Long ago, from truffles dug up spoilt and teeming with vermin and placed in this condition in a glass jar with a layer of fresh sand, I obtained first a small red Beetle (Anisotoma cinnamomea, Panz.) and then various Diptera, including a Sapromyzon, who, with her sluggish flight and feeble frame, reminds me of a Fly, clad in yellow velvet, known as Scatophaga scybalaria, that placid frequenter of human excrement in autumn. The latter finds her truffle on the surface of the ground, at the foot of a wall or hedge, man’s usual hasty refuge in the country; but how does the other know at what point underground lies hers, or rather her grubs’ truffle? To go down and hunt about in the depths is beyond her power. Her frail limbs, which the moving of a grain of sand would warp; her wings, which, if extended, would block her way through a gorge; her dress of stiff silk, militating against a smooth passage: these are all against her. The Sapromyzon is obliged to lay her eggs on the surface of the soil, but she must do so at the very spot beneath which the truffle lies, for the tiny grubs would die if they had to roam at random until they came upon their provender, which is always sparsely distributed. The truffle-hunting Fly is therefore informed by her sense of smell of the spots favourable to her maternal plans; she possesses the scent of the rabassier Dog, indeed probably a better one, for she knows things by nature, having never been taught, whereas her rival has only received an artificial education. It would be interesting to follow the Sapromyzon’s manœuvres, but the idea strikes me as impracticable. The insect is rare, flies away quickly and is soon out of sight. To observe it closely, to watch it at work would involve a great loss of time and a degree of assiduity of which I do not feel capable. Another discoverer of underground fungi shall reveal what the Fly could hardly be expected to show us. This is a pretty little black Beetle, with a pale and velvety belly, round as a cherry-stone and much the same size. The insect’s official title is Bolboceras gallicus, Muls. By rubbing the tip of its abdomen against the edge of its wing-cases it emits a soft chirrup similar to that of the little birds when their mother comes home with their food. The male wears a graceful horn on his head, copied on a smaller scale from that of the Spanish Copris. [36] Deceived by this armour, I at first took the insect for a member of the Dung-beetles’ corporation and brought it up as such in captivity. I served it with these stercoral dainties which are most appreciated by its presumed colleagues. But never, no, never did it consent to touch them. Fie, for shame! Dung to a Bolboceras! Well! What on earth did I take him for? The epicure expects something very different. He wants not exactly the truffle of our banquets, but its equivalent.