More Hunting Wasps 



packed away in the cellar are squeezed dry 

 just as much as the others, the thought oc- 

 curs to my mind that a rumpsteak with jam 

 is not to everybody's liking and that the 

 game stuffed with honey might well be a dis- 

 tasteful or even unwholesome dish for the 

 Philanthus' larvas. What will the grub do 

 when, sated with blood and meat, it finds 

 the Bee's honey-bag under its mandibles and 

 especially when, nibbling at random, it rips 

 open the crop and spoils its venison with 

 syrup? Will it thrive on the mixture? 

 Will the little ogre pass without repugnance 

 from the gamy flavour of a carcass to the 

 scent of flowers? A blunt statement or 

 denial would serve no purpose. We must 

 see. Let us see. 



I rear some young Philanthus-grubs, 

 already waxing large; but, instead of sup- 

 plying them with the prey taken from the 

 burrows, I give them game of my own catch- 

 ing, game replete with nectar from the rose- 

 maries. My Bees, whom I kill by crush- 

 ing their heads, are readily accepted; and I 

 at first see nothing that corresponds with 

 my suspicions. Then my nurselings languish, 

 disdain their food, give a careless bite here 

 and there and end by perishing, from the 

 first to the last, beside their unfinished vic- 

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