684 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



September, 1917 



FROM THE FIELD OF EXPERIENCE 



The Evil that Men Do 



" H. C. L." was not talked about then. 

 We had it with us, to be sure; but they had 

 not caught the bug and identified it, and 

 given it a yard-long name. But w© knew 

 we had something, because the payments on 

 our home-mortgage came to an abrupt stop, 

 whereas previously a comfortable little lot 

 of digits were annually knocked out of the 

 principal. It was about then, no doubt, 

 that I informed Madame that I had at 

 length made up my mind firmly to keep a 

 bee. 



In the beginning it was just a fad to the 

 alien's mind. What dreams I had I kept 

 to myself. Even the " family " knew only 

 that I found much time to spend up attic 

 where the bees were (for details see Glean- 

 ings^ page 355 for May), and produced 

 from that abode of the gods divers pounds 

 of delicious honey. When that time came I 

 was cordially invited to invent a few more 

 fads of like proportions, and family armed 

 neutrality (with the accent on the armed!) 

 vanished like honey-on-the-pancake before 

 the five-year-old. So I made up my mind 

 to branch out and attempt a serious increase 

 in the income of the clan by the honey route. 

 I fitted up an attic room for six or eight 

 hives, and actually installed four by pur- 

 chase and swarming. If one strong colony 

 could net me 140 pounds of comb honey in 

 one season, half of which we ate and the 

 other half sold at 25 cts. per pound with- 

 out the least trouble, either for eating or 

 selling, four hives would net more than that 

 proportion ; for 70 pounds was all we could 

 get away with ourselves in one year. So I 

 devoted that summer to the building up of 

 mammoth field forces for next year's cam- 

 paign ; coddled them thru a bitter winter ; 

 fed them thru an abnormally late spring, 

 and saw them hie forth in a solid stream 

 on the first warm polleny day of spring with 

 a heart of joy. The sun was sliining. The 

 tops of the sugar - maples gleamed with 

 ruddy fire. All the world was atune to its 

 fair influence. So was an Irishman. 



Night came, and with it quiet. It was 

 too quiet. I became uneasy, and with a 

 lantern went skyward three steps at a time. 

 A couple of dozen bees were in sight as I 

 lifted up the outer board and peered down 

 thru the net screen. Where were the bees? 

 Next day, in grief and wrath, I found them. 

 They littered the ground round about those 

 maples — dead, to the last bee. What liad 

 happened? Why, it was in the early pail 



of the great Massachusetts moth-war. An 

 Irish tree-guardian had taken the opportu- 

 nity when those maples were in full flower 

 to spray them all heavily with arsenate of 

 lead. That was all. Redress? Bless you, 

 no. It was a city affair. " If yez want to 

 kape bees, mister, kape 'em at home." 



Now, I knew an alderman who was good. 

 There are such. I went for that alderman. 

 I talked to that alderman. I instructed that 

 alderman in matters of flower, pollen, bee, 

 fruit, which is the simplest A B C of nature 

 round us, and made a pro tern, impression. 

 He promised that " next year " thjings 

 should be run differently. They were. 

 Meanwhile I was minus four big colonies, 

 and minus hopes of reducing any mortgage 

 in the near future. I had to begin again ! 

 So, after some time was lost about it I 

 started with one more colony, beginning 

 again on the ground floor; and by fall I 

 had that one built up to size, and a smaller 

 swarm alongside. Once again I had a win- 

 ter of high hope; and, secure in an alder- 

 man's promise, my visions of wealth waxed 

 with the lapsing days. Spring came; the 

 maples reddened; the bees made bee-lines 

 thither till the air smoked with their speed, 

 and they came back rejoicing with their 

 thighs yellow with much bee gold. The 

 queens were on their jobs in both hives. Soon 

 there was a dancing, golden mist in the sun- 

 light before each entrance where the young 

 bees were learning aviation. It was June, 

 and both hives were crowded to the doors 

 with young. Then came a day. 



The old bees — to a bee — hummed their 

 way to a woodland near by. There they 

 stayed. That morning that Irish tree- 

 sprayer had been abroad. In the open, every 

 dandelion, every clover - blossom beneath 

 each tree, was drenched with the poisoned 

 shower ; and in the woods, not a jewel-weed, 

 even, was left in the underwood unvenomed. 

 He was thoro, that Irish individual. So is 

 the devil. How close the kinship be, I do 

 not know. One thing more I know, how- 

 ever. A big market-garden next to that 

 wood was heavily planted to beans. If the 

 owner got his seed back he did better than I 

 think ; for not a wild wasp or fly came out 

 of that wood to that bean-field alive after 

 that spraying. Again I sought our city 

 fathers, and urged that the spring spraying 

 ought to suffice before the flowers were out 

 in the forest, provided the workmen had 

 been faithful at their mothwork in the fall. 

 There was some overturn in polities about 



