THE MYRMIDONS 163 



is no work done, there is no war on foot, not even 

 a war of defence. The little workers are rushing 

 everywhere in a plain mixture of helping at a 

 great departure, and anxiety at losing the big 

 brothers and sisters they have kept by force in 

 the nest so long. The honeymooners climb to 

 the tops of reeds and grasses and launch them- 

 selves by dozens into the air. I do not say thou- 

 sands, though most people who saw the air full of 

 flying ants at swarming time would call it thou- 

 sands. There is a rain of dark fat bodies with 

 whirling wings of gossamer that flash in the sun, 

 and a usual incident of the day is the gathering of 

 starlings and other birds to gorge themselves on 

 the unusual insect provender that the ants' holiday 

 has produced. 



Each flying queen is the designed seed of a 

 future nest, and in view of the millions that any 

 one of them might produce perhaps it is as well 

 that they should have many enemies. I could 

 take you without difficulty to a field of twenty 

 acres, so full of the ant heaps of the yellow ant 

 that you could walk across in any direction with- 

 out descending to the ground. The short-flighted 

 queen has no doubt the best chance of establishing 

 a nest, and those that are ambitious to colonize 

 afar seldom survive the lengthened gauntlet of 

 birds. Once alighted, the princess loses no time 

 in snapping off her wings by deftly pushing the 

 tips against the ground, then she hides her now 

 thoroughly ant-like body underground. Like the 



