Bee-keeping 253 



chimney back of the pulpit, with tin cans sus- 

 pended here and there to catch the sooty drip. In 

 winter the temperature was likely to be low any 

 distance from the stove. But the ministers preached 

 warmer sermons than is customary now. Then 

 there was no question as to where the wicked and 

 unrepentant would find themselves after their 

 earthly pilgrimage was o 'er. There was no hedg- 

 ing by the preachers on this point. They spoke of 

 hell, the fiery furnace, and the lake of fire and 

 brimstone with decision and definiteness. On cold 

 days, even a worshipper with dull imagination 

 could keep warm under the influence of such argu- 

 ment, and with such picture of impending fate. 

 But in the good old summer-time the windows 

 would be opened wide. The village postmaster, 

 whose little store was just across the road, kept 

 bees, and, while he was at church, a *' swarm" 

 left the hive. It located on the limb of an apple- 

 tree, the branches of which hung over an open 

 window of the church. In their buzzing about, 

 several thousands of these little busy bees, instead 

 of improving the shining hour by finding a fit and 

 proper place to begin business, drifted into the 

 church through that open window. I shall not 

 attempt to give details of what actually happened, 

 but it may definitely be stated, that there was no 

 collection taken up, and no benediction pronounced 

 that Sunday. 



I've heard of an old-time preacher who used 

 to bang the pulpit real hard in his efforts to em- 



