The Life of the Fly 



the same. The insect, which feeds on one 

 sort of mushroom and refuses others, cannot 

 tell us anything about the kinds that are good 

 or bad for us. Its stomach is not ours. It 

 pronounces excellent what we find poisonous; 

 it pronounces poisonous what we think excel- 

 lent. That being so, when we are lacking in 

 the botanical knowledge which most of us have 

 neither time nor inclination to acquire, what 

 course are we to take? The course is ex- 

 tremely simple. 



During the thirty years and more that I 

 have lived at Serignan, I have never heard of 

 one case of mushroom-poisoning, even the 

 mildest, in the village ; and yet there are plenty 

 of mushrooms eaten here, especially in autumn. 

 Not a family but, when on a walk in the mount- 

 ains, gathers a precious addition to its modest 

 alimentary resources. What do these people 

 gather? A little of everything. Often, when 

 rambling in the neighbouring woods, I inspect 

 the baskets of the mushroom-pickers, who are 

 delighted for me to look. I see things fit to 

 make mycological experts stand aghast. I 

 often find the purple boletus, which is classed 

 among the dangerous varieties. I made the 

 remark one day. The man carrying the basket 

 stared at me in astonishment : 

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