Let us see what we can learn by close observation. Here is a hive where the bees are at this moment building their comb near the glass window. There! One of them picks the wax scale from the body of a fellow-worker and silently makes her way to the top of the hive, where the building is going on. Reaching her destination, she gives the little piece of wax a pinch against the comb. One would think she might stop awhile and carefully fashion the material into its place; but no, off she scampers for another load. After her follows another busy worker who has picked up her wax scale from the bottom of the hive. Quickly she deposits this lump of wax, gives it a little touch or a little rubbing and polishing, and she too is off again. Then come other bees, and then others and others, all with their burden of precious wax for the walls they are building. As a result of these maneuvers, in good time the honeycomb, with its six-sided cells, seems to grow out of nothing, as if by magic. No one bee makes an entire cell alone. The finished combs which will finally fill the hive are the product of the united efforts of the whole moving, restless mass.

As soon as a few inches of the first comb have been finished, the bees which are bringing home honey begin to store it in the cells. One cell will hold as much as many bees can carry, and so the busy little workers have to toil all day, filling cell after cell. The honey lies uncovered in the cells, being too thick and sticky to flow out, and is used for daily food. If there is any to spare, the bees close up the cells with wax, to keep the honey for the winter.

And so the life of this wonderful city goes on. The little worker bee lives only a few weeks, but in that time she has done her share of the work in the world.

-Arabella B. Buckley

Pleasure Reading:

Buckley's Fairyland of Science

Daulton's Wings and Stings

ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST

(It seldom happens that there are two great poets in one family. But Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who wrote this pleasing poem, was nearly as great a poet as her husband Robert Browning. Through what poem did we get acquainted with Robert Browning? As you grow older you will enjoy other poems written by the Brownings, and you will learn of the beautiful home life of these two English poets. Their home life was as true and sweet as their poetry.)

Little Ellie sits alone,

And the smile she softly useth

Fills the silence like a speech;

While she thinks what shall be done,
And the sweetest pleasure chooseth
For her future, within reach.

Little Ellie in her smile
Chooseth, "I will have a lover,

Riding on a steed of steeds:
He shall love me without guile;°

And to him I will discover°

The swan's nest among the reeds.

"And the steed it shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble,

With an eye that takes the breath,
And the lute he plays upon
Shall strike ladies into trouble,

As his sword strikes men to death.

"And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure,

And the mane shall swim the wind;
And the hoofs along the sod

Shall flash onward and keep measure,
Till the shepherds look behind.

"He will kiss me on the mouth

Then, and lead me as a lover,

Through the crowds that praise his deeds;
And, when soul-tied by one troth,°

Unto him I will discover

That swan's nest among the reeds."

Little Ellie, with her smile

Not yet ended, rose up gayly,—
Tied the bonnet, donn'd the shoe,
And went homeward round a mile,
Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse,°
Winding by the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads,
Past the boughs, she stoops and stops:
Lo! the wild swan had deserted,
And a rat had gnawed the reeds.

Ellie went home sad and slow.
If she found the lover ever,

With his red-roan steed of steeds,
Sooth I know not! but I know
She could never show him--never,

That swan's nest among the reeds.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Words: guile-deceit; discover-reveal; housed-wearing a large ornamental saddle-cloth; troth-pledge; copse-a small wood; osierwillow; sooth-truth.

Questions: What pleasing picture have we in the first three stanzas? How old do you think Ellie is? What does she mean by a steed of steeds? What does she consider the greatest reward at her command? What changes her smile to tears? Do you know how she felt on the way home? Can you suggest a reason why this poem is just as pleasing to grown-up people as to children?

APRIL RAIN

ISN'T raining rain to me,

I It's raining daffodils;

In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills;
The clouds of gray engulf the day
And overwhelm the town;

It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.

It isn't raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where every buccaneering bee
May find a bed and room;
A health unto the happy!

A fig for him who frets!
It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining violets.

-Robert Loveman

A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR

(In this beautiful little story we have a glimpse at the work of one of the greatest English novelists, Charles Dickens. While Sir Walter Scott wrote stories of unusual deeds of love and daring, Dickens chose for his books the lives of the people all about him. We say of his stories that they are true to life. This year you should read The Christmas Carol and Cricket on the Hearth, and in the eighth grade you will enjoy David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities.)

HERE was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal,

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and thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They used to wonder at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at the depth of the bright water; they wondered at the goodness and the power of God who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the hillsides are the children of the water; and the smallest bright specks playing at hide-and-seek in the sky all night, must surely be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, no more.

There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church-spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at the window. Whoever saw it first, cried out, "I see the star!" And often they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that before lying down in their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it good-night; and when they were turning round to sleep, they used to say, "God bless the star!"