ion might well have left us, for our greater advantage. As it has
not done so, are we then really, as many contend, the highest expression
of the progress accomplished, throughout the ages, by the first atom of
glair expanded into a cell?

CHAPTER 2. THE OSMIAE.

February has its sunny days, heralding spring, to which rude winter will
reluctantly yield place. In snug corners, among the rocks, the great
spurge of our district, the characias of the Greeks, the jusclo of the
Provencals, begins to lift its drooping inflorescence and discreetly
opens a few sombre flowers. Here the first Midges of the year will come
to slake their thirst. By the time that the tip of the stalks reaches
the perpendicular, the worst of the cold weather will be over.

Another eager one, the almond-tree, risking the loss of its fruit,
hastens to echo these preludes to the festival of the sun, preludes
which are too often treacherous. A few days of soft skies and it becomes
a glorious dome of white flowers, each twinkling with a roseate eye.
The country, which still lacks green, seems dotted everywhere with
white-satin pavilions. 'Twould be a callous heart indeed that could
resist the magic of this awakening.

The insect nation is represented at these rites by a few of its more
zealous members. There is first of all the Honey-bee, the sworn enemy
of strikes, who profits by the least lull of winter to find out if some
rosemary is not beginning to open somewhere near the hive. The droning
of the busy swarm fills the flowery vault, while a snow of petals falls
softly to the foot of the tree.

Together with the population of harvesters there mingles another, less
numerous, of mere drinkers, whose nesting-time has not yet begun.
This is the colony of the Osmiae, with their copper-coloured skin and
bright-red fleece. Two species have come hurrying up to take part in the
joys of the almond-tree: first, the Horned Osmia, clad in black velvet
on the head and breast and in red velvet on the abdomen; and, a little
later, the Three-horned Osmia, whose livery must be red and red only.
These are the first delegates despatched by the pollen-gleaners to
ascertain the state of the season and attend the festival of the early
blooms. 'Tis but a moment since they burst their cocoon, the winter
abode: they have left their retreats in the crevices of the old walls;
should the north wind blow and set the almond-tree shivering, they will
hasten to return to the