THE WASP. 159 



busy clustering of the flies, with which the hide was absolutely 

 blackened in some places, and then to see the yellow -bodied 

 Wasp just clear the wall, dart into the dark mass, and retreat 

 again with a fly in its fatal grasp. On the average, one Wasp 

 arrived every ten seconds, so that the pig-sty must have been a 

 well-known storehouse for these insects. 



As is well known to every boy who has participated in the 

 delight of taking a Wasp's nest, the habitation of the insect is 

 mostly under ground, and is a marvel of ingenious industry. 

 The shape is more or less globular, and the material of which it 

 is composed is very much like coarse brown paper, though not so 

 tough. If it be opened, a wonderful scene is disclosed ; terrace 

 upon terrace of hexagonal cells being arranged in regular rows, 

 and inclosed in a shell of papery substance, some half an inch in 

 thickness, which is evidently intended to prevent the earth from 

 falling among the combs, as these cell-terraces are called. 



We will now suppose ourselves to be present at the con- 

 struction of the nest, and, Prospero-like, will see without being- 

 seen. 



In the early days of spring, a Wasp issues from the place in 

 which it has passed the winter, and anxiously surveys the coun- 

 try. She does not fly fast nor high, but passes slowly and care- 

 fully along, examining every earth-bank, and entering every crev- 

 ice to which she comes. At last she finds a burrow made by a 

 field-mouse, or perhaps strikes upon the deserted tunnel of some 

 large burrowing insect, enters it, stays a long while within, comes 

 out again and fusses about outside, enters again, and seems to 

 make up her mind. In fact, she is house-hunting, and all her 

 movements are very like those of a careful matron selecting a 

 new home. 



Having thus settled upon a convenient spot, she proceeds to 

 form a chamber, at some depth from the surface, breaking away 

 the soil, and carrying it out piece by piece. When she has thus 

 fashioned the chamber to her mind — for she has a mind — she 

 flies off again, and makes her way to an old wooden fence which 

 has stood for many years, and which, although not rotten, is per- 

 fectly seasoned. On this she settles, and, after running up and 

 down for a little time, she fixes upon some spot, and begins to 

 gnaw away the fibres, working with all her might, so eagerly 

 engaged that even were we not invisible we might stand by and 

 watch her proceedings. At last, she has gathered a little bundle 



