Another and more remarkable instance of the destruction caused by vegetable-eating larvæ may be quoted from the fertile pages of the same illustrious naturalist, M. Réaumur, particularly because it is the narration of one who was an eye-witness to the facts of which he speaks. "In two journeys," he writes, "which I made from Paris to Poitou, at the commencement of the month of September in 1730, and also in 1731, I noticed that from Paris all the way to Tours every oak, great and small, had been attacked by larvæ; the highest branches appeared to be principally selected by them. Great isolated oak trees, as well as those which formed dense forests, were alike attacked in this manner, their summits being absolutely withered and dry. Had we not known how greatly the larvæ may multiply, and what fearful ravages they are capable of committing, one might have conceived that some hot and blasting wind had reduced the leaves to this condition. In certain districts, the hedges along the road-side had not a single leaf that was not withered up." The engraving represents one of these mischievous larvæ; it also shows the winter-nest into which they creep, and a leaf which a regiment of them have already attacked. Securely protected from the severity of the winter of 1731, in their warm nests, these larvæ quitted them again early in April of 1732, to set forth upon another mission of destruction. They had now multiplied to a degree calculated to excite the most serious public alarm. It began to be feared that the leaves of the trees would not be sufficient for the support of the devouring millions; and that if, during that year, the larvæ multiplied in the same proportion as in the preceding year, a famine more terrible than any recorded in history as produced by insect destroyers would be the result. These fears were in some measure groundless, as, in all probability, so soon as the larvæ had devoured all the leaves, they would rather have perished of hunger than have attacked the grass and other plants. But the matter was sufficiently serious as it was. The French parliament took the alarm, and determined to resist the threatened invasion of these small but formidable enemies. An edict was therefore issued, calling upon all persons to assist in removing the larvæ from the trees, while they were as yet not reinforced by the addition of countless millions more. In orchards, gardens, and pleasure-grounds this became a far from difficult duty, because it was easy to ascend the trees and to remove the larvæ and their nests. But in dense forests, where the tall trees waved high in the air, and where every branch and every twig was loaded with larvæ, it was plainly impossible. Although, as we know, acts of parliament are able to effect a great deal, these insects set their powers at defiance, and little good was really accomplished. Having thus, as it were, manifested to the nation how powerless were