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The beetle there, that flies the light of day-
Fill every cell, and crowd the comb with flowers.
Publius VIRGILIUS Maro, 70-19 B. C.
So work the honey-bees ;
Henry V., Act I., S. 2.
FROM " THE FEMININE MONARCHY, OB THE HISTORY OF BEES."
The drone is a gross, stingless bee, that spendeth his time in gluttony and idleness; for howsoever he brave it with his round, velvet cap, his side gown, his full paunch, and his loud voice, yet is he but an idle companion, living by the sweat of others' brows. He worketh not at all, either at home or abroad, and yet spendeth as much as two laborers; you shall never find his man without a good drop of the purest nectar. In the heat of the day he flieth abroad, aloft, and about, and that with no small noise, as though he would do some great act; but it is only for his pleasure, and to get him a stomach, and then returns he pleasantly to his cheer.
CHARLES BUTLER, 1634.
MEMORY OF THE BEE.
THE DEATH OF THE BEE.
Phys. * Let me now call your attention to that Michaelmas daisy. A few minutes ago, before the sun sunk behind the hill, its flowers were covered with varieties of bees, and some wasps, all busy in feeding on its sweets. I never saw a more animated scene of insect enjoyment. The bees were most of them humble-bees, but many of them new varieties to me, and the wasps appeared different from any I have seen before.
Hal. I believe this is one of the last autumnal flowers that insects of this kind haunt. In sunny days it is their constant point of resort, and it would afford a good opportunity to the entomologist to make a collection of British bees.
Poict. I neither hear the hum of the bee, nor can I see any on its flowers. They are now deserted.
Phys. Since the sun has disappeared, the cool of the evening has, I suppose, driven the little winged plunderers to their homes ; but see! there are two or three humble-bees which seem languid with the cold, and yet they have their tongues still in the fountain of honay. I believe one of them is actually dead, yet his mouth is still attached to the flower. He has fallen asleep, and probably died while making his last meal of ambrosia.
Sir HUMPHREY DAVY.
The honey-bee, that wanders all day long,
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The single drop of sweetness closely press'd
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet,
In all the varied human flowers we meet,
ANNE C. LYNCH.
TILES FLETCHER is one of the old English poets but
little known to the general reader in America. he was the author of a poem of high merit. He was born about twenty years after Shakspeare, or in 1588, and came of a family marked by great poetical talent. John Fletcher, the celebrated dramatist and fellow-laborer of Beaumont, was a cousin, and it was his elder brother, Phineas Fletcher, who wrote “ The Purple Island,” that singular and elaborate poetical allegory, carried out through twelve cantos, and relieved by much occasional beauty of thought and style. The father also, Dr. Giles Fletcher, has been ranked among the good poets of his day. The only work of Giles Fletcher, the son, which has been published, is of a religious character, “Christ's Victory and Triumph,” a poem in four parts. It has never been reprinted entire in America, though full of fine passages, and marked throughout with originality and beauty.
subjects are of course very much of the same nature as those of “ Paradise Regained;" a comparison of the two poems, however, by no means diminishes our admiration for the work of Fletcher, especially when we bear in mind that he wrote half a century before Milton. In fact, “ Christ's Victory and Triumph” was, at the time it appeared, the finest sacred poem of any length in our language; it is full of a jubilant poetical eloquence and the earnest expression of strong religious feeling connected with the subject. Giles Fetcher, like his brother Phineas, was a clergyman of the Church of England, and led an uneventful life in his country parish of Alderton, Suffolk, where he died in 1623.
A description of Spring at Easter will, it is hoped, give the reader pleasure.
THE RETURN OF SPRING IN GREECE.
FROM THE GREEK OY MELEAGER, 100 B, C.
Hush'd is the howl of wintry breezes wild;
Adventurous seamen spread the embosomed sail
In curious cells the bees digest their spoil,
If earth rejoices with new verdure gay,
Trunslation of ROBERT BLAND.