presents the first instalment of rations; others will follow as the
grub matures. My expectations are thus confirmed; as with Bembex, slayer
of Diptera, so Philanthus, killer of bees, lays her egg upon the first
body stored, and completes, at intervals, the provisioning of the cells.

The problem of the dead bee is elucidated; there remains the other
problem, of incomparable interest--Why, before they are given over to
the larvae, are the bees robbed of their honey? I have said, and I
repeat, that the killing and emptying of the bee cannot be explained
solely by the gluttony of the Philanthus. To rob the worker of its booty
is nothing; such things are seen every day; but to slaughter it in order
to empty its stomach--no, gluttony cannot be the only motive. And as the
bees placed in the cells are squeezed dry no less than the others, the
idea occurs to me that as a beefsteak garnished with _confitures_ is not
to every one's taste, so the bee sweetened with honey may well be
distasteful or even harmful to the larvae of the Philanthus. What would
the grub do if, replete with blood and flesh, it were to find under its
mandibles the honey-bag of the bee?--if, gnawing at random, it were to
open the bees stomach and so drench its game with syrup? Would it
approve of the mixture? Would the little ogre pass without repugnance
from the gamey flavour of a corpse to the scent of flowers? To affirm or
deny is useless. We must see. Let us see.

I take the young larvae of the Philanthus, already well matured, but
instead of serving them with the provisions buried in their cells I
offer them game of my own catching--bees that have filled themselves
with nectar among the rosemary bushes. My bees, killed by crushing the
head, are thankfully accepted, and at first I see nothing to justify my
suspicions. Then my nurslings languish, show themselves disdainful of
their food, give a negligent bite here and there, and finally, one and
all, die beside their uncompleted meal. All my attempts miscarry; not
once do I succeed in rearing my larvae as far as the stage of spinning
the cocoon. Yet I am no novice in my duties as dry-nurse. How many
pupils have passed through my hands and have reached the final stage in
my old sardine-boxes as well as in their native burrows! I shall draw no
conclusions from this check, which my scruples may attribute to some
unknown cause. Perhaps the atmosphere of my cabinet and the dryness of
the sand serving them for