The Sacred Beetle and Others 



desirable though this must seem to be after 

 a fast so long extended, is able to tempt her. 

 Nothing stirs in my pots, nothing rises to 

 the surface until the rains come. 



It is exceedingly probable that exactly the 

 same thing happens underground as in the 

 jars. To make certain, I inspect some of my 

 appliances at different periods. I always 

 find the mother beside her pills, in a spacious 

 cave which gives free play to the watcher's 

 evolutions. She could go lower down in the 

 sand and hide anywhere she pleased, if rest 

 is what she wants; she could climb outside 

 and sit down to fresh victuals, if refreshment 

 became necessary. Neither the prospects of 

 rest in a deeper crypt nor the thought of the 

 sun and of nice soft rolls make her leave her 

 family. Until the last of her offspring has 

 burst his shell, she sticks to her post in the 

 birth-chamber. 



It is now October. The rains so greatly 

 desired by man and beast have come at last, 

 soaking the ground to some depth. After 

 the torrid and dusty days of summer, when 

 life is in suspense, we have the coolness that 

 revives it, we have the last festival of the 

 year. In the midst of the heath putting out 

 its first pink bells, the oronge ^ splits its white 



1 Or imperial mushroom. For this and the purple bole- 



242 



