We had to remedy this by means perhaps a little too rigorous.

What could we do?
He who tries to sleep and cannot needs become ruthless.
Bolder still, the Wasp has taken possession of the dwelling-house.

On my door-sill, in a soil of rubbish, nestles the White-banded Sphex: when I go indoors, I must be careful not to damage her burrows, not to tread upon the miner absorbed in her work.

It is quite a quarter of a century since I last saw the saucy Cricket-hunter.

When I made her acquaintance, I used to visit her at a few miles' distance: each time, it meant an expedition under the blazing August sun.