What is the object of this curious organization? One can understand the grotesque hump worn by the grub of the Onthophagus, the sugar-loaf knapsack whose weight is constantly overturning the little creature when it tries to change its position. This hump is a storehouse of cement for the construction of the cabin in which the transformation is to take place. But we cannot understand the two withered, misshapen legs of the Geotrupes’ grub, which, one would think, would have been very useful if they had grown into serviceable grappling-irons. The grub shifts its position; it climbs up and down inside its tall column of victuals; it moves about in quest of morsels to suit it. Those two neglected supports would make the climbing easier if they were in good condition. On the other hand, the grub of the Sacred Beetle, confined in a narrow recess, has hardly any need of locomotion. A simple movement of the hinder-part brings within the reach of its mandibles a fresh layer of the victuals to be consumed. No matter: it is blessed with six sound, well-turned legs. The cripple moves to and fro, the lusty athlete is stationary; the limping grub takes its walks abroad, the nimble one sits still. There is no satisfactory way of explaining this paradox. In the adult form, the Sacred Beetle and his kinsfolk, the Half-spotted Scarab, [79] the broad-necked Scarab [80] and the Pock-marked Scarab [81]—the only three that I know—are likewise atrophied: all of them lack the tarsi of the fore-legs. These four witnesses prove to us that this singular mutilation is common to the whole group. An absurd system of nomenclature has seen fit, in its blindness, to substitute for the ancient and venerable term of Scarabæus that of Ateuchus, meaning weaponless. The inventor of the name was none too well-inspired: there are plenty of other Dung-beetles that have no horny armour, such as the Gymnopleuri, [82] who are so closely allied to the Scarabæi. Since his intention was to designate the genus by calling attention to a characteristic peculiarity, he should have coined a word meaning, “deprived of tarsi on the fore-legs.” Only the Sacred Beetle and his kinsfolk, in the whole of the insect-world, could rightly bear that name. This never occurred to the nomenclator; this important detail was apparently unknown to him. He saw the grain of sand and did not notice the mountain: a defect not uncommon among the forgers of names.