What eagerness is displayed around a dropping! Never did adventurers from the four corners of the world show such eagerness in working a Californian claim! Before the sun grows too hot there they are by hundreds, large and small, pell-mell, of every kind and form and shape, hastening to secure a slice of the cake! Some work in the open air and rake the surface, some open galleries in the thickest part, seeking choice morsels, others toil in the under part and bury their treasure as soon as possible in the adjacent ground, and the smallest crumble some scrap fallen from the excavations of their strong fellow-workers. Some again—newcomers, and doubtless the hungriest—eat then and there, but the aim of the greater number is to lay up a store which will allow them to pass long days of plenty down in some sure retreat. A fresh dropping is not to be found just when wanted in a plain where no thyme grows; such a gift is indeed a piece of good fortune, and only comes to the lucky. So when found, the wealth is prudently stored. The smell has carried the good news a couple of miles round, and all have rushed to gather up provender. Some laggards are still coming in on the wing or on foot. What is the one now trotting towards the heap, fearing to arrive too late? His long legs work with a brusque, awkward action, as if moved by some machine inside him; his little red antennæ spread their fans—sure sign of anxious greediness. He is coming, has arrived, not without upsetting some of the guests. It is the Sacred Beetle, all in black, the largest and most celebrated of our dung beetles. Here he is at table, beside his fellow-guests, who are giving last touches to their balls with the flat of their large front legs, or enriching them with a last layer before retiring to enjoy the fruit of their labours in peace. Let us follow this famous ball in each stage of construction.