SELF-DENIAL OF THE SPANISH COPRIS 



a bit of it. I always find a simple lump, a huge mass 

 which fills the dwelling except for a narrow passage. 



This lump has no fixed shape. I come across some 

 that are like a Turkey's egg in form and size; some the 

 shape of a common onion; I find some that are almost 

 round, and remind me of a Dutch cheese; I see some 

 that are circular, with a slight swelling on the upper 

 surface. In every case the surface is smooth and nicely 

 curved. 



There is no mistaking what has happened. The 

 mother has collected and kneaded into one lump the 

 numerous fragments brought down one after the other. 

 Out of all those particles she has made a single lump, 

 by mashing them, working them together, and treading 

 on them. Time after time I have seen her on top of 

 the colossal loaf which is so much larger than the ball 

 of the Sacred Beetle — a mere pill in comparison. She 

 strolls about on the convex surface, which sometimes 

 measures as much as four inches across; she pats the mass, 

 and makes it firm and level. I only catch a sight of the 

 curious scene, for the moment she sees me she slips down 

 the curved slope and hides away. 



With the help of a row of glass jars, all enclosed in 

 opaque sheaths of cardboard, I can find out a good many 

 interesting things. In the first place I have found that 

 the big loaf does not owe its curve — which is always 



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