A GARDEN IN VENICE 



We once had some hives of Ligurian bees, 

 which, if not stingless, rarely sting. A poor 

 fellow, poor in purse and poor in health but 

 excellent in purpose, got them for us from I 

 don't know where. He was a clever, single- 

 minded and painstaking man, with a passion for 

 fruiticulture and all things akin. The Govern- 

 ment gave him an appointment with the duty of 

 visiting, inspecting, and lecturing on such sub- 

 jects in the Communes of the Veneto. He held 

 some meetings, or a meeting too much, when he 

 should have been, and knew he should have been, 

 in bed, and died. The bees did not long survive 

 him. They were free from vice, as was he, so 

 that our commerce with them was as safe and 

 innocent as was all men's with him. For a year 

 or two they gave us honey, as did he with advice 

 and information, but still like him they seemed 

 to have no grip on life, and so the thrip, as I was 

 told were called the horrid brutes that killed them, 

 got into the hives, and though we did the best 

 we could they died, as he did, working to the 

 last. 

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