XXVIII. 



HOPS BLOSSOM. 



How infinitely various and wonderful is Nature ! 

 Every day her chronicler has something fresh to relate, 

 and every day he has to make his choice between a 

 thousand equal and conflicting claims. To-day the bees 

 are at their annual massacre of the drones ; and as I 

 passed the hive I saw them busy at that unnatural orgy 

 which leaves human noyades and fusillades far behind in 

 ingrained ferocity, were it only by its measured and in- 

 stinctive character. To-day the first teasel of the season 

 opens its buds, and the insects by the orchard are all 

 agog accordingly, crowding with an inquiring proboscis 

 around the serried bayonets that guard its heads of 

 bloom. To-day the fleabane expands its rays ; to-day 

 the water- plantain bursts into pinky- white blossom by the 

 river-side ; to-day the wild clematis begins to drape the 

 hedgerow with its long festoons of clustered flowers. 

 To-day, too, we get the first distant reminder of coming 

 autumn ; for I see the oats are beginning to mellow ; 

 and the swifts, far earliest of our migatory birds to wing 

 their way southward, have already deserted their nests 

 under the eaves of the church, where, like ardent ecclesi- 

 ologists that they are, they love best to fix their summer 

 quarters. They left us but yesterday, and by this time 

 they are doubtless calmly taking a bird's-eye view of 

 affairs at Alexandria. But, perhaps, of all the events 

 that mark this morning in the rural calendar, the most 

 practically important to man is the blossoming of the 



