I would ask the philosophers to ponder upon these five manufacturers of preserved meats and the numerous rivals which they doubtless possess in other climes. I submit to them these inventors of the largest possible box with the smallest possible surface for provisions liable to dry; and I ask them how such logical inspirations and so much rational foresight can take birth in the obscure brain of the lower orders of creation. Let us come down to plain facts. The Copris’ pill is a more or less pronounced ovoid, sometimes differing but slightly from a sphere in shape. It is not quite so pretty as the work of the Gymnopleurus, which is very nearly pear-shaped, or at least reminds one of a bird’s egg, notably a Sparrow’s, because of the similarity in size. The Copris’ work is more like the egg of a nocturnal bird of prey, of any member of the Owl family, as its projecting end does not stand out conspicuously. From this pole to the other the ovoid measures, on an average, forty millimetres, by thirty-four across. [38] Its whole surface is tightly packed, hardened by pressure, converted into a crust with a little earth grained into it. At the projecting end, an attentive eye will discover a ring bristling with short straggling threads. Once the egg is laid in the cup into which the original sphere is hollowed, the mother, as I have already said, gradually brings the edges of the cavity together. This produces the projecting end. To complete the closing, she delicately rakes the ovoid and scrapes a little of the material upwards. This forms the ceiling of the hatching-chamber. At the top of this ceiling, which, if it fell in, would destroy the egg, the pressure is very slight indeed, leaving an area devoid of rind and covered with bits of thread. Immediately under this circle, which is a sort of porous felt, lies the hatching-chamber, the egg’s little cell, which easily admits air and warmth. Like the Sacred Beetle’s egg and those of other Dung-beetles, the Copris’ egg at once attracts attention by its size, but it grows much larger before hatching, increasing two- or threefold in bulk. Its moist chamber, saturated with the emanations from the provisions, supplies it with nourishment. Through the chalky porous shell of the bird’s egg, an exchange of gases takes place, a respiratory process which quickens matter while consuming it. This is a cause of destruction as well as of life: the sum total of the contents does not increase under the inflexible wrapper; on the contrary, it diminishes.