THE DOR BEETLE. 155 



sometimes called the Watchman, or Clock, whose heavy hum 

 drones upon the ear in the evening, as the 



" Beetle wheels his drowsy flight," 



and whose hard and notched head occasionally strikes against 

 the face with a violence less agreeaUe to the man than to the 

 insect, the latter heing quite undisturbed by the shock. 



Catch one of these beetles, and examine the wondrous beauty 

 of its colour, how its polished surface gleams as if made of 

 burnished steel, pure and bright as armour just out of the 

 smith's hands. Yet this creature has, in all probability, been 

 burrowing deeply into the ground, has been meddling with the 

 most noxious substances, and still retains no trace of its past 

 labours. Save for the round-bodied yellow parasites that cling 

 to its body, and insert their beaks between the joints of its 

 armour, it is brilliantly clean. Not a speck of mould remains 

 upon its surface, not a stain defiles its limbs, neither does it 

 retain the least odour which would betray its occupatioa Other 

 beetles are not so fortunate. The burying beetles just mentioned 

 are mightily ill-savoured insects, and so are many others with 

 similar habits. But the Dor beetle is free from such noisome- 

 ness, and both the eye and the nostrils pronounce it pure. 



Let us now watch this beautiful insect, as it wheels through 

 the air. Either by the development of the sense of smell, or 

 by some sixth sense with which humanity is practically un- 

 acquainted, the beetle is made aware that the object of its 

 search is at hand. The duU, monotonous buzz is immediately 

 exchanged for a triumphant hum, the circling flight ceases, and 

 the beetle darts through the air, with arrow-like rapidity, to the 

 spot which it seeks. A few more circles, lessening at every 

 round, and down it settles, on an object uninviting to Europeans, 

 but in great favour with Hindoos, Kaffirs, and scarabsei, namely, 

 a patch of cow-dung. 



No sooner has it settled, than it dives downwards until it 

 reaches the earth, and then bores a perpendicular hole, some 

 eight inches in depth, and large enough to admit a man's finger. 

 I have often watched the beetles at their work, and seen them 

 thus engaged, and have turned many a Dor beetle out of the 

 burrow which it had been so industriously excavating. Having 

 ascended to the surface, it carries a quantity of the cow-dung to 



