16 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



dence, which will tell us of the high digestive capacity 

 of the famous Dung-beetle. 



When the whole ball has been through the mill, the 

 hermit reappears in the light of day, seeks his fortune, 

 finds it, shapes himself a new ball and begins all over again. 

 On a very hot, calm, sultry day — the atmospheric con- 

 ditions most favourable to the gastronomic enjoyments 

 of my anchorites — watch in hand, I observe one of the 

 consumers in the open air, from eight o'clock in the 

 morning until eight o'clock at night. The Scarab appears 

 to have come across a morsel greatly to his taste, for, 

 during those twelve hours, he never stops feasting, re- 

 mains permanently at table, stationary at one spot. At 

 eight o'clock in the evening, I pay him a last visit. His 

 appetite seems undiminished. I find the glutton in as 

 fine fettle as at the start. The banquet, therefore, must 

 have lasted some time longer, until the total disappear- 

 ance of the lump. Next morning, in fact, the Scarab is 

 gone and, of the fine piece attacked on the previous day, 

 naught remains but crumbs. 



Once round the clock and more, for a single sitting at 

 table, is a fine display of gormandizing in itself ; but here 

 is something much better by way of rapidity of digestion. 

 While, in front of the insect, the matter is being contmu- 

 ously chewed and swallowed, behind it, with equal con- 

 tinuity, the matter reappears, stripped of its nutritive 

 particles and spun into a little black cord, similar to a 

 cobbler's thread. The Scarab never evacuates except at 

 table, so quickly are his digestive labours performed. 

 The apparatus begins to work at the first few mouthfuls ; 

 it ceases its office soon after the last. Without a break 

 from beginning to end of the meal and always hanging 

 to the discharging orifice, the thin cord is piled in a 



