I ask myself in vain what Proudhon [2] introduced into Beetle-morality the daring paradox that “property is based on plunder,” or what diplomatist taught Dung-beetles the savage maxim that “might is right.” I have no facts whereby to trace the origin of these spoliations which have become a custom, of this abuse of strength to capture a lump of ordure. All that I can say is that theft is in general use among the Scarab tribe. These Dung-rollers rob one another among themselves with a calm effrontery of which I know no other instance. I leave it to future observers to elucidate this curious problem in animal psychology and I return to the two partners rolling their ball in concert. Let us call the two fellow-workers partners, although that is not the proper name for them, seeing that the one forces himself upon the other, who probably accepts outside help only for fear of a worse evil. The meeting, however, is absolutely peaceful. The Beetle owning the ball does not cease work for an instant at the arrival of his assistant; and the newcomer seems animated by the best intentions and sets to work on the spot. The way in which the two partners harness themselves differs. The owner occupies the chief position, the place of honour: he pushes behind the load, with his hind-legs in the air and his head down. The assistant is in front, in the reverse position, head up, toothed arms on the ball, long hind-legs on the ground. Between the two, the ball rolls along, pushed before him by the first, dragged towards him by the second. The efforts of the couple are not always very harmonious, the more so as the helper has his back to the road to be traversed, while the owner’s view is impeded by the load. Hence arise constant accidents, absurd tumbles, taken cheerfully and in good part: each picks himself up quickly and resumes the same position as before. On level ground, this system of draught does not correspond with the dynamic force expended, for lack of precision in the combined movements: the Scarab at the back would do as well and better if left to himself. And so the helper, after giving a proof of his good-will at the risk of disturbing the mechanism, decides to keep still, without, of course, abandoning the precious ball, which he already looks upon as his: finding is keeping; a ball touched is a ball gained. He will commit no such imprudence: the other might give him the slip! He, therefore, gathers his legs under his belly, flattens himself, encrusts himself, so to speak, on the ball and becomes one with it. Henceforth, the whole concern—ball and Beetle clinging to its surface—rolls along, pushed by the lawful owner. Whether the load passes over his body, whether he occupies the top, the bottom or the side of the rolling burden matters little to the intruder, who sits tight and lies low. A singular helper this, who has himself driven in a carriage to secure his share of the victuals!