THE INTEREST IN INSECTS 



105 



but turns his attention to other hives 

 in succession until he finds one that, 

 looked at from the outside, seems calm 

 and serene at that particular hour of 

 the day. Bees are somewhat like hu- 

 man beings. Cross people are not al- 

 ways cross, and good-natured people 

 are not always good-natured. Bees and 

 people have their moods, and it be- 

 comes one to ascertain, in dealing with 

 people or with bees, whether all signs 

 are favorable and the coast is clear. 



Take, for example, the colony of bees 

 that I opened recently with the com- 

 pany of boys. Some one remarked, 

 "What a wonderfully gentle colony," 

 and so it was at that particular time, 

 but the next day I tried it alone with 

 the same hive, and under about the 

 same conditions. I was called to lec- 

 ture before a school, and I thought that 

 I could run out to the hive, take a frame 

 and put it into an observation hive 

 without bothering with gloves or veil. 

 I got severely stung on face, hands, 

 wrists and even through my trousers. 

 Those bees acted worse than the 

 "blamedest" yellow jacket you ever 

 saw. 



Suppose you knew a pool in a brook 

 where you could go at any time and 

 pull out a pound trout as soon as you 

 drop your hook. Would there be any 

 fun in that? Suppose the newspaper 

 writer, previously referred to, were cor- 

 rect when he says that bees will not 

 sting at swarming time? Would there 

 be any joy in handling them? No; no 

 more than with a swarm of flies. If 

 life was a sure thing in any respect, 

 most of the joy of living would be an- 

 nihilated. If there were no obstacles, 

 even stings, to overcome, there would 

 be no satisfaction in overcoming. A 

 sinless world or a surely successful 

 world would be unlivably monotonous. 



The uncertainties and stings of life 

 are the greatest factors in human hap- 

 piness — and I do not know but that 

 they are so in bee happiness. How- 

 ever, I sometimes wonder if the bees 

 do not look upon our moods just as 

 we look upon theirs. 



Apparently they do. 



Take all your worries to Mother Nature; she 

 will brush them away like cobwebs. 



Great Clouds of Butterflies. 



New York City. 

 To the Editor : 



Referring to our conversation the other 

 day, about migrating butterflies, would 

 like to tell you an experience I have 

 had about twelve years ago in north- 

 ern Wisconsin. 



At that time, our entire family was 

 camping near Sturgeon Bay and I had 

 permission from the owners of Cham- 

 bers Island, to fish in the several lakes, 

 which were situated in this large and 

 uninhabited Island, which had been 

 purchased man}' years ago by a manu- 

 facturer of oak furniture, who had cut 

 all the available oak down and left the 

 Island in charge of one or two care- 

 takers, until the new growth of hard- 

 wood trees should be available again 

 for re-cutting. 



On a beautiful September morning - , 

 we sailed from Fish Creek in a large 

 sloop to Chambers Island and arrived 

 on the Island early in the morning, 

 passing through very dense brush and 

 forest growth and after about an 

 hour's tramping through this dense, 

 sombre forest, we suddenly came out 

 on a very large clearing of probably 

 100 acres or so. The entire territory 

 was covered with millions of milk 

 weeds, which had attained a most mag- 

 nificent growth in the rich forest soiL 

 There was not a breath of wind stir- 

 ring, a blue cloudless sky brought out 

 sharply the contrast between the sun- 

 lit clearing and the sombre forest from 

 which we just emerged. The moment 

 we started to stir amongst the milk 

 weeds, thousands upon thousands of 

 the most magnificent specimens of the 

 Monarch Butterfly rose slowly, like a 

 dense cloud and settled in a few 

 seconds again on the plants, on our 

 clothing, on our hats, on our faces on 

 the branches of the forest trees, over- 

 hanging the clearing. I carefully lifted 

 my straw hat. There was no possible 

 space left on which another butterfly 

 could have settled. My wife's clothing- 

 was covered from head to foot with 

 butterflies. As we traversed the clear- 

 ing, more and more butterflies rose and 

 we could actually hear a noise made 

 by the wings of these countless mil- 

 lions of butterflies. Every single milk 

 weed plant was literally covered with 



