50 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 



treasure. The sharp axe, as it played in the hands of 

 Tom, was replied to by a stout negro from the opposite 

 side of the tree, and their united strokes fast gained 

 upon the heart of their lordly victim. 



There was little poetry in the thought, that long 

 before this mighty empire of States was formed, Tom 

 Owen's '' bee-hive" had stretched its brawny arms to the 

 winter's blast, and grown green in the summer's sun. 



Yet such was the case, and how long I might have 

 moralized I know not, had not the enraged buzzing 

 about my ears satisfied me that the occupants of the tree 

 were not going to give up their home and treasure, with- 

 out showing considerable practical fight. No sooner had 

 the little insects satisfied themselves that they were 

 about to be invaded, than they began, one after another, 

 to descend from their airy abode, and fiercely pitch into 

 our faces ; anon a small company, headed by an old vet- 

 eran, would charge with its entire force upon all parts 

 of our body at once. 



It need not be said that the better part of valor was 

 displayed by a precipitate retreat from such attacks. 



In the midst of this warfare, the tree began to trem- 

 ble with the fast-repeated strokes of the axe, and then 

 might have been seen a "bee-line " of stingers precipi- 

 tating themselves from above, on the unfortunate hunter 

 beneath. 



Now it was that Tom shone fortli in his glory, for 

 his partisans — like many hangers-on about great men, 



