Everything goes to show that the necessity of this first foothold on the soil, subject as it is to so many accidents, is the cause of the great mortality in the Cigale family. The little black parasite, the destroyer of eggs, in itself evokes the necessity of a large batch of eggs; and the difficulty which the larva experiences in effecting a safe lodgment in the earth is yet another explanation of the fact that the maintenance of the race at its proper strength requires a batch of three or four hundred eggs from each mother. Subject to many accidents, the Cigale is fertile to excess. By the prodigality of her ovaries she conjures the host of perils which threaten her offspring. During the rest of my experiment I can at least spare the larvae the worst difficulties of their first establishment underground. I take some soil from the heath, which is very soft and almost black, and I pass it through a fine sieve. Its colour will enable me more easily to find the tiny fair-skinned larvae when I wish to inform myself of passing events; its lightness makes it a suitable refuge for such weak and fragile beings. I pack it Pretty firmly in a glass vase; I plant in it a little tuft of thyme; I sow in it a few grains of wheat. There is no hole at the bottom of the vase, although there should be one for the benefit of the thyme and the corn; but the captives would find it and escape by it. The plantation and the crop will suffer from this lack of drainage, but at least I am sure of recovering my larvae with the help of patience and a magnifying-glass. Moreover, I shall go gently in the matter of irrigation, giving only just enough water to save the plants from perishing. When all is in order, and when the wheat is beginning to shoot, I place six young larvae of the Cigale on the surface of the soil. The tiny creatures begin to pace hither and thither; they soon explore the surface of their world, and some try vainly to climb the sides of the vase. Not one of them seems inclined to bury itself; so that I ask myself anxiously what can be the object of their prolonged and active explorations. Two hours go by, but their wanderings continue. What do they want? Food? I offer them some tiny bulbs with bundles of sprouting roots, a few fragments of leaves and some fresh blades of grass. Nothing tempts them; nothing brings them to a standstill. Apparently they are seeking for a favourable point before descending into the earth. But there is no need for this hesitating exploration on the soil I have prepared for them; the whole area, or so it seems to me, lends itself excellently to the operations which I am expecting to see them commence. Yet apparently it will not answer the purpose.