To say that she is a creature of instinct, however, is not quite fair to her ladyship’s intelligence, as a better acquaintance with her would prove. In reading much popular natural history one might suppose that the insects seen flying about on a summer’s day were a part of some great throng which is ever moving onward, those that are here to–day being replaced by a new set on the morrow. Except during certain seasons the exact opposite of this is true. The flying things about us abide in the same locality and are the inhabitants of a fairly restricted area. The garden in which we worked was, to a large extent, the home of a limited number of certain species of wasps that had resided there from birth, or having found the place accidentally, had settled there permanently. To make this matter clear let us suppose the case of an individual of A. urnaria. In June she spent her time in sipping nectar from the onion flowers or from the sorrel that grew on the border of the garden. In July came the days of her courtship and honeymoon, and these too were passed in going from flower to flower, from one part of the garden to another. Many a day we have followed her when she flew from blossom to blossom along a row of bean plants, turning, when she reached the end, and wending her way leisurely back along the next row. Then comes a day when we see her running over the ground and looking carefully under the weeds for a good nesting–place. At last a spot is selected and she begins to dig; but two or three times before the work is completed she goes away for a short flight. When it is done, and covered over, she flies away, but returns again and again within the next few hours, to look at the spot and, perhaps, to make some little alteration in her arrangements. From this time on, until the caterpillars are stored and the egg laid, she visits her nest several times a day, so that she becomes perfectly familiar with the neighborhood, and it is not surprising, after all, that she is able to carry her prey from any point in her territory in a nearly direct line to her hole—we say nearly direct, for there was almost invariably some slight mistake in the direction which made a little looking about necessary before the exact spot was found. After days passed in flying about the garden—going up Bean Street and down Onion Avenue, time and time again—one would think that any formal study of the precise locality of a nest might be omitted; but it was not so with our wasps. They made repeated and detailed studies of the surroundings of their nests. Moreover, when their prey was laid down for a moment on the way home, they felt the necessity of noting the place carefully before leaving it. Of the species that catch their prey before making the nest we have good examples in Pompilus quinquenotatus, the tornado wasp, and fuscipennis, the Pompilus with the red girdle.