It is clear, then, that these males do not construct a new lodging every night, but return to the same spot to sleep. Other wasps creep into crevices. We have often found them, in the morning, in the holes of the posts of our cottage porch; but we are glad to be able to put it down to the credit of one male that he has sufficient foresight and industry to provide a sleeping–place, and sufficient intelligence to return to the spot when the declining sun warns him that evening is approaching. While punctatus was in the height of its activity we found another species, P. ventilabris, taking bees of several genera and species into a ground nest. She also carried her prey with her second pair of legs, and whenever she left her nest she closed the door. She was a shy little thing, and did not approve of our interest in her. At one time, being startled by some movement on our part, she dropped her load and flew away. We placed the bee upon the closed nest, and when she came back with another, she paused and looked at it, took in the one she was carrying, and then returned for number one. This was placed on the threshold while she entered and turned around, and was then pulled in. Some wasps, notably C. ornata and our little tornado, refuse to take in their prey, even if they have caught it themselves, excepting in a regular succession of events; and thus the more reasonable conduct of ventilabris gains in interest. To the west of Milwaukee, across the valley of the Menominee, rises a sandy hilltop which is a little insect kingdom by itself. Ants of course abound, and the gentle little solitary bees, with their loads of pollen, may be seen everywhere, seeming to melt into the ground, so quickly and quietly do they open their burrows. Here Oxybelus plys her trade of fly–catching, and graceful Ammophila dances with her shadow over the sunny ground, while Cerceris rests in her doorway with an air of leisurely superiority to the vulgar cares of life; and here, one day in early July, a sudden access of energy seemed to strike Aphilanthops frigidus, a wasp which we had found a year before taking in the wingless queens of ants. All at once they were digging everywhere, biting and scratching with great energy, and soon disappearing in the depths of their sandy tunnels. So deep is their primary gallery that even in this easy medium it takes them the best part of a day to get it ready for storing; but once finished it doubtless serves as a home through the season. It has at the entrance a little cup–shaped vestibule where the wasp drops the ant as she enters, running out of sight herself, and then, after she has turned around, coming back to pull it within. This nest is a very difficult one to excavate neatly, as the sand falls at the slightest touch.