The blue-bottle flies blow
among blankets that are left lying untidily about, but if the same be
neatly folded up and present no crumpled creases, the flies will leave
them alone. It is strange, too, that, though flies will blow a dead
sheep almost immediately, they will not touch one that is living and
healthy. Coupling their good nature in this respect with the love of
neatness and hatred of untidiness which they exhibit, I incline to think
them decidedly in advance of our English bluebottles, which they
perfectly resemble in every other respect. The English house-fly soon
drives them away, and, after the first year or two, a station is seldom
much troubled with them: so at least I am told by many. Fly-blown
blankets are all very well, provided they have been quite dry ever since
they were blown: the eggs then come to nothing; but if the blankets be
damp, maggots make their appearance in a few hours, and the very
suspicion of them is attended with an unpleasant creepy crawly
sensation. The blankets in which I slept at the station which I have
been describing were perfectly innocuous.
On the morning after I arrived, for the first time in my life I saw a
sheep killed. It is rather unpleasant, but I suppose I shall get as
indifferent to it as other - people are by and by. To show you that the
knives of the establishment are numbered, I may mention that the same
knife killed the sheep and carved the mutton we had for dinner.
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