THE COTTAGE GARDENER AND COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, December 28, 1858. 
Bee-keeper,” at page 135, is rather startled at what I previously I 
stated, respecting bees collecting wax from plants. He asks, if I j 
am “acquainted with Huber’s experiments,” in reference to bees 
secreting wax from honey. Yes ; and I trust that the following 
extract from my little book on bees, under the head of wax, will 
suffice :—“ The theory that wax is secreted from honey, in the 
stomach of the bee, has never been clearly established, nor did I 
ever hear of its being distilled in the substance of honey. The 
fact that bees are always laden when they quit the parent stock 
in a swarm, is not sufficient foundation for it, what they carry 
off at that time being merely a provision till they are settled, wax 
itself forming a portion of their load. I am aware that bees have 
been confined and fed on honey and sugar, especially the latter, 
and that they still secreted wax. However, it would be impos¬ 
sible, in such a case, to know how much material for wax the bees 
had collected before their imprisonment, while wax may form 
one of the constituents of sugar, though it does not of honey.” 
These remarks were made some years back, with reference to 
Huber’s experiments, which the writer adduces against my belief 
that bees collect wax from plants already named; and, from 
after experience, I see little or no reason to modify them. But I 
may remark, that the instance of a swarm being confined “ for 
twenty-four hours immediately after it had issued, and found at 
the end of that time six combs already begun,” &c., is hardly 
worth notice, for the same often happens when fresh swarms are 
even longer confined by bad weather. However, the writer hints, 
also, that I stand alone respecting bees collecting wax from 
plants. But such is not the case; for Mr. Taylor called my at¬ 
tention to it some years back, when I had a little discussion with 
him, in the Norwich Mercury , concerning the new and old 
system of keeping bees. At present, I cannot exactly state his 
words, but the following is the pith of them :—About the season 
for the construction of their combs, bees may be seen upon the 
young shoots and leaves of trees where wax is most plentiful; for 
instance, on those of the Laurel. It is apparent that they are 
not collecting honey, for they make no use of the proboscis, but 
merely scrape the surface of the shoots and underside of the 
leaves with their mandibles, as hornets and wasps do when col¬ 
lecting materials for their nests. 
In connexion with this, I may state, that Reaumer erroneously 
thought that bees extracted wax from pollen ; likewise, that 
Huber is again quoted against what I said of bees ejecting wax 
from their mouths. But the truth of what I stated is easily as¬ 
certained, by observing them at work, without clustering, in a 
bellglass. 
The writer says, that volumes might be written on both sides 
of his proposition, for trying waxen plates as a substitute for 
artificial comb3. True; but perhaps lie had in view Huber’s 
erroneous division of working-bees into two classes—workers and 
sculptors. However, be that as it may, Pliny speaks of one man 
who spent fifty years, and another his whole life, in trying to 
discover how bees made their combs, with but little success. 
Perhaps those old bee-keepers were not aware of the little ocelli, 
spoken of above.—J. Wighton. 
VEGETABLE CULTURE AND COOKERY. 
(Continuedfrom Vol. XIX., page 204.) 
Celery White Sauce. —Take two nice white heads of Celery, 
of medium size, and one small Onion ; shred them rather small, 
and then stew them in a pint of water, with a tea-spoonful of 
salt, till they are quite tender. Mix an ounce of butter with 
some flour, to which add a quarter of a pint of cream ; add these 
to the stewed Celery and Onion, and boil the whole up together, 
stirring it all the time. Flavour with a squeeze of lemon. 
A plainer sauce than either of the above, and quite good 
enough for ordinary use, is made by cutting a large head of 
Celery fine, and boiling it till soft in a pint of water. Thicken 
it with butter and flour, and season it with salt, pepper, and mace. 
Celery with Cream. —Select the finest and whitest part of 
a head of Celery, and, after washing it perfectly clean, cut it into 
lengths of three inches. Boil it tender, and strain it. Then beat 
up the yolks of four eggs, and strain them into half a pint of 
cream, adding a little salt and nutmeg. Put the whole into a 
tossing-pan, and set it over the stove till it boils to a proper 
consistency, and then send it to table with toasted bread 
under it. 
Celery, Essence oe. —This will be found very useful for 
flavouring soups, or broth, of any kind, and a few drops of it 
203 
j will communicate the Celery flavour to a pint of soup. Bruise 
j half an ounce of Celery-seed, and put it in a bottle ; then pour 
over it a quarter of a pint, of brandy; and, after standing a fort¬ 
night well corked, strain the spirit from the seeds, and bottle it, 
when it will be fit for use. 
Celery, to Fry. —Boil a head of Celery till it is tender, and 
then divide it into two. Season it with pepper and salt, and fry 
it with butter, or dripping, in the frying-pan. 
Celery with Gravy. —Take what quantity you please of 
heads of Celery, cut them into short pieces, parboil, and drain 
them. Then put into a stewpan some fat, and a spoonful of flour, 
which brown. Add to this, gently, a ladleful of broth, a bunch 
of Parsley, some salt and pepper, and let it stew a quarter of an 
hour. Then put in the Celery and some gravy, and let the whole 
j stand till the sauce is reduced, when serve. 
Celery Soup.— -Let the sticks of Celery be well washed, and 
then cut mto lengths of about two inches. Put them into clear 
gravy soup, and stew them in a soup-pan by the side of the fire 
for an hour, till tender. If any scum rises, take it off. Season 
with salt. 
When Celery cannot be procured, a few drops of the essence, 
described above, may be used; or half a drachm of the seed, 
pounded fine, put in a quarter of an hour before the soup is done, 
and a little sugar, will give as much flavour to half a gallon of 
soup as seven ounces of Celery.— Roger Ashpole. 
(To he continued.) 
HOW TO DRY CURRANTS, 
(By Mrs. W.) 
It gives me joy by no means small, 
My worthy friend, to see, 
That I know anything at all, 
That is not known to thee; 
But still so generous is my heart, 
Of selfishness devoid, 
That did I not my stock impart, 
It would not be enjoyed; 
Keeping one’s talents all unused, 
I ever have decried, 
Knowledge should always be diffused. 
Not in a napkin tied. 
With kindly feelings that o’erflow, 
For you and all beside, 
I sit me down to let you know 
How Currants should be dried. 
First take a brass or copper kettle, 
No matter which, I ween, 
Not very big, nor jet too little, 
And wipe it dry'and clean. 
One glass* of water, and a pound 
Of sugar you’ll require. 
Then in the kettle whisk them round, 
And hang it o’er the fire. 
Ay, hang it there to meit, not boil. 
Don’t let it boil, my dear, 
For that would all your Currants spoil. 
And cost you many a tear. 
Then take six pounds of Currants fresh, 
Pick off each worm and bougar, 
And wash them in a calabash, 
And pour them over the sugar. 
Your precious time you may beguile, 
With some instructive book, 
If at the kettle you meanwhile, 
Will cast a frequent look. 
Or rather I would recommend, 
Some volume light or quizzical, 
Which would require less thoughts, my friend, 
Than one more metaphysical; 
•For instance, if “ Watts’ on the Mind,” 
Should be the book selected, 
What’s on the fire, I think you’d find, 
Would be almost neglected. 
Well, when they’ve boiled up once, my dear, 
O ! take them off in haste 
For if you longer leave them there, 
The juice will surely waste. 
Then spread them out on pans of tin— 
Broad pans, not very high; 
For if you do not spread them thin, 
They’ll never, never dry ! 
Some set their pans before the fire, 
Some on their garden beds, 
And some go up a little higher, 
And place them on their sheds. 
The latter place is scarcely neat, 
For bugs and flies can reach them, 
And hens’ and roosters’ dirty feet, 
Are very apt to scratch them. 
* Wine-glass. 
