The Halicti : the Portress 



It was in February. The almond-tree was 

 in blossom. A sudden rush of sap had given 

 the tree new life; its boughs, all black and 

 desolate, seemingly dead, were becoming a 

 glorious dome of snowy satin. I have always 

 loved this magic of the awakening spring, this 

 smile of the first flowers against the gloomy 

 bareness of the bark. 



And so I was walking across the fields, ga- 

 zing at the almond-trees' carnival. Others 

 were before me. An Osmia in a black-velvet 

 bodice and a red-woollen skirt, the Horned 

 Osmia, was visiting the flowers, dipping into 

 each pink eye in search of a honeyed tear. A 

 very small and very modestly-dressed Halic- 

 tus, much busier and in far greater numbers, 

 was flitting silently from blossom to blossom. 

 Oflficial science calls her Ilalictus malachnrus, 

 K. The pretty little Bee's godfather strikes 

 me as Ill-inspired. What has malachiirus, 

 calling attention to the softness of the rump, 

 to do in this connection? The name of Early 

 Halictus would better describe the almond- 

 tree's little visitor. 



None of the melliferous clan, in my neigh- 

 bourhood at least, is stirring as early as she 

 is. She digs her burrows in February, an in- 



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