APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 



135 



think, a little nearer, yet never, despite their 

 bluster, venturing to sting. To be sure, I make 

 no threats in return, nor run away, and so my 

 bold front may deter them, for they really seem 

 to read our thoughts at times. Not so their 

 cousins, the autumn wasps. They brook noth- 

 ing. I remember, one October morning, throw- 

 ing a stone at and bringing down an apple, upon 

 which, as it happened, a wasp was feeding at the 

 time. The ruffled insect came the first to the 

 ground, and not only promptly stung me when I 

 stooped to pick up the apple, but followed me 

 across the lawn, into the house, and darted most 

 viciously at my face, time after time. 



When the old bee-bench, with its half-dozen 

 rude boxes, stood by the gooseberry hedge in 

 my grandfather's garden, the lane, when the 

 trees were in blossom, was, as I recall that time, 

 even more thronged by bees than now, and the 

 mighty humming of their wings forcibly sug- 

 gested the rapid flow of water ; as the roar of 

 the mill-dam, after a heavy rain. So great a 

 volume of sound, indeed, was there all day, that 

 the night was silent in comparison. So ran my 

 thoughts ; so returned vague visions of past 

 years, as I lingered in the lane to-day. But 

 after all, may it not be that I, rather than the 

 conditions, have changed? How often have I 

 longed to hear the songs, to see the bloom, to 

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