The Common Wasp 



the swarm, starvation will not be responsible. 



Matters being thus arranged, all goes 

 fairly well in the beginning. After hiding 

 between the combs at night, the Wasps come 

 out when the sun shines on the wire cover. 

 They emerge into the light and stand in it, 

 pressed closely one against the other. Pre- 

 sently they become more animated: they 

 climb to the wire roof, move idly to and fro, 

 descend and quench their appetite at the pool 

 of honey or at the grape-pips. The neuters 

 take to flight, wheel round, cluster on the 

 trelliswork; the bravely-horned males curl 

 their antennae with quite a sprightly air; the 

 heavier females take no part in these di- 

 versions. 



A week goes by. The visits to the re- 

 fectory, though brief, seem to speak of a 

 certain well-being; nevertheless, without ap- 

 parent cause, mortality now makes a sudden 

 appearance. A neuter is resting in the sun, 

 motionless, on the side of a comb. There is 

 nothing about it to denote ill-health. Sud- 

 denly it drops down, falls on its back, moves 

 its abdomen for a moment, kicks its legs about 

 and all is over: it is dead. 



As for the females, they too give me cause 

 for alarm. I surprise one as she is crawling 

 out of the nest. Lying on her back, she 

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