200 IN SUMMER. 



dent that this sea of lilies was the pathless high- 

 way of a busy world. Bees, wasps, and many a 

 creature akin to them hurried by, tarrying but 

 for a moment here and there, ever buzzing their 

 displeasure or humming sweet satisfaction as on 

 they rush. As in the human world, success and 

 want of it were the essence of the steady ramble 

 of that insect metropolis. 



Though long I waited, not a bird came near. 

 The kingbirds, that are held to be such foes of 

 the honey-bees, were not to be seen, nor any fly- 

 catchers came in view. Afar off in the shady 

 copse I could hear the wood-pee-wee lisp its lan- 

 guid notes, and nearer a field-sparrow trilled its 

 winsome lay, but neither dared venture to the 

 open meadow. It was the insects' paradise for 

 the time, and I must confess soon became mo- 

 notonous. But I struggled against tiring of the 

 wild bees' hum, and hoped, if nothing more 

 tasteful offered, I might gather a bit of patience. 

 If dished up daintily, perhaps it can be swal- 

 lowed with a smiling countenance, but the bare 

 drug, in fly-time, rouses a rebellion. 



I singled out the nearest lily, and armed with 

 my field-glass became statistician. The novelty 

 wore off directly : it was too like work. The 

 procession of bees and bee-like flies that visited 

 that one flower was not to be counted like city 

 street parades. The bees marched in every direc- 



