The Life of the Fly 



a wire through their nostrils, Thrushes, Plo- 

 vers, Teal, Partridges, Snipe, in short, all the 

 glories of the spit which the autumn migration 

 brings us, remain for days and weeks at the 

 mercy of the Flies. The buyer allows himself 

 to be tempted by a goodly exterior; he makes 

 his purchase and, back at home, just when the 

 bird is being prepared for roasting, he dis- 

 covers that the promised dainty is alive with 

 worms. O horror ! There is nothing for it 

 but to throw the loathsome, verminous thing 

 away. 



The Bluebottle is the culprit here. Every- 

 body knows it; and nobody thinks of seriously 

 shaking off her tyranny: not the retailer, nor 

 the wholesale dealer, nor the killer of the 

 game. What is wanted to keep the maggots 

 out? Hardly anything: to slip each bird into 

 a paper sheath. If this precaution were taken 

 at the start, before the Flies arrive, any game 

 would be safe and could be left indefinitely to 

 attain the degree of ripeness required by the 

 epicure's palate. 



Stuffed with olives and myrtleberries, the 

 Corsican Blackbirds are exquisite eating. We 

 sometimes receive them at Orange, layers of 

 them, packed in baskets through which the air 

 circulates freely and each contained in a paper 



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