168 



THE AMERICAN APIGULTURIST. 



Later : Have been at neighbor Crocker's 

 and find that the colony he boui-ht of me 

 is in the very best condition. My bees 

 have wintered entirely without loss. 



Sheboygan Falls, Wisconsin. 



Uncle Samuel's Letter to Prof. B. 



A. C. Tyrrell. 



I can't endorse all your new-fangled in- 

 ventions, 



And theories advanced at our Beekeepers' 

 conventions, 



The use or sense of which I can't clearly 

 see, 



An' they'r an' agrivatiu' nuisance to the 

 workin' B. 



I have kept B's as you do know, nigh on- 

 to 40 years ; 



But now confess have many grave an' try- 

 in' fears ; 



For you'r bound to knock our bizness hier 

 nor a kite, 



A formilatin' plans by day an' lyin' awake 

 all nite, 



Studyin' how to interfere with old dame 

 natur's laws ; 



Into ev'ry thing of old repute, a pickin' 

 holes an' flaws. 



Your nianipilating of things would pro- 

 voke most eny saint; 



An' if the B's git mad, they'r smoked till 

 sick an' faint. 



Am not prepared to say jist yit that man, 

 he must know best, 



When he fixed up so handily the reversin' 

 brood-nest. 



Do you think your patent hives an' vari- 

 ous contraptions, 



Are better far than skeps an' gums of by- 

 gone generations? 



B's now do waste some precious time ad- 

 mirin' their new quarters. 



An' showin' their neighbors, their wives 

 an' their dawters, 



Thro' the intricate windin's thus made an' 

 provided, 



(Those not similarly fixed are most sound- 

 ly derided) 



That the warp an' woof of their lives play 

 out. 



An' honey runs to waste while they'r loaf- 

 ing about. 



An' our pretty yellow pets so gentle an' 

 confidin'. 



Can't tell from day to day where next 

 they'll be resiiiin'. 



You say you'v got the finest, the largest 

 strain of B's — 



The hardiest, an' not so apt to seek the 



liollow trees 

 When the swarmin' fever, unrestrained, 



is fairly on, 

 An' all the men an' boys an' hired help is 



gone. 

 Are Holy Land, our native blacks, or seri- 

 ous Albinos, 

 B's we can safely gamble on, or most vin- 

 dictive foes? 

 In the sentient light of boasted science, 



whosoever knows 

 Whether B's are angered most by lite or 



colored clothes? 

 How you'r to improve the race is not so 



plain to me, 

 Tho' I've been a long time figurin' on the 



comin' B. 

 But in spite of science, natur' will be na- 



tur' still, 

 An' like our women folks, "when they 



will they will." 

 By what rule do you keep 'em down an' 



passive quite, 

 When you invade their domicile at any 



hour at nite 

 To take awny surreptitiously that which 



they higlily prize. 

 An' fill chock full of fire smoke their blink- 

 in' e3'es? 

 Why doth the little workin' B improve 



each 60 minits. 

 An' use his natural implements for all 



there is in it? 

 I suppose that father natur', in creation's 



dawnin' light. 

 So got him up an' gave to him the inalien- 

 able right. 

 When In the field at work, or in his hive 



at rest. 

 To puncture us if he's foolished with, like 



evil one possessed ; 

 An' he'll do it jist so sartin as the wind 



that blows; 

 So the man of weakly nerves still covers 



up his noze. 

 He's gentle an' lie's kind, an' labors for 



his board, 

 But logic an' nmsty lore is ev'ry time ig- 

 nored. 

 For me they'll make comb an' honey, jist 



as white an' sweet. 

 Without a usin' supers to I'uu them 



straight an' neat. 

 Now at the beck of "Great Heart" R., the 



Cleaning's scienlist, 

 The boys an' girls ar enveloped deep in 



scientific mist, 

 A freezln' up of bees an' bringin' em back 



agin 

 To life. Old men are gittin' young agin' 

 And say they can't refrain from indulgin' 



in 

 The beastly fun of packiu' 'em on ice — 



