The Yellow-winged Sphex 



when a heavy shower comes In the middle of 

 her mining, it is pitiful next day to see the 

 half-built galleries in ruins, choked with sand 

 and finally abandoned by their engineers. 



The Sphex seldom practises her industry 

 alone; the site selected is usually exploited by 

 small bands of ten or twenty sappers or more. 

 One must have spent days in contemplating 

 one of these villages to form any idea of 

 the restless activity, the spasmodic haste, the 

 abrupt movements of those hard-working 

 miners. The soil is rapidly attacked with 

 the rakes of the fore-feet: canis instar, as 

 Linnaeus says. No mischievous puppy dis- 

 plays more energy in digging up the ground. 

 At the same time, each worker sings her glad 

 ditty, which consists of a shrill and strident 

 noise, constantly broken off and modulated 

 by the vibrations of the wings and thorax. 

 One would think that they were a troop of 

 merry companions encouraging one another 

 in their work with a cadenced rhythm. 

 Meanwhile, the sand flies, falling in a fine 

 dust on their quivering wings; and the too- 

 bulky gravel, removed bit by bit, rolls far 

 away from the workyard. If a piece seems 

 too heavy to be moved, the insect gets up 

 steam with a shrill note which reminds one 



