THE WOOD ANT. 121 



projecting extremity down by main force of numbers, 

 dragged it from below the impediment, and, I suppose, 

 got it safely home. The stick was a trifle more than 

 two inches in length, about as thick as a stout crow- 

 quill, and at one end had a knot and a sharp bend up- 

 wards. An idea of the strength exerted in the trans- 

 portation of this burden may be formed by taking the 

 comparative sizes of men and ants, magnifying the 

 piece of stick into a tree trimk of corresponding dimen- 

 sions, and setting six men to carry that trimk through 

 a virgin forest, and over ravines and precipices, up 

 mountains and down valleys, and lastly to the top of 

 a building shaped something like the great pyramid, 

 but much more lofty, the sides of which are formed of 

 loose sticks and logs. 



Nothing short of taking away the object of their 

 labours seems to divert these industrious creatures from 

 their work. I have laid large flies, little grubs, and 

 other attractive articles of diet in their way, but they 

 suffered them to remain unheeded, though, if un- 

 employed on serious business, they would carry off such 

 prey as soon as they saw it. 



The wood ants seem to be acquainted with the 

 leading principles of civilisation, their nest being the 

 centre of a radiating system of roads, extending for a 

 wonderful distance, and as permanent in their way as 

 Watling Street, or any of the old Koman roads which 

 now traverse our land. Mr. William Howitt tells me 

 that he has watched one of these roads for more than 



