THE BEE-KEEPERS' REVIEW 



169 



An Apiary in the Wild Raspberry Regions of Northern Michigan. 

 (Photo by li: Z. Hutchinson) 



to the music from the myriads of tiny wings ; to thus stand, and 

 gaze, and listen, is to have come stealing over me a raptui-ous feel- 

 ing of enthusiastic admiration. 



The first night that I stayed at the apiary, after my companion 

 was asleep, I crept to the window, pushed it softly open, leaned my 

 elbow upon the window-sill, and. for a long time, looked out upon 

 the little city of white hives bathed in a flood of moonlight. The 

 stars g'littered overhead, myriads of fire flies twinkled over the low 

 lands along by the brook, and away in the distance could be heard 

 the weird, lonely call of the whip-poor-will. These are all common 

 things, and yet, they filled my soul with thoughts that are beyond 

 expression. 



A week slipped by like a glimpse into paradise, and then, one 

 morning, I enjoyed the best part of my vacation — with cool brain 

 and steady nerves I again gathered up the tangled threads of busi- 

 ness at the office. 

 Flint, 'Mich. 



(I offer no apologj' for printing the above article. It doesn't tell you much 

 about bee-keeping, but it does tell you a whole lot about a much more serious 

 problem, the problem of life. The late Mr. Hutchinson did not profess Chris- 



