Whether it settle on the holm-oak or on the common oak, the insect begins by incising the leaf, at some distance from the base, to the right and left of the median vein, while respecting the vein itself, which will provide a solid attachment. Then the Apoderus’ method is repeated: the leaf, rendered more tractable by the two incisions, is folded lengthwise, with the upper surface inside. All these leaf-rollers, cigar-makers and coopers alike, know how to overcome the resilience of a leaf by means of punctures or incisions; all are thoroughly versed in that principle of statics according to which the surface whose elasticity is the greater will be found on the convex aspect of the curve. Between the two sheets which touch, the egg is laid, again one egg. Then the double leaf is rolled from the tip to the attachment. The indentations, the serrations of the last fold are sealed down by the patient pressure of the snout; the two mouths of the cylinder are closed by turning the edges in. It is finished. The barrel is completed, about two-fifths of an inch long and hooped at its fixed end by the median vein. It is small but strong and not devoid of elegance. The thick-set cooper has her merits, which I should like to elucidate more fully by watching her at work. What I have contrived to see in the open, in the actual workshop, amounts to little more than nothing. Many a time do I surprise the Weevil on her cask, motionless, with her snout against the staves. What is she doing there? She is sleeping in the sunlight; she is waiting for the last layer of the work to acquire a firm hold under prolonged pressure. If I examine her too closely, she at once gathers her legs under her belly and lets herself fall. Since my visits tell me hardly anything, I try to rear the insect in domesticity. The Attelabus lends herself very well to the attempt: she works under my bell-jars as zealously as on her oak. What I now learn deprives me of all hope of following the details of the leaf-rolling process: the Attelabus is one of those who work at night. Late in the evening, about nine or ten o’clock, she gives the cuts of the scissors that slash the leaf; next morning the keg is finished. Seen by the uncertain light of a lamp and at untimely hours, hours rightly claimed by sleep, the worker’s delicate technique would escape me. We will give up the idea.