The Mason-Wasps 



advent of the first cold nights of November. 

 The building proceeds with diminished en- 

 thusiasm; the visits to the pool of honey are 

 less assiduous. Household duties are re- 

 laxed. Grubs gaping with hunger receive 

 tardy relief, or are even neglected. Pro- 

 found uneasiness seizes upon the nurses. 

 Their former devotion is succeeded by in- 

 difference, which soon turns to aversion. 

 What is the use of continuing attentions 

 which presently will become impossible? In 

 view of the imminent famine, our beloved 

 nurselings must die a tragic death. 



The neuters, in fact, grab the late-born 

 larvae, these to-day, those to-morrow, sooner 

 or later the rest, and root them out of their 

 cells with the same violence which they would 

 employ against a stranger or a lifeless body; 

 they tug at them, savagely rend them; and 

 all this poor flesh is sent down to the pit. 



Before much longer, the neuters them- 

 selves, the executioners, are languidly drag- 

 ging what remains of their lives. At length 

 they also succumb, killed by the weather. 

 November is not yet past; and nothing is 

 left alive in my cage. The final massacre of 

 the tardy larvae must take place underground 

 in more or less the same manner, but on a 

 larger scale. 



284 



