The Life of the Bee 



sun's delectable murmur, that in the year 

 1730 gorged themselves with honey in 

 the gardens of Charenton, were absolutely 

 identical with those that to-morrow, when 

 April returns, will be humming in the 

 woods of Vincennes, but a few yards 

 away. From Reaumur's day to our own, 

 however, is but as the twinkling of an 

 eye ; and many lives of men^ placed end 

 to end, form but a second '^a the history 

 of Nature's thought. 



[ 109] 



Although the idea that, our eyes have 

 followed attains its supreme expression in 

 our domestic bees, it must not be inferred 

 therefrom that the hive reveals no faults. 

 There is one masterpiece, the hexagonal 

 cell, that touches absolute perfection, — a 

 perfection that all the geniuses in the 

 world, were they to meet in conclave, 

 could in no way enhance. No living 

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