ous than this little carpenter, as she stands upright and brings her
nasal bradawl down towards her body.

Now the drill is held plumb against the surface, and the boring
commences. The method is that I witnessed in the wood on the day of the
storm. Very slowly the insect veers round from right to left, then from
left to right. Her drill is not a spiral gimlet which will sink itself
by a constant rotary motion; it is a bradawl, or rather a trochar, which
progresses by little bites, by alternative erosion, first in one
direction, then the other.

Before continuing, let me record an accident which is too striking to be
passed over. On various occasions I have found the insect dead in the
midst of its task. The body is in an extraordinary position, which would
be laughable if death were not always a serious thing, above all when it
comes suddenly, in the midst of labour.

The drill is implanted in the acorn just a little beyond the tip; the
work was only commenced. At the top of the drill, at right angles to it,
the Balaninus is suspended in the air, far from the supporting surface
of the acorn. It is dried, mummified, dead I know not how long. The legs
are rigid and contracted under the body. Even if they retained the
flexibility and the power of extension that were theirs in life, they
would fall far short of the surface of the acorn. What then has
happened, that this unhappy insect should be impaled like a specimen
beetle with a pin through its head?

An accident of the workshop is responsible. On account of the length of
its implement the beetle commences her work standing upright, supported
by the two hind-legs. Imagine a slip, a false step on the part of the
two adhesive feet; the unfortunate creature will immediately lose her
footing, dragged by the elasticity of the snout, which she was forced to
bend somewhat at the beginning. Torn away from her foothold, the
suspended insect vainly struggles in air; nowhere can her feet, those
safety anchors, find a hold. She starves at the end of her snout, for
lack of foothold whereby to extricate herself. Like the artisans in our
factories, the elephant-beetle is sometimes the victim of her tools. Let
us wish her good luck, and sure feet, careful not to slip, and proceed.

On this occasion all goes well, but so slowly that the descent of the
drill, even when amplified by the magnifying-glass, cannot be perceived.
The insect veers round perpetually, rests, and resumes her w