116 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



tion, prescribed the line of conduct for his people 

 wandering in the Arabian desert : 



" Thou shalt have a place without the camp," he says, 

 " to which thou mayst go for the necessities of nature, 

 carrying a paddle at thy girdle. And, when thou sittest 

 down, thou shalt dig round about and, with the earth 

 that is dug up, thou shalt cover that which thou art eased 

 of." (Deut., XXIII., xii-xiv.) 



This is a precept of grave import in its simplicity. 

 And we may well believe that, if Islamism, at the time of 

 its great pilgrimages to the Kaaba, were to take the same 

 precaution and a few more of a similar character, Mecca 

 would cease to be an annual seat of cholera and Europe 

 would not need to mount guard on the shores of the Red 

 Sea to protect herself against the scourge. 



Heedless of hygiene as the Arab, who was one of his 

 ancestors, the Provençal peasant does not suspect the 

 danger. Fortunately, the Dung-beetle, that faithful 

 observer of the Mosaic edict, works. It is his to remove 

 from sight, it is his to bury the germ-crammed matter. 



Supplied with implements for digging far superior 

 to the paddle which the Israelite was to carry at his girdle 

 when urgent business called him from the camp, he 

 hastens and, as soon as man is gone, digs a pit wherein 

 the infection is swallowed up and rendered harmless. 



The services rendered by these diggers are of the 

 highest importance to the health of the fields ; yet we, 

 who are mainly interested in this constant work of 

 purification, hardly vouchsafe those sturdy fellows a 

 contemptuous glance. Popular language overwhelms 

 them with obnoxious epithets. This appears to be the 



