diet for the new-born grub. The little ogre's teat is the bleeding paunch
of the Cetonia-larva. The latter will not die of the wound, at least not
for some time. The next thing to be tackled is the fatty substance which
wraps the internal organs in its delicate folds. This again is a loss which
the Cetonia can suffer without dying then and there. Now comes the turn of
the muscular layer which lines the skin; now, that of the essential organs;
now, that of the nerve-centres and the trachean network, whereupon the last
gleam of light is extinguished and the Cetonia reduced to a mere bag, empty
but intact, save for the entrance-hole made in the middle of the belly.
>From now onwards, these remains may rot if they will: the Scolia, by its
methodical fashion of consuming its victuals, has succeeded in keeping them
fresh to the very last; and now you may see it, replete, shining with
health, withdraw its long neck from the bag of skin and prepare to weave
the cocoon in which its development will be completed.

It is possible that I may not be quite accurate as to the precise order in
which the organs are consumed, for it is not easy to perceive what happens
inside the exploited larva's body. The ruling feature in this scientific
method of eating, which proceeds from the parts less to the parts more
necessary to preserve a remnant of life, is none the less obvious. If
direct observation did not already to some degree confirm it, a mere
examination of the half-eaten larva would do so in the most positive
fashion.

The Cetonia-larva is at first a plump grub. Drained by the Scolia's tooth,
it gradually becomes limp and wrinkled. In a few days' time it resembles a
shrivelled bit of bacon-fat and then a bag whose two sides have fallen in.
Yet this bit of bacon and this bag have the same characteristic look of
fresh meat as had the grub before it was bitten into. Despite the
persistent nibbling of the Scolia, life continues, holding at bay the