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THE SEASON OF LABOUR. 
The innocency of the bee is one of its lofty attributes, no less than 
its miraculous art. Its sting is simply a defensive and indispensable 
weapon, not against man—with whom, of its own accord, it does not 
wage war—but against the cruel wasps, its terrible enemies. The 
bee, on the other hand, injures none. It does not live by death; its 
inoffensive life does not demand the sacrifice of other lives. It stimu¬ 
lates innumerable existences; it vivifies and fecundates them. There 
is no uncultivated desert, no wild, bare region which it does not ani¬ 
mate,—where it does not infuse fresh vigour into the languishing 
vegetation, urging the plants to bud, watching over and inspecting 
them. It reproaches them with their slothfulness; and as soon as they 
open to the influence of love—these poor dumb virgins!—it establishes 
between them the requisite interpreters, carries off in its murmurs 
their pollen and perfume, and harmonizes the aromas which are their 
blossoms of thought. 
This process begins in the month of March. When an uncertain 
but already potent sun reawakes the sleeping sap, the tiny flowers of 
the fields, the wild violet, the Easter-daisy of the sward, the buttercup 
of the hedgerow, the precocious gillyflower, expanding, perfume the air. 
But their expansion lasts only for a moment. Barely open at noon, by 
three o’clock they fold themselves up again, and veil their shivering 
stamens. In this brief interval of gentle heat you may see a little 
wan-looking creature, completely clad but very chilly, which also 
ventures to unfurl its wings. The bee quits its city, in the knowledge 
that the manna is ready for it and its little ones. 
A little matter then, it is true, but most cradles are empty at this 
epoch. The great fecundity of the mother bee still lurks concealed in 
her bosom. The regular and rapid incubation, which might suffice to 
create a world, will not commence until a much later period,—the 
sunny time of May. 
How admirable is this agreement! Most of the shivering flowers, 
like the shivering bee, wait a more equable season before they bare to 
the sun their corolla, too delicate to endure the caprices of April. 
It is pleasant to watch the intercourse between these charming 
creatures. The docile flower inclines and yields to the insect’s unquiet 
