The Sacred Beetle: the Ball 



I pay him a last visit. His appetite seems 

 undiminished; I find him in as fine fettle as 

 at the start. The banquet then must have 

 gone on some time longer, until the dish had 

 disappeared entirely. In fact, next morning 

 there was no sign of my Beetle; and, of the 

 sumptuous repast begun on the previous day, 

 naught remained but crumbs. 



To eat the clock round is no small feat of 

 gluttony; but in this case there is also a 

 much more remarkable feat of digestion. 

 While matter is continuously being chewed 

 and swallowed by the insect in front, it is 

 reappearing, no less continuously, behind, 

 deprived of its nutritive particles and spun 

 into a thin black cord, similar to cob- 

 bler's thread. The Scarab never evacu- 

 ates except at table, so quickly are his 

 digestive operations performed. The wire- 

 drawing apparatus begins to work at the 

 first few mouthfuls; it ceases soon after the 

 last. Without a break from beginning to 

 end of the meal, the slender cord, ever 

 appended to the discharging orifice, goes on 

 piling itself into a heap which can easily be 

 unrolled so long as there is no sign of 

 desiccation. 



The working is as regular as that of a 

 chronometer. Every minute, or rather, to 

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