A TALE OP DESTRUCTION. 53 



CHAPTER XIII. 



A TALE OF DESTRUCTION. 



Having described in the previous chapter the pro- 

 bable early history of the hive, which we saw so 

 prosperous in August, I have now to relate a sad 

 story of death — the end of many such hives. It is a 

 tale of cruelty and improvidence. 



You know the fable of the foolish man who pos- 

 sessed the wonderful goose which day by day laid 

 golden eggs, and which would have enriched the 

 man if only he had been content to wait for all the 

 many eggs the bird would have given him. Im- 

 patient, however, to be rich, he killed the bird so that 

 he might get at once all her golden eggs, but found, of 

 course, that in doing so he lost everything, his bird 

 and its eggs, and was left himself a poor man after all. 



Well, in very much the same cruel, foolish way, it 

 used to be the common practice everywhere in this 

 country to kill the bees in order to get their honey, 

 instead of preserving them to work again at a future 

 time. And, I am sorry to say, this bad old custom 

 still prevails in many places. 



On some August evening, when the hives are full 

 of bees and stores, and all are at home, ready for 

 work again on the morrow, the bee-keeper (although 

 bee-murderer would be a better name) comes in the 

 dark to do his deed of cruelty, and digs a small round 

 hole, at the bottom of which he places burning sulphur. 



Then, taking the hives one by one from their 



