268 INSECT LIFE xix 



inches. No exploration of the gallery — no anxiety 

 for the distressed larva ; though the grub, whose 

 delicate skin has just exchanged the gentle moisture 

 of a cave for burning sunshine, is writhing on its 

 heap of chewed Diptera, the mother takes no notice 

 of it. For her it is no more than any one of the 

 objects strewn on the sand, — a little pebble, a clod, 

 a scrap of dried mud, — nothing more. It is un- 

 deserving of attention. This tender, faithful mother, 

 who wears herself out in efforts to reach her nursling's 

 cradle, cares nothing just now but for her entrance 

 door — the door she is used to. That which goes to 

 her maternal heart is the longing to find the well- 

 known passage. Yet the way is open ; nothing 

 holds her back, and under her eyes wriggles the 

 grub, the final object of her anxiety. With one 

 spring she would be at the side of the unhappy 

 larva who so needs help. Why does she not rush 

 to her beloved nursling? She could dig a new 

 habitation and get it swiftly underground. But no — 

 she persists in seeking a way which no longer exists, 

 while her son is grilled under her eyes. I was 

 boundlessly surprised by this obtuse maternity, since 

 maternity is the most powerful and most fertile in 

 resource of all feelings which move the animal. 

 Hardly could I have believed my eyes but for end- 

 less experiments on the Cerceris and Philanthidae, as 

 well as on Bembecidas of different species. Stranger 

 still, the mother, after long hesitation, at length 

 entered the unroofed passage — all that was left of 

 the corridor. She advanced, drew back, and gave a 

 few careless sweeps without stopping. Guided by 

 vague recollections, and perhaps by the smell of 



