The other Mantes found in my neighbourhood, which are the only species of which I can speak with full knowledge, employ or omit the envelope of solidifying froth accordingly as the eggs are or are not intended to survive the winter.  The little Grey Mantis (Ameles decolor), which differs so widely from the Praying Mantis in that the wings of the female are almost completely absent, builds a nest hardly as large as a cherry-stone, and covers it skilfully with a porous rind.  Why this cellular envelope?  Because the nest of the Ameles, like that of the Praying Mantis, has to endure through the winter, fixed to a stone or a twig, and is thus exposed to the full severity of the dangerous season.

The Empusa pauperata, on the other hand (one of the strangest of European insects), builds a nest as small as that of the Ameles, although the insect itself is as large as the Praying Mantis.  This nest is quite a small structure, composed of a small number of cells, arranged side by side in three or four series, sloping together at the neck.  Here there is a complete absence of the porous envelope, although the nest is exposed to the weather, like the previous examples, affixed to some twig or fragment of rock.  The lack of the insulating rind is a sign of different climatic conditions.  The eggs of the Empusa hatch shortly after they are laid, in warm and sunny weather.  Not being exposed to the asperities of the winter, they need no protection other than the thin egg-cases themselves.

Are these nice and reasonable precautions, which rival the experiment of Rumford, a fortuitous result?—­one of the innumerable combinations which fall from the urn of chance?  If so, let us not recoil before the absurd:  let us allow that the blindness of chance is gifted with marvellous foresight.

The Praying Mantis commences her nest at the blunter extremity, and completes it at the pointed tail.  The latter is often prolonged in a sort of promontory, in which the insect expends the last drop of glutinous liquid as she stretches herself after her task.  A sitting of two hours, more or less, without interruption, is required for the total accomplishment of the work.  Directly the period of labour is over, the mother withdraws, indifferent henceforth to her completed task.  I have watched her, half expecting to see her return, to discover some tenderness for the cradle of her family.  But no:  not a trace of maternal pleasure.  The work is done, and concerns her no longer.  Crickets approach; one of them even squats upon the nest.  The Mantis takes no notice of them.  They are peaceful intruders, to be sure; but even were they dangerous, did they threaten to rifle the nest, would she attack them and drive them away?  Her impassive demeanour convinces me that she would not.  What is the nest to her?  She is no longer conscious of it.