Her mole-hills, those humble mounds any two of which would go
easily into a Hen's egg, rise innumerous in my path, the path by the
almond-trees which is the happy hunting-ground of my curiosity to-day.
This path is a ribbon of road three paces wide, worn into ruts by the
Mule's hoofs and the wheels of the farm-carts. A coppice of holm-oaks
shelters it from the north wind. In this Eden with its well-caked soil,
its warmth and quiet, the little Halictus has multiplied her mole-hills
to such a degree that I cannot take a step without crushing some of
them. The accident is not serious: the miner, safe underground, will
be able to scramble up the crumbling sides of the mine and repair the
threshold of the trampled home.
I make a point of measuring the density of the population. I count
from forty to sixty mole-hills on a surface of one square yard. The
encampment is three paces wide and stretches over nearly three-quarters
of a mile. How many Halicti are there in this Babylon? I do not venture
to make the calculation.
Speaking of the Zebra Halictus, I used the words hamlet, village,
township; and the expressions were appropriate. Here the term city
hardly meets the case. And what reason can we allege for these
innumerable clusters? I can see but one: the charm of living together,
which is the origin of society. Like mingles with like, without the
rendering of any mutual service; and this is enough to summon the Early
Halictus to the same way-side, even as the Herring and the Sardine
assemble in the same waters.
CHAPTER 14. THE HALICTI: PARTHENOGENESIS.
The Halictus opens up another question, connected with one of life's
obscurest problems. Let us go back five-and-twenty years. I am living at
Orange. My house stands alone among the fields. On the other side of
the wall enclosing our yard, which faces due south, is a narrow path
overgrown with couch-grass. The sun beats full upon it; and the glare
reflected from the whitewash of the wall turns it into a little tropical
corner, shut off from the rude gusts of the north-west wind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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