HOW THE WORK IS BEGUN. 
313 
Was I wrong, then, in saying that this construction is truly one of 
“ the living stones ” ? There is not an atom of the materials which 
is not three times impregnated with life. Who shall say of yonder hive 
whether the flower or the bee has furnished the greater part ? The 
latter has certainly contributed an important share. Here, the home of 
the people is the people’s substance and visible soul; from themselves 
they have extracted their city, and their city is, in truth, themselves. 
Bee and hive, it is one and the same thing. 
But let us observe them at work. 
Alone, in the centre of the still empty and to be created hive, the 
learned wax-maker advances. From beneath its wings it delicately 
extracts a thin slab of wax, and conveys it to its mouth, where it is 
well kneaded and pounded, and drawn out into the shape of a ribbon. 
Eight strips are in this wise furnished, wrought, and absorbed; and the 
result is eight little blocks, which the bee lays down as the first beams 
of the future edifice, the foundations of the new city. 
Others continue the work without moving too far from the place 
where it was begun. If any unintelligent labourer does not follow the 
prescribed plan, the mistress-bees, experienced and accomplished, are 
on the spot to detect any error, and immediately remedy it. 
In the solid mass, well placed and skilfully squared, where such 
numbers have harmoniously deposited their contribution of wax, an 
excavation must now be made, and some degree of form attained. A 
single bee again detaches herself from the crowd, and with her horny 
tongue, teeth, and paws, she contrives to hollow out the solid matter 
like a reversed vault. When fatigued she retires, and others take up 
the work of modelling. In couples they shape off and thin the walls. 
The only point to be remembered is a skilful management of their thick¬ 
ness. But how do they appreciate this ? Who or what warns them 
the moment a stroke too much would break an opening in the parti¬ 
tion ? They never take the trouble to make a tour of their work and 
examine it from the other side. Their eyes are useless to them; they 
judge of everything by their antennae, which are their plumb-line and 
compass. They feel about, and by an infinitely delicate touch recog¬ 
nize the elasticity of the wax, perhaps by the sound it renders, and 
