In botany the lily gives its name to the family of the Liliaceae, of which it is the leading representative. Those who feed upon the lily ought also, in the absence of anything better, to accept the other plants of the same group. This is my opinion at first; it is not that of the Crioceris, who knows more than I do about the virtues of plants.

The family of the Liliaceae is subdivided into three tribes: the lilies, the daffodils and the asparaguses. Not any of the daffodil tribe suit my famishing prisoners, who allow themselves to die of inanition on the leaves of the following genera, the only varieties with which the modest resources of my garden have allowed me to experiment: asphodel, funkia, or niobe, agapanthus, or African lily, tritelia, hemerocallis, or day lily, tritoma, garlic, ornithogalum, or star of Bethlehem, squill, hyacinth, muscari, or grape-hyacinth. I record, for whom it may concern, this profound contempt of the Crioceris for the daffodils. An insect's opinion is not to be despised: it tells us that we should obtain a more natural arrangement by separating the daffodils farther from the lilies.

In the first of the three tribes, the classic white lily, the plant preferred by the insect, takes the chief place; next come the other lilies and the fritillaries, a diet almost as much sought after; and lastly the tulips, which the season is too far advanced to allow me to submit for the approval of the Crioceris.

The third tribe had a great surprise in store for me. The red Crioceris fed, though with a very scornful tooth, on the foliage of the asparagus, the favourite dish of the Field Crioceris and the Twelve-spotted Crioceris. On the other hand, she feasted rapturously on the lily of the valley (Convallaria maialis) and on Solomon's seal (Polygonatum vulgare), both of which are so different from the lily to any eye untrained in the niceties of botanical analysis.

She did more: she browsed, with every appearance of a contented stomach, on a prickly creeper, Smilax aspera, which tangles itself in the hedges with its corkscrew tendrils and produces, in the autumn, graceful clusters of small red berries, which are used for Christmas decorations. The fully-developed leaves are too hard for her, too tough; she wants the tender tips of the nascent foliage. When I take this precaution, I can feed her on the intractable vine as readily as on the lily.

The fact that the smilax is accepted gives me confidence in the prickly butcher's-broom (Ruscus aculeatus), another shrub of sturdy constitution, admitted to the family rejoicings at Christmas because of its handsome green leaves and its red berries, which are like big coral beads. In order not to discourage the consumer with leaves that are too hard, I select some young seedlings, newly sprouted and still bearing the round berry, the nutritive gourd, hanging at their base. My precautions lead to nothing: the insect obstinately refuses the butcher's-broom, on which I thought that I might rely after the smilax had been accepted.

We have our botany; the Crioceris has hers, which is subtler in its appreciation of affinities. Her domain comprises two very natural groups, that of the lily and that of the smilax, which, with the advance of science, has become the family of the Smilaceae. In these two groups she recognizes certain genera—the more numerous—as her own; she refuses the others, which ought perhaps to be revised before being finally classified.

An exclusive taste for the asparagus, one of the foremost representatives of the Smilaceae, characterizes the two other Crioceres, those eager exploiters of the cultivated asparagus. I find them also pretty often on the needle-leaved asparagus (A. acutifolius), a forbidding-looking shrub with long, flexible stems bearing many branches, which the Provencal vine-grower uses, under the name of roumieu, as a filter before the tap of the wine-vat, to prevent the refuse of the grapes from choking up the vent-hole. Apart from these two plants, the two Crioceres refuse absolutely everything, even when in July they come up from the earth with the famishing stomachs which the long fast of the metamorphosis has given them. On the same wild asparagus, disdainful of the rest, lives a fourth Crioceris (C. paracenthesia), the smallest of the group. I do not know enough of her habits to say anything more about her.

These botanical details tell us that the Crioceres, which hatch early, in the middle of summer, have no reason to fear famine. If the Lily-beetle can no longer find her favourite plant, she can browse upon Solomon's seal and smilax, not to mention the lily of the valley and, I dare say, a few others of the same family. The other three are more favoured. Their food-plant remains erect, green and well provided with leaves until the end of autumn. The wild asparagus even, undaunted by the extreme cold, maintains a sturdy existence all the year round. Belated resources, moreover, are superfluous. After a brief period of summer freedom, the various Crioceres seek their winter quarters and go to earth under the dead leaves.



CHAPTER XVIII THE CLYTHRAE

The Lily-beetle dresses herself: with her ordure she makes herself a cosy gown, an infamous garment, it is true, but an excellent protection against parasites and sunstroke. The weaver of faecal cloth has hardly any imitators. The Hermit-crab dresses himself: he selects to fit him, from the discarded wardrobe of the Sea-snail, an empty shell, damaged by the waves; he slips his poor abdomen, which is incapable of hardening, inside it and leaves outside his great fists of unequal size, clad in stone boxing-gloves. This is yet another example rarely followed.

With a few exceptions, all the more remarkable because they are so rare, the animal, in fact, is not burdened by the need of clothing itself. Endowed, without having to manufacture a thing, with all that it wants, it knows nothing of the art of adding defensive extras to its natural covering.

The bird has no need to take thought of its plumage, the furry beast of its coat, the reptile of its scales, the Snail of his shell, the Ground-beetle of his jerkin. They display no ingenuity with the object of securing protection from the inclemencies of the atmosphere. Hair, down, scales, mother-of-pearl and other items of the animal's apparel: these are all produced of their own accord, on an automatic loom.

Man, for his part, is naked; and the severities of the climate oblige him to wear an artificial skin to protect his own. This poverty has given rise to one of our most attractive industries.

He invented clothing who, shivering with cold, first thought of flaying the Bear and covering his shoulders with the brute's hide. In a distant future this primitive cloak was gradually to be replaced by cloth, the product of our industry. But under a mild sky the traditional fig-leaf, the screen of modesty, was for a long while sufficient. Among peoples remote from civilization, it still suffices in our day, together with its ornamental complement, the fish-bone through the cartilage of the nose, the red feather in the hair, the string round the loins. We must not forget the smear of rancid butter, which serves to keep off the Mosquito and reminds us of the unguent employed by the grub that dreads the Tachina.

In the first rank of the animals protected against the bite of the atmosphere without the intervention of a handicraft are those which go clad in hair, dressed free of cost in fleeces, furs or pelts. Some of these natural coats are magnificent, surpassing our downiest velvets in softness.

Despite the progress of weaving, man is still jealous of them. To-day, as in the ages when he sheltered under a rock, he values furs greatly for the winter. At all seasons he holds them in high esteem as ornamental accessories; he glories in sewing on his attire a shred of some wretched flayed beast. The ermine of kings and judges, the white rabbit-tails with which the university graduate adorns his left shoulder on solemn occasions carry us back in thought to the age of the cave-dwellers.

Moreover, the fleecy animals still clothe us in a less primitive fashion. Our woollens are made of hairs interlaced. Ever since the beginning, without hoping to find anything better, man has clothed himself at the expense of the hairy orders of creation.

The bird, a more active producer of heat, whose maintenance is a more delicate matter, covers itself with feathers, which overlap evenly, and puts round its body a thick cushion of air on a bed of down. It has on its tail a pot of cosmetic, a bottle of hair-oil, a fatty gland from which the beak obtains an ointment wherewith it preens the feathers one by one and renders them impermeable to moisture. A great expender of energy by reason of the exigencies of flight, it is essentially, chilly creature that it is, better-adapted than any other to the retention of heat.

For the slow-moving reptile the scales suffice, preserving it from hurtful contacts, but playing hardly any part as a bulwark against changes of temperature.

In its liquid environment, which is far more constant than the air, the fish requires no more. Without effort on its part, without violent expenditure of motor force, the swimmer is borne up by the mere pressure of the water. A bath whose temperature varies but little enables it to live in ignorance of excessive cold or heat.

In the same way, the mollusc, for the most part a denizen of the seas, leads a blissful life in its shell, which is a defensive fortress rather than a garment. Lastly the crustacean confines itself to making a suit of armour out of its mineral skin.

In all these, from the hairy to the crustaceous, the real coat, the coat turned out by a special industry, does not exist. Hair, fur, feather, scale, shell, stony armour require no intervention of the wearer; they are natural products, not the artificial creations of the animal. To find clothiers able to place upon their backs that which their organization refuses them, we must descend from man to certain insects.

Ridiculous attire, of which we are so proud, made from the slaver of a caterpillar or the fleece of a silly sheep: among its inventors the first and foremost is the Crioceris-larva, with its jacket of dung! In the art of clothing itself, it preceded the Eskimo, who scrapes the bowels of the seal to make himself a suit of dittos; it forestalled our ancestor the troglodyte, who borrowed the fur-coat of his contemporary the Cave-bear. We had not got beyond the fig-leaf, when the Crioceris already excelled in the manufacture of homespun, both providing the raw material and piecing it together.

For reasons of economy and easy acquisition, its disgusting method, but with very elegant modifications, suits the clan of the Clythrae and Cryptocephali, those pretty and magnificently coloured Beetles. Their larva, a naked little grub, makes itself a long, narrow pot, in which it lives just like the Snail in his shell. As a coat and as a dwelling the timid creature makes use of a jar, better still, of a graceful vase, the product of its industry.

Once inside, it never comes out. If anything alarms it, with a sudden recoil it withdraws completely into its urn, the opening of which is closed with the disk formed by the flat top of the head. When quiet is restored, it ventures to put out its head and the three segments with legs to them, but is very careful to keep the rest, which is more delicate and fastened to the back, inside.

With tiny steps, weighted by the burden, it makes its way along, lifting its earthenware container behind it in a slanting position. It makes one think of Diogenes, dragging his house, a terra-cotta tub, about with him. The thing is rather unwieldy, because of the weight, and is liable to heel over, owing to the excessive height of the centre of gravity. It makes progress all the same, tilting like a busby rakishly cocked over one ear. One of our Land-snails, the Bulimus, whose shell is continued into a turret, moves almost in the same fashion, tumbling repeatedly as he goes.

The Clythra's is a shapely jar and does credit to the insect's art of pottery. It is firm to the touch, of earthy appearance and smooth as stucco inside, while the outside is relieved by delicate diagonal, symmetrical ribs, which are the traces of successive enlargements. The back part is slightly dilated and is rounded off at the end with two slight bumps. These two terminal projections, with the central furrow which divides them, and the ribs marking additions, which match on either side, are evidence of work done in two parts, in which the artist has followed the rules of symmetry, the first condition of the beautiful.

The front part is of rather smaller diameter and is cut off on a slant, which enables the jar to be lifted and supported on the larva's back as it moves. Lastly, the mouth is circular, with a blunt edge.

Any one finding one of these jars for the first time, among the stones at the foot of an oak, and wondering what its origin could be, would be greatly puzzled. Is it the stone of some unknown fruit, emptied of its kernel by the patient tooth of the Field-mouse? Is it the capsule of a plant, from which the lid has dropped, allowing the seeds to fall? It has all the accuracy, all the elegance of the masterpieces of the vegetable kingdom.

After learning the origin of the object, he would be no less doubtful as to the nature of the materials, or rather of their cement. Water will not soften, will not disintegrate the shell. This must be so, else the first shower of rain would reduce the grub's garment to pulp. Fire does not affect it greatly either. When exposed to the flame of a candle, the jar, without changing shape, loses its brown colour and assumes the tint of burnt ferruginous earth. The groundwork of the material therefore is of a mineral nature. It remains for us to discover what the cement can be that gives the earthy element its brown colour, holds it together and makes it solid.

The grub is ever on its guard. At the least flurry, it shrinks into its shell and does not budge for a long time. Let us be as patient as the grub. We shall surely, some day or other, manage to surprise it at work. And indeed I do. It suddenly backs into its jar, disappearing inside entirely. In a moment it reappears, carrying a brown pellet in its mandibles. It kneads the pellet and works it up with a little earth gathered on the threshold of its dwelling; it softens the mixture as required and then spreads it artistically in a thin strip on the edge of the sheath.

The legs take no part in the job. Only the mandibles and the palpi work, acting as tub, trowel, beater and roller in one.

Once more the grub backs into its shell: once more it returns, bringing a second clod, which is prepared and used in the same manner. Five or six times over, it repeats the process, until the whole circumference of the mouth has been increased by the addition of a rim.

The potter's compound, as we have seen, consists of two ingredients. One of these, the first earth that comes to hand, is collected on the threshold of the workshop; the other is fetched from inside the pot, for, each time that the grub returns, I see it carrying a brown pellet in its teeth. What does it keep in the back-shop? Though we can scarcely find out by direct observation, we can at least guess.

Observe that the jar is absolutely closed behind, without the smallest waste-pipe by which the physiological needs from which the grub is certainly not immune can be relieved. The grub is boxed in and never stirs out of doors. What becomes of its excretions? Well, they are evacuated at the bottom of the pot. By a gentle movement of the rump, the product is spread upon the walls, strengthening the coat and giving it a velvet lining.

It is better than a lining; it is a precious store of putty. When the grub wants to repair its shell or to enlarge it to fit its figure, which increases daily, it proceeds to clean out its cess-pool. It turns round and, with the tips of its mandibles, collects singly, from the back, the brown pellets which it has only to work up with a little earth to make a ceramic paste of the highest quality.

Observe also that the grub's pottery is shaped like the legs of our peg-top trousers and is wider inside than at the opening. This excessive girth has its obvious use. It enables the animal to bend and turn when the contents of the cess-pit are needed for a fresh course of masonry.

A garment should be neither too short nor too tight. It is not enough to add a piece which lengthens it as the body grows longer; we must also see that it has sufficient fulness not to hamper the wearer and to give him liberty of movement.

The Snail and all the molluscs with turbinate shells increase the diameter of their corkscrew staircase by degrees, so that the last whorl is always an exact measure of their actual condition. The lower whorls, those of childhood, when they become too narrow, are not abandoned, it is true; they become lumber-rooms in which the organs of least importance to active life find shelter, drawn out into a slender appendage. The essential portion of the animal is lodged in the upper story, which increases in capacity.

The big Broken Bulimus, that lover of crumbling walls and limestone rocks leaning in the sun, sacrifices the graces of symmetry to utility. When the lower spirals are no longer wide enough, he abandons them altogether and moves higher up, into the spacious staircase of recent formation. He closes the occupied part with a stout partition-wall at the back; then, dashing against the sharp stones, he chips off the superfluous portion, the hovel not fit to live in. The broken shell loses its accurate form in the process, but gains in lightness.

The Clythra does not employ the Bulimus' method. It also disdains that of our dressmakers, who split the overtight garment and let in a piece of suitable width between the edges of the opening. To break the jar when it becomes too small would be a wilful waste of material; to split it lengthwise and increase its capacity by inserting a strip would be an imprudent expedient, which would expose the occupant to danger during the slow work of repair. The hermit of the jar can do better than that. It knows how to enlarge its gown while leaving it, except for its fulness, as it was before.

Its paradoxical method is this: of the lining it makes cloth, bringing to the outside what was inside. Little by little, as the need makes itself felt, the grub scrapes and strips the interior of its cell. Reduced to a soft paste by means of a little putty furnished by the intestine, the scrapings are applied over the whole of the outer surface, down to the far end, which the grub, thanks to its perfect flexibility, is able to reach without taking too much trouble or leaving its house.

This turning of the coat is accomplished with a delicate precision which preserves the symmetrical arrangement of the ornamental ridges; lastly, it increases the capacity by a gradual transfer of the material from the inside to the outside. This method of renewing the old coat is so accurate that nothing is thrown aside, nothing treated as useless, not even the baby-wear, which remains encrusted in the keystone at the original top of the structure.

If fresh materials were not added, obviously the jar would gain in size at the cost of thickness. The shell would become too thin, by dint of being turned in order to make space, and would sooner or later lack the requisite solidity. The grub guards against that. It has in front of it as much earth as it can wish for; it keeps putty in a back-shop; and the factory which produces it never slacks work. There is nothing to prevent it from thickening the structure at will and adding as much material as it thinks proper to the inner scrapings from the shell.

Invariably clad in a garment that is an exact fit, neither too loose nor too tight, the grub, when the cold weather comes, closes the mouth of its earthenware jar with a lid of the same mixed compound, a paste of earth and stercoral cement. It then turns round and makes its preparations for the metamorphosis, with its head at the back of the pot and its stern near the entrance, which will not be opened again. It reaches the adult stage in April and May, when the ilex becomes covered with tender shoots, and emerges from its shell by breaking open the hinder end. Now come the days of revelry on the leafage, in the mild morning sun.

The Clythra's jar is a piece of work entailing no little delicacy of execution. I can quite well see how the grub lengthens and enlarges it; but I cannot imagine how it begins it. If it has nothing to serve as a mould and a base, how does it set to work to assemble the first layers of paste into a neatly-shaped cup?

Our potters have their lathe, the tray which keeps the work rotating and implements to determine its outline. Could the Clythra, an exceptional ceramic artist, work without a base and without a guide? It strikes me as an insurmountable difficulty. I know the insect to be capable of many remarkable industrial feats; but, before admitting that the jar can be based on nothing, we should have to see the new-born artist at work. Perhaps it has resources bequeathed to it by its mother; perhaps the egg presents peculiarities which will solve the riddle. Let us rear the insect, collect its eggs; then the pottery will tell us the secret of its beginnings.

I install three species of Clythrae under wire-gauze covers, each with a bed of sand and a bottle of water containing a few young ilex-shoots, which I renew as and when they fade. All three species are common on the holm-oak: they are the Long-legged Clythra (C. longipes, FAB.), the Four-spotted Clythra (C. quadripunctata, LIN.), and the Taxicorn Clythra (C. taxicornis, FAB.).

I set up a second menagerie with some Cryptocephali, who are closely related to the Clythrae. The inmates are the Ilex Cryptocephalus (C. ilicis, OLIV.), the Two-spotted Cryptocephalus (C. bipunctatus, LIN.) and the Golden Cryptocephalus (C. hypochoeridis, LIN.), who wears a resplendent costume. For the first two I provide sprigs of ilex; for the third, the heads of a centaury (Centaurea aspera), which is the favourite plant of this living gem.

There is nothing striking in the habits of my captives, who spend the morning very quietly, the first five browsing on their oak-leaves and the sixth on her centaury-blooms. When the sun grows hot, they fly from the bunch of leaves in the centre to the wire trellis and back from the trellis to the leaves, or wander about the top of the cage in a state of great excitement.

Every moment couples are formed. They pester each other, pair without preliminaries, part without regrets and begin elsewhere all over again. Life is sweet; and there are enough for all to choose from. Several are persistent. Mounted on the back of the patient female, who lowers her head and seems untouched by the passionate storm, they shake her violently. Thus do the amorous insects declare their flame and win the consent of the hesitating fair.

The attitude of the couple now tells us the use of a certain organic detail peculiar to the Clythra. In several species, though not in all, the males' fore-legs are of inordinate length. What is the object of these extravagant arms, these curious grappling-irons out of all proportion to the insect's size? The Grasshoppers and Locusts prolong their hind-legs into levers to assist them in leaping. There is nothing of the sort here: it is the fore-legs which are exaggerated; and their excessive length has nothing to do with locomotion. The insect, whether resting or walking, seems even to be embarrassed by these outrageous stilts, which it bends awkwardly and tucks away as best it can, not knowing exactly what to do with them.

But wait for the pairing; and the extravagant becomes reasonable. The couple take up their pose in the form of a T. The male, standing perpendicularly, or nearly, represents the cross-piece and the female the shaft of the letter, lying on its side. To steady his attitude, which is so contrary to the usual position in pairing, the male flings out his long grappling-hooks, two sheet-anchors which grip the female's shoulders, the fore-edge of her corselet, or even her head.

At this moment, the only moment that counts in the adult insect's life, it is a good thing indeed to possess long arms, long hands, like Clythra longimana and C. longipes, as the scientific nomenclature calls them. Although their names are silent on the subject, the Taxicorn Clythra and the Six-spotted Clythra (C. sexmaculata, FAB.) and many others also have recourse to the same means of equilibrium: their fore-legs are utterly exaggerated.

Is the difficulty of pairing in a transversal position the explanation of the long grappling-irons thrown out to a distance? We will not be too certain, for here is the Four-spotted Clythra, who would flatly contradict us. The male has fore-legs of modest dimensions, in conformity with the usual rules; he places himself crosswise like the others and nevertheless achieves his ends without hindrance. He finds it enough to modify slightly the gymnastics of his embrace. The same may be said of the different Cryptocephali, who all have stumpy limbs. Wherever we look, we find special resources, known to some and unknown to others.



CHAPTER XIX THE CLYTHRAE: THE EGG

Let us leave the long-armed and short-armed to pursue their amorous contests as they please and come to the egg, the main object of my insect-rearing. The Taxicorn Clythra is the first in the field; I see her at working during the last days of May. A most singular and disconcerting batch of eggs is hers! Is it really a group of eggs? I hesitate until I surprise the mother using her hind-legs to finish extracting the strange germ which issues slowly and perhaps laboriously from her oviduct.

It is indeed the Taxicorn Clythra's batch. Assembled in bundles of one to three dozen and each fastened by a slender transparent thread slightly longer than itself, the eggs form a sort of inverted umbel, which dangles sometimes from the trelliswork of the cover, sometimes from the leaves of the twigs that provide the grub with food. The bunch of grains quivers at the least breath.

We know the egg-cluster of the Hemerobius, the object of so many mistakes to the untrained observer. The little Lace-winged Fly with the gold eggs sets up on a leaf a group of long, tiny columns as fine as a spider's thread, each bearing an egg as a capital. The whole resembles pretty closely a tuft of some long-stemmed mildew. Remember also the Eumenes' hanging egg,[1] which swings at the end of a thread, thus protecting the grub when it takes its first mouthfuls of the heap of dangerous game. The Taxicorn Clythra provides us with a third example of eggs fitted with suspension-threads, but so far nothing has given me an inkling of the function or the use of this string. Though the mother's intentions escape me, I can at least describe her work in some detail.

[Footnote 1: Cf. The Mason-wasps: chap. i.—Translator's Note.]

The eggs are smooth, coffee-coloured and shaped like a thimble. If you hold them to the light, you see in the thickness of their skin five circular zones, darker than the rest and producing almost the same effect as the hoops of a barrel. The end attached to the suspension-thread is slightly conical; the other is lopped off abruptly and the section is hollowed into a circular mouth. A good lens shows us inside this, a little below the rim, a fine white membrane, as smooth as the skin of a drum.

In addition, from the edge of the orifice there rises a wide membranous tab, whitish and delicate, which might be taken for a raised lid. Nevertheless there is no raising of a lid after the eggs are laid. I have seen the egg leave the oviduct; it is then what it will be later, but lighter in colour. No matter: I cannot believe that so complicated a machine can make its way, with all sail set, through the maternal straits. I imagine that the lid-like appendage remains lowered, closing the mouth, until the moment when the egg sees the light. Then and not till then does it rise.

Guided by the rather less complex structure of the eggs of the other Clythrae and of the Cryptocephali, I think of trying to take the strange germ to pieces; and I succeed after a fashion. Under the coffee-coloured sheath, which forms a little five-hooped barrel, is a white membrane. This is what we see through the mouth and what I compared with the skin of a drum. I recognize it as the regulation tunic, the usual envelope of any insect's egg. The rest, the little brown barrel, broached at one end and bearing a raised lid, must therefore be an accessory integument, a sort of exceptional shell, of which I do not as yet know any other example.

The Long-legged Clythra and the Four-spotted Clythra know nothing of packing their eggs in long-stemmed bundles. In June, from the height of the branches in which they are grazing, both of them carelessly allow their eggs to drop to the ground, one by one, here and there, at random and at long intervals, without giving the least thought to their installation. They might be little grains of excrement, unworthy of interest and ejected at hazard. The egg-factory and the dung-factory scatter their products with the same indifference.

Nevertheless, let us bring the lens to bear upon the minute particle so contumeliously treated. It is a miracle of elegance. In both species of Clythrae the eggs have the form of truncated ellipsoids, measuring about a millimetre in length.[2] The Long-legged Clythra's are a very dark brown and remind one of a thimble, a comparison which is the more exact inasmuch as they are dented with quadrangular pits, arranged in spiral series which cross one another with exquisite precision.

[Footnote 2: .039 inch.—Translator's Note.]

Those of the Four-spotted Clythra are pale in colour. They are covered with convex scales, overlapping in diagonal rows, ending in a point at the lower extremity, which is free and more or less askew. This collection of scales has rather the appearance of a hop-cone. Surely a very curious egg, ill-adapted to gliding gently through the narrow passages of the ovaries. I feel sure that it does not bristle in this fashion when it descends the delicate natal sheath; it is near the end of the oviduct that it receives its coat of scales.

In the case of the three Cryptocephali reared in my cages, the eggs are laid later; their season is the end of June and July. As in the Clythrae, there is the same lack of maternal care, the same hap-hazard dropping of the seeds from the centaury-blossoms and the ilex-twigs. The general form of the egg is still that of a truncated ellipsoid. The ornaments vary. In the eggs of the Golden Cryptocephalus and the Ilex Cryptocephalus they consist of eight flattened, wavy ribs, winding corkscrew-wise; in those of the Two-spotted Cryptocephalus they take the form of spiral rows of pits.

What can this envelope be, so remarkable for its elegance, with its spiral mouldings, its thimble-pits and its hop-scales? A few little accidental facts put me on the right track. To begin with, I acquire the certainty that the egg does not descend from the ovaries as I find it on the ground. Its ornamentation, incompatible with a gentle gliding movement, had already told me as much; I now have a clear proof.

Mingled with the normal eggs of both the Golden Cryptocephalus and the Long-legged Clythra, I find others which differ in no respect from the usual run of insects' eggs. The eggs are perfectly smooth, with a soft, pale-yellow shell. As the cage contains no other insects than the Clythra under consideration or the Cryptocephalus, I cannot be mistaken as to the origin of my finds.

Moreover, if any doubts remained, they would be dispelled by the following evidence: in addition to the bare, yellow eggs there are some whose base is set in a tiny brown, pitted cup, obviously the work of either the Two-spotted Cryptocephalus or the Long-legged Clythra, according to the cage, but unfinished work, which half-clothed the egg, as it left the ovaries, and then, when the dress-material ran short, or something went wrong with the machinery, allowed it to cross the outer threshold in the likeness of an acorn fixed in its cup.

Nothing could be prettier than this yellow egg, standing in its artistic egg-cup. Nor could anything tell us more conclusively where the jewel is manufactured. It is in the cloaca, the chamber common to the oviduct and the intestine, that the bird wraps its egg in a calcareous shell, often decorating it with magnificent hues: olive-green for the Nightingale, sky-blue for the Wheatear, soft pink for the Icterine Warbler. It is in the cloaca also that the Clythra and the Cryptocephalus produce the elegant armour of their eggs.

It remains to decide upon the material employed. From its horny appearance there is reason to believe that the little barrel of the Taxicorn Clythra and the scales of the Four-spotted Clythra are the products of a special secretion; and, now that it is too late, I much regret that I neglected to look for the apparatus yielding this secretion in the neighbourhood of the cloaca. As for the thing so prettily wrought by the Long-legged Clythra and the Cryptocephali, let us admit without false shame that it is made of faecal matter.

The proof is furnished by certain specimens, by no means rare in the Golden Cryptocephalus, in which the customary brown is replaced by an unmistakable green, the sign of a vegetable pulp. In course of time, these green eggs turn brown and become like the others, no doubt by reason of an oxidization which alters the natural qualities of the digestive product still further. The egg, entering the cloaca in a soft and utterly naked state, receives an artistic coat of the intestinal dross, even as the Hen's egg is covered by a shell formed of the chalky secretions.

Materiem superabat opus, nam Mulciber illic AEquora celerat,

said Ovid, in his description of the Palace of the Sun. The poet had precious metals and gems wherewith to build his imaginary marvel. What has the Clythra wherewith to achieve its ideal jewel? It has the shameful material whose name is banished from decent speech. And which is the Mulciber, the Vulcan, the artist-engraver that engraves the covering of the egg so prettily? It is the terminal sewer. The cloaca rolls the material, flutes it, twists it into spirals, decks it with chains of little pits and makes it up into a scaly suit of armour, showing how nature laughs at our paltry standards of value and how well able she is to convert the sordid into the beautiful.

In the bird, the egg-shell is a temporary defensive cell which at hatching-time is broken and abandoned and is henceforth useless. Made of horny matter or stercoral paste, the shell of the Clythra and the Cryptocephalus is, on the contrary, a permanent refuge, which the insect will never leave so long as it remains a larva. Here the grub is born with a ready-made garment, of rare elegance and an exact fit, a garment which it only has to enlarge, little by little, in the original manner described above. The shell, shaped like a little barrel or thimble, is open in front. There is nothing therefore to break, nothing to cast aside at the moment of hatching, except perhaps the actual envelope of the egg. Directly this membrane is burst, the tiny creature is free, with a handsome carved jacket, a legacy from its mother.

Let us indulge in a crazy dream and imagine young birds which keep the egg-shell intact, save for an opening through which they pass their head, and which, all their lives long, remain clad in this shell, on condition that they themselves enlarge it as they grow. This absurd dream is realized by our grub: it is dressed in the shell of its egg, expanded by degrees as the grub itself grows bigger.

In July all my collection of eggs are hatched, each isolated in a large cup covered with a slip of glass which will moderate the evaporation. What an interesting family! My vermin are swarming amid the miscellaneous vegetable refuse with which I have furnished the premises. They all move along with tiny steps, dragging their shells, which they carry lifted on a slant; they come halfway out and suddenly pop in again; they tumble over if they merely attempt to scale a sprig of moss, pick themselves up again, forge ahead and cast about at random.

Hunger, we can no longer doubt, is the cause of this agitation. What shall I give my famished nurselings? They are vegetarians: there can be no doubt whatever about that; but this is not enough to settle the bill of fare. What would happen under the natural conditions? Rearing the insects in cages, I find the eggs scattered at random on the ground. The mother drops them carelessly, here and there, from the top of the bough where she is refreshing herself by soberly notching some tender leaf. The Taxicorn Clythra fits a long stalk to her eggs and fixes them in clusters on the foliage. While I cannot yet make up my mind, in the absence of direct observation, whether the new-born larva cuts the suspension-thread itself, or whether the thread is broken merely as a result of drying up, sooner or later these eggs are lying on the ground, like the others.

The same thing must happen outside my cages: the eggs of the Clythrae and the Cryptocephali are scattered over the ground beneath the tree or plant on which the adult feeds.

Now what do we find under the shelter of the oak? Turf, dead leaves, more or less pickled by decay, dry twigs cased in lichens, broken stones with cushions of moss and, lastly, mould, the final residue of vegetable matters wrought upon by time. Under the tufts of the centaury on which the Golden Cryptocephalus browses lies a black bed of the miscellaneous refuse of the plant.

I try a little of everything, but nothing answers my expectations very positively. I observe, nevertheless, that a few disdainful mouthfuls are taken, a little bit here, a little bit there, enough to tell me the nature of the first layers which the grub adds to its natal sheath. With the exception of the Taxicorn Clythra, whose egg, with its suspension-stalk, seems to denote rather special habits, I see my several charges begin to prolong their shell with a brown paste, similar in appearance to that with whose manufacture and employment we are already familiar.

Discouraged by a food which does not suit them and perhaps also tried by a season of exceptional drouth, my young potters soon relinquish their task; they die after adding a shallow rim to their pots.

Only the Long-legged Clythra thrives and repays me amply for my troublesome nursing. I provide it with chips of old bark taken from the first tree to hand, the oak, the olive, the fig-tree and many others. I soften them by steeping them for a short time in water. The cork-like crusts, however, are not what my boarders eat. The actual food, the butter on the bread, is on the surface. There is a little here of all that the first beginnings of vegetable life add to old tree-trunks, all that breaks up decrepit age to turn it into perpetual youth.

There are tufts of moss, hardly a twelfth of an inch in height, which were sleeping droughtily under the merciless sun of the dog-days, but which a bath in a glass of water awakens at once. They now display their ring of green leaflets, brightened up and restored to life for a few hours. There are leprous efflorescences, with their white or yellow dust; tiny lichens radiating in ash-grey straps and covered with glaucous, white-edged shields, great round eyes that seem to gaze from the depths of the limbo in which dead matter comes to life again. There are collemas, which, after a shower, become dark and bloated and shake like jellies; sphaerias, whose pustules stand out like ebony teats, full of myriads of tiny sacs, each containing eight pretty seeds. A glance through the microscope at the contents of one of these teats, a speck only just visible to the eye, reveals an astounding world: an infinity of procreative wealth in an atom. Ah, what a beautiful thing life is, even on a chip of rotten bark no bigger than a finger-nail! What a garden! What a treasure-house!

This is the best pasture put to the test. My Clythrae graze upon it, gathering in dense herds at the most luxuriant spots. One would take this heap for pinches of some brown, modelled seed or other, the snapdragon's, for instance; but these particular seeds push and sway; if one of them moves the least bit, the shells all clash together. Others wander about, in search of a good place, staggering and tumbling under the weight of the overcoat; they wander at random through that great and spacious world, the bottom of my cup.

Not a fortnight has elapsed before a strip, built up on the rim, has doubled the length of the Long-legged Clythra's shell, in order to maintain the capacity of the earthenware jar in proportion to the size of the grub, which has been growing from day to day. The recent portion, the work of the larva, is very plainly distinguishable from the original shell, the product of the mother; it is smooth over its whole extent, whereas the rest is ornamented with tiny holes arranged in spiral rows.

Planed away inside as it becomes too tight, the jar grows wider and at the same time longer. The dust taken from it, once more kneaded into mortar, is reapplied outside, more or less everywhere, and forms a rubble under which the original beauties end by disappearing. The neatly-pitted masterpiece is swamped by a layer of brown plasterwork; not always entirely, however, even when the structure reaches its final dimensions. If we pass an attentive lens between the two humps at the lower end, we very often see, encrusted in the earthy mass, the remains of the shell of the egg. This is the potter's mark. The arrangement of the spiral ridges, the number and the shape of the pits enable us almost to read the name of the maker, Clythra or Cryptocephalus.

From the very first I could not imagine the worker in ceramic paste designing its own pottery by drafting the first outlines. My doubts were justified. The grubs of the Clythra and the Cryptocephalus possess a maternal legacy in the shape of a shell, a garment which they have only to enlarge. They are born the owners of a layette which becomes the groundwork of their trousseau. They increase it, without, however, imitating its artistic elegance. A more vigorous age discards the laces in which the mother delights to clothe the new-born child.



INDEX

A

Acarus, 33, 44

Adder, 294, 296

AEgosomus scabricornis, 317

Ammophila hirsuta (Hairy Ammophila), 96, 304

Andrena, 55, 85

Anoxia, 266

Ant, 294

Anthaxia nitidula, 216

Anthidium (see also the varieties below), 180, 236, 280

Anthidium bellicosum, 180

Anthidium scapulare, 179

Anthophora (see also the varieties below), 28, 30-34, 37, 39-41, 43-45, 53-61, 63-71, 73-75, 77-82, 84, 88, 90, 93, 97, 100, 103-105, 107-110, 114, 126, 128, 131, 139, 151, 163, 176, 179

Anthophora parietina, 28, 86, 90

Anthophora personata (see Masked Anthophora), 86

Anthophora pilipes (see Hairy-footed Anthophora), 29, 64, 84, 86, 106

Anthophora retusa, 86

Anthrax (see A. sinuata), 30, 37, 158, 199

Anthrax sinuata, 30, 35

Anthrenus (see also A. musaeorum), 33, 44

Anthrenus musaeorum, 33

Ant-lion, 13, 366, 368

Asparagus-beetle, Asparagus-grub (see also Field Crioceris, Twelve-spotted Crioceris), 436, 439

Audubon, John James, 348, 350

Azure Hoplia, 274

B

Bacon-beetle (see Dermestes), 294

Banded Epeira, 284

Bear (see also Cave-bear), 359-360, 400, 447

Beauregard, Dr., 161-162

Bee (see also Bumble-bee, Hive-bee, Mason-bee and the varieties), 28-30, 34, 45, 53-54, 56-57, 59, 60-65, 67, 70-71, 77, 79, 82, 85, 86, 88-90, 92, 97, 99, 101, 105, 106-108, 110, 128, 141-142, 144, 154, 163, 176, 178, 278, 298

Bee-louse, 85

Beetle, passim, 7, 28, 31

Beetle's Gamasus, 314

Belle (see Spurge Hawk-moth), 283

Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Jacques Henri, 235

Bison Onitis, 245, 262

Blackbeetle, 388

Blackbeetle of the Sun (see Sacred Beetle)

Black-bellied Lycosa (see Black-bellied Tarantula), 267

Black-bellied Tarantula, 267

Black Buprestis (see Cloudy Buprestis), 386

Blatta (see Blackbeetle), 388

Blister-beetle (see also Cantharides, Cerocoma, Mylabris, Zonitis), 154, 161, 164

Bluebottle, 95-96, 100

Bolbites (see also B. onitoides), 243, 268

Bolbites onitoides, 242

Bolboceras, 388

Bombardier Beetle, 358

Brachinus (see Bombardier Beetle), 358

Brillat-Savarin (Anthelme), 2

Brilliant Buprestis, 387

Broken Bulimus, 456

Bronze Buprestis, 212

Bulimus (see also Broken Bulimus), 451

Bumble-bee, 71

Buprestis (see also the varieties below), 186, 188, 212, 214-217, 219, 221, 224, 234, 274, 292-293, 381-382, 384, 386

Buprestis aenea (see Bronze Buprestis), 212

Buprestis octoguttata (see Eight-spotted Buprestis), 215

Buprestis tenebrionis (see Cloudy Buprestis), 385, 387

Burnt Zonitis, 179-181

Burying-beetle, 296, 306, 314, 337

Buthus occitanus (see Languedocian Scorpion), 402

Butterfly, 100, 102, 177, 274

C

Calicurgus (see Ringed Calicurgus), 267

Calliphora vomitoria (see Bluebottle), 95

Calosoma sycophanta, 356-357

Camel, 269

Cantharides, 164, 166, 169-170, 290

Canthon bispinus, 261

Capnodis tenebrionis (see Cloudy Buprestis), 381

Capricorn (see also the varieties below), 186-189, 193, 195-199, 203-204, 209, 220, 237, 380, 439

Capricorn of the Cherry-tree (see Cerambyx cerdo), 207-208, 210-211

Capricorn of the Oak (see Capricorn), 209-211

Carabus (see also Golden Carabus, Purple Carabus), 274, 353, 355-357, 363-364, 376

Carrion-beetle (see Silpha), 294

Cat, 307

Cave-bear, 450

Cellar-beetle, 294, 297, 387-388

Cerambyx (see the varieties below), 188, 191, 194, 197, 199, 201, 204, 205, 210, 212, 216

Cerambyx cerdo, 207-208

Cerambyx miles (see Capricorn), 187

Cerceris, 304

Cerocoma (see also Schaeffer's Cerocoma, Schreber's Cerocoma), 160-161, 163, 169-170, 182-183

Cetonia (see also Golden Cetonia, C. floricola), 101, 189, 266, 274, 291, 388

Cetonia aurata (see Golden Cetonia), 101

Cetonia floricola, 291

Chalcid (see also Gall-fly), 428-429

Chalicodoma (see Mason-bee), 136, 179

Chicken, 430

Chinese Carp, 306

Chrysobothrys chrysostigma, 217

Chrysomela (see Golden Apple-beetle), 274, 388

Cicada, 292, 366-368

Clairville, 298, 319, 325

Cleonus, 388

Clerus (see also the varieties below), 33

Clerus alvearius, 33

Clerus apiarius, 33

Cloudy Buprestis, 382, 397, 399

Clythra (see also the varieties below), 451-452, 456, 458-462, 465, 468-471, 473, 475, 477

Clythra longimana, 462, 467

Clythra longipes (Long-legged Clythra), 459, 462, 466, 468-469, 474, 476

Clythra quadripunctata (see Four-spotted Clythra), 459

Clythra sexmaculata (see Six-spotted Clythra), 462

Clythra taxicornis (see Taxicorn Clythra), 460

Clytus (see the varieties below), 218

Clytus arietis, 218

Clytus arvicola, 218

Clytus tropicus, 218

Coccinella (Ladybird), 388

Cockchafer (see also Common Cockchafer, Pine-chafer), 355

Cockroach (see Blackbeetle), 388

Coelioxys, 94, 95

Common Cockchafer, 368

Common Wasp, 71

Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de, Abbe de Mureaux, 185, 194

Confucius, 408

Copris (see also Lunary Copris, Spanish Copris), 237, 243, 258, 262, 266, 269, 289, 310, 347

Cotton-bee (see also Anthidium scapulare), 180, 270

Cow, 243, 269

Crane-fly, 430

Cricket (see also Italian Cricket), 237, 275, 279, 316

Criocephalus ferus, 217

Crioceris (see also the varieties below), 411-414, 418, 420-421, 423-424, 428, 432, 435, 441-442, 444-445, 450

Crioceris campestris (see Field Crioceris), 418

Crioceris duodecimpunctata (see Twelve-spotted Crioceris), 418

Crioceris merdigera (see Lily-beetle), 411

Crioceris paracenthesia, 444

Cryptocephalus (see also the varieties below), 451, 460, 462, 465, 467, 468-469, 471, 477

Cryptocephalus bipunctatus (Two-spotted Cryptocephalus), 460, 467-468, 473

Cryptocephalus ilicis (see Ilex Cryptocephalus), 460

Cyclostome, 8

D

Darboun (see Mole), 302

Decticus (see also White-faced Decticus), 237, 281-282, 316

Dermestes, 294-295, 297

Diogenes, 451

Dog, 195, 251

Donkey, 320

Drilus maroccanus, 8, 9

Drone-fly, 95-96, 100

Duck, 396

Dufour, Jean Marie Leon, 55, 85, 106

Dung-beetle, 239-240, 242, 245, 249-253, 263, 268-274, 288, 317, 325, 347

E

Eight-spotted Buprestis, 215

Epeira (see Banded Epeira), 284

Ephippiger of the Vines, 282

Eristalis tenax (see Drone-fly), 95

Eumenes, 464

F

Fabre, Emile, the author's son, 145-146

Fabre, Mlle. Anna, the author's daughter, 391

Fabre, Paul, the author's son, 303, 309

Field Crioceris, 418, 425, 433, 442

Field-mouse, 296, 304, 452

Flamingo, 293

Fly (see also House-fly), 12, 30, 95, 101-102, 177, 199, 294, 360, 371, 375, 378-380, 420, 423, 425, 435-436

Foamy Cicadella, 439

Four-spotted Clythra, 459, 462, 466-467, 469

Four-spotted Mylabris, 162, 164, 173

Frog, 296, 299, 300, 332, 334, 337

G

Gall-fly, 428

Geer, Baron Karl de, 87

Geotrupes (see also Mimic Geotrupes, Stercoraceous Geotrupes), 237, 245, 291-292, 314, 344, 347, 386

Giant Scarites, 362, 381-382, 384, 396, 398

Gleditsch, Johann Gottlieb, 299, 334, 337

Glow-worm, 1, 3, 4, 7-8, 10, 12-27

Gnat, 195, 269, 420, 430

Godart, Jean Baptiste, 87

Golden Apple-beetle, 388

Golden Beetle, 353, 355

Golden Carabus, 355

Golden Cetonia, 101

Golden Cryptocephalus, 460, 467-468, 470, 473

Golden Rose-chafer (see Golden Cetonia), 101

Goldfish (see Chinese Carp), 306

Goose, 396-397

Grasshopper (see also Green Grasshopper), 154, 280, 282, 461

Great Capricorn (see Capricorn), 379

Great Peacock Moth, 356

Great Water-beetle, 278

Greenfinch, 360, 396

Green Grasshopper, 237, 357

Grey Worm (see Turnip Moth), 96

Griffiths, A. B., 292

Gromphas (Lacordaire's Gromphas), 244, 247, 256

Ground-beetle (see Carabus), 293, 313, 447

Guinea-fowl, 395-396

Gymnopleurus, 289, 347

H

Hairy-footed Anthophora, 64, 106

Half-spotted Scarab, 369

Halictus, 176

Heliocantharus (see Sacred Beetle), 271

Helix aspersa, 12

Helix explanata, 362

Helix variabilis, 3-4

Hemerobius (see Lace-winged Fly), 463

Hen, 251, 257, 396, 470

Hermit-crab, 446

Hive-bee, 71, 100

Hoplia (see also Azure Hoplia), 274, 388

Hornet, 68

Horse, 269

House-fly, 420

Humming-bird, 274, 293

Hunting Wasp, 7, 96, 252, 275, 278, 280, 304

Hydrophilus (see Great Water-beetle), 278-279

I

Icterine Warbler, 469

Ilex Cryptocephalus, 460, 467

Italian Cricket, 236

J

Job, 187

Judulien, Brother, 238

K

Kingfisher, 293

Kitten, 391

Kung (see Confucius), 409

L

Lace-winged Fly, 464

Lacordaire, Jean Theodore, 244, 298

La Fontaine, Jean de, 409

Lamb, 155

Lamellicorn, 129

Lampyris, L. noctiluca (see Glow-worm), 1-3, 5-6, 8-9, 11-12, 15

Land-snail (see Bulimus, Helix, Snail), 451

Languedocian Scorpion, 402

Lark, 25

Latreille's Osmia, 179

Leaf-cutter (see Megachile), 180, 236

Lily-beetle, 411, 413, 418, 424, 434, 436, 439, 440, 445-446

Lizard, 292, 294, 296, 332, 345

Llama, 269

Loach, 392-393

Locust, 154, 161, 282, 360, 393, 461

Louse, 59, 85, 106, 128, 144, 320

Lunary Copris, 240, 262

Lycosa (see Black-bellied Tarantula), 267

M

Macleay (William Sharp), 271

Maistre, Xavier de, 236, 238

Malachius, 100

Mantis (see Praying Mantis), 145-146, 149, 150-154, 160-161, 163, 316

Masked Anthophora, 86

Mason-bee (see also Anthophora and the varieties below), 72, 75, 86, 93, 104, 136

Mason-bee of the Sheds, 136

Mason-bee of the Walls, 136

Megachile (see also M. sericans), 187, 236, 269

Megachile sericans, 180

Megatherium, 269

Megathopa (see also the varieties below), 242, 268

Megathopa bicolor, 241

Megathopa intermedia, 241

Melecta, 94-95

Melecta armata, 36

Meloe (see Oil-beetle and the varieties below), 56, 84-86, 88-89, 91, 93-97, 99-101, 103-108, 128, 134-135, 141-143, 157

Meloe cicatricosus, 86, 104, 106, 128, 149

Meloe proscarabaeus, 87

Meloid (see also Blister-beetle, Cantharides, Cerocoma, Mylabris, Zonitis), 135, 141, 144-146, 149, 154, 157-158, 160-163, 165-166, 174, 179, 183

Melosoma (Omocrates abbreviatus), 387

Miall, Bernard, viii

Midge, 420, 422-424, 430

Mimic Geotrupes, 273, 291

Mite, 103

Mole, 252, 294-297, 301, 304-310, 313, 319, 328-332, 335-337, 341, 345-346

Mosquito, 447

Mouse (see also Field-mouse, Shrew-mouse), 298, 306, 314, 319-326, 333-334, 338-343

Mylabris (see also Four-spotted Mylabris, Twelve-spotted Mylabris), 160, 171, 173, 176

N

Narbonne Lycosa (see Black-bellied Tarantula), 267

Necrophorus (see Burying-beetle, N. vestigator), 251, 296-299, 301, 303-308, 310-311, 313-317, 319, 321, 324-329, 331-332, 335, 337-338, 341-343, 345-347

Necrophorus vestigator, 301

Newport, George, 56, 85-87, 89, 91-92, 105-106, 108, 130, 133

Nightingale, 469

Nine-spotted Buprestis, 213, 387

O

Odynerus, 28

Oil-beetle, 56, 84-93, 101, 105-106, 109, 130, 132-135, 144, 146, 148, 151, 154-155, 173-174, 176-177, 182-183, 203

Onitis (see also the varieties below), 242, 245, 264, 289

Onitis bison (see Bison Onitis), 245, 262

Onitis Olivieri (Olivier's Onitis), 250

Onthophagus (see also Oval Onthophagus), 252, 261, 273, 289

Onthophagus ovatus (see Oval Onthophagus), 252

Oryctes, O. nasicornis (see Rhinoceros Beetle), 266, 355

Osmia (see also the varieties below), 32-34, 36-37, 56, 65, 108, 136, 138, 179, 186, 316

Osmia Latreillii (see Latreille's Osmia), 136

Osmia tricornis (see Three-horned Osmia), 31, 64, 136

Osmia tridentata (see Three-pronged Osmia), 136

Oval Onthophagus, 263

Ovid, 470

Owl (see also Virginian Owl), 251

Ox, 240, 268-269, 355

P

Peacock, 293

Peacock Moth (see Great Peacock Moth), 356

Pediculus apis (see Bee-louse), 85

Pelopaeus, 203, 266

Pepsis, 267

Phanaeus (see the varieties below), 240, 258, 290, 292

Phanaeus festivus, 264

Phanaeus Milon, 249, 252, 254-256, 264-265

Phanaeus splendidulus (Splendid Phanaeus), 239, 265, 268, 273, 289

Pigeon (see also Wood-pigeon), 396

Pimelia (P. bipunctata), 363-364, 369, 376-377, 387

Pine-chafer, 355, 357, 368

Pompilus (see Ringed Calicurgus), 267, 304

Praying Mantis, 155, 162, 236

Procrustes coriaceus, 353-354, 357

Ptosima novemmaculata (see Nine-spotted Buprestis), 213, 387

Purple Carabus, 353

R

Rabbit, 252, 341

Rat (Brown Rat, see Sewer-rat), 312-313

Reaumur, Rene Antoine Ferchault de, 283, 320, 413, 416

Resin-bee (see Anthidium bellicosum), 180

Rhinoceros Beetle, 355-357

Rhynchites, 411

Ringed Calicurgus, 267

Rose-chafer (see Cetonia, Golden Cetonia), 368

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 235

Rove-beetle (see Staphylinus), 295

S

Sacred Beetle, 237, 241-242, 250-251, 258, 260, 262, 266, 269, 271, 288, 290-291, 325, 347, 376-377

Saperda (see the varieties below), 212

Saperda carcharias (see Shagreen Saperda), 211

Saperda of the Poplar, 211

Saperda scalaris (see Scalary Saperda), 211

Saprinus, 295

Sapyga (see Spotted Sapyga), 155

Saw-fly (see Sirex), 223

Scalary Saperda, 211

Scarab (see Half-spotted Scarab, Sacred Beetle), 271

Scarabaeus (see Sacred Beetle), 289

Scarites (see Giant Scarites, Smooth-skinned Scarites), 363, 365-368, 370, 372-373, 375, 378-380, 387

Schaeffer's Cerocoma, 160, 162-165

Schreber's Cerocoma, 161

Scolia, 155, 203, 266

Scorpion (see also Languedocian Scorpion), 402-405, 407-408

Sea-snail, 446

Sewer-rat, 304

Shagreen Saperda, 211

Sheep, 243, 269

Shell-bearing Slug (see Testacella), 354

Shrew-mouse, 296, 304

Silky Leaf-cutter (see Megachile sericans), 180

Silpha, 294-295, 297, 388

Sirex (see also the varieties below), 223, 226-231, 234

Sirex augur, 223

Sirex gigas, 231

Sirex juvencus, 231

Sisyphus, 261-262, 347

Sitaris (see also S. humeralis), 31, 36-37, 39, 40, 43, 50-61, 63-67, 74-82, 85-88, 97-98, 105-107, 109-110, 114, 116, 118-120, 127-135, 138, 141-144, 146, 148, 151, 154, 157, 171, 173-174, 176-178, 182, 203, 439

Sitaris humeralis, 30, 58

Six-spotted Clythra, 462

Slug (see also Testacella), 354

Smooth-skinned Scarites, 377, 396

Snail (see also Bulimus, Helix), 3-6, 10-12, 14-15, 48, 353-355, 362, 447, 455

Snake, 304

Spanish Copris, 239, 241

Sparrow, 314, 341, 343, 360

Sphex (see also White-banded Sphex, Yellow-winged Sphex), 203, 267, 278-279, 304

Spider, 30-31, 39, 44, 101-102, 177, 284-286

Spotted Sapyga, 155

Spurge Hawk-moth, 282, 287-288

Stag-beetle, 364

Staphylinus, 295

Stercoraceous Geotrupes, 273, 291, 385

Stromatium strepens, 218

Swallow, 430

T

Tachina, 421-424, 426, 428, 433, 435-436, 448

Tachytes (see also T. tarsina), 145-146, 149, 151-152, 154-155, 160-162, 164

Tachytes tarsina, 161

Tarantula (see Black-bellied Tarantula), 267

Taxicorn Clythra, 460, 462-464, 469, 473-474

Teixeira de Mattos, Alexander, 7, 28, 30, 55, 189, 237, 266

Testacella, 354

Thomas the Apostle, Saint, 411

Three-horned Osmia, 64

Three-pronged Osmia, 233

Tick (see also Beetle's Gamasus), 314

Triungulin of the Andrenae, Triungulinus (see T. andrenetarum), 56

Triungulinus andrenetarum, 85

Turkey, 348-350, 393-398

Turnip Moth, 96

Twelve-spotted Crioceris, 418, 425-426, 428-429, 434

Twelve-spotted Mylabris, 162, 164, 173-174, 178

U

Unarmed Zonitis, 181

V

Valery-Mayer, Professor, 250

Vespa crabro (see Hornet), 68

Virginian Owl, 350

W

Warbler (see Icterine Warbler), 469

Wasp (see also Common Wasp, Hunting Wasp and the other varieties), 7, 28, 69, 71, 145, 278, 298

Water-beetle (see Great Water-beetle), 278

Weevil, 149, 157, 388, 411

Wheatear, 469

White-banded Sphex, 267

White-faced Decticus, 280, 357

White Scorpion (see Languedocian Scorpion), 402, 404

Wolf, 155, 355

Wood-pigeon, 293

Y

Yellow-winged Sphex, 275

Z

Zonitis (see also the varieties below), 138, 141-143, 148, 154, 164-165, 171, 179-180, 182-183

Zonitis mutica (see Unarmed Zonitis), 138, 164, 179, 181

Zonitis praeusta (see Burnt Zonitis), 179

THE END