THE ANTHRAX FLY 



under the microscope. It is a small conical crater, with 

 yellowish-red sides and very faint lines running round 

 it. At the bottom of this funnel is the opening of the 

 throat. There is not the slightest trace of mandibles or 

 jaws, or any object capable of seizing and grinding food. 

 There is nothing at all but the bowl-shaped opening. I 

 know of no other example of a mouth like this, which 

 I can only compare to a cupping-glass. Its attack is a 

 mere kiss, but what a cruel kiss I 



To observe the working of this curious machine I 

 placed a new-born Anthrax-grub, together with its prey, 

 in a glass tube. Here I was able to watch the strange re- 

 past from beginning to end. 



The Anthrax-grub — the Bee's uninvited guest — is 

 fixed by its mouth or sucker to any convenient part of 

 the plump Bee-grub. It is ready to break off its kiss 

 suddenly, should anything disturb it, and to resume it as 

 easily when it wishes. After three or four days of this 

 curious contact the Bee-grub, formerly so fat, glossy, and 

 healthy, begins to look withered. Her sides fall in, her 

 fresh colour fades, her skin becomes covered with little 

 folds, and she is evidently shrinking. A week is hardly 

 passed when these signs of exhaustion increase to a 

 startling degree. The victim is flabby and wrinkled, as 

 though borne down by her own weight. If I move her 

 from her place she flops and sprawls like a half-filled 

 indiarubber bottle. But the kiss of the Anthrax goes on 



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