April, 1920 



GliEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



219 



ceriiing nature and hor veritable laws arc 

 far less simple than those that are given 

 by animals and plants. His happiness, like 

 the Scythian philosopher's, lay all in the 

 beauties of his garden; and bestdoved and 

 visited most often, was the apiary, composed 

 of twelve domes of straw, some of which 

 he had painted a bright pink, and some a 

 clear yellow, but most of all a tender blue; 

 having noticed, long before Sir John Lub- 

 bock's demonstration, the bees' fondness 

 for this color. 



* ' These hives stood against the wall of the 

 house, in the angle formed by one of those 

 pleasant and graceful Uutch kitchens whose 

 earthernware dresser, all bright with cop- 

 per and tin, reflected itself thru the open 

 door on to the peaceful canal. * * * 



' ' Here, as in all places, the hives lent a 

 new meaning to the flowers and the silence, 

 the balm of the air and the rays of the sun. 

 One seemed to have drawn very near to the 

 festival spirit of nature. One was content 

 to rest at this radiant crossroad, where the 

 aerial ways converge and divide that the 

 liusy and tuneful bearers of all country per- 

 fumes unceasingly travel from dawn unto 

 dusk. One heard the musical voice of the 

 garden, whose loveliest hours revealed their 

 rejoicing soul and sang of their gladness. 

 One came hither, to the school of the bees, 

 to be taught the preoccupations of all- 

 powerful nature, the harmonious concord of 

 the three kingdoms, the indefatigable organ- 

 ization of life, and the lesson of ardent and 

 disinterested work; and another lesson, too, 

 with a moral as good, that the heroic work- 

 ers taught there, and emphasized, as it were, 

 with the fiery darts of their myriad wings, 

 was to appreciate the samewhat vague sa- 

 vor of leisure, to enjoy the almost uuspeaka 

 ble delights of those immaculate days that 

 revolved on themselves in the fields of space, 

 forming merely a transparent globe, as void 

 of memory as the happiness without alloy. ' ' 

 * * * 



One day in late January we went out to 

 our country yard, across the contracted en- 

 trances of whose hives we had put mouse- 

 excluding wires — three wires to the inch, if 

 I remember correctly (we don 't use it here 

 at home, never having been troubled here 

 with mice). As wc walked along the rows 

 that day we noticed there were almost no 

 dead bees in front. This was especially 

 surprising, as the few hives at home had 

 rather considerable piles in front of each 

 one. At once we wondered if the wires 

 could be too close and so preventing the 

 bees from dragging out their dead. The en- 

 trances were not clogged with them, nor 

 could we see them lying inside. However, 

 to be quite sure, we removed several en- 

 trance-contractors and inserted twigs or 

 sticks to rake out whatever dead might be 

 on the floors of the hives. There were not 

 enough to bother with. Evidently up to 

 that time (we have not been to the country 

 yard since) the bees had just died faster at 

 the home yard than in the one five or six 



miles away. I wonder why. There is no 

 particular difference as to windbreaks or 

 other protection. I wonder if there could 

 be that much difference in the honey. 



* » « 



Once upon a time (away back in the 

 spring of 1917, to be exact) there lived an 

 Intelligent Gentleman who held a respected 

 position in a successful business house. One 

 day a swarm of bees alighted in his yard 

 and his wife got them into a box. The man 

 was delighted. ' ' We shall have bees for a 

 sideline," he declared, and promptly sought 

 a friend who was already a sideline bee- 

 keeper. " What do I need besides bees, to 

 be a beekeeper?" he asked. "A modern 

 hive and a bee journal," replied Mr. Allen 

 promptly; and, being persuaded, he sold him 

 a hive. Many months later, ' ' How are the 

 bees?" he asked. "All right, I suppose." 

 "Get any honey"?" "No." "Put on a 

 super?" "No." "Been reading bees?" 

 ' ' Well— no. " " Hm, ' ' said Mr. Allen. 



In the spring of 1918, being again per- 

 suaded, he sold the man a super, put the 

 foundation in for him, and even put it on 

 the hive. Tall came. "Get any honey?" 

 "No — ^I don't believe there's any out 

 there. ' ' Mr. Allen groaned. ' * Beading 

 much bee stuff lately?" "Well, no." 



And another spring came. The man hunt- 

 ed up Mr. Allen again. ' ' Those bees are 

 all bunched out in front of the hive. What 

 do you reckon 's the matter with them?" 

 ' ' I reckon they need room, ' ' was the reply. 

 So the man took off a superful of sealed 

 honey gathered the season before. He was 

 delighted. Beekeeping was certainly worth 

 while — look at his honey — and not a bit of 

 trouble. So he became ambitious. " Could- 

 n't I put some of those bees in another hive 

 and have two?" "You could," Mr. Allen 

 admitted, ' ' if you knew how. ' ' Whereupon 

 he was invited out to do it. He made up a 

 nucleus, explaining things meantime to his 

 friend, who hovered on the outskirts of the 

 operation, closely veiled and gloved, and 

 in spite of the warm weather, wearing a 

 coat with collar upturned. ' ' And you can 

 add more foundation as they need it," con- 

 cluded Mr. Allen. "Oh, go ahead and add 

 it yourself," protested the gentleman amia- 

 bly, "and come on in to dinner." 



The moral is merely. Don't be that kind 



of a sideliuer. 



* * * 



WHO'S DREAMING ME? 

 A Misty April Fancy 

 So soft, dear Day, so still and gray 



Your maijie-dripping mist, 

 You fold nie close in quietness 



Too tender to resist. 



Around my world your mist lies curled 



So clinginsly and deep 

 T feel as tho I were a dream 



All wrapped around with sleep. 



If dream I Ije, who's dreaming me 



In drowsy mist opaque? 

 I wonder, too, if I'll come true 



When Something shall awake 1 



