XVIII 



WASPS 



One rough day in early autumn I paused in my 

 walk in a Surrey orchard to watch a curious scene 

 in insect life — a pretty little insect comedy I 

 might have called it had it not brought back to 

 remembrance old days when my mind was clouded 

 with doubts, and the ways of certain insects, 

 especially of wasps, were much in my thoughts. 

 For we live through and forget many a tempest 

 that shakes us ; but long afterwards a very little 

 thing — the scent of a flower, the cry of a wild 

 bird, even the sight of an insect — may serve to 

 bring it vividly back and to revive a feeling that 

 seemed dead and gone. 



In the orchard there was an old pear-tree which 

 produced very large late pears, and among the 

 fruit the September wind had shaken down that 

 morning there was one over-ripe in which the 

 wasps had eaten a deep cup-shaped cavity. Inside 

 the cavity six or seven wasps were revelling in the 

 sweet juice, lying flat and motionless, crowded 

 together. Outside the cavity, on the pear, thirty or 

 forty blue-bottle flies had congregated, and were 



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