1 64 The Poets and Nature. 



Now I think, from personal observation, that no other 

 insect is more unphilosophically given to sudden panic than 

 the ant. If anything out of the ordinary happens, the scene 

 is one of instant and utter demoralisation. 



By-and-by instinct reasserts itself, and they combine to 

 retrieve the disaster which the commonwealth may or may 

 not have suffered. But at first it is all frenzy. The most 

 intimate of friends turn on each other in mortal combat, 

 and when the mistake is discovered, rush off in opposite 

 directions in search of fresh adventures without as much as 

 a " beg your pardon " between them. 



The present case was no exception. On the instant that 

 the blindfolded ant ran into the tail of the other, both 

 decided that there was nothing for it but immediate and 

 precipitate flight. Each dropped the burden which it 

 had been carrying with such furious pertinacity, and falling 

 simultaneously off the stick whirled away as fast as its legs 

 could carry it. 



Even in the ordinary rencontres of everyday life they are 

 aggravating and disagreeable. Hurrying round a corner two 

 of them knock their heads together. " Hullo," says each of 

 them, and then they stand opposite each other with nothing 

 to say. All of a sudden both perk up and say simul- 

 taneously, "Well, good bye ! I've got to go to catch a train," 

 and hugely relieved at getting away from each other, spin 

 along the road as if the police were after them. Yet they 

 are perfectly honest insects, these, only they have no idea 

 how work ought to be done, or that there is anything in life 

 beyond the sordid routine of getting through a job, and, if 

 possible, saving up. All they know about sunshine is that 

 it makes them sweat. 



" Flowers ! Yes, pretty things flowers. My little girl is 

 very fond of flowers," said an old stupid to me one day in 

 the train. 



But the butterflies what gentlemen they are. What an 



