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136
My Studio Neighbors
·
W. Hamilton Gibson
89
And
so
my
carnival
proceeds.
So
it
began
with
the
dawn;
so
it
will
continue
till
dusk;
and
through
the
night,
with
new
revels,
for
aught
I
know,
and
will
be
prolonged
for
days
or
weeks.
Reflective
reader,
how
often,
as
you
have
strolled
through
some
nook
in
the
suburban
wood,
have
you
paused
in
philosophic
mood
at
the
motley
relics
of
good
cheer
which
sophisticated
the
retreat,
so
pathetically
eloquent
of
pristine
joys
to
which
you
had
been
a
stranger?
Here
in
my
present
picnic
is
the
suggestive
parallel,
for
even
though
no
such
actual
episodes
as
those
I
have
described
had
been
witnessed
by
me,
an
examination
of
the
premises
beneath
my
bramble
were
a
sufficient
commentary.
These
were
the
unimpeachable
witnesses
of
the
pleasures
which
I
have
pictured.
Dismembered
butterfly
wings
strewed
the
grassy
jungle,
among
which
were
a
fair
sprinkling
from
that
black
and
white
halo
already
noted.
Occasional
dead
wasps
and
detached
members
of
wasp
and
hornet
anatomy
were
frequent,
while
the
blue
glitter
of
the
bodies
of
flies
lit
up
a
shadowy
recess
here
and
there,
showing
that
Musca
had
not
always
so
correctly
gauged
his
comparative
wing
resources
as
my
observation
had
indicated.
It
was
interesting
to
discover,
too,
down
deep
among
the
herbage,
another
suggestive
fact
in
the
presence
of
a
shrewd
spider
that
showed
a
keen
eye
to
the
main
chance,
and
had
spread
his
gossamer
catch-all
beneath
the
bramble.
It
was
all
grist
into
his
mill,
and
no
doubt
his
charnel-house
at
the
base
of
his
silken
tunnel
could
have
borne
eloquent
testimony
alike
to
his
wise
sagacity
and
his
epicurean
luxury.
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