I take the young larvae of the Philanthus, already well matured, but instead of serving them with the provisions buried in their cells I offer them game of my own catching--bees that have filled themselves with nectar among the rosemary bushes. My bees, killed by crushing the head, are thankfully accepted, and at first I see nothing to justify my suspicions. Then my nurslings languish, show themselves disdainful of their food, give a negligent bite here and there, and finally, one and all, die beside their uncompleted meal. All my attempts miscarry; not once do I succeed in rearing my larvae as far as the stage of spinning the cocoon. Yet I am no novice in my duties as dry-nurse. How many pupils have passed through my hands and have reached the final stage in my old sardine-boxes as well as in their native burrows! I shall draw no conclusions from this check, which my scruples may attribute to some unknown cause. Perhaps the atmosphere of my cabinet and the dryness of the sand serving them for a bed have been too much for my nurslings, whose tender skins are used to the warm moisture of the subsoil. Let us try another method. To decide positively whether honey is or is not repugnant to the grubs of the Philanthus was hardly practicable by the method just explained. The first meals consisted of flesh, and after that nothing in particular occurred. The honey is encountered later, when the bee is largely consumed. If hesitation and repugnance were manifested at this point they came too late to be conclusive; the sickness of the larvae might be due to other causes, known or unknown. We must offer honey at the very beginning, before artificial rearing has spoilt the grub's appetite. To offer pure honey would, of course, be useless; no carnivorous creature would touch it, even were it starving. I must spread the honey on meat; that is, I must smear the dead bee with honey, lightly varnishing it with a camel's-hair brush. Under these conditions the problem is solved with the first few mouthfuls. The grub, having bitten on the honeyed bee, draws back as though disgusted; hesitates for a long time; then, urged by hunger, begins again; tries first on one side, then on another; in the end it refuses to touch the bee again. For a few days it pines upon its rations, which are almost intact, then dies. As many as are subjected to the same treatment perish in the same way. Do they simply die of hunger in the presence of food which their appetites reject, or are they poisoned by the small amount of honey absorbed at the first bites? I cannot say; but, whether poisonous or merely repugnant, the bee smeared with honey is always fatal to them; a fact which explains more clearly than the unfavourable circumstances of the former experiment my lack of success with the freshly killed bees.