BEES AS BUILDERS OF FLOWERS 



may number from one to more than three hundred, afford an 

 endless field for observation. Flowers cease to be merely bright 

 bits of color in the landscape when we know their life histories, 

 their rivalries, and tragedies; and — yes, their comedies — we 

 see as upon the stage reflections of our own experiences. There 

 is no more fascinating study than entering the secret chambers 

 of these bright-hued floral edifices which adorn our fields and 

 gardens and probing the mysteries which there confront us. 

 But we should seek the living blossoms, 



"Each one of the beautiful flower faces," says Hermann 

 Mueller, "which we were wont to marvel at with a sad feeling 

 of resignation as so many mysteries forever veiled now looks 

 upon us, inspiring hope, and stimulates us in friendly wise to 

 cheerful perseverance, as if it would say, 'Only venture to come 

 to me, and in true love make yourself acquainted with me and 

 all my conditions of life, as intimately as you may, and I am. 

 ready to let fall the veil that hides me, and trust myself and all 

 my secrets to you. '" 



"Think of all these treasures. 



Matchless works and pleasures. 

 Every one a marvel, more than thought can say; 



Then think in what bright showers 



We thicken fields and bowers. 

 And with what heaps of sweetness half wanton May. 



Tliink of the mossy forests 



By the bee-l)irds haunted. 

 And all those Amazonian plains, lone lying as enchanted.'' 



69 



