Indeed, it was his last chance, and I felt tempted to snatch him from the certain death awaiting him, but curiosity to see how this new obstacle would be overcome induced me to wait. The ant now felt justified in calling for assistance, and soon a dozen ants had come to help. Only five could work to advantage, so the rest, for ants never like to do the "heavy looking on," left to find other employment. The first thing to be done was to get the worm on his back, and this proved no easy task. He could fasten his feet just as fast as the ants could unfasten them. At last two ants went to one end and two to the other. Each one of the four seized a foot in her strong mandibles and held it out as far as possible, while the fifth one turned the captive. It was the funniest sight! It was easy now to drag him two or three inches, but breath had to be taken, and again the worm fastened. In vain they tugged and pulled. He had evidently learned their tactics and knew how to defend himself. Suddenly his body moved along an inch and a half, as if by magic. Was it magic? Not at all. One little ant had run up on an overhanging blade of grass, and, reaching down, holding on by the wonderful feet spoken of before, and grabbed the poor creature in the middle, raised it right up from the ground, and keeping hold, ran along overhead till the end of the spear of grass was reached. This was the last struggle of any importance. The worm gave up discouraged; it was only now a question of time till they had dragged him through the stubble up to the door of the house in the hill, and I saw only a faint quiver as of dread as his body passed through the mysterious opening. I could not help wondering if the ant who started the capture received all the praise she deserved, or if the other four took the glory to themselves. At any rate, no one could take away her own satisfaction in overcoming and winning in the struggle. Harriet Woodbridge. SONG. Day is dying! Float, O song, Down the westward river, Requiem chanting to the Day-- Day, the mighty Giver. Pierced by shafts of Time he bleeds, Melted rubies sending Through the river and the sky, Earth and heaven blending; All the long-drawn earthly banks Up to cloud-land lifting: Slow between them drifts the swan, 'Twixt two heavens drifting. Wings half open, like a flow'r, Inly deeper flushing, Neck and breast as Virgin's pure-- Virgin proudly blushing. Day is dying! Float, O swan, Down the ruby river; Follow, song, in requiem To the mighty Giver. --George Eliot, in the Spanish Gypsy. THE AMERICAN EARED GREBE. (_Colymbus nigricollis californicus._)