Fabre gives a most entertaining account of a French species of Pelopæus which nests in the wide–mouthed chimneys of the peasant. Undisturbed by the steam of washing day or the bustle of dinner–getting, the wasp enters the open door, passes unconcerned among the human inhabitants, and makes her cells against the smoky bricks, out of reach of the flames. This species kills her prey at the moment of capture, by which act she falls in the estimation of Fabre, who respects a wasp in proportion to the nicety with which she delivers her sting. He says, however, that at least she follows a logical method in turning to account these spiders, menaced with early decay. In the first place the prey is multiplied in each cell. The piece actually attacked by the larva is soon a disorganized mass, likely to decay speedily; but it is small and is consumed before decomposition can advance, for when a larva once attacks a spider it does not leave it for another. The others then remain intact, which is enough to keep them fresh during the short period of larval life. When, on the contrary, the prey consists of a single large piece, it is necessary that the organic life should be maintained, and a special art must also be observed in eating it. It is well then that Pelopæus is inspired to take numerous small pieces. The egg, moreover, is always placed on the first spider brought in, whether the storing of the nest is completed within a few hours, or whether, as in some cases, it occupies several days; and this M. Fabre considers a very happy arrangement.