Of these Messieurs, vulgarly called Drones, there are from five to six hundred in one hive, each one to be called upon to mount the steps of the throne, and to pay with his life for the excess of honour thus accorded to him. The prospect of a tragic end gave many of them sad looks, which contrasted with the natural gaiety of their fellows. One could mark them crawling listlessly along among the thousands of orderly workers that thronged the streets, alleys, and cells of the city, dejected and oppressed by their coming glory. At the slightest noise they turned round tremblingly. “Is the queen calling us?” they would inquire, and speedily they hid themselves away among the crowd, and, escaping from the hive, sought the freedom of fields and flowers. There are many troubles which fall to the lot of those in high positions. The fat, overfed idlers who strut about, are most of them merely servants and dependants, unworthy of the vulgar admiration lavished on them by the working class. This sentiment of aristocracy worship is a common folly to which I myself have been subject, and which it ill befits me to condemn. Shall I confess it? I madly loved a Drone. Yes, I loved him. He was handsome beyond description. When he entered the corolla of a flower, I trembled lest the contact with its petals should spoil his beauty. I was mad. Platonic love; {265} for Nature permitted us only the ideal, impossible love of the poet, the dream of the artist. I loved this creature simply for his beauty. I admired the blue Dragon-fly with his silken wings, as I watched him skimming over the grass at the close of the day. I had, indeed, an eye for everything beautiful, and above all, for my superb Drone. One day I found him half drunk with honey, lying fast asleep in the heart of a lily; his face, though smeared with yellow pollen, still retained its noble expression. He was snoring in a most majestic and regular manner. I stood for a moment, quite rooted to the spot by the glorious spectacle. This then, I thought, is a future husband of our queen! I at last approached him, foolishly curious to examine the details of his figure, and gently touched him, when, yawning, he said— “What does your Majesty want now?” Then looking at me, he perceived his mistake, and added smiling— “I am not in your way, my child, so proceed with your work, and permit me to rest in peace.”