THE A^r^:RICAN v^kk journal. 



i7i 



[For the Americau Beo Jourual.] 



How I became an Apieulturist ! 



I -was born in France. My llitlier, a couutiy 

 piiysician, sent me when six years old to my 

 graudlatlier, a locksmitii, intliccity of Langres, 

 tor my education. Tliere, during nine months 

 in each year, wiulc pursuing my studies, I was 

 betw(('n school hours in daily intercourse with 

 the worl^men and learned to handle their tools. 

 And during my vacations— two weeks at East(;r, 

 and eight in September and October, I enjoyed 

 country life. The handling of mechanics' tools 

 W..S nflerwaids of great service to me, enabling nie 

 to nuinufaeture the various hives which I found 

 described in bee-books, and in treatises on grape 

 and tree culture. IMucli attention was given to 

 those subjects, and my father's garden was well 

 stocked Avith Irellisses and espalicrji. 



Yef, in all the country nothing was so attract- 

 ive and pleasing to me as the sight of a neigh- 

 boring hive of bees; so that I sometimes spent 

 hours iuwatching their labors. Of course it Avas 

 impossible for me to examine the interior of their 

 home, but the matter only became the more at- 

 tractive the more mysterious it seemed. 



Knowing my predilection for bees, the old 

 pastor of the parish sent for me one fair day in 

 April, under the pretext that he wantcid me to 

 assist him in pruning hin hives; hut really to af- 

 ford me the cnjoyxiient of seeing the internal ar- 

 rangement of the hive, and to treat me after- 

 wards to a good slice of bread, thickly spread 

 with new honey fresh from the combs ! 



J.IuiHed up, according to the fashion of that 

 day among bee-keepers, in a coarse linen blouse 

 provided with a visor of heavy and coarse mesh- 

 ed vv'ire cloth, sweltering under the unaccustom- 

 ed and inconvenient costume, we had already 

 pruned several hives, when the pastor's servant 

 introduced in the garden a man asking for her 

 master. He proved to be a young butcher, who 

 was to be married next day in a neighboring 

 village, and called to obtain from the parish 

 pastor the nuptial consecration and the confes- 

 sion billet which he was required to exhibit. 

 "Well," replied the pastor, as soon as he had 

 unmasked himself, "I will give you the billet; 

 but do not approach so near the bees, or you may 

 gel slung." "Don't care," rejoined the butcher, 

 " as I kill oxen, I need not fear flics." Accord- 

 ingly as soon as a hive was inverted, he would 

 bend forward with his head over it. The old 

 pastor, skilled for years in bee management, had 

 so cautiously .landled the bees that all the hives, 

 save one, were i>runed without accident. The 

 last hive was now inverted and the butcher as 

 usual examining its interior, when cither by waj'' 

 of a joke, or because he was wearied of being 

 thus annoyed in his woik, or pe '.haps vexed that 

 a sheep of his flock should treat him with so little 

 reverence — or possibly incited by all these mo- 

 tives together, the old pastor struck the hive 

 lightly, as though inadvertantly, with his prun- 

 ing knife. Instantly I saw the butcher draw- 

 ing mutely from his forehead a stinging bee ; 

 then another from his choek, and a third from 

 his chin. At last, vanciuished by the bees, he 

 fairly ran away, shouting — '■'■Ahyles maslives ! 

 {Ah the dogs ! ) they are worse than oxen .'" 



We were told that, next day, when, arrayed 

 in his wedding suit, he called on hisltride to lead 

 her to the church, she at first refused to recog- 

 nize him, so much was he disfigured— his very 

 voice, modified by his swollen lips, was totally 

 changed. Returning to the city some days after 

 this, I narrated the butciier's experience to my 

 schoolfellows. Thenceforward, for months, 

 " worne than oxen!''' was the rallying cry of my 

 l>layinates, just as " Ohe, Lambert!'' is that of 

 the cheerful lads of Paris. 



On my return to the country, the following 

 Sept<'iubcr, a pretty swarm in a bright straw 

 liiv(^ was, to my great joy, installed in the lower 

 part of my father's garden. It was a fine after- 

 swarm, presented to me by the old pastor. As 

 that year had been very favorable for bees, one 

 half of the hive was alread}' filled with combs. 

 Searching immediately in the old library, pur- 

 chased of his predecessor, I found several books 

 on bees. Some of them reproduced all the erors 

 T credited since the days of Pliny and Columel- 

 la; but happily there were also, pearls among 

 rubbish, Huber's immortal works, and a manual 

 on bees presented to my father by his compa- 

 triot M. Lombard. Educated in Langrcs' lib- 

 eral school, I was little prepared to take on trust 

 all the whims and predjudices about bees, con- 

 tained in the books. Hence I resolved to repeat 

 fairly a part of Huber's experiences. But fearing 

 to displease my benefactor, the old pastor, who 

 believed that a disturbed swarm was sure to 

 perish, I contented myself with watching daily 

 the busy flight of the industrious bees, happy 

 with their happiness, and dreading to find them 

 dead whenever the cold iireventcd them from 

 flying out. Very reluctantly did I part with mj"- 

 swarm on the first of November, to return to 

 school, bringing with me my bee-books, and 

 leaving my hive well protected by an ample 

 straw cover, and well supplied with bees and 

 honey. 



During the following winter, I purchased 

 with my pin-money, some hoards and with the 

 aid of an old carpenter, a friend of my grand- 

 father, I constructed two Huber leaf hives. 

 These I took with me the next spring to my 

 father, urging him to put in them my one or 

 perhaps two expected swarms. But I had not 

 taken the old pastor into account. He was sure 

 the bees would never thrive in such wooden 

 hives. ]\Iy father, following his advice placed 

 the only swarm I got that year in a common 

 straw hive. But, alas I that was not the worst 

 of it. My father sent his carriage for me in Au- 

 gust, informing me that a waterspout had the day 

 before thrown down five large stone houses in 

 our village, and half-drowned my good friends, 

 as he was accustomed to call my bees. Indeed 

 on my arrival my heart was distressed at seeing 

 the lower villagers engaged, among scattered 

 ruins, in washing their clothes and furniture, 

 soiled b}^ immersion in the j'cllowish water. 



As for my swarms, they were both half dead 

 under a pear tree crushed down by an overthrown 

 wall against which it had been trained. Neither 

 Huber nor Lombard had foreseen such a case, 

 and I could not learn how to save them. They 

 perished in the ensuing winter. 



Such was my first step in bee-culture. If you 



