The Sense of Smell 



husbandman hits with his spade and flings 

 away disembowelled on the foot-path. They 

 swoop down upon the great leaf, which, 

 with its livid purple, looks like a strip 

 of meat gone bad; they caper about, in- 

 toxicated by the smell of corpse which they 

 love; they roll down the slope and are 

 swallowed up in the purse. After a few 

 hours of bright sunshine, the receptacle is 

 full. 



Let us look inside, through the narrow 

 opening. No elsewhere could you see such a 

 crowd. It is a mad whirl of backs and bel- 

 lies, of wing-cases and legs, swarming, rolling 

 over and over, amid the snap of interlocked 

 joints, rising and falling, floating and sinking, 

 seething and bubbling without end. It is a 

 drunken revel, an epidemic of delirium 

 tremens. 



Some, few as yet, emerging from the mass, 

 climb to the opening by means of the 

 cetitral pole or the walls of the enclosure. 

 Will they take wing and make their es- 

 cape? Not they! Standing on the brink of 

 the chasm, almost free, they drop back into 

 the whirlpool, in a fresh bout of intoxica- 

 tion. The bait is irresistible. Not one of 



