The Dung-Beetles of the Pampas 



table residue. The strange Dung-beetle does 

 not, therefore, use cakes of Cow-dung or 

 anything like them; he handles products of 

 another class, which at first are rather 

 difficult to specify. 



Held to the ear and shaken, the object 

 rattles slightly, as would the shell of a dry 

 fruit with a stone lying free inside it. Does 

 it contain the grub, shrivelled by desiccation? 

 Does it contain the dead insect? I thought 

 so, but I was wrong. It contains something 

 much more instructive than that. 



I carefully rip up the gourd with the point 

 of a knife. Within a homogenous wall, 

 whose thickness is over three-quarters of an 

 inch in the largest of my three specimens, 

 is encased a spherical kernel, which fills the 

 cavity exactly, but without sticking to the wall 

 at any part. The small amount of free play 

 allowed to this kernel accounts for the 

 rattling which I heard when I shook the 

 thing. 



In the colour and general appearance of 

 the whole, the kernel does not differ from the 

 wrapper. But break it open and minutely 

 examine the pieces. We now recognize tiny 

 fragments of bone, flocks of down, threads 

 of wool, scraps of flesh, the whole mixed in 

 an earthy paste resembling chocolate, 

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