cold of winter, should be frequent enough outside
to form into groups and to do business in common while an icy blast is
raging. A belated specimen, the plaything of the north wind, and one
alone must have deposited the burden of her ovaries on the owl's eyes.
This laying of nine hundred eggs, an incomplete laying perhaps, bears
witness to the mighty part played by the fly as a liquidator of corpses.

Before throwing away the screech owl treated by the worms, let us
overcome our repugnance and give a glance inside the bird. We see a
tortuous cavity, fenced in by nameless ruins. Muscles and bowels have
disappeared, converted into broth and gradually consumed by the teeming
throng. In every part, what was wet has become dry, what was solid
muddy. In vain my forceps ransacks every nook and corner: it does not
hit upon a single pupa. All the worms have emigrated, all, without
exception. From first to last, they have forsaken the refuge of the
corpse, so soft to their delicate skins; they have left the velvet for
the hard ground. Is dryness necessary to them at this stage? They had
it in the carcass, which was thoroughly drained. Would they protect
themselves against the cold and rain? No shelter could suit them
better than the thick quilt of the feathers, which has remained wholly
undamaged on the belly, the breast and every part that was not in touch
with the ground. It looks as though they had fled from comfort to seek
a less kindly dwelling place. When the hour of transformation came, all
left the owl, that most excellent lodging; all dived into the sand.

The exodus from the mortuary tabernacle was made through the round holes
wherewith the skin is pierced. Those holes are the worms' work: of that
there is no doubt; and yet we have lately seen the mothers refuse as a
bed for their eggs any part whereat the flesh is protected by a skin
of some thickness. The reason is the failure of the pepsin to act on
epidermic substances. In the absence of liquefaction at such points, the
nourishing gruel is unprocurable. On the other hand, the tiny worms are
not able--or at least do not know how--to dig through the integument
with their pair of guttural harpoons, to rend it and reach the
liquefiable flesh. The newborn lack strength and, above all, purpose.
But, as the time comes for descending into the earth, the worms, now
powerful and suddenly versed in the necessary art, well know how to eat
away patiently and clear themselves a