Its mode of locomotion marks it as an idiosyncratic, exceptional, fantastic
creature, having no fellow, that I know of, in the insect world. Though
endowed with legs--a trifle short, it is true, but after all as good as
those of a host of other larvae--it never uses them for walking. It
progresses on its back, always on its back, never otherwise. By means of
wriggling movements and the purchase afforded by the dorsal bristles, it
makes its way belly upwards, with its legs kicking the empty air. The
spectator to whom these topsy-turvy gymnastics are a novelty thinks at
first that the creature must have had a fright of some sort and that it is
struggling as best it can in the face of danger. He puts it back on its
belly; he lays it on its side. Nothing is of any use; it obstinately turns
over and resumes its dorsal progress. That is its manner of travelling over
a flat surface; it has no other.

This reversal of the usual mode of walking is so peculiar to the Cetonia-
larva that it is enough in itself to reveal the grub's identity to the
least expert eyes. Dig into the vegetable mould formed by the decayed wood
in the hollow trunks of old willow-trees, search at the foot of rotten
stumps or in heaps of compost; and, if you come upon a plumpish grub moving
along on its back, there is no room for doubt: your discovery is a Cetonia-
larva.

This topsy-turvy progress is fairly swift and is not less in speed to that
of an equally fat grub travelling on its legs. It would even be greater on
a polished surface, where walking on foot is hampered by incessant slips,
whereas the numerous hairs of the dorsal pads find the necessary support by
multiplying the points of contact. On polished wood, on a sheet of paper
and even on a strip of glass, I see my grubs moving from point to point
with the same ease as on a surface of garden mould. In the space of one