The Ephemera
本杰明·富兰克林 / Benjamin Franklin
You may remember， my dear friend that when we lately spent that happy day in the delightful garden and sweet society of the Moulin Joly， I stopped a little in one of our walks， and stayed some time behind the company. We had been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little f？ly， called an ephemera， whose successive generations， we were told， were bred and expired within the day. I happened to see a living company of them on a leaf， who appeared to be engaged in conversation. You know I understand all the inferior animal tongues. My too great application to the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the little progress I have made in your charming language. I listened through curiosity to the discourse of these little creatures； but as they， in their national vivacity， spoke three or four together， I could make but little of their conversation. I found， however， by some broken expressions that I heard now and then， they were disputing warmly on the merit of two foreign musicians， one a cousin， the other a moscheto； in which dispute they spent their time， seemingly as regardless of the shortness of life as if they had been sure of living a month. Happy people！ Thought I； you are certainly under a wise， just， and mild government， since you have no public grievances to complain of， nor any subject of contention but the perfections and imperfections of foreign music. I turned my head from them to an old gray-headed one， who was single on another leaf， and talking to himself. Being amused with his soliloquy， I put it down in writing， in hopes it will likewise amuse her to whom I am so much indebted for the most pleasing of all amusements， her delicious company and heavenly harmony.
