The Hunting Wasps 



With my forceps I pull gently at it from 

 behind. The huntress resists, stubbornly 

 clutches the antennae of her victim and refuses 

 to let go. I pull harder, even drawing the 

 carter back as well; it makes no difference: 

 the Sphex does not loose her hold. I have 

 with me a pair of sharp scissors, belonging to 

 my little entomological case. I use them and 

 promptly cut the harness-ropes, the Ephip- 

 piger's long antennae. The Sphex continues 

 to move ahead, but soon stops, astonished at 

 the sudden decrease in the weight of the bur- 

 den which she is trailing, for this burden is 

 now reduced merely to the two antennas, 

 snipped off by my mischievous wiles. The 

 real load, the heavy, pot-bellied insect, re- 

 mains behind and is instantly replaced by my 

 live specimen. The Wasp turns round, lets 

 go the ropes that now draw nothing after 

 them and retraces her steps. She comes face 

 to face with the prey substituted for her own. 

 She examines it, walks round it gingerly, then 

 stops, moistens her foot with saliva and be- 

 gins to wash her eyes. In this attitude of 

 meditation, can some such thought as the fol- 

 lowing pass through her mind : 



" Come now 1 Am I awake or am I 

 asleep? Do I know what I am about or do 

 164 



