THE SWARM 29 



for scarcely has the sun drunk in the first drops of dew when 

 a most unaccustomed stir, whose meaning the bee-keeper 

 rarely will fail to grasp, is to be noticed within and around 

 the buzzing city. At times one would almost appear to detect 

 a sign of dispute, hesitation, recoil. It will happen even 

 that for day after day a strange emotion, apparently without 

 cause, will appear and vanish in this transparent, golden throng. 

 Has a cloud that we cannot see crept across the sky that the 

 bees are watching ; or is their intellect battling with a new 

 regret ? Does a winged council debate the necessity for the 

 departure .? Of this we know nothing ; as we know nothing 

 of the manner in which the spirit conveys its resolution to 

 the crowd. Certain as it may seem that the bees communicate 

 with each other, we know not whether this be done in 

 human fashion. It is possible even that their own refrain 

 may be inaudible to them ; the murmur that comes to us 

 heavily laden with perfume of honey, the ecstatic whisper 

 of fairest summer days that the bee-keeper loves so well, the 

 festival song of labour that rises and falls around the hive in 

 the crystal of the hour, and might almost be the chant of 

 the eager flowers, hymn of their gladness and echo of their 

 soft fragrance : the voice of the white carnations, the marjoram, 

 and the thyme. They have, however, a whole gamut of sounds 

 that we can distinguish, ranging from profound dehght to 

 menace, distress and anger ; they have the ode of the queen, 

 the songs of abundance, the psalms of grief, and lastly the 

 long and mysterious war-cries the adolescent princesses send 

 forth during the combats and massacres that precede the nuptial 

 flight. May this be a fortuitous music that fails to attain 

 their inward silence .? In any event they seem not the least 



