LETTER XXVII 

 TO THE SAME 



SELBORNE, Dec. 12, 1775. 



DEAR SIR, We had in this village more than twenty 

 years ago an idiot boy, whom I well remember, who, from 

 a child, showed a strong propensity to bees ; they were his 

 food, his amusement, his sole object. And as people of 

 this cast have seldom more than one point in view, so this 

 lad exerted all his few faculties on this one pursuit. In the 

 winter he dozed away his time, within his father's house, by 

 the fireside, in a kind of torpid state, seldom departing from 

 the chimney-corner ; but in the summer he was all alert, 

 and in quest of his game in the fields, and on sunny banks. 

 Honey-bees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey 

 wherever he found them : he had no apprehensions from 

 their stings, but would seize them nudis manibus, and at 

 once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies 

 for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill 

 his bosom between his shirt and his skin with a number of 

 these captives ; and sometimes would confine them in 

 bottles. He was a very merops apiaster, or bee-bird ; and 

 very injurious to men that kept bees ; for he would slide 

 into their bee-gardens, and, sitting down before the stools, 

 would rap with his finger on the hives, and so take the 

 bees as they came out. He has been known to overturn 

 hives for the sake of honey, of which he was passionately 

 fond. Where metheglin was making he would linger 

 round the tubs and vessels, begging a draught of what he 

 called bee-wine. As he ran about he used to make a 

 humming noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing of 



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