Ldle 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. But what motive had I 
in burning this flowering bush that neither toiled 
nor spun, this slow-growing plant, 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 inconsequeut 
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! 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 
