The choice is made; the acorn is recognised as being of good quality.  The time has come to sink the hole.  On account of its excessive length it is not easy to manoeuvre the beak.  To obtain the best mechanical effect the instrument must be applied perpendicularly to the convex surface of the acorn, and the embarrassing implement which is carried in front of the insect when the latter is not at work must now be held in such a position as to be beneath the worker.

To obtain this result the insect rears herself upon her hind legs, supporting herself upon the tripod formed by the end of the wing-covers and the posterior tarsi.  It would be hard to imagine anything more curious 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.