THE BUSY BEES.

PAPA! papa! what is that?" cried Ralph. He pointed to a big black bunch hanging from a tree.

"Oh! those are bees swarming," said papa.

Did you ever see bees swarming? Each bee clings with its two fore legs to the hind legs of the bee above it. If you could look into that cluster you would see a bee larger than any of the others. That is the queen bee. There is only one queen bee in a swarm.

If a swarm of bees were left to themselves, they would fly away in search of a home. Bat the owner wants to keep them to make honey for him. So he brings an empty hive, holds it under the swarm, shakes the bough gently, and the bees fall into the hive. Then he turns the hive over

on a piece of white linen on the bee stand, and there they are, safe.

As soon as the bees are in the new hive they begin to build honeycomb. They build it out of the wax that they take out of their pockets. Each bee has eight wax-pockets. As soon as the little wax cells are made, the queen begins to lay her eggs. She lays only one egg in each cell. In three days this little egg becomes a worm, or larva. The bees called nursing-bees feed the larva with pollen and honey, and it grows and grows until it fills the cell.

Then the bees stop feeding it, and

close the mouth of the cell with wax.

Now the larva spins a white silky coat

for itself, and goes to sleep for ten days.

While it sleeps it changes from a worm

into a perfect little bee, only its four

wings and its six legs are folded close,

and it is called a nymph. At the end

of ten days it gnaws its way out

through the silky coat and the wax, stretches

its legs, opens its wings, and begins to fly!

Isn't that all wonderful 1

When a bee goes for honey, she lights on a flower and sucks a drop of honey down her throat into her honey-bag. This honeybag lies between her throat and stomach. In this way she carries the honey home to the hive.

Did you ever see a bee gathering pollen? Pollen is the yellow dust of flowers. Just watch a bee buzzing about on a sweet-brier rose. She bounces about and covers herself all over with the yellow dust. Then she brushes it off with her feet, makes it into a little ball with her mouth, and tucks it into a basket on one of her hind legs. She has a basket on each hind leg. And this is the way she carries the pollen home. The bees eat the pollen; and if they have more than they want, they pack it away in 126

old cells, to keep. This is the black, bitter stuff we often find in honeycomb. It is called bee-bread.

Now, when your house is warm and the air is close, mamma opens the windows to let in fresh air. But the bees have no windows to open for fresh air. So a number of

them stand near the entrance of the hive and open their wings and wave them to and fro like fans. All over the floor of the hive are more bees, waving their wings like fans. So in this way the wise little bees make a current of air and keep the hive cool.

A TINY man, with fingers soft and tender

As any lady's fair; Sweet eyes of blue, a form both frail and slender,

And curls of sunny hair, Ahousehold toy,afragile thing of beauty;—

Yet with each rising sun Begins his round of toil—a solemn duty, That must be daily done.

To-day he's building castle, house, and tower,

With wondrous art and skill; Or labours with his hammer by the hour

With strong, determined will. Anon, with loaded little cart, he's plying

A brisk and thriving trade; Again, with thoughtful, earnest brow, is trying

Some book's dark lore to read.

Now, laden like some little beast of burden,

He drags himself along; And now his lordly little voice is heard in

Boisterous shout and song: Another hour is spent in busy toiling

With hoop and top and ball; And with a patience that is never-failing,

He tries and conquers all.

But sleep at last o'ertakes my little rover,

And on his mother's breast, Toys thrown aside, the day's hard labour over,

He sinks to quiet rest; And as I fold him to my bosom, sleeping,

I think, 'mid gathering tears, Of what the distant future may be keeping

As work for manhood's years.

Must he with toil his daily bread be earning

In the world's busy mart; Life's bitter lessons every day be learning,

With patient, struggling heart 1 Or shall my little architect be building

Some monument of fame, On which, in letters bright with glory's gilding,

The world may read his name 1

Perhaps some humble, lowly occupation,

But shared with sweet content; Perhaps a life in loftier, prouder station,

In selfish pleasure spent; Perchance these little feet may cross the portal

Of learning's lofty fane, His life-work to scatter truths immortal

Among the sons of men!

to another, What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" (Mark iv. 40, 41.)

Dear young reader, are you in trouble 1 Then are you like the disciples on the stormy Sea of Tiberias. Perhaps your relations are harsh and unkind, or perhaps you are a poor orphan without a friend in the world, and are ready to say, "No man careth for my soul!" But you have one Friend, a powerful Friend, a loving Friend, who has led you on your voyage through life until now, and will lead you to the end! The Lord Jesus is beside you, though you see him not . Hear what he says to those who love him: "Can a woman forget her sucking child ?...yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee" (Isa. xlix. 15).

Or are you in great poverty, hungry and weary? You can scarcely earn your daily bread, you have no comfort, no rest, no home! In the bitterness of your heart you cry," Lord, carest thou not that we perish?'' O my child, the Saviour is not asleep! He knows your trials, he has felt them all, —the Lord of heaven and earth once had not where to lay his head! "Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy; to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine" (Ps. xxxiii. 18, 19). "Many are the afflictions of the righteous; but the Lord delivereth him out of them all" (Ps. xxxiv. 19). Ask the Lord to help you, to feed you, to comfort you, above all, to give you his Holy Spirit; for if we love and trust in him, "then our light affliction, which is but for a moment, work eth for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory" (2 Cor. iv. 17). Then the rough wind of trouble will but bring you on more quickly towards heaven; and even here below Jesus may bid the waves of

affliction be still, and there shall be a great calm I

Or are you in the storm of temptation) You wish to please God, you wish to go to heaven, but you feel as though the way were too hard for you. You think, "I cannot resist that temptation; I can give up all but that one sin. If I do not join my companions in what is wrong, I shall be despised; if I do not tell such a falsehood, I shall be beaten; if I do not work or sell on Sundays, I shall be starved!" In such a storm of temptation turn to the Saviour still; "for in that he himself hath suffered, being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted" (Heb. ii. 18). Cry, " Lord, save me, or I perish! Give me thy Holy Spirit, that I may be ready to follow thee through trouble and temptation. Whatever I may suffer here, oh, keep me faithful to thee!"

Think on this one great truth, dear reader. The comfort of the voyage matters little in comparison to the place where we are going. The voyage of life cannot last very long; the fiercest storm must soon pass away! Look at these two different passengers, and think which of them you would pity.

See one vessel bounding gaily over the bright water, the wind in her favour, the sun shining upon her; and look at that man on her deck! He is a slave, he is going to suffering and misery, he dreads to arrive at the port. Do you not pity him? Yet his case is happy compared with that of those who forget God—who, caring but for pleasure, living only for this world, are yet hurrying on to death—and after death the judgment J Poor slaves of sin! do they not know that—

"The greatest evil we can fear
Is to possess our portion here!'

Now look at this other man in a stormtossed vessel! He is going home. He is going to riches, and honour, and happiness, and home! Though the waves rise high, they will not overwhelm him; though the clouds are so dark, there is sunshine in his heart! On the shore he knows that all will be peace, and he can smile in the midst of the storm! Do you pity him? But far happier is the Christian, however afflicted here; for his heart, and his hopes, and his home are in heaven, and he is on his way to God! His sins forgiven through the blood of his Saviour, his courage supported by the power of God's grace!" Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him" (James i. 12).

Think of those who have already landed on the happy shore, but not till they had passed through the storm. There are saints who have suffered, and martyrs who have died for the Lord! They do not wish now that their trials had been less;—sweet is to them the remembrance of the storm! When holy St. John, banished to Fatmos for the sake of the gospel, saw heaven opened, and its glory appearing, what did he behold there 1 These are his words:—

"After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands. And one of the elders answered, sayiDg unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes?

and whence came they? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God' shall wipe away all tears from their eyes" (Rev. vii. 9, 13-17).

"Lord, carest thou not that we perish!"

How oft is the cry of despair,
When affliction's waves roll,
And the agonized soul

Scarce can utter its anguish in prayer!

Yet the Saviour is watching beside us,
His eye cannot slumber nor sleep;

The bark which he guides,

Where his presence abides,
Can never be wrecked on the deep!

Oh! how soon would our inward fears vanish,

Our souls smile at perils without,
Could we hear his mild love
Thus our terrors reprove,—
"Ye of little faith, why did you doubt?'

Lord, make us trust ever in thee,
Though our frail bark by tempests be
driven;

Till thy sovereign will

Bid the rude waves "be still I"
And we rest in the haven of heaven!