Owing to its minute proportions, the tiny insect all but escapes the unaided eye. A good magnifying-glass shows it as a tiny Louse, shaped like an egg, the large end of the egg to the fore, and in colour a delicate reddish brown. It has six very active legs. Its motionless future, its lifeless maturity, are prefaced by a quick, toddling walk. The long antennæ are in constant vibration; on the hinder part of the body are two long, diaphanous cirri, which will escape remark unless we look for them with sustained attention. There are two black eye-spots. In the small glass test-tube in which I am observing it, the tiny creature appears to be extremely busy. It strays hither and thither, the antennæ outspread and waving to and fro; it climbs, descends, and climbs again, wandering this way and that, colliding as it goes with the torn skins of the hatched eggs. It is making ready for departure, that is evident. This mere speck of life is about to adventure into the wide world. What does it want? Apparently a sprig of its food plant. I have had an eye to its requirements. In the orchard is an evergreen oak, one single specimen, a small but sturdy tree some ten to twelve feet in height. About the middle of June, when the young are beginning to appear, I place there some thirty Kermes, still adhering to their supporting twig. In spite of all my pains, it will be no easy matter to follow the peregrinations of the Kermes’ family, should it disperse itself over the tree, as I suppose it will. The traveller is too small and the country to be explored too vast. Moreover, to examine the tips of all the boughs with the magnifying-glass, leaf by leaf, twig by twig, is impracticable; no one’s patience would suffice to the task. A few days later I inspect those that are within my range. Many migrations have taken place, as is proved by the white filmy skins left by the roadside. As for the young, I cannot see them anywhere, neither on the bark of the twigs, nor on the leaves. Is it possible that they have all attained the inaccessible tips of the boughs? Or can they have gone elsewhere? This is the first problem to be solved, and it must be solved under such conditions that the emigrants cannot escape my gaze. I transplant some young evergreen oaks ten to twenty inches in height, into flowerpots filled with leaf-mould. On the twigs of each young tree I fix, with a little drop of gum, five or six Kermes, taking especial care not to obstruct the door of emergence. This miniature artificial coppice is placed where it is sheltered from the fiercest heat of the sun, in my study, facing one of the windows.