56 
THE NATURALIST AND COLLECTOR 
C. Diogenes. 
1 ~N THE absence of any hint to the 
contrary, one mig'ht expect to find 
in this a sketch of the life of that 
peripatetic philosopher who, according 
to tradition cared more for the sun’s 
genial glow than for prince’s favor, 
and found artificial light necessary in 
his search for an honest neighbor. 
When fired with democratic fervor, we 
like to think of the daring he showed 
while dictating to his sovereign where 
he should stand; but the other incident 
gives us a poor opinion of his neigh¬ 
bors, or an exalted idea of his standard 
of honesty. This is about all we could 
say of Diogenes of old, unless we tried 
to give an account of his residence, and 
this could not be satisfactory. As the 
amateur photographer was not so 
omnipresent at that time as now, we 
have no picture of his home, nor any 
way of knowing;, even if it were tub¬ 
like, that it was a tub. 
But of C. Diogenes, we know more; 
to be more explicit, we should say we are 
perfectly acquainted with the life- 
history of Cambarus Diogenes, from 
the moment the burden of life is taken 
up until it is laid down. I say “is 
taken up,” because that act is per¬ 
formed thousands of times daily by 
many individuals, all bearing the same 
name. This suggests a family; but the 
illusion will be dispelled when the 
statement is made that the subject is 
one of a species; for we are speaking 
of a crawfish, and not a man. 
This interesting crawfish seems to 
have squatted in Northern Indiana and 
marked that section as his own— 
marked it in a way that is unmistak¬ 
able, and, if unenduring, he feels no 
discouragement in erecting other signs 
of occupancy when the first efforts are 
destroyed. These peculiar emblems 
are “chimneys” built upon the ground 
—not for subterranean fires, because 
the flues with which they are con¬ 
nected always lead to water, but built 
simply in finding' a dump for excavated 
material. 
“D i o g e n e s” wanders, mole-like, 
underground; but occasionally he feels 
a longing for fresh air or a desire to 
bask in the sunshine, as did the first 
bearer of this name; then he labor¬ 
iously works his way to the surface. 
That achievement does not afford 
permanent joy, for no sooner is he on 
the surface than he seems to wish to 
be below. In making his descent, lie 
builds the chimney sometimes as much 
as eighteen inches high; the heightli, 
however, depends on the depth of the 
shaft, and this again depends upon the 
water-line.' 
Fortunately, there is a sort of adjust¬ 
ment in the relation between the soft¬ 
ness of the earth and the digger. He 
grows rapidly during the rainy season, 
and with his growth comes the desire 
to dig; this desire can be gratified, 
because the ground is soft. By struc¬ 
ture, he is qualified for his pursuit; the 
flat-like tail forms the platform of an 
elevator on which the little balls of 
mud are raised to the top of the chim¬ 
ney, where, by reason of their plastic 
state, they remain. 
Some ancestor has evidently learned 
that falling bodies acquire a momen¬ 
tum,and that it is unsafe for one to leave 
a mud ball in a condition of unstable 
equilibrum; for now each descendant 
of this experienced ancestor looks with 
quizzical eyes after depositing each 
load, to see if it stays where he puts it 
or if it rolls outward over the crest. If 
it shows any impulse to follow him 
down, sooner or later, he thrusts it 
further upward. 
