120 



THE AMERICAN -BEE-KEEPER 



July 



APATHUS AND THE BUMBLEI 



BEE. 

 Oh! an Apathus sat on a Clivrysanthe- 

 mium 

 A-cleaning her antennae 

 And she little thought of the Pyre- 

 thrum 

 That would take her life away. 



And there she sat, a-taking a rest, 

 And smiled in a satisfied way 



For she'd laid ten eggs in a Bombus 

 nest 

 And there'd soon be the deM to pay. 



For her offspring dear, her very first 

 brood, 

 Would hatch in a very short time. 

 And no trouble she'd have a storing up 

 food, 

 For she worked on the Cuckoo line. 



Her young would hatch ere the young 

 Bumblebees, 

 And the young Bumblebees would 

 die, 

 When the young Apthi would live at 

 their ease 

 And fatten like pigs in a sty! 



So she sat in the sun, this wicked old 

 bee, 



And scratched her tibiae. 

 And chuckled inside in lazy glee. 



At the business she'd done that day. 



* * * * 



But the Chrysanthemum on which she 

 sat 

 Belonged to a neat old maid, 

 Whose plants were her pride (next to 

 her cat) 

 And that day she was out on a raid. 



Against Aphids and slugs, with a 

 Buhach-gun, 

 Filled Peters & Milco's best, 

 And seeing the Apthus, just for fun, 

 She dusted her yellow vest. 



1 

 How the cheat kicked as she fell on the 

 groun! 

 And how she did buzz and hum! 

 But she never got well — she never 

 "came round," 

 Her fraudulent life was done. 



* * * * 



From this little tale can a moral be 

 drawn — ' 

 How the Bumblebee loafs not a bit; 



But works all day from the earliest 

 dawn. 

 And thus 'scapes the death dealing 

 hit? 



This moral is good, but please don't 

 forget 

 Those eggs that the x\pthus hid! 

 The Bombus is working and slaving 

 yet, 

 But it's all for the other one's kid! 

 — L. O. Howard in "The Insect 

 Book.'' 



THE ANARCHISTIC WASP AND 



THE BEES. 



A wasp, admitted to a hive 



Of bees, and managing to thrive 



Upon their industry by sipping 



The honey from the comb a-dripping. 



Resolved that he would kill the qUeen. 



"So vile a tyrant ne'er was seen," 



He said. "And see those idle drones — 



Each villain of them thinks he owns 



The hive and everything that's in it. 



If wax were flint the rogues would skin 



it! 

 They are a product of a law 

 That I do not assist to draw. 

 Laws, drones and queens — abolish these 

 And we'll be happy, happy bees!" 

 So with a patriotic pride 

 He stung the queen until she died. 

 The workers, and the drones as well. 

 In righteous rage upon him fell 

 And sealed him in a vacant cell. 

 Then held a council to determine 

 The fittest fate for such vile vermin. 

 One said "starvation," and another 

 Declared 'twere best the wretch to 



smother; 

 And some proposed to skin his moth- 

 er. 

 In brief, there were a thousand laws 

 Drawn up, and each evoked applause — 

 As many plans as bees that knew 

 Not what (nor clearly whom) to do. 

 Then rose a wise and aged bee. 

 "My friends, I pray you pause," said 



he, 

 "And well consider whether any 

 Of us — and we are very many — 

 Merits the satisfaction all 

 Would get from harming him at all. 

 It seems to me 'tis rather late 

 To do a service to the state 

 By laying hands upon this bummer; 

 We've known he was a wasp all sum- 

 mer." 



