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A Sylvan Morality; Or, A Word To Wives
by
Our after-dinner sitting was soon ended for an evening stroll. It had been a sultry day towards the end of August; the lazy zephyrs had been all asleep since noontide; so, with a view to meet the first of them which should happen to be stirring, we directed our steps towards a high open heath, or common. Its summit was crowned by a magnificent beech, towards which we slowly ascended, under a shower of darts levelled by the declining sun; and, on arriving at the tree, were right glad to seat ourselves on the circular bench which surrounded its smooth and bulky bole.
Here, in addition to the welcome boons of rest and shade, we were presented gratis with the exhibition of a finer panorama, than the Messrs. Barker ever yet produced.
What a scene of tranquil splendour lay before us! one of those glowing pictures of the declining day and declining year, whereon, like a pair of dying painters, they seem to have combined their utmost skill and richest colours in order to exceed, in a last effort, all the productions of their meridian prime.
After a few moments of silent admiration, we were on the point of exclaiming to our young companion, “Oh! who could prefer the most brilliant ball-rooms to a scene like this?” but we checked the impulse; for perhaps, thought we, the “still small voice,” which speaks from all around us, is even now whispering to her heart. But never, we believe, was adder more deaf to the accents of the “charmer” than was Emily at that moment to those of nature. Her mind, we are pretty sure, was still running, and all the faster as she approached it, on that fancy ball. Perhaps she suspected that ours was following the same turn, and knowing of old our habit of making observations upon insects, she, by a little womanly artifice, availed herself of it to divert their course. Pointing with her parasol to a long procession of brown ants, which were crossing the foot-worn area beneath the tree,–“Look,” said she, “I suppose they are going home to bed.”
“Or perhaps to a ball,” rejoined we, “quite unable to resist the pleasure of taking our fair cousin in her own ruse; but let us follow them, and see.”
Emily was delighted at having, as she thought, so ingeniously set us on our hobby, and attended us to the spot whither we had traced the little labourers. Their populous settlement bore no appearance of evening repose. Other trains were approaching in various directions, to meet that which we had followed, and a multitude was covering the conical surface of, the ant-hill, as if taking a farewell bask in the glowing sunset. Amidst the congregated many, and distinguished from the common herd by very superior bulk and four resplendent wings, were several individual ants, which Emily (as well she might) mistook for flies, and inquired accordingly what could be their business in such incongruous society. “They are no flies,” said we, “but ants themselves–female ants,–though with somewhat of the air, certainly, of being in masquerade or fancy costume. But say what we will of their attire, we must needs confess that they are in their proper places; for they are the matrons of the community, and, as we see, they are at home.”
Our young companion made no reply; but stooping down, seemed wholly engrossed by examination of the ant-hill. “Look,” exclaimed she, presently; “there is one of these portly dames without any wings at all. I suppose some of her neighbours have taken up a spite against her, and combined to strip her of her glittering appendages.”
“By no means,” we answered, “she has laid them aside by her own voluntary act. Only see, my dear Emily, here is one of her sisters even now employed in the business of disrobing.”
We both stooped, and watched narrowly the curious operation to which we had directed our young friend’s attention. One of the larger insects in question was actively employed in agitating her wings, bringing them before her head, crossing them in every direction, throwing them from side to side, and producing so many singular contortions as to cause them all four to fall off at the same moment, leaving her reduced to the same condition as her wingless sister. Fatigued, apparently, by her late efforts, she reposed awhile, after the accomplishment of her purpose, brushed her denuded corselet with her feet, and then proceeding to burrow in the soft earth of the hillock, was speedily lost to our observation. “How very odd!” said Emily; “what can possibly be the meaning of such a strange, unnatural proceeding?”