deeply, so that I was often bathed in perspiration when I tried to reach them, and frequently my efforts and my implements proved useless. The Sphex inherits nothing, and must herself do everything, and that rapidly. Her dwelling is but a tent, hastily erected and moved on the morrow. In compensation the larvæ, covered but by a thin layer of sand, know how to supply the shelter which their mother has not given them; they can clothe themselves with a double and triple waterproof covering, far superior to the thin cocoon of the Cerceris. But here comes a Sphex with noisy hum, returning from the chase. She pauses on a neighbouring bush, holding in her mandibles one of the antennæ of a big cricket, weighing far more than herself. Tired out by the weight, she rests a moment, then grasps her captive between her feet, and with a supreme effort flies right across the ravine between her and her abode. She alights heavily on the flat ground where I am watching, in the very middle of a Sphex village. The rest of the journey is made on foot, the Sphex, not in the least intimidated by my presence, comes astride her victim, holding her head proudly aloft while she drags along the cricket between her feet by one of its antennæ held in her jaws. If the soil be bare there is no difficulty, but should a network of grass spread its runners across the way, it is curious to see the astonishment of the Sphex at finding her efforts baffled by this little obstacle—curious to witness her marches and countermarches and repeated attempts until the difficulty is surmounted either by the aid of her wings or a well-planned détour. The cricket is at last conveyed to its destination and placed so that its antennæ come exactly to the mouth of the burrow. Then the Sphex abandons it and descends in haste to the bottom of the cave. A few seconds later she puts her head out with a little cry of joy. The antennæ of the cricket are within reach; she seizes them and promptly conveys it down to her den.