months of meditation in the company of my little table at last
won me my degree as a licentiate of mathematical science; and I was
now qualified to perform, half a century later, the eminently lucrative
functions of an inspector of Spiders' webs!

CHAPTER XIV. THE BLUEBOTTLE: THE LAYING

To purge the earth of death's impurities and cause deceased animal
matter to be once more numbered among the treasures of life there
are hosts of sausage queens, including, in our part of the world, the
bluebottle (Calliphora vomitaria, LIN.) and the checkered flesh fly
(Sarcophaga carnaria, LIN.). Every one knows the first, the big,
dark-blue fly who, after effecting her designs in the ill-watched meat
safe, settles on our window panes and keeps up a solemn buzzing, anxious
to be off in the sun and ripen a fresh emission of germs. How does
she lay her eggs, the origin of the loathsome maggot that battens
poisonously on our provisions, whether of game or butcher's meat? What
are her stratagems and how can we foil them? This is what I propose to
investigate.

The bluebottle frequents our homes during autumn and a part of winter,
until the cold becomes severe; but her appearance in the fields dates
back much earlier. On the first fine day in February, we shall see her
warming herself, chillily, against the sunny walls. In April, I notice
her in considerable numbers on the laurestinus. It is here that she
seems to pair, while sipping the sugary exudations of the small white
flowers. The whole of the summer season is spent out of doors, in brief
flights from one refreshment bar to the next. When autumn comes, with
its game, she makes her way into our houses and remains until the hard
frosts.

This suits my stay-at-home habits and especially my legs, which are
bending under the weight of years. I need not run after the subjects of
my present study; they call on me. Besides, I have vigilant assistants.
The household knows of my plans. Every one brings me, in a little screw
of paper, the noisy visitor just captured against the panes.

Thus do I fill my vivarium, which consists of a large, bell-shaped
cage of wire gauze, standing in an earthenware pan full of sand. A
mug containing honey is the dining room of the establishment. Here the
captives come to recruit themselves in their hours of leisure. To
occupy their maternal cares, I employ small birds--chaffinches, linnets,
sparrows--brought down, in the enclosure, by my son's gun.