184 FABEE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



cream-coloured cylinder with the little button of a head. 

 Fastening its round sucker to the Bee-grub, it began its meal. 

 You know the rest. 



Before taking leave of this tiny animal let us dwell for a 

 moment on its marvellous instinct. Picture it as having just 

 left the egg, just awakened to life under the fierce rays of the 

 sun. The bare stone is its cradle ; there is no one to welcome 

 it as it enters the world, a mere thread of half-solid substance. 

 Instantly it starts on its struggle with the flint. Obstinately 

 it sounds each pore of the stone ; it slips in, crawls on, retreats, 

 begins again. What inspiration urges it towards its food, 

 what compass guides it ? What does it know of those depths, 

 or of what lies in them ? Nothing. What does the root of a 

 plant know of the earth's fruitfulness ? Again, nothing. Yet 

 both the root and the worm make for the nourishing spot. 

 Why ? I do not understand. I do not even try to under- 

 stand. The question is far above us. 



We have now followed the complete history of the Anthrax. 

 Its life is divided into four periods, each of which has its 

 special form and its special work. The primary larva enters 

 the Bees' nest, which contains provisions ; the secondary larva 

 eats those provisions ; the pupa brings the insect to light by 

 boring through the enclosing wall ; the perfect insect strews 

 its eggs. Then the story starts afresh. 



Printed in Great Britain by T. and A. CONSTABLE LTD. 

 at the Edinburgh University Press 



