100 
THE GUIDE TO NATURE 
He always had a cordial regard for 
the other fellow and for that reason he 
inspired and accomplished a great 
amount of apiarian work. He began 
to keep bees when he was a young boy, 
one of the first colonies being kept by 
his father in a barrel. In 1861 he be- 
came especially interested in a runaway 
swarm that his wife captured and hived 
in a barrel. This colony during the 
first year produced ninety-three pounds 
of honey, and taught Dr. Miller much 
that he did not previously know about 
bees. In 1876 his interest had so in- 
creased that he had ninety-nine colonies 
and from that time he made beekeeping 
his business. The record crops were 
remarkably good. The best was an 
average of 266.74 sections from 72 col- 
onies. His best colony that year pro- 
duced 402 sections. 
The editor of this magazine enjoyed 
correspondence with Dr. Miller for 
many years but never had the pleasure 
of meeting him. He had the spirit of 
the real naturalist. When other com- 
mercial beekeepers were unfavorably 
criticizing the thesis that honeybees 
do not build hexagonal cells, Dr. Mil- 
ler became much interested in the cpies- 
tion and, though he never positively 
admitted that he agreed with that 
point of view, his letters showed that 
he was strongly inclined that way but 
evidently did not wish wholly to break 
loose from most of the commercial bee- 
keepers who opposed. 
We extend sincere sympathy to the 
members of the family in the loss of 
this efficient beekeeper, this thoughtful 
naturalist, this great and good man. 
Woodbine in November. 
The woodbine bereft of leaves 
Is like writing on the wall; 
In its cabalistic signs 
We glean the tale of Fall. 
But between the lines we read 
Of a resurrection day, 
Its fresh young shoots and tendrils 
Will soon be spelling May. 
— Emma Peirce. 
The Chrysanthemum Window. 
Big pompon chrysanthemums, showy and 
full, 
And singles, like daisies in summer we pull; 
Some like gold buttons, adorning a vest, 
Yet holding their own among all of the rest; 
Some large as peonies, snowy and chaste, 
Others quite flushed, as arriving in haste; 
A few red and gold, the true colors of fall, 
More climbing upward, stately and tall ; — 
With all, big and little, delighting our gaze, 
’Twere indeed hard to mention which most 
deserved praise. 
— Emma Peirce. 
Tall thistles purpled the roadside, 
And above, like a sunset cloud, 
Hovered hosts of orange butterflies, 
A brilliant, winged crowd. 
— Emma Peirce. 
In a Florist’s Window. 
Fair primrose maidens, all in a row, 
Blushingly coy and sweet, 
A thrill of joy imparting to all 
Who pass along the street. 
— Emma Peirce. 
• THE LEAVES WHERE BREEZES BLOW.” 
