On the roughest days of the year, in January, if the weather permits me to go out, I open the heads of the carline thistles which I come across. I always find the Larinus there, in all the freshness of her striped costume. She is waiting, benumbed, until the warmth and animation of May return. Then only will she break the dome of her cabin and go to take part in the festival of spring. In majesty of bearing and magnificence of blossom our kitchen-gardens have nothing superior to the cardoon and its near relative the artichoke. Their heads grow to double the size of a man’s fist. Outside are spiral series of imbricated scales which, without being aggressive, diverge at maturity in the shape of broad, stiff, pointed blades. Beneath this armament is a fleshy, hemispherical swelling, as big as half an orange. From this rises a serried mass of long white hairs, a sort of fur, than which a Polar Bear’s is no thicker. Closely surrounded by this hair, the seeds are crowned with feathers which double the thickness of the shaggy chevaux de frise. Above this, delighting the eye, blooms the spreading tuft of flowers, coloured a splendid lapis lazuli, like that of the cornflower, the joy of the harvest. This is the chief domain of a third Larinus (L. scolymi, Oliv.), a big Weevil, thickset, broad-backed, powdered with yellow ochre. The cardoon, which provides our table with the fleshy veins of its leaves, but whose heads are disdained, is the insect’s customary home; but, should the gardener leave the artichoke a few late heads, these are accepted by the Larinus as eagerly as the cardoon’s. Under different names, the two plants are merely horticultural varieties; and the Weevil, a thorough expert, makes no mistake about it. Under the scorching July sun, a cardoon-head exploited by the Larini is a sight worth seeing. Drunk with heat, busily staggering amid the thicket of blue florets, they dive with their tails in the air, sinking and even disappearing into the depths of the shaggy forest. What do they do down there? It is not possible to observe them directly; but a local inspection after the work is finished will tell us. Between the tufts of hairs, not far from the base, they clear with the rostrum a place to receive their egg. If they are able to reach a seed, they rid it of its feathers and cut a shallow cup in it, an egg-cup as it were. The probe is pushed no farther. The fleshy dome, the tasty heart which one would at first suppose to be the favourite morsel, is never attacked by the pregnant mothers. As might have been expected, so rich an establishment implies a numerous population. If the head is a good-sized one, it is not unusual to find a score or more of table-companions, plump, red-headed grubs, with fat, glossy backs. There is plenty of room for all.