lized in a particular part of the Wasp and the
Bee? Is it exercised by means of a special organ? We immediately think
of the antennae. The antennae are what we always fall back upon when the
insect's actions are not quite clear to us; we gladly put down to them
whatever is most necessary to our arguments. For that matter, I had
plenty of fairly good reasons for suspecting them of containing the
sense of direction. When the Hairy Ammophila (A Sand-wasp who hunts the
Grey Worm, or Caterpillar of the Turnip-moth, to serve as food for her
grubs. For other varieties of the Ammophila, cf. "Insect Life": chapter
15.--Translator's Note.) is searching for the Grey Worm, it is with her
antennae, those tiny fingers continually fumbling at the soil, that she
seems to recognize the presence of the underground prey. Could not those
inquisitive filaments, which seem to guide the insect when hunting, also
guide it when travelling? This remained to be seen; and I did see.

I took some Mason-bees and amputated their antennae with the scissors,
as closely as I could. These maimed ones were then carried to a distance
and released. They returned to the nest with as little difficulty as
the others. I once experimented in the same way with the largest of our
Cerceres (Cerceris tuberculata) (Another Hunting Wasp, who feeds her
young on Weevils. Cf. "Insect Life": chapters 4 and 5.--Translator's
Note.); and the Weevil-huntress returned to her galleries. This rids
us of one hypothesis: the sense of direction is not exercised by the
antennae. Then where is its seat? I do not know.

What I do know is that the Mason-bees without antennae, though they go
back to the cells, do not resume work. They persist in flying in front
of their masonry, they alight on the clay cup, they perch on the rim of
the cell and there, seemingly pensive and forlorn, stand for a long time
contemplating the work which will never be finished; they go off, they
come back, they drive away any importunate neighbour, but they fetch
and carry no more honey or mortar. The next day, they do not appear.
Deprived of her tools, the worker loses all heart in her task. When the
Mason-bee is building, the antennae are constantly feeling, fumbling and
exploring, superintending, as it were, the finishing touches given to
the work. They are her instruments of precision; they represent the
builder's compasses, square, level and plumb-line.

Hitherto my experiments have been confined to the