bee Choir 



Music of the Wild 



and sandy, bnt close the water, and spring from 

 a deeply-rooted bulb. The leaves are like those of 

 The a tuberose, and from a tall, slender stem groM- 

 Bumble- sii-,g}e flowers forming a cluster that slightly re- 

 sembles hj'acinths. They are loaded A\'ith jJoUen, 

 and the wild honey-bee and all species of bumble- 

 bees, in fact, ants, flies, and sweet-lovers of e^ery 

 family, feast upon them. They are one of the 

 rarest and most beautiful blues of nature, and the 

 music around them is unceasing. 



From the top of an elcAation from which the 

 sweet marsh grass had been shorn I looked down 

 to a cultivated strip bordering a marsh, last 

 August. I covdd see blades of corn ^\•aving. and 

 distinguisli a solid mass of i:)eculiar blue-green. 

 JMaking my way through the intervening swamp, 

 and climbing a fence buried in bloom, I came to 

 the queerest effort at cultivation I ever had seen. 

 From a layer of soil so thin that it would not bear 

 my weight without quivering beneath me the flow- 

 ers had been mo^^•ed. and v\'ith such cultivation as 

 could be given with a hoe Avere grov\ing the flnest 

 cucumbers and cabbage imaginable. The picture 

 I made there illustrates tlie character of the soil 

 and proves how closely men are pressing the marsh, 

 as no words of mine can. 



It was Thoreau ■who, in writing of the destruc- 

 tion of the forests, exclaimed, "Thank Heaven, 

 they can not cut down the clouds!" Aye. but they 



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