February, 1914. 



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[M^rican ^ec Journal] 



F'i(;.2— Ome of the Seven Gates of Entry into the City of Lanc^res. 



my childhood, behind the trees of a 

 garden on the riglit. 



In that old house, now inhabited by 

 strangers, but which we were permitted 

 to visit, I recognized every nook and 

 corner, even to the dark closet in 

 which they threatened to put me when 

 I misbehaved. It was a happy visit, 

 and the people who live there appeared 

 to enjoy the strangeness of it as much 

 as we did. 



But, I am sorry to say, I have no bees 

 to show you here. However, Fig. 5, 

 which represents a fountain at the foot 

 of the walls, is just to the left of the 

 spot where my father used to keep his 

 bees, in that pretty shrubbery, some 55 

 years ago. He gave his early experi- 

 ences in the 3d and 4th volumes of this 

 journal, after coming to America. His 

 labors, to introduce the American 

 methods in Europe, were not in vain, 

 as we can testify. We reap the result 

 of his toil, for wherever bees are kept 

 we are at once made welcome. Two 

 apiaries were visited in the vicinity, 

 but the cool rainy weather, which 

 lasted during almost our entire stay in 

 this place, made it inconvenient to 

 open the hives and do any more than 



discuss the bees. The f^ora is immense, 

 and during an excursion which we 

 made to the source of the river IVIarne, 

 wife gathered some 35 different kinds 

 of honey-yielding plants in the mead- 

 ows. No hot summers here; and on 

 Sunday, July 20, when 3(i deaths from 

 insolation were reported in Chicago, 

 we were barely warm enough for com- 

 fort in an auto ride with friends, 

 although we wore winter clothes and 

 overcoats. The weather, however, was 

 cooler than common. But in that coun- 

 try there are but few house flies, be- 

 cause of the coolness of the summers. 

 Perhaps that is why the village peas- 

 ants have no hesitancy in keeping their 

 manure piles in close proximity to their 

 homes. In every village, manures are 

 a disagreeable adjunct of farm life. 

 Reform in that line seems to us impera- 

 tive. There ought to be a middle 

 method between our American waste 

 of manures and the European cherish- 

 ing of them. 



We owe an acknowledgement to the 

 kind friends who welcomed us in Lan- 

 gres. Mr. Beligne, a distant cousin, 

 whose home was our home for a few 

 days, is a manufacturer of cutlery, with 



an international reputation and an ac- 

 tive trade. He is what our American 

 slang calls "a live wire." His house 

 manufactures some 300U different pat- 

 terns of cutlery. Their manufacturing 

 is all "hand work," and the labor is 

 entirely performed in the homes of the 

 artisans who live in the city or sur- 

 rounding villages. It is an old firm, 

 for they have in their possession an- 

 nouncements on parchment of one of 

 their ancestors dating back 280 years. 



We visited the old college, and there 

 I had the pleasure of meeting one of 

 my former school mates, who is the 

 secretary of the Alumni Association or 

 "Amisdu College." The fee for join- 

 ing is $1.00. So I at once became a 

 member, and was put in possession 

 of the records. I found my name, with 

 the prizes won in 1850 18H3. Two 

 names of my most intimate college 

 mates, whom I had not met for over 50 

 years, drew my attention. One of them 

 was manager of the local " Savings 

 Deposit," the other a general in the 

 French army with headquarters at 

 Nice. We will meet him later, as we 

 pass through Nice on our return from 

 Italy. 



After a stay of five days in Langres, 

 we went to Vaux, the birth-place of my 



KiG. 3.— The Gate fkom ihe Inside. 



Fig. 4.— Behind the Trees of the (Sar- 



DEN. on the Right, the Boyhood 



Home of Mr. Dadant. 



father. I gave a view of this spot in 

 the September number of the American 

 Bee Journal. I have spoken of his 

 work in progressive bee-culture. An 

 idea of the results may be gained if I 

 state that of the 40 or more local or 

 departmental associations of beekeep- 

 ers in France, 20 of which are repre- 

 sented by L'Apiculteur, there is not 

 one which does not use or recommend 

 more or less the system which he 

 taught. 



We spent 24 hours there. After pay- 

 ing a visit to the school master, who 

 keeps bees in the modern way, we 

 directed our steps to the cemetery on 

 the top of the cliff, to seek tlie graves 

 of our ancestors. The engravings on 

 the old, flat tombstones were covered 

 with a thick layer of moss. Trying to 

 decipher them was a hopeless job. We 

 went to the home of the curate, a short 

 distance away and asked for informa- 

 tion. Unluckily he was unable en- 

 lighten us, for he had lived there only 

 25 years. My grandfather, who was 

 the village doctor, had been de;id some 

 4() years. But the curate's old-maid 

 servant, a woman about 70 years old, 

 at once volunteered to aid us. She 

 came and pointed to a number of 

 stones as those which we were seek- 



