HAIL MUSE! &c.--An Invocation to the Muses, both terse and expressive.
Possibly not quite original, as I have a dim recollection that a
certain obscure poet called Byron, whose works are now well nigh
forgotten, made use of it.
PEGGY.--A name dear to the writer, as that of the first pony which
he ever had of his very own--the gift of a kind Godfather--of a
different sex indeed from Pegasus. There is, therefore, some hopes
that the breed may have been preserved, but, as far as my
experience goes, I may regretfully say,
Quando ullam inveniam parem.
I have, alas, grown stout; and it requires a strong cob to carry
twenty stone, and go lively under it as well. Such a mount fetches
a long price, which does not suit a short purse; and such
Godfathers, alas! _abierunt ad plures_; their successors give no
such gifts to their Godchildren.
PARNASSUS GREEN.--Not at all the same sort of place as Paddington
Green. The latter is now familiarly haunted by our Comic song
writers, those most dolorous of all funny men. Parnassus Green
stands, from the necessity of rhyme, for Green Parnassus.
HIPPOCRENE.--The first horse drinking fountain, and produced,
moreover, by a stamp of Peggy's hoof. This would be a good subject
for a drinking fountain of the present day. I make a present of the
idea to any young sculptor who has a commission from one of our
merchant princes, and is hard up for a subject. The most approved
receipt for developing a poetic temperament was to sleep on
Parnassus, and drink of Hippocrene in the morn. Persius has it,
"Non fonte labra prolui caballino,
Nec in bicipiti somniasse Parnasso
Memini, ut repente sic poeta prodirem."
No more have I; and perhaps some of my readers may say that I
should have done better had I waited for a sleep on Parnassus, and
a drink of Hippocrene before I began to write. All I can say is, I
hope to take one next year, if I visit Greece.
FYTTE I.--_Page 1-7._--The fun of this first Fytte will be "real
nuts" to every Bee-master. The whole economy of a Hive is viewed
from a human stand-point. The sentinels watching with their own
stings in their hands as lances; the early labours of the chamber
and house maids; the architects setting out the day's work; the
swaddling clothes and pap boat for the Grub Royal; the State of the
Queen; the idleness of the drones: all is well told, at least in
the wood cuts.
"PIG IN THE GARDEN STRAYED AROUND."--_Page 8._--A very improper
place for Pig to take his constitutional walk. The wicket gate
which leads to your Hives should be always properly secured, or
results very different from the fattening of a pig may be produced.
For what is possible, though not very probable, see one of the
early chapters of Maryatt's Mr. Midshipman Easy.
"WAS ERST ALL LEAN, WAS NOW ALL FAT."--_Page 10._--The alteration
of the animal tissue in consequence of a sting is very wonderful;
it is certainly not fat which is deposited. So that this method of
getting Bacon Pigs ready for market, though it would save corn,
would not be satisfactory to the Bacon Curer when he puts his
flitches in salt, still less to the cook, when frying a rasher.
"FLY FORTH, DEAR BEE, 'TIS MORN, FLY FORTH."--_Page 11._--I shall
be obliged to any one of my many friends, skilled in Musical
Composition, if they will set this original Bee song. The prelude
and refrain offer a fine opportunity for a Buzz-a-Buzz effect. On
receipt of a satisfactory production I will forward to the Composer
a bound copy of _Buzz-a-Buzz_, with the translator's autograph.
Inestimable reward!
JOHN DULL SITS WAITING FOR A SWARM.--_Page 11._--as I have done for
many an hour, and lost the swarm after all. John Dull drops asleep
whilst watching. I have often ceased watching just as the swarm was
about to rise. The Bees choose their own time, which is not always
that which the Bee master would for them. But the whole subject of
swarming, and how to regulate it, or prevent it, will be fully
treated of in the forthcoming second edition of "My Bee Book."
"THIS HONEY THIEF, THIS BEE-I-CIDE."--_Page 14._--This latter word
is the invention of the learned Doctor Cumming, the Times'
Bee-master. See a most stunning article on his Bee-Book in the
Saturday Review, the second or third number for December, 1864. The
proverbial thickness of a Scotchman's skin can alone have preserved
him from dying from the effects of this stinging article. "Docte
Commenas utriusque linquoe" say I.
"CULL A CROCUS AND AN AURICULA."--_Page 17._--The last word was
indeed a difficult one to hitch into rhyme. It has, however, been,
I think, successfully overcome. I might have added another line,
and made a triplet,
"Flowers which her Richard loved particular,"
but I had compassion on the ears of my readers.
"THE PLACE I CANNOT MORE DEFINE,
"WITHIN THE LIMITS OF A LINE."--_Page 19._
I well remember, when an Eton boy, walking in the playing fields
with a late revered and beloved prelate, then a Fellow of Eton,
whose memory is dear to every Etonian who knew him, as that of a
kind friend and finished scholar,--such as alas! seem extinct in
these degenerate days. He was living in a picturesque old house,
"The Warf," now destroyed, that his two sons, then at Eton, might
still have the benefit of home associations. His daughters, and
their French governess, accompanied us in this well-remembered
stroll. Mademoiselle was very curious as to how the Eton boys were
punished. She wanted all the details, and asked if they were
whipped on their backs. The question made us all look foolish, but
Dr. L. with a twinkle of his eyes, which marked his appreciation of
the _situation_, answered, "A little lower down, Mademoiselle, a
little lower down."
"FETCHED HIS BEE DRESS, HIS HIVE, HIS LADDER."--_Page 23._--A
veritable Guy Mr. Dull looks in his defensive armour! A simpler
and equally efficient dress may be made of a black net bag,
large enough to be drawn over a straw or felt hat, with a brim
sufficiently wide to keep the net away from the prominent organ,
the nose, and long enough to be buttoned into the Bee-master's
coat. A couple of elastic bands round the wrists will prevent the
Bees crawling up his sleeves, the same round the ancles will secure
the most timorous Bee master. "A Lady's dress I cannot pretend to
regulate." See "My Bee Book," where many instances of the effect of
stings are given. When swarming, Bees are particularly gentle, and
never sting, except when some are crushed. A true Bee-master will
despise such defensive armour, but trust rather to his gentleness
and knowledge of the habits of his Bees for his immunity from
stings. Should he be stung, nevertheless, in spite of all
precautions, let him instantly extract the sting, and apply a drop
of honey to the place. This will immediately allay the smarting
pain, and the swelling, except in certain places, as the eye or
lip, be trifling. _Eau de Luce_ as it is commonly called, that is,
strong ammonia, is another excellent remedy; a small bottle should
be kept in every apiary in the box of "needments." But above all,
let the Bee-master eschew gloves, specially when delicate
operations are to be performed. A cat might as soon expect to catch
mice in mittens, as a Bee-master to capture a Queen with hands
encased in, and fingers stiffened by, thick woollen gloves, as
recommended by some.
"SOME WAY I'LL FIND TO STOP THIS SWARMING."--_Page 29._--It is not
to be done by monster hives, or ventilation, or by adding supers.
If the Bees will swarm, they will. They are a stiff-necked
generation, and know their own business, at least they think so,
better than we men can teach it them. Our objects, however, are
slightly different. Their's to propagate and preserve their
species: ours to secure the maximum amount of honey in any given
locality. I have known a swarm sent forth from a _Ruche a l'air
libre_, a French Hive, which I worked in New Zealand. The Combs and
Bees were entirely exposed to the external air, which was not then
particularly warm. But a swarm was ready to go, so off they went.
For full particulars of this remarkable instance see "My Bee Book,"
second edition. To regulate, not to prevent swarming should be the
Bee-master's aim. More of this hereafter. I here give, by the
kindness of Mr. Alfred Neighbour, illustrations of the sort of hive
by which alone this can be accomplished, viz., the Bar Frame hive.
Originally of German invention, it, with various modifications, has
been widely adopted both on the Continent and in America; and every
Bee-master in England who claims the title of scientific, would do
well to supply himself at once. Each honey comb, it will be seen,
is built in a separate bar frame like a picture. They are ranged
to the number of 9, 11, or 13, in a strong box, and each is both
moveable and interchangeable with those of any other hive. Swarming
may be checked in any particular stock by cutting out the Queen
Cells. The great production of drones can be regulated by limiting
the amount of drone cell in any hive, and altogether prevented by
removing it all from a stock hive, about the purity of whose strain
there is the least doubt; whilst again, it may be encouraged in a
pure blooded stock hive, by inserting at the proper time an
additional bar containing drone comb. Any man handy with tools may
make them for himself at the cost of the materials, and they will
last a lifetime. I can supply my friends with as many as they
require at half a guinea, for which they pay double or treble in
the shops; whilst those who think nothing can be good except it is
high-priced, and do not like the trouble of making their own hives,
may go to any cost they like. The preceding woodcut represents a
hive on this principle, but with certain modifications, which may
be obtained of Mr. Neighbour, 149, Regent-street, and will suit the
class of Bee keepers last mentioned. Mr. Neighbour has, I may
mention, made arrangements for supplying Ligurian Queens of the
greatest purity.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"A DANCING BEAR BY TRADE WAS HE,
"AND HONEY LOVED EXCEEDINGLY."--_Page 35._
This "Bar" story is an addition to, and improvement on, one which I
recollect to have read in some American publication. A man who had
dropped into a hollow tree is hoisted up by the same "living
ladder." He, if I remember rightly, grasped the hinders of the Bear
with one hand, and with the other prodded him with his Bowie knife,
so as to change his descending into an ascending motion.
HONEY CAKES.--The French use the word _Gateaux_. I wish the name
"Honey Cakes" were universally adopted by Bee-masters. It would
supply a meaning which the word "comb" does not at all. A honey
comb may be as dry as dust, whilst the "honey cake" places before
the eyes of the imagination a full comb well sealed over, with here
and there a drop of clear honey oozing out, as a sample of the
store within. Perfectly sealed honey cakes may be kept without
deterioration through the winter, by wrapping them up separately in
clean writing paper, and then packing them away in a tin, each cake
being placed as it stood in the hive. If Bar-Frame Hives are used,
the cakes should not be cut away from the frame till wanted; they
should be stored away in some close box, fitted to receive them.
"AND COVER HIM FROM TOP TO TOE."--_Page 43._--Bee literature contains
many instances of persons having been completely enveloped in a
swarm of Bees, who by remaining perfectly still did not receive a
single sting. Old Thorley, in his [Greek: Melissologia] tells the
story of his maid-servant being so covered in a manner very quaint
and charming. Perfect quiet under these circumstances is essential
to, and will secure, safety; whilst any thing which can enrage
20,000 soldiers, armed with a poisoned dart, may lead to fatal
results. Since I wrote the above, a story has appeared in the
newspapers, and is, I fear a true one, as names, dates and places
are given, of a sting having been fatal to a lady accustomed to
the management of bees. Any person who has this idiosyncrasy had
better give bees a wide berth.
"I DESKIVER."--_Page 44._--There was evidently a taste of Milesian
blood in this learned doctor. 'Tis fortunate that it was so, for
"discover" and "liver" would not rhyme.
"BREKEKEKEX, COAX, COAX,
"COAX, COAX, BREKEKEKEX."--_Page 46._
Is the refrain of the well-known chorus in the Frogs of
Aristophanes. Any one with an accurate ear, who has been so happy
as to assist at a chorus of Bull Frogs in full song in the sweet
spring tide, sacred to love and melody, must have felt how
accurately the great Comic Poet noted down their song. I do not
believe that in the two thousand years which have elapsed since
that time there has been a single note altered in their love ditty.
I have never been in Greece, and so cannot testify to the musical
powers of the Frogs of Boeotia; but I have had that pleasure both
in Spain and in the neighbourhood of Constantinople: in both
instances under very favourable circumstances, which I will relate.
In June, 1855, during the Crimean war, I was at Constantinople, the
guest of Lord Napier, then Chief Secretary to the British Embassy
in that city. He was residing at that lovely place, Therapia, the
summer retreat of our Ambassador and his suite. I had pitched my
little tent in a grass meadow, close to Lord Napier's snug house.
His hospitality by day was unbounded, but straitened as he was for
room by night, he was not sorry to entertain a guest who delighted
in camping out, and brought with him the means of doing so. Not
fifty yards from my tent was a dark stagnant pool, overshadowed by
trees, and every night and all night long the Bull frogs, from
their reedy habitations, sang "Brekekekex, Coax, Coax," whilst
above the water, and in and out of the dark shadows of the trees,
the fire flies flickered about in their ever varying gambols. It
was as though Taglioni, resplendent with Jewels, had been dancing
her very best to the strains of a Scotch bag-pipe. Again, I was in
the noble town of Seville at Easter, 1867, twelve years later,
during which time I had been hard at work in England, and "no
holiday had seen," so by that time I needed one. Not a hundred
yards from the glorious Cathedral, behind the Alcazar, the old
Palace of the Moors, is a large orange garden, and in the midst of
it a square tank, of Moorish work, used for irrigation. The garden
was tenanted by a widow woman who owned a dozen or so magnificent
stall-fed milch cows, and thither I resorted early every morning,
after visiting the Cathedral, for the sake of a glass of new milk,
and a lesson in Spanish from her two little daughters aged
respectively nine and ten, Incarnacion (the last c pronounced th)
and Salud. Commend me to two chattering little girls, when their
shyness has once worn off, as the best teachers of a new language.
One glorious morning I was sitting on the edge of the aforesaid
tank, inhaling the delicious perfume of the orange blossoms, when a
Frog struck up his "Brekekekex, Coax Coax" from the still water,
and at the same time the air was resonant with the sweet song of
the Nightingale. I pride myself on knowing somewhat of the
languages of Birds, Beasts, and (Fishes? No! they are mutum pecus,
but let us say) Bull Frogs so I listened attentively, and found the
Nightingale and Bull Frog, were each of them serenading his own
wife, arboreal, and aquatic. Each wife thought her husband the very
best singer in the world: that not a note of his song could be
altered for the better; and both Nightingale and Bull Frog thought
the other singer a bore. I noted down the whole of this musical
contest at the time. It is quite in the way of one of Virgil's
Amoeboean Bucolics. Not Corydon and Thyrsis, but Batrachos and
Philomela were contending for the prize. It is too long to insert
here, but may be had of my publishers, under the title of "Bull
Frog and Nightingale;" an Apologue, price 6d. But the sum of the
whole matter is this: I do not believe, "pace Darwinii nostri
dicatur," that natural selection, and conjugal preference has had
the effect of altering or improving the Nightingale's song in the
last two thousand years. It could not be louder or better, and I
trust may last my time unchanged, whilst on the evidence of
Aristophanes' chorus we know that Bull Frogs, then, as now, sang
"Brekekekex, Coax, Coax," _and that song only_.
THE HONEY POT.--_Page 47-52._--This Fytte, comical as it is in
itself, is particularly valuable as instructing the untravelled
Britisher in the peculiarities of a German bedstead; far too short
for all who have not by some Procrustoean process been reduced to
the normal height of five feet, no inches! the upper sheet sown to
the coverlid, with no possibility of tucking it in, and liable to
fall off the sleeper altogether. No blankets, but a mountain of
feather-bed piled above, which either stifles you in summer, or
rolling off, leaves you to freeze in the winter. Yet in such a bed
as this what wonderful positions Mr. Dull managed to assume under
the influence of fear. Imitate him, my gentle reader, if you are
still young and active, and then you will appreciate his
contortions.
"A HONEY THIEF, ILL MAY HE THRIVE."--_Page 55._--Every Bee keeper
will echo this wish. I know no sight more piteous than an apiary
the night after it has been plundered. Light Hives upset, and
lying, with the combs all broken, on the ground. The Bees crawling
about in wild confusion around their violated homes, lately so
neat, and now the very picture of desolation. In vain they attempt
to repair the damage which the spoiler's hand has created; whilst
the stands where the heavy stocks stood the evening before, are one
and all tenantless. Many devices to protect Hives from robbers have
been tried. Wooden boxes are tightly screwed to the bottom board
from below, whilst the bottom board itself is strongly bolted to
the stand. This will indeed protect a hive from anything but a
powerful crow bar. But the remedy is worse than the disease, as it
prevents your ever changing or cleaning the bottom board, and is,
in many ways, inconvenient. The best preservative I can think of is
to have a savage dog, savage to all but his master, with a strong
chain, not fastened to his kennel, but ending in an iron ring,
which can slide along a small pole placed horizontally about a foot
from the ground in front of the Hives. I have seen this mode of
defence adopted in Germany for the protection of the valuable Leech
ponds, which are there fattened for the market. It answers for the
defence of Leeches, and if so, why not for Bees.
"MANY A NOSE, UPTURNED, WAS SNORING IN REPOSE."--_Page 66._--My
readers will doubtless remember, as I confess to have done when
penning the above line, the opening of Southey's Thalaba, and the
inimitable parody thereof in the Rejected Addresses. When a thing
has been done excellently well, it is folly to again attempt the
same with a certainty of failure before our eyes. We verse makers
do not steal from each other; we are all one brotherhood, and
_Corbies nae pike out corbies e'en_. But we convey--_conveys_ the
word, says glorious Will.
"AND BETWEEN THEM BORE,
"THE FELON TO THE PRISON DOOR."--_Page 66._
This mode of removing a captive would have suited that extinct
species of our protective force, that of the Dogberry and Verges
order, and may be recommended to our new police as more merciful,
and less grating to the feelings of a prisoner than the present
mode of "running a man in;" especially as they generally get hold
of the wrong person. A police sedan would enable the innocent
captive to conceal his features from the tail of little boys and
idle quidnuncs, specially if he were carried like our honey thief
head downwards.
The last Chapter is like the first, written in the style of the
Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's feast, and is, it seems to
me, no less admirable. If I pride myself on anything in this
translation it is on the concluding lines:
"The evening star went flicker--flick--
Over the bedroom candlestick;
And round its silver radiance shed
To light the sleepy moon to bed."
"I'VE DONE I DOFF MY RIDING GEAR,
"AND ORDER PEGASUS--HIS BEER."--_Page 72._
Baierische Bier is infinitely superior to any Hippocrene. But no
drink in the world can hold a candle to genuine "Wienische Bier,"
as it comes cool drawn from the cellar. The Romans knew not beer,
and so had to put up with "Falernian," or even the "vile
Coecubum." I say put up, for the wine that now goes by the name
of Falernian is detestable. I suppose, however, that two thousand
years ago it was far more carefully made, as I trust it may again
be in "Italia Unita." The Romans, knew not beer, but the Greeks had
tasted it, though brewed by the hands of barbarians. In Xenophon's
Retreat of the Ten Thousand we are told that they came upon a race
of people from whom they got
[Greek: Hek krithon methu.]
Let us then leave Pegasus to enjoy his drink of barley wine, though
like Baron Munchausen's famous steed, he hath not the wherewithal
to stow away his beer. My dear old Peggy, alluded to in the first
of this series of notes, and therefore the fittest subject for a
wind up, was, when hard worked, very fond of a quart of good ale,
with half a quartern loaf broken into it; she would drink up the
ale at a draught, then quickly munch the sop, and start with fresh
vigour for another ten-mile trot.