662 



JUVEKILE GLEANINGS. 



SfiPT. 



suppose those broad covers are for shade. 

 It seems to me I would much rather have 

 the grapevines that we use. I should get 

 tired of moving those stones every time I 

 wishedjto open the hives. You may tliink, 

 however, it is less trouble to move the stones 

 than to trim the vines. But our grapevines 

 usually pay for the training. We are glad 

 to. get a view of your pleasant place of work, 

 aha we, hope you may enjoy it and make it 

 profitable. 



PAlTIi PRICE. 



ANOTHER VERSION OF VIRGIL, ETC. 



MANY thanks for the cards. Paul has distrib- 

 uted tbem among the children of the neigh- 



" borhood, and 1 hope they will do much good. 



I am sorry to say we have no Sunday-school, nor do 

 we live near a church; but mamma teaches the boys 

 at home, out of the Bible and other good books. 



We were delighted to hear of that wonderful baby, 

 and pray that he may grow up to be as good and use- 

 ful a man as his father. Peter is not a very pretty 

 name, but a very solid one. Paul sends in the great 

 apostle's name, and bis own. We like it very much. 



It was rather wonderful to him to see his name iu 

 print, and your kind words were very cheering to 

 him. He is glad to have you for his friend, and 

 hopes at some future time to meet you face to face 

 among the bees. He promises to write the next let- 

 ter, perhaps after wintering, and tell you all about 

 his bees. They have not made as much honey as we 

 hoped they wovild at our last writing; but the gold- 

 enrod and buckwheat are now in bloom, and the 

 promise is fine for a splendid fall crop. The colonies 

 are strong, and fuUtooverflowing; have commenced 

 swarming, to prevent whicb, Paul looked them over, 

 clipped the queens' wings, and removed queen-cells, 

 and thinks he will have to divide ihem. He has a 

 nucleus, and has sold two dollar queens. He is very 

 hopeful of the coming year's work, and is complete 

 master of his apiary, thanks to ABC, which he nev- 

 er could have gotten along without. 



We have watched for and read with great pleasure 

 the "inimitable " Hasty's iJnfolding of Virgil. It is 

 a beautiful thought — culling bees from leaves and 

 sweet herbs! Paul's father was professor of the 

 languages and English literature for many years in 

 our State University, after which he lost his sight 

 entirely, then became a minister of the Christian 

 Church, and labored in the service of the Lord some 

 years before his death, twelve years ago. A purer 

 man, and more devoted Christian, would be hard to 

 find. He had a fine library of choice books; and al- 

 thotigh Paul has never read a great deal himself, he 

 has considerable knowledge of classical lore, gather- 

 ed from these, through mamma's reading. I read to 

 him some time since the whole of Virgil's treatise 

 on bees, which interested him greatly, although he 

 is too practical to indorse the entire theory of gene- 

 rating beea from the blood of bulls. But then, he 

 wonders >¥here the bees came from that Samson 

 found in the carcass. Virgil writes: 



" But if the whole stock should suddenly fail any 

 one, and he should have no means to recover a new 

 breed, it is time both to unfold the memorable in- 

 vention of the Arcadian master, and how the tainted 

 gore of bullocks slain has often produced bees. 1 

 will disclose the whole tradition, tracing it from its 

 source. For where the happy nation of Pelliean 



Canopus inhabit the banks of Nile, floating (the 

 plains) with his overflowing river, and sail around 

 their fields in painted gondolas; and where the riv- 

 er, that rolls down as far as from the swarthy Indi- 

 ans, presses on the borders of quivered Persia, and 

 fertiles verdant Egypt with black silt, and pouring 

 along divides itself into seven mouths, all the 

 country (jrounds infallible relief on this art. First, 

 a space of ground of small dimensions, and con- 

 tracted for this purpose, is chosen. This they 

 strengthen with the tiling of a narrow roof and con- 

 fined walls; and add four windows of slanting light 

 in the direction of the four winds. Then a bullock, 

 just binding the horns in his forehead, two years 

 old, is sought out: while he struggles exceedingly 

 they close up his nostrils, and the breath of his 

 mouth ; and when they have beaten him to death, his 

 battei'ed entrails are crushed within the hide that 

 remains entire. When dead, they leave him pent 

 up, and lay under his sides fragments of boughs, — 

 thyme, and fresh cassia. This is done when first the 

 zephyrs stir the waves, before the meadows blush 

 with new colors, before the chattering swallow sus- 

 pends her nest upon the rafters. Meanwhile the 

 juices, warmed in the tender veins, ferment; and 

 animals, wonderful to behold, first short of their 

 feet, and in a little while buzzing with wings, swarm 

 together, and more and more take the thin air, till 

 they burst away like a shower poured down from 

 summer clouds; or like an arrow from the whizzing 

 strings, when th» swift Parthians first begin to 

 fight." 



Paul has found that tjie black bees are not the best 

 workers, although mamma thought they were. The 

 honey made by them, however, was the finest. It 

 might have been accidental, but it certainly was the 

 most delicately flavored. 



After having thus fully introduced Paul and his 

 bees. I bid you good-by, with many thanks for kind 

 attention. L. B. Koote. 



Coffman, Mo., Aug. 25, 1883. 



A POOR ORPHAN-BOV. 



A wholesome lesson for the juveniles. 



BEAR CHILDREN:— Do you know a poor little 

 orphan boy or girl? Did you ever think how 



sad are the thoughts of a poor little boy or 



girl being left without papa, or without mamma? 



Well, I will tell you of a little boy I knew many 

 years ago. I can recollect when he was three years 

 old, a bright-eyed little fellow. His hair was as 

 black as a raven; his father was gone; but he was 

 loft, thank God, in the care of a good Christian moth- 

 er, though almost penniless; no home that she could 

 call her own, no one to provide for a living for her 

 and her little boy. And I will tell you what I have 

 seen. I have seen that good mother following the 

 plow in the field, plowing corn day after day, trying 

 to make bread to keep herself and little boy from 

 starving. I have also seen her using the great 

 sledge-hammer in the blacksmith shop, many a day, 

 all day long, striking the redhot iron, and making 

 the sparks fly. And how much money do you think 

 she would get at night for her day's work? Why, 

 only twenty-five cents! Don't you think that was 

 very little for striking all day in a blacksmith shop? 

 But time rolled on, and the little orphan-boy grew 

 up to be large enough to take his poor mother's 

 place at the forge in the shop, which he did cheer- 



