On the Threshold of the Hive 
whereto Lafontaine might have added— 
“¢ And, like the gods, content and at rest.” 
Here had he built his refuge, being a little 
weary: not disgusted, for the large aversions 
are unknown to the sage, but a little weary 
of interrogating men, whose answers to the 
only interesting questions one can put con- 
cerning nature and her veritable laws are 
far less simple than those that are given 
by animals and plants. His happiness, like 
the Scythian philosopher’s, lay all in the 
beauties of his garden; and best-loved, and 
visited most often, was the apiary, composed 
of twelve domes of straw, some of which 
he had painted a bright pink, and some 
a clear yellow, but most of all a tender 
blue; having noticed, long before Sir John 
Lubbock’s demonstrations, the bees’ fond- 
ness for this colour. These hives stood 
against the wall of the house, in the angle 
formed by one of those pleasant and graceful 
Dutch kitchens whose earthenware dresser, 
all bright with copper and tin, reflected itself 
through the open door on to the peaceful 
canal. And the water, burdened with these 
17 B 
