This larva is a rare specimen of courage, as well as of destructive powers; for when it is quite young it often seizes upon an insect twice as big as itself. It is very amusing to see the unequal contest between the little but courageous foe, and his great, bulky, and stupid adversary. Immediately the larva thrusts its trident into the body of the enemy, who, stupid as he is, does not like the sensation of the wound in his side, and makes off as fast as he can. The lion-hearted larva follows him up and wrestles with him, and at length actually boards him, to use a sailor's term, clambering up his sides, and, in triumph, piercing him through and slaying him. What is perhaps most singular of all, the larvæ of some species of these flies not only slay their victims, but actually clothe themselves, after the manner of Hercules on his victory over the Nemæan lion, with the skins of their prey! It is almost to be regretted that the insect world has not had the privilege of having its combats sung by the poets. Who can forget the animated scenes, painted in such life-like colours by Homer and Virgil, of the conflicts, hand to hand, of the heroes of their verse? But the history of insects supplies us with more singular and more interesting deeds of fight than have ever yet been fabled by poets, or commemorated in song. In the instance we are about to quote, the larva of the ant-lion is the crafty Giant Grim, who lives by entrapping, as we have before said, poor wayfaring travellers. Like those giants of old, of whom we read in books a little more wonderful than true, this subtle and powerful enemy lies deeply ensconced in his subterraneous cavern, patiently abiding the time when his unsuspecting prey shall fall into his power. His trap is depicted on the opposite page. [Illustration: _An Ant-lion in its Trap._]