The edge of the beetle’s head is large and flat, and armed with six angular teeth arranged in a semicircle. It is the tool for digging and dividing, the rake to lift or reject such vegetable fibres as are not nutritious, to seek out what is best and rake it together. A choice is thus made, for these keen connoisseurs like one thing better than another—a somewhat careless choice, indeed, if the beetle alone be concerned, but one which is rigorously scrupulous if the maternal ball be in question, with its central hollow where the egg will hatch. Then every scrap of fibre is rejected, and only the quintessence of the stercorous matter is used to build the inner layer of the cell. Then, as soon as it is hatched, the young larva finds in the walls of its dwelling a dainty food which strengthens digestion and enables it later to attack the coarse outer layers. For its own needs the beetle is less fastidious, contenting itself with a general selection. The toothed head hollows and seeks, rejects and gathers, somewhat at haphazard. The forelegs aid mightily. They are flattened, bent into the arc of a circle, are furnished with strong nerves and armed with five stout teeth. If an effort has to be made, an obstacle overthrown, a path forced through the thickest part of the heap, the dung beetle elbows its way; in other words, throws its toothed legs right and left, and clears a half circle with a vigorous sweep of its rake. Room being made, these same feet have a new task; they collect bundles of the material raked up by the head, and pass it under the insect to the four hind-feet. These are planned for the turner’s trade. The legs, especially the last pair, are long and slender, slightly bent in an arc, and ending in a very sharp spur or talon. A glance shows that they form a spherical compass, capable of holding a globe in the bent legs to verify and correct its shape. In fact, their mission is to shape the ball. Bundle after bundle the material accumulates under the insect, held between the four legs which by a slight pressure lend it their own curve and something of shape. Then from time to time the rough hewn ball is set in motion between the legs of the double spherical compass, turned underneath the beetle, and rolled into a perfect sphere. Should the outer layer fail in plasticity and threaten to scale off, or if some part be too fibrous, and refuse to be shaped by rotation, the faulty part is retouched by the forefeet; little taps of their broad surface give consistency to the new layer and imbed the recalcitrant fibre in the general mass. When the sun shines and work is urgent, one is amazed by the feverish activity with which the turner labours. Work goes on fast; first there was a pellet, now it is as large as a nut, by and by it will be of the size of an apple. I have seen some greedy beetles make up a ball as large as an apple. Assuredly there is food in the larder for some days to come!