Fytte VII. The Frog.

There stuck the boots of young Eugene;

He drew them out, and licked them clean;Such blacking ne'er before was seen!While John Dull, from the luscious store,Filled twenty honey pots or more.

"The appetite with eating grows"—This truth my little story shows.For many a day the rogue EugeneTo John Dull's bee-hives creeps unseen;Smokes them,—Puff!—Puff!—then boldly takesThe much desired honey cakes.

When lo! one day the angry swarmOut on him rushed—the day was warm;They covered him from top to toe,Behind, before, above, below,They buzzed, they crawled, they stung him,—Oh!

Eugene half stifled, for his noseAnd mouth were covered like his clothes,Rushed to the nearest water-pit,And took a header into it;

Rose through the Bee-besprinkled foam,And ran, all dripping, to his home.

Felt quite unwell! The doctor cameAnd to his illness gave a name.

"By aid of careful auscultation,""And thinking on his late natation,""I think, I think that I deskiver,""A frog within this dear boy's liver."

"I'll get him up." A bee he took,Impaled it on a fishing-hook;

Played it within his open jaws,A bite! and up the frog he draws;

Frog to the open window took,And cut the line close by the hook;

Frog to the pool, rejoicing, hopped;And plump into the water dropped.Then chanted his Batrachian layQuite in th' Artistophanic way;"Brekekekek, coax, coax,Coax, coax, Brekekekek."

Forbidden fruit is sweet they say;And so its gathered every day;And should this fruit be sweet before,Forbid it, and 'tis ten times more.Eugene oft coveted the potOf honey that John Dull had gotPlaced on the shelf above his head,For safety, when he went to bed;

John slept, John snored; then ope'd his eyesAnd stared about him with surprise.

"What's this I see come crawling on?""Sure, 'tis a strange phenomenon."

A winged beast, with tail, and clawsOn his four feet, which end in paws.

With stealthy pace on on it crawled,John turned upon his face, and bawled.

John's hair as this strange beast drew nearHis night cap raised for very fear.

On its hind legs itself it reared,As it its squalling master neared,

Nearer still nearer—till he got

The much desired honey pot.

Turns tail and runs; whilst Johnnie sitsBolt up, divested of his wits.

A pearly drop on every hairHangs pendant, not from heat, but fear.

Eugene his garret sought, and thereAte honey, like his friend the bear,The pot he emptied mighty soon,Using his paws instead of spoon.

The flowers which Christine culled at mornAt eve were withered, and forlorn.

These withered flowers Dick sadly took,And placed them in his music book;Then put the book upon the table,And pressed, the best that he was able.

The pressed flowers took a wondrous shape,Which seemed the human form to ape;And in these specimens, ChristineIs imaged, and her Dicky Dean.

Ten sounded from the old church tower—Before the last stroke of the hour,Close by the bee-house Richard Dean,His last new coat on, might be seen;Christine, arrayed in all her charms,Was there, and rushed into his arms.

"Hist! what's that sound?" alack! alack!A thief, with crotchet at his back—A Honey thief—ill may he thrive.

Each crept into a monster hive.

The thief peered round; "This will I take"—"This big one will my fortune make."

Then hoisted Dicky, hive and all,Upon his back so lean, so tall—

"Halt," shouted Dicky, and the headOf his strange monture bonneted;

Held him down tight, and with a stickPassed 'twixt his legs, secured him quick.

And Christine, what must she have feltWhile Bruin round about her smelt?Out of the hive she softly stole;

In crept the bear and through the holeAt the hive's top he poked his nose;Christine her ready courage shows,

She through his nose ring passed a stick,Which from the ground she happed to pick.

Poor Bruin rolled upon his back,And grunted out alas! alack!

So after all these strange alarms,Again Dick rushed into her arms.

John Dull by chance came strolling by,His hives upset first met his eye;He saw they both were tenanted—Amazed he looked, then scratched his head;

Peered all around, espied ChristineAnd her own true love Dicky Dean;Behind the bee house they were placed,And Dicky's arm was round her waist.

"Come here" he cried "you little chit,""I understand it not a bit"—Upon their knees they both fell down,And the whole mystery made known.

The father heard them all declare,Then gave his blessing to the pair."Bless you my Christine: Dick I bless""With stores of wedded happiness."

Then came the dramatis personae;The tall, the short, the fat, the bony.

Sam Dutton thought to get a shot,Now Bruin could no longer trot.But Sally interposed her mop,And to his shooting put a stop.

The night watch came, and 'twixt them boreThe skewer'd thief to the prison door.

And came the bear leader as well,And took poor Bruin to his cell.

Sam with his trumpet blew a rally,And Hip, Hurrah! cried ancient Sally.

Long live both empty hives and full,Long live Dick Dean and Johnny Dull.

The night is warm, and many a noseUpturned, is snoring in repose;Whilst every tree and every flowerRejoices in that witching hour.And o'er John Dull his garden beds,The moon her gentle influence sheds.

'Tis May the first, the Queen bee's fête!And she, in all her regal state,Beneath her fairy hall of rosesWith her beloved drone reposes.

She nods a sign; the bombardierAwakes the echoes far and near.

Whilst tinkle, tinkle, clang! clang! bang!The Court musicians' strain out-rang.The fly he blows the shrill trompette,The gnat the softer clarionette;The grasshopper, a fiddler he—The drummer is the bumble bee.—

The Willow-beetle, such a swell,With young Sabina waltzes well;

Liz too and Kitty have their swains,Who one and all are taking painsTo make themselves agreeable,Each to his own peculiar belle.

The Stag-Beetle, that beau precise,Regales his partner with an ice.

The Moon, upon the Apple Tree,Surveys, well pleased, the revelry.

Two cockchafers soon quit the dance;They cannot bear the piercing glanceOf their fair partners—see them setWithin a private cabinet.They smoke, they sing, they drink untilTheir little polished paunch they fill.

Their homes they cannot find—alas!They tumble backward on the grass."To whit" "To whoo" policeman Owl,The wisest of all feathered fowl,Hoots out; "why here's a precious go,""Drunk and incapable, ho! ho!"

"So come along, I know you well;"—He said, and drove them to his cell.Were they discharged? No, never more,That cell it was an abattoir.The owl supped on the elder Brother,And for his breakfast ate the other.So you, who think a dance divine,Mind—never take excess of wine.

The Evening star went flicker—flick—Over the bedroom candlestick;And round its silver radiance shedTo light the sleepy moon to bed.

I've done—I doff my riding gear,And order Pegasus—HIS BEER.

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 ParnassoMemini, 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 ofBuzz-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 wholesubject 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 linquœ" 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 thesituation, 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, thenose, 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 Luceas 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 aRuche 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 supplymy 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.

"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 wordGateaux. 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 Μελισσολογια 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, ofa 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 Bœotia; 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, andthither 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 Amœbœan 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 Procrustœan 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, andCorbies nae pike out corbies e'en. But we convey—conveysthe 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.

Thelast 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:

Back to Index Next