More Hunting Wasps 



day. I am worn out, but amply repaid for 

 my exertions by a broken cocoon and the 

 puzzling skin of a wretched grub. Young 

 people who make a hobby of natural history, 

 would you like to discover whether the sa- 

 cred fire flows in your veins? Imagine your- 

 selves returning from such an expedition. 

 You are carrying on your shoulder the pea- 

 sant's heavy spade; your loins are stiff with 

 the laborious digging which you have just 

 finished in a crouching position; the heat of 

 an August afternoon has set your brain sim- 

 mering; your eyelids are tired by the itch 

 of an inflammation resulting from the over- 

 powering light in which you have been work- 

 ing; you have a devouring thirst; and before 

 you lies the dusty prospect of the miles that 

 divide you from your well-earned rest. Yet 

 something stings within you; forgetful of 

 your present woes you are absolutely glad of 

 your excursion. Why? Because you have 

 in your possession a shred of rotten skin. 

 If this is so, my young friends, you may go 

 ahead, for you will do something, though I 

 warn you that this does not mean, by a long 

 way, that you will get on in the world. 



I examined this shred of skin with all the 

 care that it deserved. My first suspicions 

 were confirmed: a Lamellicorn, a Scarabaeid 

 38 



