Who would dare disturb the beatitude of such a banquet? Alas! the desire for knowledge makes one capable of anything, and I have not shrunk from even this. I now give the result of thus violating the sanctity of home-life. The ball filled almost the whole space, the magnificent store of victuals rising from floor to ceiling, a narrow passage separated it from the walls. In this sat the banqueters, two at most, often but one, their faces to the table, their backs to the wall. When once they have taken their places nobody stirs, all their vital powers are absorbed by the digestive faculties. No little movement which might cause the loss of a mouthful, no daintiness which might waste the food—everything must be done decently and in order. To see them thus absorbed round a lump of dung, one would say that they were aware of their rôle as earth-cleansers, and consciously devoted themselves to that marvellous chemistry which out of impurity brings the flower that gladdens the eye, and the wing-cases of the Scarabæus which adorn the turf in springtime. To fit it for this all-important work, which turns into living matter the residue that horse and sheep cannot utilise, in spite of the perfection of their digestive organs, the dung beetle needs special tools. Accordingly anatomy shows the immense length of its intestine, which, folded repeatedly on itself, slowly deals with the material in its manifold circuits, and exhausts the very last atom capable of being used. Where the stomach of the herbivorous animal can extract nothing, this powerful alembic draws riches which under its influence become the ebony mail of the Scarabæus sacer, and a cuirass of gold and rubies for other species. Sanitary principles require that this marvellous change be made as rapidly as possible; therefore the Scarabæus is endowed with a matchless power of digestion. Once shut up with food, it never ceases to eat and digest until the whole store is devoured. Proof of this is easily come by. Open the cell where it has retired from the world at any hour and you find the insect eating, and behind it, still attached to the creature, is a continuous cord, rolled carelessly like a bundle of cables. Without going into particulars, we can guess what this cord represents. Mouthful by mouthful the great ball passes into the digestive organs, yielding up its nutritive principle, and reappearing spun into a rope. Now this unbroken cord, often without a joint and always hanging from the orifice, proves, with absolute certainty, how continuous is the action of digestion. By the time that the food is nearly eaten, the rope is astonishingly long. Where else could one find another stomach, that, to avoid any loss in the debit and credit ledger of life, can feast for a week or a fortnight on such miserable cheer? When the whole mass has been digested, the hermit returns to daylight, seeks, finds, and shapes a new ball, and begins all over again. This royal life lasts