A TRUFFLE-HUNTER 233 



tion consisted entirely of two species — Dermestes and 

 Saprinidae — both eager prospectors of carrion and 

 animal detritus during the spring. 



My friend Bull, an honest dog all his lifetime if ever 

 there was one, amongst other eccentricities had the fol- 

 lowing : finding in the dust of the road the shrivelled 

 body of a mole, flattened by the feet of pedestrians, 

 mummified by the heat of the sun, he would slide 

 himself over it, from the tip of his nose to the root 

 of his tail, he would rub himself against it deliciously 

 over and over again, shaken with nervous spasms, and 

 roll upon it first in one direction, then in the other. 



It was his sachet of musk, his flask of eau-de-Cologne. 

 Perfumed to his liking, he would rise, shake himself, 

 and proceed on his way, delighted with his toilet. Do 

 not let us scold him, and above all do not let us dis- 

 cuss the matter. There are all kinds of tastes in a 

 world. 



Why should there not be insects with similar habits 

 among the amateurs of corpse-like savours ? We see 

 Dermestes and Saprinidae hastening to the arum-flower. 

 All day long they writhe and wriggle in a swarm, 

 although perfectly free to escape ; numbers perish in 

 the tumultuous orgy. They are not retained by the 

 desire of food, for the arum provides them with nothing 

 eatable ; they do not come to breed, for they take care 

 not to establish their grubs in that place of famine. 

 What are these frenzied creatures doing ? Apparently 

 they are intoxicated with fetidity, as was Bull when he 

 rolled on the putrid body of a mole. 



This intoxication draws them from all parts of the 

 neighbourhood, perhaps over considerable distances ; 



