THE MYSTERIOUS FUNGUS 263 



trace it through the wood till you find the fungus 

 as the flies find it. 



We may have far to go, for the scent of the 

 wood witch carries far through the wood. But 

 we come at length to the place where it stands 

 and shouts its message to the flies. There are the 

 globular ' buttons ' of growing stinkhorns, which 

 we like to slice in two for the admiration of the 

 black and white marble of the internal economy, 

 and beside them and far above them stands the 

 stinkhorn of the day, its cap one mass of flies 

 feeding on its stickiness. They rise with a roar 

 and allow us to see how the cap has been pitted 

 with their devourings, adding the appearance of 

 smallpox to the uncleanness of its stench. And 

 the feet of the flies, ubiquitous wanderers and 

 tramplers over everything, are clogged with the 

 stinkhorn' s gum, and the spores mixed in it for 

 transportation. 



The wood has far more beautiful fungi than the 

 stinkhorn to show us. Russulas in pink and 

 mauve and purple, verdigris agaric in sulphuric 

 green, honey-yellow fascicularis, and slimy black 

 ink mushrooms and many others have pushed 

 their way through the foot-deep carpet of fallen 

 leaves. Always near some birch, the prince of 

 poison toadstools, the fly agaric, lifts its bright 

 tomato-coloured cap to which little scabs of 

 white skin stick to make white dots upon it. 

 Huge funnel-shaped ' cankers ' full of white juice, 

 and therefore called lactarius, have thrust up 



