esting results. These results we should describe generally as showing that the ants display, first, a preternaturally keen sense of consanguinity; next, a good deal of that narrow conservatism which is so often the result of too much belief in the family and too little receptivity for the ideas of the external world; in the third place, a thorough distrust of revolution, so that they are almost equally afraid of establishing a new dynasty and of destroying an old one; and finally, a good deal of the scepticism which narrow conservatism inevitably engenders toward all suggestions not fitting easily into the established grooves. The ant, it is evident, does not, like Lord Beaconsfield, believe mainly in race, but, on the contrary, like the English squire,acred up to his lips, consolled up to his chin," believes chiefly in family, and, we must add, has shown much more amazing instincts than any English squire in discriminating the progeny of one group of families from the progeny of another. That a strange ant, though of the same species, put into any nest, will be at once attacked and killed, Sir John Lubbock has proved again and again. Like the English rustic who, on assuring himself that a man is a stranger to the district, immediately proposes to "'eave 'alf a "'eave 'alf a brick at him," the ants pay no regard to species at all, if they find an ant who cannot trace his descent to their own nest intruding upon it. They make a principle of hostility to aliens, drawing no distinction between aliens of their own species and aliens of another species.

But the remarkable thing appears to be their special instinct for identifying the descendants of their own tribe. Sir John Lubbock separated into two parts, in February, 1879, a nest of ants which contained two queens, giving about the same number of ants and one queen to each. In February the nest contains neither young nor eggs, so that the division was made before the earliest stage of being for the next generation began. In April both queens In April both queens began to lay eggs. In July Sir John Lubbock took a lot of pupæ from each division, and placed each lot on a separate glass, with attendants from the same division of the nest. At the end of August he took four previously marked

ants from the pupæ bred in one division and put them into the second division, and one previously marked ant from the pupa bred in the second division and put it into the first; in both cases the ants, which could never have been seen in any stage of their life by any of the ants in that division, were welcomed as friends, cleared of Sir John's paint, and accepted as members of the family. The same thing happened again and again. But whenever a stranger was introduced after the same fashion, it was immediately attacked and destroyed. This confirmed still more remarkably a series of less crucial experiments formerly made by Sir John Lubbock on the same subject. By some inscrutable sense or other, the ants, it is clear, know the descendants-at least in the first degreeof those which have once belonged to their own nest, even though they were neither born nor thought of when their parents left the nest. So much for the profound instinct of consanguinity in the ant, as well as for the unconquerable hostility they show to those ants who are not connected with them, within recognizable degrees at least, by blood.

But now as to the intense political conservatism which this bigoted sort of family feeling produces. Sir John Lubbock has discovered, it appears, that once let an ants' nest get accustomed to living without a queen-once let it organize democratic institutions-and nothing will induce it to admit a queen for the future. Queens introduced into queenless nests were always ruthlessly killed, even though in one case Sir John exhibited the queen for three days to the ant-democracy in a wire cage which protected her from them, in order to accustom them to the sight of royalty. The moment the protecting wire was removed, the queen was attacked and slain, just as if she had been an ordinary alien. Sir John, however, was occasionally able, by the help of a little intrigue-of the Marshal MacMahon kind but more successful-to obtain a throne for a wandering queen. The way he managed was this. He took a few ants from their nest, and put them, in that disorganized state, with a strange queen. The ants were then in a timorous and diffident mood. They had no fixed institutions to fall back upon. They felt

move the fly, my ant started off home. At that time I could only see two other ants of that species outside the nest. Yet in a few seconds, considerably less than a minute, she emerged with no less than twelve friends. As in the previous case, she ran on ahead, and they followed very slowly and by no means directly, taking, in fact, nearly half an hour to reach the fly. The first ant, after vainly laboring for about a quarter of an hour to move the fly, started off again to the nest. Meeting one of her friends on the way she talked with her a

little, then continued toward the nest, but after going about a foot, changed her mind, and returned with her friend to the fly. After some minutes, during which two or three other ants came up, one of them detached a leg, which she carried off to the nest, coming out again almost immediately with six friends, one of whom, curiously enough, seemed to lead the way, tracing it, I presume, by scent. I then removed the pin, and they carried off the fly in triumph. Again, on June 15th, another ant belonging to the same nest had found a dead spider, about the same distance from the nest. I pinned down the spider as before. The ant did all in her power to move it; but after trying for twelve minutes, she went off to the nest. For a quarter of an hour no other ant had come out, but in some seconds she came out again with ten companions. As in the preceding case, they followed very leisurely. She ran on ahead, and worked at the spider for ten minutes; when, as none of her friends had arrived to her assistance, though they were wandering about evidently in search of something, she started back home again. In three quarters of a minute after entering the nest she reappeared, this time with fifteen friends, who came on somewhat more rapidly than the preceding batch, though still but slowly. By degrees, however, they all came up, and after most persevering efforts carried off the spider piecemeal. On July 7th I tried the same experiment with a soldier of Pheidole megacephala. She pulled at the fly for no less than fifty min

utes, after which she went to the nest and brought five friends exactly as the Atta had

done."

Can anything be more remarkable than the extraordinary difference in the demeanor of the ants taught by personal

experience, and of the ants trusting to the report of another? Obviously, the latter had a very languid belief in the statements of their friends, just enough to make them enter on the enterprise, but not enough to make them prosecute it even so far as to hasten their pace, in order to keep up with their eager friend. Clearly, the ants are not very good judges of character. Their predisposi tion to distrust sanguine statements, like the predisposition of timid Conservatives in general, is so deep, that at the first obstacle they fall away, perhaps questioning the use of tasking themselves for news that sounds so improbable as that of a treasure-trove. Sir John Lubbock even reports one case in which a slave ant, of the Polyergus species, twice returned to her nest in search of co-operation in vain. Nothing she could say would induce her fellow-slaves to enter on a new bit of work, without better evidence of its remunerative character than a wandering fellow-servant's report gave them Twice she returned alone

to the unequal task, reproaching bitterly, no doubt, the faithlessness of her associates.

Those who doubt our reports of the extremely timid political caution of these insect tribes, will convince themselves that we are not exaggerating, if they will but refer to Sir John's very interesting account of these formican Conservatives-Tories they are not, for obviously there is no blatant element in the politics of the ants. Their democracy, when they are democrats, is the democracy of the Swiss Republic, not the democracy of the Imperialists, still less the democracy of the French Revolution.-The Spectator.

cal country, and to collect every scrap of evidence which may help to vindicate her claim to be so called? Until we have quite made up our own minds whether we think ourselves musical or not, we cannot be surprised if our continental neighbors politely pass us over in their musical calculations-po

litely, we say, because we enter into these calculations as a business item, important exactly in proportion to the number of pounds sterling we are ready to pay for the article, music.

Certainly, if to hear much music, to have the first of European performers, and the luxury of paying the highest prices for them, could constitute a claim to a musical disposition, then England would be the most musical country in the world. Yet, were an earthquake to sweep away the whole of this musical fabric that we raise here with so much trouble and cost, what would the art lose? Imagine for a moment that the German race were to be blotted out from the face of the earth! We feel at once that music would be left like a watch without a mainspring. Nor could France, nor modern Italy, nor the Polish and Hungarian peoples, nor even Russia and Scandinavia, disappear without leaving a sensible gap somewhere. None of these but have produced artists or works of art whose influence has acted and reacted beyond the limits of the respective countries that gave them birth, and who, however various in degree and in quality of merit, may be called cosmopolitan. What does England contribute to the general store? A considerable number of musical executants—instrumental executants, vocal executants, and executants in composition. Not those phenomenal executants of whom the world possesses but a few, and who are, in their way, as truly creators in art as are great composers. But accomplished executants of a very high class, nevertheless, worthy of respect and of admiration.

Still, we cannot disguise from our selves the unpalatable fact that the history of art would be unaffected by the disappearance from the world of the whole mass of this English execution. All we so far succeed in doing is in ministering (and that only in part) to our own needs. We do not enrich other nations.

And yet it is undeniable that there is in Great Britain an intense wish for music, seemingly rendered keener by the fact of its being an alien growth, and by its tardiness in taking root here. The craving has, as we know, persisted unabated for many centuries. We want

to naturalize the thing, like the potatoplant; for, short of this, we know it can have no vitality, no organic growth, or individual existence here. It has become as indispensable a luxury as our tea or coffee, and we can apparently as little make it grow here as we can these. We import and import, but each importation leaves us, in the main, where we were.

Still we go on, undaunted by difficulty. It is hard to believe that where so strong a wish exists, there is not also much latent capacity. Those of the cultivated classes who love and practise music have such a profound faith in its softening and elevating influence that they are beginning to exert themselves to bring its benefits within easy reach of all. The last few years have witnessed the rapid rise and spread of people's concerts, series of which have been started in London and some of the chief provincial towns by a sort of simultaneous impulse, and which, tried at first as experiments, have already in many cases developed into what seem likely to be permanent institutions. The success attending this remarkable movement has varied indeed in amount and in kind according to circumstances, but has unquestionably been great, and sufficient to set speculation at work as to the causes of the need for establishing such concerts, as it were, from outside. How is it that the demand which seems to exist, is inadequate to create its own supply? Why, seeing that the artisan classes enjoy music so much, have they hitherto made so little effort to get it for themselves? And the question naturally follows, "Will this existing state of things be permanently modified by these attempts to bring music to people who have not found it out for themselves? Will they make it their own, or still go on waiting till it comes to them?" It may help us in feeling our way to some sort of answer if we look, in the first place, at what is actually being done by a few of these societies.

Chief among London undertakings of the kind are the People's Entertainment Society, the Kyrle Society, and the People's Concert Society. These three differ somewhat from each other both in their aims and their methods of working.

The object of the first is expressed in its own prospectus as being "to provide good high class amusement for the poorer classes in London during the winter, in the hope of withdrawing them from lower places of resort." It has, It has, therefore, a distinctly philanthropic end; and while at the entertainments,' which are the means to this end, music is the chief, often the only attraction, others, such as readings, recitations, or even dramatic performances, have an occasional place. No less than sixty-six of these entertainments were given in the first four months of 1879, in some of the poorest districts in London, such as Lambeth, Westminster, Battersea, etc.; and during this last spring six or seven such concerts were being organized weekly by the society. At some places a small charge was made for admission, at others the entertainments were free; but in this, as in both the other societies mentioned, the bulk of the expense is met by voluntary subscriptions and donations from well-wishers. The per

formers at the concerts are amateurs, and professionals who generously give their services, or at most accept such remuneration as covers their expenses. Songs and ballads, interpersed with instrumental solos, and now and then a comic song, constitute the staple of the programmes. This excellent undertaking has been rewarded by a most encouraging amount of success, the halls and rooms being, as a rule, well filled, and the audiences numbering several hundreds. The appreciation by these audiences of the efforts made in their behalf was shown as Battersea, in the presentation to the earnest and energetic treasurer (and founder) of the society of an address signed by 200 working-men, expressive of their pleasure and their gratitude.

Similar societies, in connection with this, have been recently started at Manchester and Winchester, with every prospect of success.

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torios, cantatas, and other choral works of the highest class, with a view to their gratuitous performance in churches, school-rooms, and halls situated in the poorest parishes of London." These performances are all free, as it is an integral part of the society's scheme to bestow beauty" on the people as freely as nature bestows it. Between the beginning of 1878 and the present time sixty-six of them have been given, including oratorios, such as the "Messiah," Creation," "Elijah," and many others (which when performed in churches have formed part of the religious service), and smaller miscellaneous concerts, some of them in hospital wards. All these have proved, and continue to prove, attractive to large numbers of the people.

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The People's Concert Society aims at "the-popularization of good music by means of cheap concerts." By "good" music is here to be understood classical music, and that instrumental. Songs are given, by way of variety, but the main feature of the programmes is concerted chamber music, quartettes and trios, such as are heard at the Monday Popular Concerts; with this difference, that only short portions of these works. are performed at a time, so as not to tax too severely the attention of an untrained audience. Such programmes cannot compete with those of the musichalls, for they are not amusing; neither with oratorios, as they are not a form of devotion. This society, recognizing music as a good in itself, holds it out as its own reward. The concerts are not given gratis, but the prices of admis sion, varying from one penny to one shilling, make them accessible to all but the utterly destitute. Presenting music, as they do, in its severest, if also its purest form, they cannot hope to vie in wide popularity with the People's Entertainments; still the fact is encouraging that the society's second season has been more prosperous than its first. Between November and April last it had twentyfive concerts, among which the most successful were a series of six, given in the Chelsea Vestry Hall, and repeated in Bishopsgate School-room; and, more especially, three single concerts at the South Place Institute, Finsbury, all of which attracted numerous and apparent