this field trenches upon others that would also yield rich
harvests. The brief span of my days compels me to set the problem
without seeking to solve it.

And the second problem is this: the Chalicodoma grub destined to
feed the Anthrax is without a wound of any kind. The mother of
the tiny larva is a feeble Fly deprived of whatsoever weapon
capable of injuring her offspring's prey. Moreover, she is
absolutely powerless to penetrate the mason bee's fortress,
powerless as a fluff of down against a rock. On this point there
is no doubt: the future wet nurse of the Anthrax has not been
paralyzed as are the live provisions collected by the Hunting
Wasps; she has received no bite nor scratch nor contusion of any
sort; she has experienced nothing out of the common: in short, she
is in her normal state. The billeted nursling arrives, we shall
presently see how; he arrives, scarcely visible, almost defying
the scrutiny of the lens; and, having made his preparations, he
installs himself, he, the atom, upon the monstrous nurse, whom he
is to drain to the very husk. And she, not paralyzed by a
preliminary vivisection, endowed with all her normal vitality,
lets him have his way, lets herself be sucked dry, with the utmost
apathy. Not a tremor in her outraged flesh, not a quiver of
resistance. No corpse could show greater indifference to the bite
which it receives.

Ah, but the maggot has chosen the hour of attack with traitorous
cunning! Had it appeared upon the scene earlier, when the larva
was consuming its store of honey, things of a surety would have
gone badly with it. The assaulted one, feeling herself bled to
death by that ravenous kiss, would have protested with much