166 COLIN CLOUT'S CALENDAR. 



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 in- 

 grained 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 migratory birds to 

 wing their way southward, have already deserted their 

 nests under the eaves of the church, where, like ardent 

 ecclesiologists that they are, they love best to fix their 



