Evidently the bees in the ancient world managed their business in fairly good fashion, in spite of the ignorance of their masters, or at least of the ancient chroniclers _de re rustica_. But it should always be borne in mind that the writers on husbandry and kindred subjects were seldom practical men. With the single exception, perhaps, of Virgil’s “Georgicon,” these old books relating to apiculture bear unmistakable evidence of being, for the most part, merely compilations from writings still more ancient, or heterogeneous gatherings together of hearsays _and_ current fables of the time. It is certain that the men who were actually engaged in the craft of bee-keeping, and who knew most about it, wrote nothing at all. Probably they concerned themselves very little with the myths and fables of bee-craft, and owed their success to hard, practical, everyday experience, which is the surest, and perhaps the only, guide to-day. CHAPTER II THE ISLE OF HONEY IF we are to accept all that the old Roman historians have put on record to the glory of their race, we must believe that their conquering legions found everywhere barbarism, and left in its place the seeds of a high civilisation—high, at least, in the general acceptance of the word in those lurid, moving days. But it may well be questioned whether the Britain that Cæsar first knew was as barbaric as it has been painted. We are accustomed to look upon Cæsar’s account of his earliest view of Albion—of Eilanban, the White Island, as the Britons themselves called it—as the first glance vouchsafed to us into the history of our own land. But this is very far from being the truth. British history begins with the record of the first voyage of the Phoenicians, who, adventuring farther than any other of their intrepid race, chanced upon the Scilly Isles and the neighbouring coast of Cornwall, and thence brought back their first cargo of tin.