38 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



as our old folks say, "As brisk as a bumble-bee 

 in a tar-pot." 



The simile is not a bad one ; insects are attracted 

 by scent. When bees, the common hive-bees, are 

 on the wing, although none to your certain know- 

 ledge may be near you, if you melt a bit of bee's-wax 

 in an iron ladle and wave it about, in less than 

 twenty minutes you will have your place swarming 

 with hive-bees. So well is this fact known in the 

 country, that when it is necessary to melt the wax 

 for household purposes, though it be in the middle 

 of summer, all the windows and doors are closed. 



As you look up through all the greenery of the 

 woods, you can see the leaves on the very topmost 

 shoots quiver. Where does the air come from, for 

 we can feel no wind stir ? 



When we gain the crest of the hill crowned by 

 a clump of firs, a noticeable feature of our Surrey 

 hills, we rest for a time. All is still ; there is not 

 enough air, so far as it can be felt, to deviate the 

 course of one falling fir-needle. But in the air above 

 us the summer voice of the firs is whispering. The 

 voices of the trees change with the seasons ; just now 

 they speak in a dreamy monologue of undertones. 



