berry under the leaves and almost prone upon the 

 ground. In order to reach them it sometimes 

 turns on its back upon the hemlock needles as it 

 inserts its tongue in the flower above. In winter 

 when you gather a checkerberry now and then in 

 your walk you shall bestow a thought upon the 

 buzzing priest of Flora who solemnized these 

 nuptials. It visits every flower in the transparent 

 groups of Indian-pipes which push their way up 

 through the leaf mould to stand like an assembly 

 of the pale-sheeted dead, and looks singularly rich 

 and velvety against these stems of alabaster. Here 

 is a botanist who knows the flora well, and takes 

 a tithe from every blossom to which is brought a 

 grain of pollen — the marriage fee. It is hard to 

 believe so willing an agent is unaware of the ser- 

 vice ; that it fills an office which it does not recog- 

 nize, while we, the biographers, alone perceive 

 the relation. 



Tell me, is there not something heroic in the 

 life of the queen bumblebee? She awakens after 

 /her winter sleep, the sole survivor of her race, and 

 bravely goes forth to colled: pollen, lay her eggs 

 and become the founder of a new race of workers. 

 There is rude and virile romance in the life of 



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