202 



AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL 



June 



their wardrobes, the mimes had just 

 acquired speaking parts. They were 

 stationed in front of the minstrels, 

 and the small black-garbed figure 

 walked among them — a very stage 

 manager. "These remind me of actors 

 in a stock company," she was saying, 

 "ready for any place assigned, and 

 enduring. Think of stocks in June!" 



"It's a game she plays," whispered 

 the Magic Girl in passing. "They're 

 real people to her." 



"Asters are the housemaids of the 

 flower theatre, the bachelor buttons 

 are butlers — English butlers that say 

 'beggin' your leave' before every re- 

 mark and the candytuft, dear little 

 children left to the care of ser- 

 vants," continued the pathetic waver- 

 ing voice, like a phonographic an- 

 nouncement of dramatis personae; 

 "but," indicating sections of blue and 

 purple, between which lay a rainbow 

 patch of color, "these represent the 

 fine and true of the stage— the plays 

 we heard when I was a girl; helio- 

 trope, devotion; sage, domestic vir- 

 tue; and verbena, family life and 

 prayer — unity against evil. All that 

 actors think of now-a-days, is 'put- 

 ting something over,' no matter 

 what." 



The bees evidently agreed with her 

 as to the standby qualities of old- 

 fashioned flowers, and numbers of 

 them flew regularly to extract their 

 sweets. 



My thoughts wandered from such 

 out-of-date melodrama to the tufts of 

 red clover that had industriously 

 wedged themselves into corners — su- 

 pers and stage hands, perhaps — and 

 to watching the bees extricate them- 

 selves from the silken skirts of the 

 chorus girls, I'd call 'em. Did you 

 ever see a bee entangled in the gossa- 

 nn r threads of a poppy? A subma- 

 rine in a net has nothing on it. It 

 backs and turns, rolls over, gets dust 

 in its eyes, and, finally, flies away 

 with a Zip! Bang! that is alarming 

 to encounter. And there were so 

 many in that chorus — and so many 

 daring bees. 



"They're the ballet," explained our 

 Theatre Fan. (So then I had guessed 



Mesembryanthemum Floribundu 



it nearly right.) "They're performing 

 the dance d'heures. The red poppies 

 are for the long, consoling hours of 

 morning; purple, the fantastic ex- 

 travagance of full day, and white, 

 peace of evening and slumber. One 

 can almost hear the music, slower 



and fainter " 



She stood in a listening attitude as 

 though to catch the strain of some 

 well-remembered air. I shook off an 

 uncanny feeling. I preferred the or- 

 chestra stationed in front of the 

 flower-actors and spreading out to 

 the reserved lawn-space, the ortho- 

 dox position for orchestras — a solid 

 mass of pink mesembryanthemum 

 floribundum. that took to its mater- 

 nal heart all the cares and petty 

 jealousies of the actors, and absorbed 

 their small voices in its blare of 

 dazzling color. That's the sort of 

 music for me! That and the hilari- 



ee on every flower 



ous applause of the bees buzzing 

 round each performer. 



Suddenly I realized the orchestra 

 had been playing all the time. It 

 continued to play. It played us out 

 of the yard and up the street to our 

 door, with the precision and dis- 

 patch of Alexander's Ragtime Band. 

 That's my style of theatricals, espe- 

 cially the getting-back-home feature. 

 But I could see that the Magic Girl 

 loved the ballet best. 



"Was she ever an actress, or just 

 wanted to be?" I asked. 



"Her husband was a noted English 

 actor," she returned, absently, for in 

 the eyes of the Magic Girl still lay the 

 shadow of the hour dance that must 

 end alike for all. 



Chico, Calif. 



Propolis Poisoning 



By Dr. A. F. Bonney 



IN the American Bee Journal for 

 May Dr. Miller discusses poison- 

 ing by propolis, and calls for a 

 remedy 



There are many plants the pollen 

 from which cause disorders in the 

 human, as rag weed, which is accused 

 of producing hay fever; poison ivy. 

 which dues cause serious irritation, 

 and "Missouri," to whom Dr. Miller 

 replies, has symptoms very like those 



produced by this plant. In the des- 

 erts of .Arizona I formerly encoun- 

 tered a plant called locally 'The 

 Sneeze Weed," the invisible pollen 

 from which, even at the distance of 

 a mile or more, if there was the 

 slightest breeze, would irritate the 

 nasal passages to such an extent thai 

 violent sneezing followed and per- 

 sisted, but there was no further trou- 

 ble. 



There are other plants the pollen 

 from wdiich causes an irritation sim- 

 ilar to what the ivy docs, but they 

 are so rare that I am inclined to 



