largely represented. At the head of the Vertebrata stands the order of the Primates, culminating in man. At the head of the Annulosa the corresponding place is taken by the Hymenopterous insects. It is very remarkable—as first pointed out, we believe, by Mr. Darwin—that these two groups of animals made their appearance on the earth simultaneously. But along with this analogy we find a contrast. Man stands alone among the Primates as a socially organized being, possessing a civilization. Among the Hymenoptera the lead is undoubtedly taken by the ants, which, like man, have a brain much more highly developed than that of the neighboring inferior groups. But there is no one species of ant which enjoys a preëminence over its congeners anything at all approaching in its nature and extent to man's superiority over the gorilla or the mias. What may be the cause of this contrast we know not. Perhaps it is merely due to the tendency of the Annulosa to branch out into a scarcely numerable host of forms, while the vertebrate structure, less plastic, lends itself more sparingly to variation. Perhaps, on the other hand, lower human or higher ape forms than any now existing have been extirpated, as the traditions of many ancient nations would seem to admit.
At any rate, while the superiority of the ants as a group to the remaining Hymenoptera, to all other insects, and to the rest of the annulose "sub-kingdom," is undisputed, we are unable to decide which species of ant is elevated above the rest of the Formicide family. Possibly more extended and more systematic observations may settle this interesting question. According to our present knowledge the claims of the agricultural ant, of Western Texas (Myrmica barbata), seem, perhaps, the strongest. This species, which has been carefully studied by Dr. Lincecum, for the space of twelve years, is, save man, the only creature which does not depend for its sustenance on the products of the chase or the spontaneous fruits of the earth. As soon as a colony of these ants has become sufficiently numerous they clear a tract of ground, some four or five feet in width, around their city. In this plot all existing plants are eradicated, all stones and rubbish removed, and a peculiar species of grass is sown, the seeds of which resemble very minute grains of rice. The field—for so we must call it—is carefully tended by the ants, kept free from weeds, and guarded against marauding insects. When mature, the crop is reaped and the seeds are carried into the nest. If they are found to be too damp they are carefully carried out, laid in the sunshine till sufficiently dry, and then housed again. This formation of a plot of cleared land—or, as Dr. Lincecum not very happily terms it, a pavement—is a critical point in the career of a young community. Any older and larger city which may lie within some fifty or sixty paces looks upon the step as a casus belli, and at once marches its armies to the attack. After a combat, which may be prolonged for days, Providence declares in favor of the largest battalions, and the less numerous community is
