The laying follows close upon the disappearance of the males. The Empusa, when about to build her nest, has not the round belly of the Praying Mantis, rendered heavy and inactive by her fertility. Her slender figure, still capable of flight, announces a scanty progeny. Her nest, fixed upon a straw, a twig, a chip of stone, is quite as small a structure as that of the dwarf Mantis (Ameles decolor) and measures two-fifths of an inch, at most, in length. The general shape is that of a trapezoid, of which the shorter sides are, respectively, sloping and slightly convex. As a rule, the sloping side is surmounted by a thread-like appendage, similar to the final spur of the nests of the Mantis and the Ameles, but finer in appearance. This is the last drop of viscous matter, dried and drawn out. Builders, when their work is finished, crown the edifice with a green bough and coloured streamers. In much the same way, the Mantis tribe set up a mast on the completed nest. A very thin grey-wash, formed of dried foam, covers the Empusa’s work, especially on the upper surface. Under this delicate glaze, which is easily rubbed off, the fundamental substance appears, homogeneous, horny, pale-red. Six or seven hardly-perceptible furrows divide the sides into curved sections. After the hatching, a dozen round orifices open on the top of the building, in two alternate rows. These are the exit-doors for the young larvæ. The slightly projecting rim is continued from each aperture to the next in a sort of ribbon with a double row of alternating loops. It is obvious that the windings of this ribbon are the result of an oscillating movement of the ovipositor in labour. Those exit-holes, so regular in shape and arrangement, completed by the lateral ribs of the nest, present the appearance of two dainty mouth-organs placed in juxtaposition. Each of them corresponds with a cell containing two eggs. The eggs in all, therefore, amount to about a couple of dozen. I have not seen the hatching. I do not know whether, as in the Praying Mantis, it is preceded by a transition-stage adapted to facilitate the delivery. It may easily be that there is nothing of the kind, since everything is so well-prepared for the exit. Above the cells is a very short exit-hall, free of any obstacle. It is closed merely by a small quantity of frothy, crumbly matter, which will readily yield to the mandibles of the new-born larvæ. With this wide passage leading to the outer air, long legs and slender antennæ cease to be embarrassing appendages; and the tiny creature might well have the free use of them from the moment of leaving the egg, without going through the primary larval stage. Not having seen for myself, I merely mention the probable course of things.