Do you know the Halicti? Perhaps not. There is no great harm done: it is quite possible to enjoy the few pleasures of life without knowing the Halicti. Nevertheless, when questioned with persistence, those humble creatures with no history can tell us some very singular things; and their acquaintance is not to be disdained if we desire to enlarge our ideas a little upon the bewildering rabble of this world. Since we have nothing better to do, let us look into these Halicti. They are worth the trouble. How shall we recognize them? They are manufacturers of honey, generally slimmer and slenderer than the Bee of our hives. They constitute a numerous group that varies greatly in size and colouring. Some there are that exceed the dimensions of the Common Wasp; others might be compared with the Domestic Fly, or are even smaller. In the midst of this variety, which forms the despair of the novice, one characteristic remains invariable. Every Halictus carries the plainly-legible certificate of her guild. Look at the last ring, at the tip of the belly, on the dorsal surface. If your capture be an Halictus, there will be here a smooth and shiny line, a narrow groove along which the sting slides up and down when the insect is on the defensive. This slide for the unsheathed weapon denotes some member of the Halictus tribe, without distinction of size or colour. No elsewhere, in the sting-bearing order, is this original sort of groove in use. It is the distinctive mark, the blazon of the family. The works begin in April, discreetly and betrayed only by tiny mounds of fresh earth. There is no animation in the work-yards. The labourers show themselves very seldom, so busy are they at the bottom of their pits. At moments, here and there, the summit of a mole-hill moves and tumbles down the slopes of the cone: it is a worker coming up with her armful of rubbish and shooting it outside, without showing herself in the open. Nothing more for the moment. May arrives, gay with flowers and sunshine. The navvies of April have turned themselves into harvesters. At every moment, I see them settling, all befloured with yellow, atop of the mole-hills turned into craters. The largest is Halictus Zebrus (Walck), whom I often see building her nest in the walks of my garden. Let us watch her closely. When provisioning-time begins, a parasite arrives, coming I know not whence. She will make us witness an unbridled act of brigandage. In May, I visit my most populous colony daily, at ten o’clock in the morning, when the victualling-operations are in full swing. Seated on a low chair in the sun, with my back bent and my arms upon my knees, I watch, without moving, until dinner-time. What attracts me is a parasite, a trumpery Gnat, the daring tyrant of the Halictus.