The house-fly is not the only insect which is subject to the attacks of this mould, the commong dung-fly being equally liable to it. The mould which attacks the silkworm (Botrytis bassiana), producing the well-known disease, muscardine, has been the subject of earnest investigation by those cultivators who to their cost have suffered the visitation. The fly-mould, however, belongs to a simpler and lower organization than the Botrytis, and bears the name of Sporendonema muscæ. The first of these is the generic, or name of the genus, to which the fly-mould belongs, and is derived from a combination of three Greek words: sporos, "seed," endon, "within," and nema, a "thread." The structure of the moulds themselves suggested this compound name, as the genus is characterized by pellucid tubular threads, containing at first within them the sporidia arranged in rows. This particular species is called muscæ, from musca, "a fly." The threads are simple, glued together into somewhat lobed white tufts, which assume a shape that we have already described as resembling a cart-wheel. Some observers have considered this fly-mould to be the accompaniment of a disease, and only developed after death; but more recent investigators have undoubtedly established the fact that the mould is the true predisposing cause of death. Two other names have been given to this mould by more recent authors, consequent on referring it to other genera.[1]
Such is a brief account of the troubles of a fly, which, having partaken of our choicest dainties uninvited, sipped our divine nectar, stolen our sugar, and escaped the perils of the milk jug, at last pays the penalty of nature, by exchanging the gambols of a merry life for the tetanic embraces of a mouldly death.
FOUR YEARS' ACQUAINTANCE WITH A TOAD.
Four years last September, as I was wandering through the meadows at Hastings, near the spot called "Lover's Seat," I captured a young frog and also a young toad, and brought them both, for the first time, on a visit to the Great Metropolis. These creatures I placed in a small conservatory, but poor Froggy soon died. Today, however, survived, and soon appeared to have become acclimatized. I occasionally saw him, but found that one of his propensities was to get out of sight. About November of the same year, I lost him altogether, and for some time grieved over the absense of my pet. Imagine my astonishment, one fine morning, in the latter part of March, whilst at breakfast, to observe my old friend creeping over some moss, greatly increased in size and ugliness during his four months' absense. He would afterwards occasionally absent himself for weeks, so that I ceased to be alarmed for his welfare, even though I might not have caught sight of him for a month. In this manner we went on, leaving Today to take his holidays as he pleased, until the spring of last year. During one of his temporary vacations, I was watching the movements of some small insects, and it appeared that my pet was watching them also, for on their approaching within reach of his tongue, that organ was instantaneously thrust forward, and an insect disappeared. Thus while losing sight of a new acquaintance I became aware of the presence of an old friend. I also derived fresh satisfaction in observing his choice of food, and mode of taking it. Thenceforward I became diligent in supplying him with the same kind of food, so that he soon lost all appearance of shyness, would come out of his hiding-place regularly, day by day, until late in November, 1863, when he again disappeared as the frost set in. At this time the weather was very severe for so early a period: the aquarium was frozen, the fish were killed, the glass was broken, and all its contents became a solid mass, plants, animals, and everything, embedded, as it were, in a large transparent crystal. Again, I was agreeably surprised, one beautiful spring day in the early part of April, to observe my old friend moving about, as if to inform us that he had returned again from his unknown place of retreat. He had again grown fatter and uglier than he was in the autumn, his skin was blacker and coarser, and dark spots covered the whole body. Yet his eye seemed more brilliant and thoughtful. He came direct to the same spot on which I had fed him when last we met, more tha four months previously. He was supplied with what we term "garden-hogs," woodlice, worms, and the lively little black ant. None of these would he touch, if dead, or did not show unmistakable signs of active life. Then would he fix his calculating eye, until the object came within reach of his tongue; this he would dart at them, and in an instant the object was gone. When satisfied, he would return again to some quiet nook, out of sight.
