And so in all the instances in which my curiosity, greatly excited by the stirring aspect of the tragedy, indulges whatever the point attacked, whether near the nerve-centres or farther away, the Mantis always succumbs, sometimes instantly, sometimes after a few minutes’ convulsions. Rattlesnakes, Vipers, Puff-adders and other venomous Snakes of dreadful renown do not kill their victims more promptly. At first I regarded this as due to a highly-strung organism, which is all the more sensitive and vulnerable because it is better equipped. Picked creatures both, said I to myself, the Spider and the Mantis die instantaneously from an injury which a ruder creature would endure for hours and days, perhaps even without any great inconvenience. Let us then try the Mole-cricket, the detested Taiocebo of the Provençal gardener. A strange beast indeed is this root-cutter; powerful, too, clumsy and of a lower type. When you grip it firmly in your hand, it makes you let go by digging into your skin with the toothed toes of its hind-legs, copied from the Mole’s. When brought into contact in a narrow arena, Scorpion and Mole-cricket look each other in the face and seem to recognize each other. Can there have been encounters between them from time to time? It is very doubtful. The Mole-cricket is an inmate of our gardens, of rich soil in which green vegetables convoke underground vermin; the Scorpion is faithful to the sun-scorched slopes on which dry grasses find it difficult to grow. Meetings are hardly probable between the inhabitants of barren and of fruitful soil. Though unknown to each other, they none the less realize the gravity of the danger confronting them. With no provocation from me, the Scorpion rushes at the Mole-cricket, who, for her part, assumes an aggressive posture, with her shears ready to disembowel her foe. Rubbing her upper wings together, she entones a sort of war-song, a dull buzzing. The Scorpion does not leave her time to finish her ditty; he brings his tail into play. The Mole-cricket’s thorax bears a stout, arched cuirass encasing the back. To the rear of this impenetrable armour there is a deep crease, covered with fine skin. It is here that the sting enters. Forthwith, without more ado, the monster is overthrown; she collapses, as though struck by lightning. Disorderly movements follow. The digging-legs are paralysed; they no longer grip at the straw which I hold out to them. The others thresh to and fro, stretch out and flex themselves again; the four palpi with the large, fleshy tufts meet in a bunch, separate, come together again and pat the object which I place within their reach; the antennæ wave feebly; the belly throbs with deep pulsations. Gradually, these death-throes decrease in violence. At length, in a couple of hours’ time, the tarsi, the last to die, cease quivering. The clumsy creature has succumbed no less completely than the Lycosa and the Mantis, but after a longer death-struggle.