Heredity 



admitting my curiosity in matters that con- 

 cern the insect. Yes, I possess the gift, the in- 

 stinct that impels me to frequent that singular 

 world; yes, I know that I am capable of spend- 

 ing on those studies an amount of precious 

 time which would be better employed in mak- 

 ing provision, if possible, for the poverty of 

 old age; yes, I confess that I am an enthusi- 

 astic observer of the animal. How was this 

 characteristic propensity, at once the torment 

 and delight of my life, developed? And, to 

 begin with, how much does it owe to heredity? 



The common people have no history : per- 

 secuted by the present, they cannot think of 

 preserving the memory of the past. And yet 

 what surpassingly instructive records, com- 

 forting too and pious, would be the family- 

 papers that should tell us who our forebears 

 were and speak to us of their patient struggles 

 with harsh fate, their stubborn efforts to 

 build up, atom by atom, what we are to-day. 

 No story would come up with that for indi- 

 vidual interest. But, by the very force of 

 things, the home is abandoned; and, when the 

 brood has flown, the nest is no longer recog- 

 nized. 



I, a humble journeyman in the toilers' hive, 

 am therefore very poor in family-recollections. 



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