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 understand. 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. NOTES [1] See Insect Adventures, retold for young people from the works of Henri Fabre. [2] English translation by Mr Stephen M’Kenna.