ircled round against
the palisade, treading a hundred times in their own footprints; they
thrust their necks, with their crimson wattles, through the bars; and
there, with beaks in the open air, they remained until they were
exhausted.

Remember, inept fowl, the occurrences of a little while ago; think of
the tunnel which led you hither! If there be in that poor brain of
yours an atom of capacity, put two ideas together and remind yourself
that the passage by which you entered is there and open for your
escape! You will do nothing of the kind. The light, an irresistible
attraction, holds you subjugated against the palisade; and the shadow
of the yawning pit, which has but lately permitted you to enter and
will quite as readily permit of your exit, leaves you indifferent. To
recognize the use of this opening you would have to reflect a little,
to evolve the past; but this tiny retrospective calculation is beyond
your powers. So the trapper, returning a few days later, will find a
rich booty, the entire flock imprisoned!

Of poor intellectual repute, does the Turkey deserve his name for
stupidity? He does not appear to be more limited than another. Audubon
depicts him as endowed with certain useful ruses, in particular when he
has to baffle the attacks of his nocturnal enemy, the Virginian Owl. As
for his actions in the snare with the underground passage, any other
bird, impassioned of the light, would do the same.

Under rather more difficult conditions, the Necrophorus repeats the
ineptness of the Turkey. When he wishes to return to the open daylight,
after resting in a short burrow against the rim of the wire cover, the
Beetle, seeing a little light filtering down through the loose soil,
reascends by the path of entry, incapable of telling himself that it
would suffice to prolong the tunnel as far in the opposite direction
for him to reach the outer world beyond the wall and gain his freedom.
Here again is one in whom we shall seek in vain for any indication of
reflection. Like the rest, in spite of his legendary renown, he has no
guide but the unconscious promptings of instinct.

CHAPTER 7. THE BLUEBOTTLE.

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 Grey Flesh-fly
(Sarcophaga carnaria, Lin.) Every one kn