them--hang in noisome clusters from the roof.

Concerning these bats, the following story is told in Gafsa.

Not long ago a rich Englishman came here. He used to go out in the
evenings and shoot bats; then he put them into bottles with spirits of
wine--he was an amateur of bats. On the day of his departure from the
place, he said to the polyglot Arab guide whom he had picked up somewhere
on his wanderings:

"You will rejoin me in Tunis in ten days. Bring me more bats--tirlils:
_comprenni?_--from this country. I will give you fifty centimes apiece."

"Bon, Monsieur," said the guide, and took counsel with the folks of Gafsa,
who, after certain reservations and stipulations, showed him the way into
these quarries.

On the day appointed he entered the rich tourist's hotel in Tunis,
followed by ten porters, each carrying a large sack.

"Hallo!" said the Englishman, "what's all this?"

"Bats, Monsieur."

"Eh? How much?"

"Bats; _tirlils_, _chauve-souris_, _pipistrelli_... They will need much
bottles. Six hundred tirlils in each sack; ten sacks; six thousand
tirlils. Much bottles! Three thousand francs, Monsieur. Shall I open him?"