The asphyxiating-method is indispensable here, unless we employ costly expedients out of all keeping with my resources. The excellent Réaumur, when he wanted to place a live Wasps’-nest in a glass case, with a view to observing the habits of the inmates, had willing lackeys, seasoned to their painful job, who, allured by a handsome reward, paid for the scientist’s gratification with their skins. I, who should have to pay with my own skin, think twice before digging up the coveted nest. I begin by suffocating the inhabitants. Dead Wasps do not sting. It is a brutal method, but perfectly safe. Besides, I have no need to revise the observations of the Master, himself so capable an observer. My ambition is limited to certain matters of detail, which I shall be able to study with a small number of survivors. These I can spare by moderating the dose of asphyxiating-fluid. I use petrol by preference because it is cheap and because its effects are less overwhelming than those of bisulphide of carbon. The question is how to introduce it into the cavity containing the Wasps’-nest. A vestibule, or entrance-passage, about nine inches long and very nearly horizontal, gives access to the underground chambers. To pour the liquid straight into the mouth of this tunnel would be a blunder that might have grievous consequences at the moment of excavation. So small a quantity of petrol would be absorbed by the soil on its way to the nest and would never reach its destination; and next day, when we might think that we were digging without risk, we should find an infuriated swarm under the spade. The bit of reed prevents this mishap. Inserted into the gallery, it forms a watertight conduit and conveys the liquid to the cavern without the loss of a drop. A funnel is useful, as it enables us to pour the liquid quickly. The entrance to the dwelling is forthwith tightly stoppered with the lump of clay which we bring with us ready kneaded, for most often there is no water on the spot. We have now nothing to do but wait. Carrying a lantern and a basket with the implements, Paul and I set out, at nine o’clock in the evening, to perform an operation of this sort. The weather is mild and the moon gives a little light. The farmhouse Dogs are bandying distant yelps; the Screech-owl is hooting in the olive-trees; the Italian Crickets [65] are performing their symphony in the bushes. And we chat about insects, the one asking questions, eager to learn, the other telling the little that he knows. Delightful nights of Wasp-hunting, you well atone for our loss of sleep and make us forget the stings which are likely to incur!