228 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



of plenty, drained over and over again by the 

 eager sipping swarm. 



But the July sun is one thing to a bee and 

 quite another thing to me. I have lingered long 

 enough, however, to witness again the beautiful 

 reciprocity, and to realize anew, with awe and rev- 

 erence, how divinely well the milkweed and the 

 bee understand each other. After a brief search 

 among the blossom clusters I return to my seclu- 

 sion with a few interesting specimens, which may 

 serve as a text here at my desk by the open 

 window. 



Two months hence an occasional silky messen- 

 ger will float away from the glistening clouds 

 about the open milkweed pods, but who ever 

 thanks the bees of June for them .? The flower is 

 but a bright anticipation — an expression of hope 

 in the being of the parent plant. It has but one 

 mission. All its fragrance, all its nectar, all its 

 beauty of form and hue are but means towards 

 the consummation of the eternal edict of creation 

 — " Increase and multiply." To that end we owe 

 all the infinite forms, designs, tints, decorations, 

 perfumes, mechanisms, and other seemingly inex- 

 plicable attributes. Its threshold must bear its 

 own peculiar welcome to its insect, or perhaps to 

 its humming-bird friend, or counterpart; its nee- 



