the other vegetables of the same family are attacked. All, even the beggarly lentil, are eagerly exploited; whilst the haricot, so tempting both as to size and flavour, remains untouched. It is incomprehensible. Why should the Bruchus, which without hesitation passes from the excellent to the indifferent, and from the indifferent to the excellent, disdain this particularly toothsome seed? It leaves the forest vetch for the pea, and the pea for the broad bean, as pleased with the small as with the large, yet the temptations of the haricot bean leave it indifferent. Why? Apparently because the haricot is unknown to it. The other leguminous plants, whether native or of Oriental origin, have been familiar to it for centuries; it has tested their virtues year by year, and, confiding in the lessons of the past, it bases its forethought for the future upon ancient custom. The haricot is avoided as a newcomer, whose merits it has not yet learned. The insect emphatically informs us that with us the haricot is of recent date. It has come to us from a distant country: and assuredly from the New World. Every edible vegetable attracts its consumers. If it had originated in the Old World the haricot would have had its licensed consumers, as have the pea, the lentil, and the broad bean. The smallest leguminous seed, if barely bigger than a pin's head, nourishes its weevil; a dwarf which patiently nibbles it and excavates a dwelling; but the plump, delicious haricot is spared. This astonishing immunity can have only one explanation: like the potato and the maize-plant, the haricot is a gift of the New World. It arrived in Europe without the company of the insect which exploits it in its native country; it has found in our fields another world of insects, which have despised it because they did not know it. Similarly the potato and the ear of maize are untouched in France unless their American consumers are accidentally imported with them. The verdict of the insect is confirmed by the negative testimony of the ancient classics; the haricot never appears on the table of the Greek or Roman peasant. In the second Eclogue of Virgil Thestylis prepares the repast of the harvesters:-- Thestylis et rapido fessis messoribus aestu Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentes.