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and felt it would be a crime to raise my hand against them. Whether they 

 were laying up food against the winter, or, as seemed more likely, were making 

 arrangements for the next generation of their race, they were far beyond my 

 wisdom, and sacred at least for me. I would as soon have killed the mother bird 

 upon her nest. 



We were surrounded by scenes of grandeur and beauty and historic 

 interest that men traverse the world to look upon, evidences of man's life and 

 labour more than eighteen centuries ago. On the one hand Sorrento and Capri 

 standing out from the blue waters of the bay ; on the other Vesuvius solemnly 

 smoking high up over all. We were not entomologists. The dazzling glare was 

 unfavourable to exact observation. Time was short. I had therefore to leave the 

 spot consoled with the hope of finding somewhere an account of these interesting 

 creatures, perhaps their life-history. Other occupations have, however, stood in 

 the way of careful search. One desires to find in books on natural history some- 

 thing more than quotations from old writers and such descriptions as might be 

 taken from a specimen transfixed by a pin. Descriptions of this beetle in the 

 books that bear the names of Kirby and Spence, of Cuvier, and Sir William 

 Jardine, do not convey the notion that the writers had themselves seen what we 

 saw. Therefore, in telling my story, I feel I am in a measure offering my own 

 ignorance diluted with that of these stale though respectable authorities. 



My beetle seems to be Ateuchus sacer (the Scarabwus sacer, of Linnaeus) the 

 same as, or very nearly related to, the Scarabaeus so freely illustrated in Egyptian 

 art, though this is shown in Cuvier as a smaller and brightly coloured insect. 

 There seems, however, to be no difference in instinctive habits. They are common 

 throughout Africa and the south of Europe. The two sexes look precisely alike, 

 which is uncommon with beetles. Their practice is to enclose the egg or eggs in 

 a pill or pellet {which, from its size, I should call a ball) of dung, usually that of 

 the horse or ass, which they employ in a moist state and allow to become partially 

 dry before moving it. They then turn their backs to it and roll it along with their 

 hind legs, pushing also with the extremity of the abdomen while they walk on 

 their two pairs of legs that are free. This position is exceedingly curious, and we 

 had failed to detect it. It perhaps accounts for the impression that the pair we 

 saw were applying their shoulders to their ball. When they have got it rolled off 

 the hard ground on which their materials are usually found and feel themselves on 

 soft earth, they dig a hole and bury their treasure so that the offspring may, upon 

 entering into life, find a supply of savoury food around it. One account says that 

 they have previously prepared the hole, sinking it to a depth of three feet. One 

 would like to know which of these guesses is correct. Each beetle is primarily 

 responsible for its own ball, but it has no power of distinguishing its own from 

 that of another, so that if you change the balls their owners go on equally happily 

 with those that are substituted. If one beetle meets with an insurmountable 

 obstacle, or trundles its ball into a crack, another will come to its aid ; thus two 

 and even three may be seen working in concert, and the difficulty is usually over- 

 come. Perhaps the truth is that the second beetle has either lost or been beaten 

 with its own ball, and, its instinctive tendency being unexhausted, takes up the 



