But the ranks have thinned, many have been promoted to another
world and their disciple lagging behind them can but record, in
memory of those who are no more, the story of the insect clad in
deepest mourning.

In the course of July, let us give a few sideward knocks to the
bracing pebbles and detach the nests of the Chalicodoma of the
Walls [a mason bee] from their supports. Loosened by the shock,
the dome comes off cleanly, all in one piece. Moreover--and this
is a great advantage--the cells come into view wide open on the
base of the exposed nest, for at this point they have no other
wall than the surface of the pebble. In this way, without any
scraping, which would be wearisome work for the operator and
dangerous to the inhabitants of the dome, we have all the cells
before our eyes, together with their contents, consisting of a
silky, amber-yellow cocoon, as delicate and translucent as an
onion peeling. Let us split the dainty wrapper with the scissors,
chamber by chamber, nest by nest. If fortune be at all
propitious, as it always is to the persevering, we shall end by
finding that the cocoons harbor two larvae together, one more or
less faded in appearance, the other fresh and plump. We shall
also find some, no less plentiful, in which the withered larva is
accompanied by a family of little grubs wriggling uneasily around
it.

Examination at once reveals the tragedy that is happening under
the cover of the cocoon. The flacid and faded larva is the mason
bee's. A month ago, in June, having finished its mess of honey,
it wove its silken sheath for a bedchamber wherein to take the
long sleep which is the prelude to the metamorphosis. Bulging