one in whom we shall seek in vain for any sign of reflection. Like the
rest, in spite of his legendary renown, he has no guide but the
unconscious promptings of instinct.

CHAPTER XIII
THE GIANT SCARITES

The military profession can hardly be said to favour the talents.
Consider the Carabus, or Ground-beetle, that fiery warrior among the
insect people. What can he do? In the way of industry, nothing or next
to nothing. Nevertheless the dull butcher is magnificent in his
indescribably sumptuous jerkin. It has the refulgency of copper
pyrites, of gold, of Florentine bronze. While clad in black, he
enriches his sombre costume with a vivid amethyst hem. On the
wing-cases, which fit him like a cuirass, he wears little chains of
alternate pins and bosses.

Of a handsome and commanding figure, slender and pinched in at the
waist, the Carabus is the glory of our collections, but only for the
sake of his appearance. He is a frenzied murderer; and that is all. We
will ask nothing more of him. The wisdom of antiquity represented
Hercules, the god of strength, with the head of an idiot. And indeed
merit is not great when limited to brute force. And this is the case
with the Carabus.

To see him so richly adorned, who would not wish to find him a fine
subject for investigation, one worthy of history, a subject such as
humbler natures provide with lavish generosity? From this ferocious
ransacker of entrails we expect nothing of the kind. His art is that
of slaying.

We may without trouble observe him at his bandit's work. I rear him in
a large breeding-cage on a layer of fresh sand. A few potsherds
scattered about the surface enable him to take shelter beneath the
rocks; a tuft of grass planted in the centre makes a grove and
enlivens the establishment.

Three species compose the population: the common _Jardiniere_, or
Golden Beetle, the usual inmate of our gardens; _Procrustes
coriaceus_, the sombre and powerful explorer of the grassy thickets at
the foot of walls; and the rare Purple Carabus, who trims the ebony of
his wing-cases with metallic violet. I feed them on Snails, after
partly removing the shell.

Hidden at first promiscuously under the potsherds, the Carabi make a
rush for the wretched Snail, who, in his despair, alternately puts out
and withdraws his horns. Three of them at a time, then four, then five
begin by devouring the edge of his mantle, specked with chalky atoms.
This is the favourite morsel