486 



THE AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



for they are worth that to any man 

 ■who wishes to multiply colonies, if he 

 can get such queens as he wants. To 

 multiply colonies rapidly, a laying 

 queen should be kept in tlie old as 

 well as in the new colony. The old 

 queen leaves with the first swarm , 

 and the parent colony is queenless, 

 and as a rule, it will be 18 to 21 days 

 before the young queen commences 

 to lay. 13y giving this colony a lay- 

 ing queen at once, at the end of 21 

 days tliere will be as many eggs, 

 larvaj, and broiid as there was wlieu 

 the old queen went away. This is my 

 plan of multiplying colonies. 



Bees always commence with larviB 

 3 or 4 days old to rear queens, if they 

 have tliem, and never with eggs or 

 larvfe just hatched, unless compelled 

 to. Larvffijnst hatclied is fed with a 

 wliite milky substance, the same as 

 the worker larvie always receives — 

 royal jelly is too strong. I once put 

 an empty frame of comb in the center 

 of the hive where I had my breeding 

 queen ; 24 liours after I took it out, 

 and found the cells supplied with 

 eggs. I cut this comb in small strips, 

 and gave these to queenless bees. The 

 bees commenced enlarging the cells, 

 putting in royal jelly before the eggs 

 hatclied. Over 20 queens were reared 

 from these strips, and they were the 

 most unsightly batch of queens I had 

 ever seen. They were all colors, and 

 some not larger than a worker bee. I 

 Lave since noticed the same small 

 inferior queens. Where I liad re- 

 moved a queen as soon as she com- 

 menced to lay, the bees commenced 

 too soon witli jelly on tlie eggs or 

 larvre.. Some think the cause of tliose 

 small queens was that the bees com- 

 menced on larvae too far advanced as 

 workers ; I never knew bees to com- 

 mit that blunder. Bees are wiser with 

 their instinct than men with their rea- 

 son. 



Bennington, O. 



Southern World. 



A Lesson from the Bees. 



T. S. ARTHUR. 



A murmur of impatience came 

 from the lips of young Wentworlh as 

 laying aside his palette and brushes, 

 he took up his hat and with a worried 

 manner, left llie studio, wliere, with 

 two or three young men, he was 

 taking lessons aiid seeking to acquire 

 skill in the art of iiainting. He was 

 at work on the head of one of Raph- 

 ael's Madonnas, and was, with the 

 warm enthusiasm of a young artist in 

 love with the beautiful, seeking to 

 transfer to liis canvas the heavenly 

 tenderness of her eyes, when a coarse 

 jest from the lips of a fellow student, 

 jarred harshly on his ears. It was 

 tliis that had so disturbed him. Out 

 in the open air the young man passed. 

 but the bustle and confusion of the 

 street did not in the least calm his ex- 

 cited state of feeling. 



"A coarse, vulgar fellow !" he said 

 angrily, giving voice to his indigna- 

 tion against the student. '" If he is to 

 remain in the studio, I must leave it. 



I can't breathe the same atmosphere 

 with one like him." 



And he walked on aimless, but with 

 rapid steps. Soon he was ojiposite 

 the window of a print seller. A gem 

 of art caught his eye. 



"Exquisite!" he exclaimed, as he 

 paused and stood before the picture. 

 " Exquisite ! What grouping. What 

 an atmosphere. What perspective!" 



" Ha, ha !" laughed a rough fellow 

 at his side, whose attention had been 

 arrested by a comic print. " Ha, ha, 

 ha !" And clasping his hands against 

 his sides, he made the air ring with a 

 coarse but merry peal. He under- 

 stood his artist fully, and enjoyed tliis 

 creation of his pencil. 



" Brute !" came almost audibly 

 from the lips of Wentworth, as all the 

 beautiful images just conjured ujj 

 faded from his mind. And off he 

 started from the print window in a 

 fever of indignation against the vul- 

 gar fellow who had no more manners 

 than to guffaw in the street at sight 

 of low life in a picture. On lie moved 

 for the distance of one or two blocks, 

 when he paused before another win- 

 dow full of engravings and paint- 

 ings. A gem of a landscape, cabinet 

 size, had just been placed in the win- 

 dow, and our young friend was soon 

 enjoying its line points. 



" Who can be the artist ?" he had 

 just said to himself, and was bending 

 closer to examine the delicate treat- 

 ment of a bit of water, over which a 

 tree projected, when a puff of tobacco 

 smoke stole past his cheek, and found 

 its way to his nostrils. Now Went- 

 worth was very fond of a good cigar, 

 and the fragrance that came to his 

 sense on this particular occasion was 

 delicate enough of its kind. In itself 

 it would have been agreeable rather 

 than offensive ; but the vulgarity of 

 street-smoking he detested, and the 

 fact of this vulgarity came now to 

 throw his mind again from its even 

 balance. 



" Whew !" he ejaculated, backing 

 away from the window, and leaving 

 his place to one less sensitive, or cap- 

 able of a deeper abstraction of 

 thonglit when iinything of true in- 

 terest was presented. 



" I will ride out in the country." 

 said he. " There, with nature around 

 me, I can find enjoyment." So he 

 entered an omnibus, the route of 

 which extended beyond the city 

 bounds. Alas ! here he also found 

 something to disturb him. There 

 was a woman with a lapdog in her 

 arms, and another with a poor sick 

 child, that cried incessantly. A man 

 partially intoxicated, entered after he 

 iiad ridden a block or two. and 

 crowded down by his side. Beyond 

 this, the sensitive AVentworth could 

 endure notliing. So he pulled the 

 clieck string, paid his fare and re- 

 sumed his lilace on the pavement, 

 muttering to himself as he did so : 

 " I'd a thousand times rather walk 

 than ride in such company." 



Two miles from the city resided a 

 gentleman of taste and education, 

 who had manifested no little interest 

 in our excitable young friend. To 

 visit him was the purpose of A\^ent- 

 wortli when he entered the stage. 



which would have taken him within 

 a half a mile of his pleasant dwelling. 

 He proposed to walk tlie whole dis- 

 tance rather than ride with such dis- 

 agreeable companions. The day was 

 rather warm. Our young artist "found 

 it pleasant enough while the pave- 

 ment lay in the shadow of contiguous 

 bouses. But, fairly beyond these, the 

 direct rays of the sun fell on his head, 

 and the clouds of dust from the pass- 

 ing vehicles almost suffocated him. 

 •Just a little in advance of him, for a 

 greater part of the distance, kept the 

 omnibus, from which the woman 

 with the lapdog and crying child got 

 out only a square beyond the point 

 where he left the coach. The drunken 

 man also soon left the vehicle. Tired 

 and overheated, Wentworth now hur- 

 ried forward, making signs to the 

 driver; but, as the driver did not look 

 around, his signs were all made in 

 vain ; and he was the more fretted at 

 this for the fact that the passenger 

 who was riding in the omnibus, had 

 his face turned towards him all the 

 time, and was, so our pedestrian 

 imagined, enjoying his disappoint- 

 ment. 



Hot, dusty, and weary was our 

 young artist, when, after walking the 

 whole distance, he arrived at the 

 pleasant residence of the gentleman 

 we have mentioned. 



" All, my young friend I How are 

 you to-day ! A visit, I need not tell 

 you, is always agreeable. But you 

 look heated and tired. You have 

 walked too fast." 



" Too far, rather," said Wentworth. 

 " I have come all the way on foot." 



" How so V Did you prefer walk- 

 ing V" 



"Yes ; to riding in the stage with a 

 crying child, a lapdog and a drunken 

 man." 



" The drunken man was bad com- 

 liaiiy, certainly. But the crying child 

 and the lapdog were trilling matters." 



" Not tome," answered Wentworth. 

 " I despise a woman who nurses a lap- 

 dog. The very sight frets me beyond 

 endurance." 



" Still, my young friend, if women 

 will nurse lapdogs, you can't help it; 

 and so, your wisest course would be 

 to let the fact pass unobserved ; or at 

 least uncared for. To punish your- 

 self, as you have done to-day, because 

 other people don't conform in all 

 things just to your ideas of propriety 

 is. pardon me, hardly the act of a 

 wise man." 



" I can't help it. I am too finely 

 strung, I suppose— too alive to the 

 harmonies of nature, and too quick to 

 feel the jar of di.scord. Do you know 

 to what you are indebted for this visit 

 to-day V" 



And Wentworth related, with a 

 coloring of his own, the incidents just 

 sketched for the reader ; taking, as he 

 did so, something of meriUto himself 

 for his course of action. 



" Upon what were you at work '?" 

 asked his friend, when the young mati 

 finished speaking. 



" On the beautiful Madonna, about 

 which I told you at my last visit." 



" It is nearly completed ?" 



" A few more touches, and I would 

 have achieved a triumph above any- 



