A Parasite of the Maggot 



tres. No matter what part my injector at- 

 tacks, the effect produced is the same, or 

 nearly,. The insect falls as though struck by 

 lightning. It lies on its back and wriggles its 

 legs, especially the hind-legs. If I set it on its 

 feet again, I behold a sort of St. Vitus' dance. 

 Scarabaus lowers his head, arches his back, 

 draws himself up on his twitching legs. He 

 marks time with his feet on the ground, moves 

 forward a little, moves as much backward, 

 leans to the right, leans to the left, in wild dis- 

 order, incapable of keeping his balance or 

 making progress. And this happens with sud- 

 den jerks and jolts, with a vigour no whit in- 

 ferior to that of the animal in perfect health. 

 It is a displacement of all the works, a storm 

 that uproots the mutual relations of the mus- 

 cles. 



Seldom have I witnessed such sufferings, in 

 my career as a cross-examiner of animals and, 

 therefore, as a torturer. I should feel a scru- 

 ple, did I not foresee that the grain of sand 

 shifted to-day may one day help us by taking 

 its place in the edifice of knowledge. Life is 

 everywhere the same, in the Dung-beetle's 

 body as in man's. To consult it in the insect 

 means consulting it in ourselves, means moving 

 towards vistas which we cannot afford to 

 375 



