68 NATURE IN DOWNLAND 



pass.) He reminds me of a London omnibus-driver 

 who was talked to by a zealous Socialistic friend of 

 mine on the advantages of an eight hours' day. His 

 reply was, " I don't at all hold with them principles. 

 'Ain't a day got twenty-four hours ? And what does 

 that mean ? It means, I take it, that there's twelve 

 hours for work and twelve for rest. Half one and 

 half the other. There's no getting over that — it's too 

 plain. I've always worked twelve hours a day, and, 

 say what you like, I ain't going against nature." 



That is also the humble-bee's philosophy; but 

 although he is very stable-minded there are moments 

 when he is tempted to depart from it. The thistle 

 flower overcomes him with its deliciousness, and he 

 will stick to it, feasting on its sweets, forgetful of the 

 community's claim on him and of the law of his being, 

 until he is no longer in a fit condition to go home. 

 At all events, he refuses to do so. Walking about on 

 the downs in the fading light you will find the belated 

 reveller half buried in the purple disc, clasping it 

 affectionately to his bosom ; and however stupefied 

 with nectar he may seem, you will observe that he 

 still continues to thrust at the small tubular florets 

 with his proboscis, although probably with a very un- 

 certain aim. If you compassionately touch him with 

 a finger-tip to remind him of the lateness of the hour, 

 he will lurch over to one side and put out one or two 

 of his anterior legs or arms to make a gesture waving 

 you off. And if your ears were tuned to catch the 



