THE SACRED BEETLE 21 



Let me tell, to finish with this part of our subject, what 

 the future held in store for me. During the whole of the 

 dog-days, from the end of June until September, I re- 

 newed almost daily my visits to the spots frequented 

 by the Scarab ; and the burrows dug up with my trowel 

 supplied me with an amount of evidence exceeding my 

 fondest hopes. The insects brought up in the volery 

 supplied me with further documents, though these, it is 

 true, were rare and not to be compared with the riches 

 of the open fields. All told, at least some hundred nests 

 passed through my hands ; and it was always the graceful 

 shape of the pear, never, absolutely never, the round 

 shape of the pill, never the ball of which the books tell us. 



And now let us unfold the authentic story, calling to 

 witness none save facts actually observed and reobserved. 

 The Sacred Beetle's nest is betrayed on the outside by 

 a heap of shifted earth, by a little mole-hill formed of the 

 superfluous rubbish which the mother, when closing up 

 the abode, has been unable to replace, as a part of the 

 excavation must be left empty. Under this heap is a 

 shallow pit, about two-fifths of an inch deep, followed 

 by a horizontal gallery, either straight or winding, which 

 ends in a large hall, spacious enough to hold a man's 

 fist. This is the crypt in which the egg lies wrapped in 

 food and subjected to the incubation of a burning sun, 

 at a few inches underground ; this is the roomy workshop 

 in which the mother, enjoying full liberty of movement, 

 has kneaded and shaped the future nursling's bread into 

 a pear. 



This stercoral bread has its main axis lying in a hori- 

 zontal position. Its shape and size remind one exactly 

 of those little poires de Saint-Jean which, thanks to their 

 bright colouring, their flavour and their early ripeness, 



