The Rhynchites fulfils this condition excellently well. She is a peaceable enthusiast who works on my table with the same zest as on her poplar-tree. A few young shoots, planted in fresh sand, under a wire-gauze cover, and renewed as and when they fade, take the place of the tree in my work-room. The Weevil, not in the least intimidated, devotes herself to her industry even under my magnifying-glass and supplies me with as many cylinders as I could wish for. Let us watch her at work. From this year’s growth, sprouting in sheaves at the base of the trunk, she chooses the leaf to be rolled; but she picks it not among the lower leaves, which are already of the usual green and of a firm texture, nor yet among the end leaves, which are still growing. Above, they are too young, not large enough; below, they are too old, too tough, too difficult to manage. The leaf selected belongs to the intermediate rows. Though still of a doubtful green, in which yellow predominates, soft and shiny with varnish, it has very nearly attained the final dimensions. Its denticulations swell into delicate glandular pads, whence oozes a little of the viscous matter that smears the buds at the moment when their scales separate. Now a word on the tools. The legs are provided with two claws shaped like the hook of a steel-yard. The lower side of the tarsi carries a thick brush of white bristles. Thus shod, the insect very nimbly climbs the most slippery perpendicular walls; it can stand and run like a Fly, back downwards, on the ceiling of a glass bell. This characteristic alone is enough to suggest the delicate balance which its work will demand. The beak, the curved and powerful rostrum, without being exaggerated in size, like those of the Balanini, expands at the tip into a spatula ending in a pair of fine shears. It makes an excellent stylet, which plays the first part of all. The leaf, as a matter of fact, cannot be rolled in its actual condition. It is a living sheet which, owing to the rush of the sap and the resilience of the tissues, would recover its flatness while the insect was endeavouring to bend it. The dwarf has not the strength to master an object of this size, to roll it up so long as it retains the elasticity of life. This is obvious to our eyes; it is obvious likewise to the Weevil’s. How is she to obtain the degree of lifeless flexibility required in the circumstances? We might say: ‘The leaf must be plucked, allowed to fall to the earth and manipulated on the ground when sufficiently faded.’ The Weevil knows more than we do about these things and does not share our opinion. What she says to herself is: