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. 

 Scarab am 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 



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