The Life of the Bee 
emotion, apparently without cause, will 
appear and vanish in this transparent, 
golden throng. Has a cloud that we can- 
not 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, 
44 
