life for the Cetonia, but it also marks the end of the Scolia's feasting.
If the grub be a novice in the art of eating, if no special instinct guide
its mandibles in the belly of the prey, what chance has it of completing
its perilous meal? As much as a starving Wolf would have of daintily
dissecting his Sheep, when he tears at her gluttonously, rends her into
shreds and gulps them down.

These four conditions of success, with chance so near to zero in each case,
must all be realized together, or the grub will never be reared. The Scolia
may have captured a larva with close-packed nerve-centres, a Cetonia-grub,
for instance; but this will go for nothing unless she direct her sting
towards the only vulnerable point. She may know the whole secret of the art
of stabbing her victim, but this means nothing if she does not know where
to fasten her egg. The suitable spot may be found, but all the foregoing
will be useless if the grub be not versed in the method to be followed in
devouring its prey while keeping it alive. It is all or nothing.

Who would venture to calculate the final chance on which the future of the
Scolia, or of her precursor, is based, that complex chance whose factors
are four infinitely improbable occurrences, one might almost say four
impossibilities? And such a conjunction is supposed to be a fortuitous
result, to which the present instinct is due! Come, come!

>From another point of view again, the Darwinian theory is at variance with
the Scoliae and their prey. In the heap of garden mould which I exploited
in order to write this record, three kinds of larvae dwell together,
belonging to the Scarabaeid group: the Cetonia, the Oryctes and Scarabeus
pentodon. Their internal structure is very nearly similar; their food is
the same, consisting of decomposing vegetable matter; their habits are
identical: they live underground in tunnels which are frequently renewed;