Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.  Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for supper.  Legrand was in one of his fits—­how else shall I term them?—­of enthusiasm.  He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter’s assistance, a scarabaeus which he believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the morrow.

“And why not to-night?” I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabaei at the devil.

“Ah, if I had only known you were here!” said Legrand, “but it’s so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others?  As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G——­, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.  Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise.  It is the loveliest thing in creation!”

“What?—­sunrise?”

“Nonsense! no!—­the bug.  It is of a brilliant gold color—­about the size of a large hickory-nut—­with two jet-black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other.  The antennae are—­”

“Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you,” here interrupted Jupiter; “de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing—­neber feel half so hebby a bug in my life.”

“Well, suppose it is, Jup,” replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, “is that any reason for your letting the birds burn?  The color”—­here he turned to me—­“is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter’s idea.  You never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit—­but of this you cannot judge till to-morrow.  In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape.”  Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper.  He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.

“Never mind,” said he at length, “this will answer”; and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen.  While he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly.  When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising.  As I received it, a low growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door.  Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous visits.  When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.

“Well!” I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, “this is a strange scarabaeus, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything like it before—­unless it was a skull, or a death’s-head, which it more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under my observation.”