The Sacred Beetle 



tribe — Planorbes, LImnaei and other 

 Water-snails — were sucking in the air on the 

 surface of the water. The Hydrophilus and 

 her hideous larva, those pirates of the ponds, 

 darted amongst them, wringing a neck or two 

 as they passed. The stupid crowd did not 

 seem even to notice it. But let us leave the 

 plain and its waters and clamber up the bluff 

 to the plateau above us. Up there. Sheep 

 are grazing and Horses being exercised for 

 the approaching races, while all are distribu- 

 ting manna to the enraptured Dung-beetles. 



Here are the scavengers at work, the 

 Beetles whose proud mission it is to purge the 

 soil of its filth. One would never weary of 

 admiring the variety of tools wherewith they 

 are supplied, whether for shifting, cutting up 

 and shaping the stercoral matter or for ex- 

 cavating deep burrows in which they will 

 seclude themselves with their booty. This 

 equipment resembles a technical museum 

 where every digging-implement is repre- 

 sented. It includes things that seem copied 

 from those appertaining to human industry 

 and others of so original a type that they 

 might well serve us as models for new in- 

 ventions. 



The Spanish Coprls carries on his fore- 

 head a powerful pointed horn, curved back- 



