I say, do let
me up again. I thought, just as you dropped me, that I saw a place
where the grass is short. Ay, there it is, fifty yards or so ahead of
us, with a palmyra tree on it. Come, let us go rest there, for I
confess that I feel somewhat smothered in this long grass."

We took up our packs immediately, and carried them to the spot
indicated, which we found almost free from long grass. Here we lay down
to enjoy the delightful shade of the tree, and the magnificent view of
the country around us. Our negroes also seemed to enjoy the shade, but
they were evidently not nearly so much oppressed with the heat as we
were, which was very natural. They seemed to have no perception of the
beautiful in nature, however, although they appreciated fully the
agreeable influences by which they were surrounded.

While I lay at the foot of that tree, pondering this subject, I observed
a very strange-looking insect engaged in a very curious kind of
occupation. Peterkin's eye caught sight of it at the same instant with
mine.

"Hollo! Jack, look here!" he cried in a whisper. "I declare, here's a
beast been and shoved its head into a hole, and converted its tail into
a trap!"

We all three lay down as quietly as possible, and I could not but smile
when I thought of the literal correctness of my friend's quaint
description of what we saw.

The insect was a species of ant-eater. It was about an inch and a
quarter long, as thick as a crow-quill, and covered with black hair. It
put its head into a little hole in the ground, and quivered its tail
rapidly. The ants, which seemed to be filled with curiosity at this
peculiar sight, went near to see what the strange thing could be; and no
sooner did one come within the range of the forceps on the insect's
tail, than it was snapped up.

"Now, that is the most original trapper I ever did see or hear of,"
remarked Peterkin, with a broad grin. "I've seen many things in my
travels, but I never expected to meet with a beast that could catch
others by merely wagging its tail."

"You forget the hunters of North America," said Jack, "who entice little
antelopes towards them by merely wagging a bit of rag on the end of a
ramrod."

"I forget nothing of the sort," retorted Peterkin. "Wagging a ramrod is
not wagging a tail. Besides, I spoke of beasts doing it; men are not
beasts."

"Then I hold you self-convicted, my boy," exclaimed Jack; "for you have
often called _me_ a beast."