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Rh must above all care for his posterity. Life is a labour for the next generation. He who conscientiously fulfils the obligations which Nature imposes upon him stands on a firm foundation. He knows what he has to do, and no matter what may happen, he is not responsible. Look at me : who works more than I ? Who for whole days at a time rolls such a heavy ball, a ball that I have made with great art out of dung, with the great purpose in view of giving the opportunity to new dung beetles like myself to grow up ? But then, I do not think there is anybody who has such a calm conscience, or could with such a pure heart say : ' Yes, I have done all I can and all I ought to do, ' as I will say when these new dung beetles will see daylight. That 's what I call labour! "

" Don't mention your labour, friend!" said an Ant that during the Dung Beetle's speech had dragged up an immense piece of a dry stalk. He stopped for a moment, sat down on his four hind legs, and with his two front legs wiped off the sweat from his tired-out face. " I work myself, and much harder than you! But you work for yourself, or, what is the same, for your baby beetles; not everybody is so fortunate as that. Just try dragging logs for the com- monwealth's stores, as I do! I do not know myself what it is that makes me work so hard, even in such hot weather. Nobody will say * thanks! ' to me for it. We, unlucky work- ing ants, all work, and what good do we get out of it ? It 's just our fate! " too gloomily," protested the Grasshopper. "No, Beetle, I do like to chirrup and leap about a little, and, really, I have no scruples about it! Besides, j^ou have not touched the question that Madam Lizard has put. She asked : ' What is the world?' and you are talking about your dung ball. Why, that is not even decent. The world is, in my opinion, a very good thing, if for nothing else, because we find in it juicy grass, the sun, and the breeze. And it is so big! Living under these trees, you can't have the slightest con- ception how big it is. When I am in the field, I sometimes
 * ' You, Dung Beetle, look at life too dryly, and you, Ant,