The maggot, therefore, is the primary cause of dissolution after death; it is, above all, the putrefactive chemist.
A conclusion not devoid of value may be drawn from my paper game-bags.
In our markets, especially in those of the South, the game is hung unprotected from the hooks on the stalls.

Larks strung up by the dozen with a wire through their nostrils, Thrushes, Plovers, 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 discovers 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.

Everybody knows it, and nobody thinks seriously of shaking off her tyranny: not the retailer, nor the wholesale dealer, nor the killer of the game.