28o . THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



CHOSEN BITS FROM LONG- 

 FELLOW MUCH LOVED. 



into thine heart, and 



[December, 



Look, then, 

 write: 



A boy's will is the wind's will. 



And the thoughts of youth are long, 

 long thoughts. 



Whene'er a noble deed is wrought. 

 Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 



Our hearts in glad surprise 

 To higher levels rise. 



All things come round to him who 

 will but wait. 



Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! 



Let the dead past bury its dead! 

 Act! — Act in the living present! 



Heart within, and God o'erhead! 



For time will teach thee soon the 

 truth, 

 There are no birds in last year's 

 nest. 



Standing with reluctant feet. 



Where the brook and river meet, 

 Womanhood and childhood fleet! 



Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 

 Love gives itself, but is not bought. 



No one is so accursed by fate, 

 No one so utterly desolate, 



But some heart, though unknown, 

 Responds unto his own. 



God had sifted three kingdoms to find 

 the wheat for his planting. 

 The lovely stars, the forget-me-nots 

 of the angels. 



When she had passed, it seemed like 

 the ceasing of exquisite music. 



As unto the bow the cord is. 

 So unto the man is woman; 

 Though she bends him, she obeys h'm, 

 Though she draws him, yet she fol- 

 lows, 

 Useless each without the other. 



The love of learning, the sequestered 



nooks, 

 And all the sweet serenity of books. 



The hooded clouds, like friars, 

 Tell their beads in drops of rain. 



Then stay at home, my heart, :.nd 



rest; 

 The bird is safest in its nest; 

 O'er all that flutter their wings and fly 

 A hawk is hovering in the sky; 

 To stay at home is best. 



For age is opportunity no less 

 Than youth itself, though in another 



dress; 

 And, as the evening twilight fades 



away, 

 The sky is filled with stars, invisible 



by day. 



And the night shall be filled with 

 music; 



And the cares that infest the day 

 Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 



And as silently steal away. 



There is no death! What seems so is 

 transition; 



This life of mortal breath 

 Is but a suburb of a life elysian, 



Whose portal we call death. 



The Commissioners of Agriculture of 

 the Southern States were in session 

 last week, in Columbia, S. C. It is 

 not to be taken for granted that all 

 these officials are, or have been, farm- 

 ers. Too many are simply politicians 

 who have sought office for the emolu- 

 ments thereof. One commissioner, 

 who viewed the agriculture of the 

 South through a cotton lens, declared 

 that, if the culture of cotton was elimi- 

 nated from the South its agriculture 

 would be eliminated; which is arrant 

 nonsense. Does the South raise no- 

 thing but cotton? Is its soil incapable 

 of producing other crops? Are Ten- 

 nessee lands — from which the com- 

 missioners hail— good only for cotton? 

 One would not think so, when he 

 ''urged the education of the youth of 

 the land to the end that the South 

 would utilize the superiority of the soil 

 and climate of the South in the rais- 

 ing of its own provisions and supplies." 

 Somehow the two ideas conveyed in 

 these remarks do not dovetail. These 

 annual conventions that are attended 

 mainly by men in official stations, who 

 make high sounding speeches about 

 educating the young up to higher 

 standards of agricultural meetinsr. do 

 very little good in the way of practical 

 results. 



