the Sanguines, but for
this unnatural behavior--"

"Unnatural!" echoed the unseen Brownie Queen, "unnatural? No,
this, too, is Nature. You are only reading between the poet's
lines of peaceful beauty. You will learn your lesson by and by."

[Illustration: FIG. 7.--"For a Ravenous Wasp Larva to Devour."]

I went back to the rustic seat beneath the Elm, and thought. A
butterfly flew by. I followed its flight. "Oh! that is too bad!"
I cried involuntarily. It had struck the snare of the Orbweaving
spider. It struggled helplessly in the toils. Swiftly the aranead
sped from its pretty leafy tent along its trap line, and in a
moment seized and began swathing its victim. A thick ribbon of
pure white silk streamed from the spinnerets, and enwrapped the
butterfly round and round as it was revolved by the spider's
feet. It was swathed like a mummy at last, and left lashed and
hanging to the cross lines, while its captor mounted to her nest
and began leisurely to haul up the captive preparatory to a
sumptuous meal.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.--The Cicada Wasp, Sphecius speciosus.]

My pity had hardly time to express itself ere another insect form
swept by. It was a blue wasp, a Mud-dauber. It flew to the
Orbweaver's web. Another victim? It is within the toils! The
spider leaves her prey and darts along the trap line. What? will
she not venture? No! she recoils. But too late! The Wasp has
seized her, plunged its sharp sting into her body, and shaking
the bits of web from its feet flies away. I know what that means.
The clay sarcophagus on yonder barn wall shall receive another
morsel of preserved meat for a ravenous wasp larva to devour.

What had I to say about this incident? This; I found myself
unconsciously asking, "What will destroy the Wasp, in its turn?"
But I had no leisure to meditate an answer. A beautiful creature
flitted past me, whose colors of orange and black were distinct
even in flight. It was the fine, large Digger-wasp,[F] the
largest of that family among our indigenous insects. Just then
from the branch of a small oak a Cicada sounded his rolling love
call. A note not very melodious to human ear, it is true, but it
throbs with the passion of affection, and must have been sweet
music to his mate on the branch near by. Unlucky lover! your love
sonnet has sounded your doom. It shall be your death song. See!