to do with the case? Is not the whole problem
subordinate to a condition that cannot be translated into cyphers? As
the prey changes, the anatomy changes; and the surgeon always operates
with a complete understanding of his subject. The single dagger-thrust
is administered to ganglia collected into a common cluster; the manifold
thrusts are distributed over the scattered ganglia; of the two thrusts
of the Tarantula-huntress, one disarms and the other paralyses. And so
with the others: that is to say, the instinct is directed each time by
the secrets of the nervous organism. There is a perfect harmony between
the operation and the patient's anatomy.

The single stroke of the Scolia is no less wonderful than the repeated
strokes of the Ammophila. Each has her appointed game and each slays it
by a method as rational as any that our own science could invent. In
the presence of this consummate knowledge, which leaves us utterly
confounded, what a poor argument is that of 1 + 1 = 2! And what is that
progress by units to us? The universe is mirrored in a drop of water;
universal logic flashes into sight in a single sting.

Besides, push on the pitiful argument. One leads to two, two lead to
three. Granted without dispute. And then? We will accept the Scolia
as the pioneer, the foundress of the first principles of the art. The
simplicity of her method justifies our supposition. She learns her
trade in some way or other, by accident; she knows supremely well how
to paralyse her Cetonia-grub with a single dagger-thrust driven into
the thorax. One day, through some fortuitous circumstance, or rather
by mistake, she takes it into her head to strike two blows. As one is
enough for the Cetonia, the repetition was of no value unless there was
a change of prey. What was the new victim submitted to the butcher's
knife? Apparently, a large Spider, since the Tarantula and the Garden
Spider call for two thrusts. And the prentice Scolia, who used at first
to sting under the throat, had the skill, at her first attempt, to begin
by disarming her adversary and then to go quite low down, almost to the
end of the thorax, to strike the vital point. I am utterly incredulous
as to her success. I see her eaten up if her lancet swerves and hits the
wrong spot. Let us look impossibility boldly in the face and admit that
she succeeds. I then see the offspring, which have no recollection of
the fortunate event save through the belly--and then we are pos