2. A BEE-HUNT.

The beautiful forest in which we were encamped abounded in bee-trees; that is to say, trees in the decayed trunks of which wild bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what countless swarms the bees have overspread the Far West within but a moderate number of years.

The Indians consider them the harbinger of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red man; and say that in proportion as the bee advances, the Indian and buffalo retire. We are always accustomed to associate the hum of the bee-hive with the farmhouse and the flower-garden, and to consider those busy little animals as connected with the busy haunts of man; and I am told that the wild bee is seldom to be met with at any great distance from the frontier.

We had not been long in the camp when a party set out in quest of a bee-tree; and, being curious to witness the sport, I gladly accepted an invitation to accompany them. After proceeding some distance we came to an open glade on the skirts of the forest.

Here our leader halted, and then advanced quietly to a low bush, on the top of which I perceived a piece of honeycomb. This, I found, was the bait or lure for the wild bees. Several were hum

ming about it, and diving into its cells. When they had laden themselves with honey they would rise into the air and dart off in a straight line, almost with the velocity of a bullet.

The hunters watched attentively the course which they took, and then set off in the same direction, stumbling along over twisted roots and fallen trees, with their eyes turned up to the sky. In this way they traced the honey-laden bees to their hive in the hollow trunk of a blasted oak, where, after buzzing about for a moment, they entered a hole about sixty feet from the ground.

Two of the bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the foot of the tree, to level it with the ground. At length down came the tree with a tremendous crash, bursting open from end to end, and displaying all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth.

One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted hay as a defence against the bees. The latter, however, made no attack, and sought no revenge; they seemed stupefied by the catastrophe, and unsuspicious of its cause, and remained crawling and buzzing about the ruins without offering us any molestation.

Every one of the party now fell to, with spoon and hunting-knife, to scoop out the flakes of honeycomb with which the hollow trunk was stored. Some of them were of old date, and a deep brown

color; others were beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.

Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp-kettles to be conveyed to the encampment; those which had been shivered in the fall were devoured upon the spot. Every bee-hunter was to be seen with a rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a school-boy.

Nor was it the bee-hunters alone that profited by the fall of this community; as if the bees would carry through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious and gainful man, I beheld numbers from rival hives, arriving on eager wing, to enrich themselves with the ruins of their neighbors.

These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerfully as so many wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore; plunging into the cells of the broken honeycombs, banqueting greedily on the spoil, and then winging their way full-freighted to their homes.

As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they seemed to have no heart to do anything, not even to taste the nectar that flowed around them; but crawled backwards and forwards in vacant desolation, as I have seen a poor fellow, with his hands in his pockets, whistling vacantly and despondingly about the ruins of his house that had been burnt.

3. THE MIND OF THE SPIDER.

The writer of this thoughtful article, the son of Senator Washburn of Minnesota, is a deaf-mute.

The article was delivered by him on the occasion of his graduation from the National College for Deaf Mutes at Washington, D.C.

While he delivered it in sign-language to an audience composed in part of deaf-mutes, Dr. E. M. Gallaudet, the distinguished president of the institution, stood at Mr. Washburn's side, on the platform, and read the article to those of the audience who could hear, but could not understand the sign-language. This is the usual way of conducting public exercises in institutions for deaf-mutes. All the exercises of this occasion, including the opening prayer as well as the benediction were given in both languages, so that all present knew what was said.

Strong prejudice is held against spiders, our close neighbors, seen almost everywhere. Without any doubt it is due to the facts, first, that they unfortunately do not appear in a way pleasant to the eyes, being hideous and disgusting; second, they move in such a plotting and creeping way as to create a hatred for them; third, they live by snares and plots, the idea of which only makes us abhor them still more; fourth, they scarcely meet their foes in the face, and they retreat when in the least danger of being attacked.

Now let us, in spite of all their bad elements, lay aside our prejudices, and make some careful

color; others were beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.

Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp-kettles to be conveyed to the encampment; those which had been shivered in the fall were devoured upon the spot. Every bee-hunter was to be seen with a rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a school-boy.

Nor was it the bee-hunters alone that profited by the fall of this community; as if the bees would carry through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious and gainful man, I beheld numbers from rival hives, arriving on eager wing, to enrich themselves with the ruins of their neighbors.

These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerfully as so many wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore; plunging into the cells of the broken honeycombs, banqueting greedily on the spoil, and then winging their way full-freighted to their homes.

As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they seemed to have no heart to do anything, not even to taste the nectar that flowed around them; but crawled backwards and forwards in vacant desolation, as I have seen a poor fellow, with his hands in his pockets, whistling vacantly and despondingly about the ruins of his house that had been burnt.