Let us drop this discussion, excused by the importance of the subject. I have already said that a Scarabæus, owner of a ball which it is pushing backwards, is often joined by another which hastens to its aid with interested views, ready to rob if it gets the chance. Let us call the pair associates, though that is hardly the name for them, since one forces itself on the other, who perhaps only accepts help for fear of worse. The meeting is, however, perfectly peaceable. The arrival of the assistant does not distract the proprietor for an instant from his labours; the newcomer seems animated by the best intentions, and instantly sets to work. The way they harness themselves is different for each. The owner of the ball occupies the chief position, the place of honour; he pushes behind the load, his hind feet upraised, his head downward. The helper is in front, in a reverse position, head raised, toothed arms on the ball, long hind legs on the ground. Between the two moves the ball, pushed before it by the one, dragged towards it by the other. The efforts of the couple are not always harmonious, especially as the assistant turns his back to the road to be traversed, and the view of the owner is bounded by his load. Hence repeated accidents and ludicrous tumbles, taken cheerfully, each hastening to pick himself up and resume his former position. On level ground this style of draught does not answer to the expenditure of energy, for want of precision in combined movements; the Scarabæus behind would do as well or better alone, and the assistant, having proved his goodwill at the risk of disturbing the mechanism, decides to keep quiet of course without abandoning the precious globe, which he looks on as already his. A ball touched is a ball acquired. He will not be so imprudent as to let go; the other would instantly take advantage of it. So he folds his legs under him, flattens himself, incrusts himself, as it were, on the ball, and becomes part of it. Ball and beetle roll together, pushed along by the lawful owner. Whether it should go over the body of the other, whether he be above, below, or on one side of the rolling load, matters not—the intruder lies low. A singular helper this, who lets himself be run over for the sake of a share in the provender! But let them come to a steep incline, and he gets a chance of displaying his usefulness. On the steep slope he takes the lead, holding up the heavy load with his toothed feet while his comrade steadies himself to hoist the load a little higher. Thus, by a combination of judicious efforts, I have seen them mount ascents, the one above holding up, the lower one pushing, where all the obstinate efforts of a single beetle must have failed. All, however, have not the same zeal in difficult moments; some, just when their assistance is most wanted on a slope, do not appear in the least aware that there is anything to overcome. While the unhappy