If it were possible for us to wage war effectually upon an insect, I should advise asparagus-growers to have recourse to the Tachina, though I should cherish no illusions touching the results of the expedient. The exclusive tastes of the insect auxiliary draw us into a vicious circle: the remedy allays the evil, but the evil is inseparable from the remedy. To rid ourselves of the ravages of the asparagus-beds, we should need a great many Tachinae; and to obtain a great many Tachinae we should first of all need a great many ravagers. Nature's equilibrium balances things as a whole. Whenever Crioceres abound, the Midges that reduce them arrive in numbers; when Crioceres become rare, the Midges decrease, but are always ready to return in masses and repress a surplus of the others during a return of prosperity. Under its thick mantle of ordure the grub of the Lily-beetle escapes the troubles so fatal to its cousin of the asparagus. Strip it of its overcoat: you will never find the terrible white specks upon its skin. The method of preservation is most effective. Would it not be possible to find a defensive system of equal value without resorting to detestable filth? Yes, of course: the insect need only house itself under a covering where there would be nothing to fear from the Fly's eggs. This is what the Twelve-spotted Crioceris does, occupying the same quarters as the Field Crioceris, from whom she differs in size, being rather larger, and still more in her costume, which is rusty red all over, with twelve black spots distributed symmetrically on the wing-cases. Her eggs, which are a deep olive-green and cylindrical, pointed at one pole and squared off at the other, closely resemble those of the Field Crioceris and, like these, usually stand up on the supporting surface, to which they are fastened by the square end. It would be easy to confuse the two if we had not the position which they occupy to guide us. The Field Crioceris fastens her eggs to the leaves and the thin sprays; the other plants them exclusively on the still green fruit of the asparagus, globules the size of a pea. The grubs have to open a tiny passage for themselves and to make their own way into the fruit, of which they eat the pulp. Each globule harbours one larva, no more, or the ration would be insufficient. Often, however, I see two, three or four eggs on the same fruit. The first grub hatched is the one favoured by luck. He becomes the owner of the pill, an intolerant owner capable of wringing the neck of any who should come and sit down at table beside him. Always and everywhere this pitiless competition!