26 



THE AMERICAN BEE KEEPER 



January 



A CATECHISM. 



What bends nun's figureB to an 8f 



Tlie bicycle. 

 While ladies ride with gracefulness? 



The bicycle. 

 >nd what makes Daphne with alarm, 

 From widoen spill foreboding harm, 

 Yield her slim waist to a man's arm? 



The bicycle. 



What makes Amanda sare and scrape? 



The bicycle. 

 Till she can buy the latest ahapef 



The bicycU. 

 What makes a joint last days on days, 

 Turned and returned in sundry ways 

 Of hash, rissoles and rechauffes? 



The bicycle. 



What plays the deuce with Yankee trade? 



The bicycle. 

 What's no'" the only "notion" made? 



The bicycle. 

 What makes the e.irriago builder slack? 

 What cheap'^ns cob and na^ and hack. 

 While the financiers boom and crack? 



The bicycl*. 



What turns the scholar to a donca? 



The bicycle. 

 He rides (he used to study Miee) 



The bicycle. 

 Why are nourotic nev«la sh«l^ 

 And minor poete all uncat. 

 And everything oegl««t«d birt 



The bioyrte? 



— 8t. Jatnes Ckkzette. 



A QUEER ELOPEMENT. 



"Well, JOB, that's about ail it amounts 

 to — a peon's hut. However, Au^stinita 

 will always give you a cup of excellent 

 coffee. And when the trains are late in 

 either direction, you have no alternative 

 but to a»cept the hospitality of 'old 

 mamma, ' ae the railroad m©B call her. " 

 And my pleasant acquaintance of an 

 hour or so led me to the small entrance 

 of a hut thatched with tul«s. The little 

 mud structure was built against the face 

 of a hill. There were birdcages filled 

 with a variety of beautiful birds and 

 Buch other evidences of civilization as a 

 goat, a turkey aiid jardinieres of flow- 

 ers, yet the habitation belonged to the 

 age of the cH-'e dwellers, I decided, as I 

 groped my \\ ay apparently into the bow- 

 els of the earth. 



After a few moments my eyes grew 

 accustomed *o the half light, and I could 

 Bee quite well. 



"Wow-wow-wow!" growled a heavy 

 bass voice from the inner room. The 

 words were indistinguishable. 



"V, i.ut a d«ep voice that man has!" 1 

 said ijiDoceutly. "Mexican men, as a 

 rule, have such light voicesi" 



"That's not a man; it's AuguBti- 

 nita, " replied my friend. 



I am acquainted with that pleasant 

 little custom of Mexico which holds to 

 childhood's tender diminutives long aft- 

 er old age has fallen on one. Still, I 

 confess, Augustinita — which would be 

 "dear little (Aussie" in English — was a 

 slight shock. She was of huge bulk, and 

 her old face was like a withered, brown 

 apple for wrinkles ; but her eyes were as 

 bright as stars in a tropic sky and she 

 had on that old countenance a most 

 shrewd expression. 



Augustiuita delivered our orders to 

 some one in the farther cave — I cannot 

 call it a room — in her rumbling bass, 

 put her long, brown cheroot back in her 

 mouth and waddled behind a mat made 

 from reedi hung from the ceiling. 

 She brought out » elean, white cloth, 

 which she spread with care, and on that 

 put som* American platos and cups and 

 a Guadalajara watwr bottle. I sat on a 

 l«Dg bench Atwmu cloM to tha table, 

 watching th« old WMaan. 



"I waiYt yen. to |«ke a good look at 



Manuel a when she cornea in. She is 



quite a belle with the men who eat 



. here," said my friend, who had told me 



hiB name was Stacey. 



Manuela came in and went ont again 

 that moment. I was almost startled by 

 her face. "Why, she's a beauty," I 

 said. 



"She has a good figure," said my 

 companion, with assumed indifference, 

 "but you get a straight look at her, and 

 you won't think her such a beauty." 



If long, red braids, soft, brown skin 

 and limpid, gray eyes can make beauty, 

 then was Manuela beautiful. On closer 

 examination, however, her face lost 

 much of its beauty, so coarse was her 

 red mouth and so hard and bold her ex- 

 pression. 



She switched her skirts and put her 

 bands on her hips and her head to one 

 side, after a fashion I had known but 

 not loved well in time gone by. 



"I could weep for very home sick- 

 ness, she is so like the waiter girls in 

 the frontier towns, if she had more bang 

 and bustle, " I said. 



Mr. Stacey smiled. 



"I mean more slap and dash. She is 



