were the breath of a new springtime of life. Time presses; let us
pass on.

Another bow on this side. I hear buzzing up above, on that ledge,
a colony of Sphex wasps, stabbing their crickets. We will give
them a friendly glance, but no more. My acquaintances here are too
numerous; I have not the leisure to renew my former relations with
all of them. Without stopping, a wave of the hat to the Philanthi
[bee-hunting wasps] who send the long avalanches of rubbish
streaming down from their nests; and to Stizus ruficornis, [a
hunting wasp] who stacks her praying mantises between two flakes of
sandstone; and to the silky Ammophila [a digger wasp] with the red
legs, who collects an underground store of loopers [also known as
measuring worms, the larvae or caterpillars of the geometrid moth]
and to the Tachtyti [hunting wasps], devourers of locusts; and to
the Eumenes, builders of clay cupolas on a bough.

Here we are at last. This high, perpendicular rock, facing the
south to a length of some hundreds of yards and riddled with holes
like a monstrous sponge, is the time-honored dwelling place of the
hairy-footed Anthophora and of her rent free tenant, the three-
horned Osmia. Here also swarm their exterminators: the Sitaris
beetle, the parasite of the Anthophora; the Anthrax fly, the
murderer of the Osmia. Ill informed as to the proper period, I
have come rather late, on the 10th of September. I should have
been here a month ago, or even by the end of July, to watch the
fly's operations. My journey threatens to be fruitless: I see but
a few rare Anthrax flies, hovering round the face of the cliff. We
will not despair, however, and we will begin by consulting the
locality.