82 
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL , . 
noted, and that was that half of it appeared to have 
been transformed by some process into dry earth. When 
the ground and everything else is moist with recent rain, 
a pile of dry earth is a phenomenon and needs some 
explanation, but I had only to kick it aside with my 
foot to get that. The ground underneath was like an 
Irishman’s definition of a net, “a collection of holes,” 
and in each hole there was a round, bullet-like beetle, 
solemnly burrowing downwards and throwing up the 
earth behind it. As the earth came up, the manure 
went down to supply its place. Very shortly there will 
be nothing above ground but a pile of earth, and then 
each beetle, having left an egg in its hole, will withdraw, 
and, after many days, when all traces of the work 
have been washed away or trodden down, men will pass 
up and down the road, little thinking that far under 
their feet a score or more of loathly white grubs are 
wriggling and growing, each in the midst of a noisome 
mess of — well, nourishment. These beetles are all of 
one great family, or tribe, but some are black and some 
are brown, and some are large and some are small. 
A few days ago I caught a very Goliath of them 
busy at the same work, making a hole that would have 
