AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



595 



it, Bee is immensely popular with the 

 flowers ; and flowers, you know, are at 

 the very top. 



But because Ant neither can nor will 

 do such jobs, he is in bad odor with 

 with them. He has no time for it. He 

 is a common carrier, and none the worse 

 for that ; the world's carrying is as im- 

 portant as its marrying. If flowers want 

 their knots tied, they must get some- 

 body else to do it — he is not ordained. 

 Still, he argues, and certainly with some 

 show of reason, that this ought not to 

 be used against him. Had he been born 

 with wings he might have been as ser- 

 viceable in this direction as Bee. No one 

 ought to be condemned for the limita- 

 tions of birth and capacity. 



But the flowers are too absurd to listen 

 to reason. The poor working ant re- 

 ceives from them nothing but lofty con- 

 tempt and disheartening rebuffs. Think 

 of the obstacles thrown in his way when 

 he sets his heart on honey. The first 

 plant he attempts to climb has leaves 

 "which encircle the stalk at their base, 

 forming a cup, which the dew and the 

 rain keep full of water. Ant encoun- 

 ters their breastwork from below, and 

 clambers bravely over it only to find 

 himself at the brink of a lagoon he can- 

 not navigate. Meanwhile Miss Blossom, 

 "in her moated grange," looks down 

 upon him with patronizing disdain, as if 

 to say : " You should have known your 

 place. Between me and you there is a 

 great gulf fixed." 



The next plant has turned its leaf cup 

 upside down. It meets him in his toil- 

 some ascent like a raised umbrella, the 

 underside of which is so slippery he falls 

 off every time he reaches it. At this 

 provoking juncture Bee comes sailing 

 by, lazily humming, " There's room at 

 the top." So there is — for the fellow 

 who can fly. 



A third rebuff is more tantalizing still. 

 The flower permits the ant to come 

 within sight of the honey, but there 

 confronts him with an abattis of bristles 

 as fatal to an attacking party as the 

 Austrian spearpoints to Winkelried. 



Length of limb and tongue is as useful 

 in the acquisition of honey as length of 

 purse in the acquisition of money, and 

 many an ant has had to reluctantly 

 abandon a cherished enterprise for lack 

 of capital. Indeed, he seems doomed to 

 do business in a small way. If he at- 

 tempts to rise, he is frowned upon as an 

 interloper ; if, by any chance he should 

 succeed, he would still be only a parvenu. 

 What wonder if he concludes that this 

 world is a hard place for the plodder; 



or if his soul rankle with hatred for the 

 flowers "who have this world's goods, 

 and behold their brother in need, but 

 shut up their compassion from him !" 



Still a word must be spoken in apology 

 for the flowers. To see grounds of ex- 

 tenuation in them requires no greater 

 stretch of charity than Burns showed 

 when he saw hope of amendment in the 

 devil. It is too much to expect mag- 

 nanimity in them. They are but flowers, 

 and know no better than to confine their 

 favor to those who can do them favors 

 in turn. Being but flowers they are not 

 troubled with compunctions of heart 

 when they cut the fellow who walks and 

 cut the fellow who rides. Being but 

 flowers they see nothing wrong in allow- 

 ing a suitor to advance almost within 

 reach of the prize before they crush him 

 with a negative. What might they not 

 do if they were human ! 



The Song of the Golden-Rod. 



I have set my lights on a thousand hills, 



I've illumined field and lane, 

 To guide you out of the summer-land, 



Into autumn's grand domain ; 

 For the days are sweet, in this sunny realm, 



They shine with a glory, all ; 

 So, come, I will show you, oh, weary ones, 



The way to this kingdom of Fall 1 



There are asters waiting beside the brooks, 



There are grapes in the sunny dells, 

 And a crimson light in the apple trees 



Where the wren's soft choral swells ; 

 There are nuts grown tawny with many suns, 



In this kingdom grand and free, 

 And they all shall be yours, my weary friend, 



If you seek this realm with me. 



Ah, ye who have borne the summer's heat 

 Through its weary hours— oh ! see — 



I have set my lights on a thousand hills, 

 To guide you by lanes or by lea, 



Safe into the wonderful kingdom of Fall, 

 All glowing with color and light ; 



Where the harvester's song lulls the weary to 

 rest, 

 And an Eden-land bursts on the sight ! 



—Good Housekeeping. 



The Globe Bee- Veil, which we offer 

 on page 613 of this number of the 

 Bee Journal, is just the thing. You 

 can get it for sending us only three new 

 subscribers, at $1.00 each. 



Read our great offer on page 611. 



