The Life of the Fly 



It all lies on the marrow, which I extract with- 

 out touching the eggs. 



A census would seem important. To take 

 it at once is impracticable: the germs form 

 a compact mass, which would be difficult to 

 count. The best thing Is to rear the family 

 in a jar and to reckon by the pupse buried in 

 the sand. I find a hundred and fifty-seven. 

 This is evidently but a minimum; for LucU'ia 

 Ccesar and the others, as the observations that 

 follow will tell me, lay in packets at repeated 

 Intervals. It Is a magnificent family, pro- 

 mising a fabulous legion to come. 



The Greenbottles, I was saying, break up 

 their laying Into sections. The following 

 scene affords a proof of this. A Mole, shrunk 

 by a few days' evaporation, lies spread upon 

 the sand of the pan. At one point, the edge 

 of the belly is raised and forms a deep arch. 

 Remark that the Greenbottles, like the rest 

 of the flesh-eating Flies, do not trust their 

 eggs to uncovered surfaces, where the heat 

 of the sun's rays might endanger the existence 

 of the delicate germs. They want dark hi- 

 ding-places. The favourite spot Is the lower 

 side of the dead animal, when this Is acces- 

 sible. 



In the present case, the only place of ac- 



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