Charles Darwin, the illustrious naturalist who now lies buried beside
Newton in Westminster Abbey. It was my task to report to him the
result of some experiments which he had suggested to me in the course
of our correspondence: a very pleasant task, for, though facts, as I
see them, disincline me to accept his theories, I have none the less
the deepest veneration for his noble character and his scientific
honesty. I was drafting my letter when the sad news reached me: Darwin
was dead; after searching the mighty question of origins, he was now
grappling with the last and darkest problem of the hereafter. (Darwin
died at Down, in Kent, on the 19th of April 1882.--Translator's Note.)
I therefore abandon the epistolary form, which would be unwarranted in
view of that grave at Westminster. A free and impersonal statement
shall set forth what I intended to relate in a more academic manner.

One thing, above all, had struck the English scientist on reading the
first volume of my "Souvenirs entomologiques", namely, the Mason-bees'
faculty of knowing the way back to their nests after being carried to
great distances from home. What sort of compass do they employ on
their return journeys? What sense guides them? The profound observer
thereupon spoke of an experiment which he had always longed to make
with Pigeons and which he had always neglected making, absorbed as he
was by other interests. This experiment, he thought, I might attempt
with my Bees. Substitute the insect for the bird; and the problem
remained the same. I quote from his letter the passage referring to
the trial which he wished made:

'Allow me to make a suggestion in relation to your wonderful account
of insects finding their way home. I formerly wished to try it with
pigeons; namely, to carry the insects in their paper cornets about a
hundred paces in the opposite direction to that which you intended