it and never relaxing her grasp, lifts it at last, with an effort, a little from the ground, and inserting her curved abdomen like a fish hook beneath it, strikes in a more effective and certain way than did ever the most benevolently contemplative member of all the fishing fraternity. The result is instantly apparent, for with the entry of that deadly sting into its body, all struggles on the part of the caterpillar cease, and it lies a living corpse at the feet of its cruel oppressor. The latter, after remaining still for some moments as though to give her victim time to realise and appreciate its situation, stings it again and then again, each time choosing, as she has done before, for the locality of the operation, the junction of two out of the dozen or so segments into which the long length of the caterpillar is divided. Then she flies up, but after circling a little above the scene of her triumph, she descends again, and gives her victim, though now helpless and paralysed, a taste or two more of her quality. The first part of her business is now done, and well done. She has earned a rest, or rather she may exchange one form of activity for another. Accordingly she proceeds to indulge in the pleasures of the toilette, and it is not till this is completely finished that she flies with, or drags, her victim to the neat little burial-place, representing also her future nursery, which she has already provided for it.[87] The above illustration is taken from the account of a particular case which fell under the keen observation of G. W. and E. G. Peckham, two well-known American entomologists. On other occasions, however, this wasp—that is to say, various individuals of the same species—besides stinging the caterpillar, went through another and more curious process. This consisted in biting and squeezing the anterior upper portion—the neck as we may call it—of their victim.[87] The same operation was also observed by Fabre when he watched his good mothers, but though I have called it biting and squeezing, that is not the right term for a _savant_ to employ. _He_ calls it malaxation, which, perhaps, means doing both at the same time. Biting, however, would seem to imply no less, but, perhaps in order to bite scientifically, it is necessary to take a piece out, or at least to make the blood come, though in common parlance this does not, or did not, hold good, since Sampson bit his thumb at Abram and Balthasar, in the first scene of _Romeo and Juliet_, but it cannot be supposed—nor does the context support such a view—that he bit it so hard as that. Malaxation, however, let it be; but why such a process on the part of the wasp should be necessary it is not easy to see, since the mandibles are not poisonous like the sting, and the latter is all in all sufficient to produce the paralysis required, as is apparent in the instance already given, where the sting alone was employed. To me it seems possible that this malaxation may be a