Idle Days. 143 



whole colony of industrious ants ; for the idler looks 

 impatiently on the occupations of others, and is 

 always glad of an opportunity of showing up the 

 futility of their labours. Biit what motive had I 

 in burning this flowering bush that neither toiled 

 nor spun, this slow-growing ^Dlant, useless amongst 

 plants as I amongst my fellow-men? Is it not the 

 fact that something of the spirit of our simian pro- 

 genitors survives in us still ? Who that has noticed 

 monkeys in captivity — their profound inconsequent 

 gravity and insane delight in their own unreason- 

 ableness — has not envied them their immunity from 

 cold criticism ? That intense relief which all men, 

 whether grave or gay, experience in escaping from 

 conventional trammels into the solitude, what is it, 

 after all, but the delight of going back to nature, to 

 be for a time, what we are always pining to be, wild 

 animals, unconfined monkeys, with nothing to re- 

 strain us in our gambols, and with only a keener 

 sense of the ridiculous to distinguish us from other 

 creatures ? 



But what, I suddenly think, if some person in 

 search of roots and gums, or only curious to know 

 how a field naturalist spends his days, gunless 

 in the woods, should be secretly following and 

 watching me all the time ? 



I spring up alarmed, and cast my eyes rapidly 

 around me. Merciful heavens I what is that 

 suspiciously human -looking object seventy yards 

 away amongst the bushes ? Ah, relief inexpressible, 

 it is only the pretty hare-like Dolichotis patagonica 



