" WHAT AILS HIM ?" 239. 



sufficiently elaborated in the columns of the 

 " Young People," and were now safely preserved 

 between the covers of my book " Sharp Eyes." 



But what an array of items were still left from 

 the winnowing, which had after all culled only a 

 few of the best ! Indeed, it was hard to decide 

 which should be selected as the subject for the 

 morrow. Let's see ; shall it be those travelling 

 underground buds of the Clintonia, with all their 

 leaves and flowers ready for next spring ? No, I 

 must wait a little for these a montb later and 

 they will be more mature, and I must make my 

 drawing from nature. Then there is that queer 

 blue oil beetle, with his queerer history; that 

 slender- waisted wasp that digs its deep hole in 

 the dirt, and those round holes in the path, with 

 their mysterious hocus-pocus. 



Yes, it shall be these, the magic holes that dis- 

 appear as you cautiously look at them, or sudden- 

 ly start into view as you approach — deep holes^ 

 the diameter of a slate - pencil, with apparently 

 nothing in them, but which in reality have a good 

 deal of mischief at the bottom of them or at the 

 top of them, as it happens. " Ant holes," most 

 people call them. Many an ant, doubtless, goes 

 into them, but not because he wants to. " Yes," 

 I thought, "my next chapter shall be devoted to 

 these queer holes and their shy tenants, which so 

 few people ever see or even dream of." 



