The Swarm 
essential again, with no successor to hope 
for, or perhaps to fear, will renounce 
for this year her desire for the light of 
the sun. Reassured as to the future of 
the activity that will soon spring into life, 
she will tranquilly resume her maternal 
labours, which consist in the laying of two 
or three thousand eggs a day, as she passes, 
in a methodical spiral, from cell to cell, 
omitting none, and never pausing to 
rest. 
Where is the fatality here, save in the 
love of the race of to-day for the race of 
to-morrow? ‘This fatality exists in the 
human species also, but its extent and 
power seem infinitely less) Among men 
it never gives rise to sacrifices as great, as 
unanimous, or as complete. What far- 
seeing fatality, taking the place of this one, 
do we ourselves obey? We know not; 
as we know not the being who watches us 
as we watch the bees. 
57 
