The Sphex has shown us how infallibly and with what transcendental art she acts when guided by the unconscious inspiration of her instinct; she is now going to show us how poor she is in resource, how limited in intelligence, how illogical even, in circumstances outside of her regular routine. By a strange inconsistency, characteristic of the instinctive faculties, profound wisdom is accompanied by an ignorance no less profound. To instinct nothing is impossible, however great the difficulty may be. In building her hexagonal cells, with their floors consisting of three lozenges, the Bee solves with absolute precision the arduous problem of how to achieve the maximum result at a minimum cost, a problem whose solution by man would demand a powerful mathematical mind. The Wasps whose larvæ live on prey display in their murderous art methods hardly rivalled by those of a man versed in the intricacies of anatomy and physiology. Nothing is difficult to instinct, so long as the act is not outside the unvarying cycle of animal existence; on the other hand, nothing is easy to instinct, if the act is at all removed from the course usually pursued. The insect which astounds us, which terrifies us with its extraordinary intelligence, surprises us, the next moment, with its stupidity, when confronted with some simple fact that happens to lie outside its ordinary practice. The Sphex will supply us with a few instances. Let us follow her dragging her Ephippiger home. If fortune smile upon us, we may witness some such little scene as that which I will now describe. When entering her shelter under the rock, where she has made her burrow, the Sphex finds, perched on a blade of grass, a Praying Mantis, a carnivorous insect which hides cannibal habits under a pious appearance. The danger threatened by this robber ambushed on her path must be known to the Sphex, for she lets go her game and pluckily rushes upon the Mantis, to inflict some heavy blows and dislodge her, or at all events to frighten her and inspire her with respect. The robber does not move, but closes her lethal machinery, the two terrible saws of the arm and fore-arm. The Sphex goes back to her capture, harnesses herself to the antennæ and boldly passes under the blade of grass whereon the other sits perched. By the direction of her head we can see that she is on her guard and that she holds the enemy rooted, motionless, under the menace of her eyes. Her courage meets with the reward which it deserves: the prey is stored away without further mishap.