The Wisdom of Instinct 



I mean, they really die; and, in four or five 

 days, I have nothing but putrid corpses before 

 my eyes. And the Wasp's Ephippiger? I 

 need hardly say that the Wasp's Ephippiger, 

 even ten days after the operation, is perfectly 

 fresh, just as she will be required by the larva 

 for which she has been destined. Nay, 

 more: only a few hours after the operation 

 under the skull, there reappeared, as though 

 nothing had occurred, the disorderly move- 

 ments of the legs, antennas, palpi, ovipositor 

 and mandibles; in a word, the insect returned 

 to the condition wherein it was before the 

 Sphex bit its brain. And these movements 

 were kept up after, though they became 

 feebler every day. The Sphex had merely 

 reduced her victim to a passing state of tor- 

 por, lasting amply long enough to enable her 

 to bring it home without resistance; and I, 

 who thought myself her rival, was but a 

 clumsy and barbarous butcher: I killed my 

 prize. She, with her inimitable dexterity, 

 shrewdly compressed the brain to produce a 

 lethargy of a few hours; I, brutal through 

 ignorance, perhaps crushed under my forceps 

 that delicate organ, the main seat of life. If 

 anything could prevent me from blushing at 

 my defeat, it would be the conviction that 

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