THE BEE-KEEPERS* REVIEW 



187 



much as the fires can not destroy the plant, as the root goes down 

 many feet, is it not possible for the above conditions and crop to 

 be repeated? 



I do not know how widely is this plant spread over Northern 

 Michigan, but for many miles about here there is quite a quantity. 

 East and a little south of here, along Lake Michigan, I am told 

 that the country abounds with it, the sand dunes along the lake 

 being covered with milkweed. The ground upon which the plant 

 grew that gave me my big crop is of heavy clay and gravel for 

 the most part, but I am sure that if there was sufficient moisture 

 that the plant will grow on sandy soil and secrete nectar. 



The wild red raspberries, which were destroyed by fire in 190(S, 

 have again sprung up, and today (about here) are fully as good as 

 before the fire, but not as large an area, as farmers have taken 

 advantage of the condition (land nearly cleared of timber by the 

 fire) and cleared the land, and from now on we will get more clover 

 honey instead of so much raspberry. Clover having gone into its- 

 winter repose in excellent shape and very profuse, is there not a 

 good chance for an abundant crop of honey in Northern Michigan 

 the coming season? 



A DREAM. 



Anna M. Crawford, 148 W. 2nd St., Denver, 

 Colo. 



Lying one day in a meadow, 



Where I was dreaming hour by hour, 

 I watched the busy bees as they went 



To the chalice of every flower. 



And as they droned and buzzed and 

 hummed, 

 I so drowsily closed my eyes. 

 And suddenly up from the meadow 

 green, 

 I seemed very lightly to rise. 



Some way my arms had turned to wings 

 And my dress to a coat of brown. 



Then proudly I spread my wings to the 

 wind 

 And sailed over meadow and town 



To a garden where flowers bloom. 



I gracefully dipped to the ground 

 And tasted the nectar within each cup. 



Of the blossoms which grew around. 



Then oyer the fields and meadows, 



I carried my burden away, 

 Flying straight to a busy hive of bees. 



At the close of a weary day. 



There I worked and toiled through the 

 hours, 

 Ere the dawn of the morning lights 

 Then I shook out my wings for another 

 day. 

 And again took my onward flight. 



Through the summer days I labored, 

 To complete my winter's store, 



But ever the empty boxes and hives. 

 Seemed to call for more and more. 



One day, in an angry moment. 



I flew through a house unafraid, 

 And there was a company feasting, 



On the very honey I'd made. 



I buzzed o'er the heads of those people. 



To inform them I thought it mean. 

 And just then awoke with a nervous 



start, 

 To find it was onlv a dream. 



Eight 

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