of the orifice of a
gallery in which the insect was working; he soon saw it returning with
a paralysed cricket. Arrived at the burrow, the insect placed the prey
on the ground for a moment and disappeared in the passage to see that
everything was in order, and that no damage had taken place since its
departure. Everything was going well, and it reappeared, took up its
burden, and again entered the subterranean passage, drawing the victim
along. It brought it into the chamber for which it was destined,
placing it on its back, the head down and the feet towards the door.
Then it set out hunting again until it had ranged four crickets side
by side. Before attempting a decisive experiment, the observer felt
his way. At the moment when the _Sphex_ was buried in the earth
examining the chamber, Fabre withdrew the prey a short distance and
awaited events. Having made the domiciliary visit, the _Sphex_ then
went straight to the place where it had left its insect, but could not
find it. It was naturally very perplexed, and examined the
neighbourhood with extreme agitation, not knowing what had happened,
and evidently regarding the whole affair as very extraordinary; at
last it found the victim it was seeking. The cricket still preserved
the same immobility; its executioner seized it by an antenna and drew
it anew to the entrance of the hole. In the interior of the
subterranean domain everything is in good order; the insect had just
assured itself of the fact, and we should expect to see it enter with
its prey; not at all, it entered alone, and only decided to introduce
the prey after it had made a fresh inspection. This fact is
surprising, and it is still more surprising that if the practical joke
of removing the cricket is repeated several times in succession, the
_Sphex_ drags it anew every time to the entrance of the burrow and
first descends alone; forty times over this experiment succeeded
without the insect deciding to renounce the habitual manoeuvre. Fabre
insists on this fact, and rightly, for nothing should be neglected; he
makes it a text to show how automatic instinct is, and how the acts
which proceed from it are invariably regulated so as to succeed one
another always in the same order. In their nature these acts are quite
indistinguishable from intelligent acts; only the creature is not
capable of modifying them to bring them into harmony with unforeseen
circumstances. All this is correct, but where it becomes exces