Intoxicated as they were, many would escape my census, and I wished to ensure its accuracy.
A few drops of carbon bisulphide quieted the swarm.

The census proved that there were more than four hundred insects in the purse of the Arum.
The collection consisted entirely of two species--Dermestes and Saprinidae--both eager prospectors of carrion and animal detritus during the spring.
My friend Bull, an honest dog all his lifetime if ever there was one, amongst other eccentricities had the following: finding in the dust of the road the shrivelled body of a mole, flattened by the feet of pedestrians, mummified by the heat of the sun, he would slide himself over it, from the tip of his nose to the root of his tail, he would rub himself against it deliciously over and over again, shaken with nervous spasms, and roll upon it first in one direction, then in the other.
It was his sachet of musk, his flask of eau-de-Cologne.

Perfumed to his liking, he would rise, shake himself, and proceed on his way, delighted with his toilet.

Do not let us scold him, and above all do not let us discuss the matter.

There are all kinds of tastes in a world.
Why should there not be insects with similar habits among the amateurs of corpse-like savours?
We see Dermestes and Saprinidae hastening to the arum-flower.