I broke up the mould and spread it under the magnifying-glass.

It was like looking for needles in a haystack; but at last I recovered my little Cigales.

They were dead, perhaps of cold, in spite of the bell-glass with which I had covered the pot, or perhaps of starvation, if the thyme was not a suitable food-plant.

I give up the problem as too difficult of solution.
To rear such larvae successfully one would require a deep, extensive bed of earth which would shelter them from the winter cold; and, as I do not know what roots they prefer, a varied vegetation, so that the little creatures could choose according to their taste.

These conditions are by no means impracticable, but how, in the large earthy mass, containing at least a cubic yard of soil, should we recover the atoms I had so much trouble to find in a handful of black soil from the heath?
Moreover, such a laborious search would certainly detach the larva from its root.
The early subterranean life of the Cigale escapes us.